twitchquotes:Attention all Fortnite gamers: John Wick is in great danger and he needs your help to wipe out the squads in the Tilted Towers, but to do this he needs a golden scar and a couple of chug jugs. To help him, all he needs is your credit card number, the three digits on the back, and the expiration month and year. But, you gotta be quick, so John Wick can secure the bag and achieve the epic Victory Royal!
Attention all Fortnite gamers: John Wick is in great danger and he needs your help to wipe out the squads in the Tilted Towers, but to do this he needs a golden scar and a couple of chug jugs. To help him, all he needs is your credit card number, the three digits on the back, and the expiration month and year. But, you gotta be quick, so John Wick can secure the bag and achieve the epic Victory Royal!
Natalie Portman is the reason I work out
Natalie Portman is the reason I work out. I have this fantasy where we start talking at the Vanity Fair Oscars party bar. We exchange a few pleasantries. She asks what I do. I say I loved her in New Girl. She laughs. I get my drink.
"Well, see ya," I say and walk away. I've got her attention now. How many guys voluntarily leave a conversation with Natalie Portman? She touches her neck as she watches me leave.
Later, as the night's dragged on and the coterie of gorgeous narcissists grows increasingly loose, she finds me on the balcony, my bowtie undone, smoking a cigarette.
"Got a spare?" she asks.
"What's in it for me?" I say as I hand her one of my little white ladies. She smiles.
"Conversation with me, duh."
I laugh.
"What's so funny?" she protests.
"Nothing, nothing... It's just... don't you grow tired of the egos?"
"You get used to it," she says, lighting her cigarette and handing me back the lighter.
"What would you do if you weren't an actress?" I ask.
"Teaching, I think."
"And if I was your student, what would I be learning?"
"Discipline," she says quickly, looking up into my eyes, before changing the subject. "Where are you from?"
"Bermuda," I say.
"Oh wow. That's lovely."
"It's ok," I admit. "Not everything is to my liking."
"What could possibly be not to your liking in Bermuda?" she inquires.
"I don't like sand," I tell her. "It's coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere."
Natalie Portman is the reason I work out. I have this fantasy where we start talking at the Vanity Fair Oscars party bar. We exchange a few pleasantries. She asks what I do. I say I loved her in New Girl. She laughs. I get my drink.
"Well, see ya," I say and walk away. I've got her attention now. How many guys voluntarily leave a conversation with Natalie Portman? She touches her neck as she watches me leave.
Later, as the night's dragged on and the coterie of gorgeous narcissists grows increasingly loose, she finds me on the balcony, my bowtie undone, smoking a cigarette.
"Got a spare?" she asks.
"What's in it for me?" I say as I hand her one of my little white ladies. She smiles.
"Conversation with me, duh."
I laugh.
"What's so funny?" she protests.
"Nothing, nothing... It's just... don't you grow tired of the egos?"
"You get used to it," she says, lighting her cigarette and handing me back the lighter.
"What would you do if you weren't an actress?" I ask.
"Teaching, I think."
"And if I was your student, what would I be learning?"
"Discipline," she says quickly, looking up into my eyes, before changing the subject. "Where are you from?"
"Bermuda," I say.
"Oh wow. That's lovely."
"It's ok," I admit. "Not everything is to my liking."
"What could possibly be not to your liking in Bermuda?" she inquires.
"I don't like sand," I tell her. "It's coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere."
twitchquotes:You idly watching the stream, mindlessly wasting yet another evening. You notice 4+ length message in the chat. Grabbing the mouse, hovering over, scrolling up. Reading the message and realizing the pasta has no meaning at all. CTRL+C CTRL+V ENTER. You are retarded.
You idly watching the stream, mindlessly wasting yet another evening. You notice 4+ length message in the chat. Grabbing the mouse, hovering over, scrolling up. Reading the message and realizing the pasta has no meaning at all. CTRL+C CTRL+V ENTER. You are retarded.