FeelsBadMan Only a true failure can fail to build a pyramid FeelsBadMan FeelsBadMan May as well not even bother FeelsBadMan FeelsBadMan FeelsBadMan And Still my pyramid sucks
8=====> Only the chosen one can hold his donger β PogChamp β
Hi Kripp, sleazy video game developer here
twitchquotes:Hi Kripp, sleazy video game developer here. I understand you are willing to sell yourself out like a cheap Romanian hooker to any two-bit game development outfit as long as they dangle some shekels in front of your beady little eyes? Great! Because I have this brilliant game in beta testing right now called "Watching Paint Dry" and I am willing to pay you $5.00 USD to play it for 24 hours straight. Let me know what you think, you glorious sellout!
Hi Kripp, sleazy video game developer here. I understand you are willing to sell yourself out like a cheap Romanian hooker to any two-bit game development outfit as long as they dangle some shekels in front of your beady little eyes? Great! Because I have this brilliant game in beta testing right now called "Watching Paint Dry" and I am willing to pay you $5.00 USD to play it for 24 hours straight. Let me know what you think, you glorious sellout!
Mods can't ban me at this pace
twitchquotes:π’ SLOW AND STEADY π’ WINS THE RACE π’ MODS CAN'T BAN ME π’ AT THIS PACE π’
π’ SLOW AND STEADY π’ WINS THE RACE π’ MODS CAN'T BAN ME π’ AT THIS PACE π’
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."