4Head [̲̅$̲̅(̲̅5̲̅)̲̅$̲̅] Look subs, I have more money than you 4Head
A single Dongerbill can save a life
twitchquotes:Hello, I'm Sarah McLanchdong. Every day millions of poor, helpless dongers go unraised everyday. Dongers that are abused and negated, like this poor fellow ༼ ▀̿ ̿ ل͟ຈ ༽. For just one Dongerbill [̲$̲(̲ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°̲)̲$̲] a day we can help save these forgotten dongers (◉_☢) ༼ ͝°ʖಠ ༽ ( ͡°ل͜ º) from a life time of being lowered. Your there only hope, because just a minute of your time and a single Dongerbill [̲$̲(̲ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°̲)̲$̲] can save a life.
Hello, I'm Sarah McLanchdong. Every day millions of poor, helpless dongers go unraised everyday. Dongers that are abused and negated, like this poor fellow ༼ ▀̿ ̿ ل͟ຈ ༽. For just one Dongerbill [̲$̲(̲ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°̲)̲$̲] a day we can help save these forgotten dongers (◉_☢) ༼ ͝°ʖಠ ༽ ( ͡°ل͜ º) from a life time of being lowered. Your there only hope, because just a minute of your time and a single Dongerbill [̲$̲(̲ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°̲)̲$̲] can save a life.
Qt has finally reached rank one
twitchquotes:The year is 2050, league is played by less than 100 people. Qt has finally reached rank one, "Lisha I did it!" he yells excitedly. The sound echoes through the empty mansion. Lisha left long ago...
The year is 2050, league is played by less than 100 people. Qt has finally reached rank one, "Lisha I did it!" he yells excitedly. The sound echoes through the empty mansion. Lisha left long ago...
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."