So you call these things "chips"? Instead of crispity crunchy munchie crackerjack snacker nibbler snap crack n pop westpoolchestershireshire queen's lovely jubily delights?
That’s rather bit cringe, innit bruv
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Puck the Folice
twitchquotes:
ლ༼ ▀̿̿Ĺ̯̿̿▀̿ ̿ლ༽ Ｐｕｃｋ Ｔｈｅ Ｆｏｌｉｃｅ ლ༼ ▀̿̿Ĺ̯̿̿▀̿ ̿ლ༽
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imaqtpie
What is left of the Kripp we all loved?
twitchquotes:
Ｎｏ ＰｏＥ， ｎｏ ｃａｔｔａｒｒｉａｎ， ｎｏ ＯＪ， ｎｏｔ ｎｌ． Ｗｈａｔ ｉｓ ｓｔｉｌｌ ｌｅｆｔ ｏｆ ｔｈｅ ｋｒｉｐｐ ｗｅ ａｌｌ ｌｏｖｅｄ？ Ｎｏｗ ｈｅ ｐｌａｙｓ ｃａｓｕａｌｓｔｏｎｅ， ｆｉｓｔｓ ｓｕｂｓｃｒｉｂｅｒｓ， ｄｒｉｎｋｓ ｍａｎｇｏ ｊｕｉｃｅ ａｎｄ ｐｌａｙｓ ｆｏｒ ＴＳＭ
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Kripp
Kissahomie
⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠈⠙⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠄⠄⣴⣼⣵⣾⣴⣤⣦⣄⣴⣶⣬⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿
⢀⣿⣭⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⡶⠄⡀⠄⠄⠄⠄
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⡀⠄⠄
⣼⣿⣿⣿⣯⣙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⣿⣿⠛⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣕⡀
⣿⣿⡿⢻⣿⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⠛⣼⣿⣿⣤⠘⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷
⣿⣿⣇⠈⠺⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⡇⠄⣨⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿
⣽⣿⣿⣳⣿⡌⠙⠛⠿⠛⢋⣛⣿⣿⠇⣠⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⣾⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⡀⠄⠄⠄⠄⠁⠿⠋⠄⠈⠉⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠟⢹⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣀⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⣴⣦⣶⠄⠻⢿⠿⠟⠋⠁⠄⠄⠄⣸⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⣄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⣀⠄⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠄⠻⠼⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠄⠄⣰⢟⣵⣿
⠂⠉⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢫⡶⣪⢶⣿⣿⣿
Kripp starts a salt mine
twitchquotes:
As Kripp frantically tries to fix his router and internet issues. The stays dedicated and vigilante. After trying to fix these issues that arose at hand he finally came to realize that this was all worth nothing. He stopped fixing the issues and threw his computer out the window. He started up a Salt Mining company in the Himalayan mountains called Kripp Salt. He is starting a family and all is well. Thanks Kripp. 
twitch chat
Kripp
It's not gay with socks on
When I was 13 years old a buddy of mine tried to convince me to fool around. I wasn't into it, and he told me it's not gay if you're wearing socks. I didn't believe him, went home, and asked my dad.
That's 'gentleman's gay', hardly gay at all. Don't see it much these days.
The 50s were a different time. What were we to do? We were typical boarding school boys, rich with vigor, skin slick with drying sweat and gritty earth from a game of pigskin.
At night our young, virile bodies filled the dorm with sweet-musky vapors, like game-meat stewed with apple and peppercorn. You'd awake in darkness to the hushed, melodic rhythm of two pairs of white tube socks, barely visible in moonlight, bouncing on the hardwood floor.
The deep bond of male friendship played like a thousand different human instruments. The wet claps of skin on skin, the gentle thud of heads on backboards, frenzied cries in the throes of climax. Wilbur, so fat and soft like tapioca pudding. His breasts were so like the real thing, what we fantasized of our future wives. Unwilling, defenseless Wilbur, so slow and uncoordinated in the dark. 10 of us would glaze his bare, pink flesh like a giant raspberry danish. He once had the audacity to tell Headmaster Redford. But Redford was a Deerfield boy once, he understood. So he joined us on our midnight hog hunts.
Through college and years after we'd find time here and there, away from the wives at a family lake house. But it's been decades now - the times have certainly changed. If you wanted to do something private with another man, in your socks, it wasn’t ‘gay’. It was just two men, celebrating each other's strength.