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Gﮞ͞ ̶͞ ✊ ̶͞ D 
Ɑ͞ ̶͞ ✊ ̶͞ ﻝﮞ͞
Ɑ͞ ̶͞ ✊ ̶͞ ﻝﮞ͞
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I used to be a real ad
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Peruvians and Dota 2
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Let's look at this statistically. Assuming you are not Peruvian, your team has four chances to spawn a Peruvian. The other team has five chances to spawn a Peruvian. Overall, you will have less Peruvians then your opponents, and will automatically rise on the ladder. If you aren't rising, you are probably secretly a Peruvian, ruining the statistical balance of sweet victory.
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SingSing
Dota 2
Please help, when I sneeze, it sounds like I'm saying the n-word
I'm not sure what to do. For my early life, it wasn't a huge deal. I lived in a mostly white family who didn't really care, and I stayed home from school when I was sick. But now that I'm in college, I'm terrified of what it could mean. Doctors won't help me. Every time I've asked, they think I'm making it up and doing it on purpose, and now that I've moved, my doctor is this 6ft tall african-american man. I haven't been to a check-up in over a year.
It's causing trouble with school too. The first instance was in chemistry. The professor told me to pass out some bunsen burners from the cabinet to the rest of the students. I got up and opened the cabinet, but it was super dusty inside, and before I could help myself, a huge sneeze forced itself out of my body. "N*GGA!" sounded across the classroom, and I just froze. My cheeks heated up as everyone just stared at me. I quickly said that I needed to go get a tissue and ran from the classroom. I was forced to have a meeting with my professor later, where she was adamant that she wouldn't have that kind of language in her classroom. I tried to explain that it was an accident and I didn't even have a reason to say the n-word while sneezing and gathering bunsen burners, but she was already mad so I think she zeroed in on my word choice and thought that I was inferring that other times I DID have a reason to say it. I didn't get kicked out but nobody wanted to partner with me for the rest of the semester, and I feel like the professor was a bit harsher on test questions.
The most recent event happened only yesterday, and I'm terrified of what it could mean. I was in line at the Chick-fil-A in the cafeteria, feeling like shit. I'd been sick for a day or two, and normally I don't go out because of my unique problem, but I was starving and just needed to grab a quick bite. Right as I got up to the counter, I felt a sneeze coming on, and knew I was screwed. Here's the thing. When I'm sick, the issue is 10x worse. The phlegm or something in my throat makes the n-word sound come out with a lower, R-sound at the end instead of the gasp that normally makes the A. So I'm standing there, about to order my 8pc nugget, when I spasm and unleash a full forced "N****R!" across the entire cafeteria. Everybody heard it. Literally everybody. The girl at the counter, who unfortunately was black, just looked so hurt and angry at the same time, not to mention I think I may have sneezed a little on her. I turned and bolted from the cafeteria. I ran straight back to my dorm; I saw a group of guys trying to follow me, but they couldn't get in to my specific dorm building. I recognized a few of them from my chemistry class. I've been in my dorm ever since. I'm terrified of leaving. I'm positive that if they see me again, they'll kick the shit out of me.
So that's my problem. I'm not sure how to prove my innocence and I don't think I'll survive another semester at this rate.
I finally did it. I out pizza'd the Hut
I finally did it. I out pizza'd the Hut. It was the greatest mistake of my life.
After years of perfecting my recipe, I made my way down to the local hut, fresh-baked pizza pie in hand. "Try this," I told the kid working the counter. He did, and he had to agree that it was better than anything Pizza Hut had to offer. Soon, the entire store, customers included, was feasting on my delicious pie. The manager walked over, grabbed a slice, and took a bite. I look at him, anticipation rising. This was the boss, the local fief lord of the Hut. His approval meant more to me than all the rest combined. He took a bite and nodded. "I'll be damned," he said, "you really did it. You out- pizza'd the Hut. Shame." Shame? What did he mean by tha-- the manager pulled a gun out from behind his apron and shot the nearest customer in the head. "We have a Code Jalapeño," he said into his wrist as he executed the remaining customers. "I repeat, we have a Code Jalapeño." The ground was slick with blood. The kid working the counter choked out his dying breath as the manager turned to me. "You just had to do it motherfucker. You just had to out pizza the Hut." He shoved the gun in my face. I was too scared to fight, too scared to run. The manager pulled the trigger.
A click. The gun was empty. I threw a chair at the manager and scrambled out of the Pizza Hut, not even bothering to see if my missile hit its mark. I was closely pursued by the manager, who had gotten his hands on a deadly sharp pizza cutter. I suspected in his hands it would cut more than pizza. Somehow, I was able to get into my car and speed off, the manager cursing my existence as I left him behind. I took a deep breath. The manager was clearly psychotic. Yes, that was it, just a crazy man with a gun. It had to be. My phone rang. Sister. I picked it. "They're dead, she sobbed. They're all dead. Mom, Dad, Chris, Bill. Dead. They killed them all." I could barely understand her, so great were her sobs. "What do you mean? Where are you?" I asked urgently. "How is this possi--" A single gunshot sounded through my phone's speakers. Silence. Then, I heard a man's voice. "No one out pizzas the Hut." He hung up. I drove down the empty country road, mind blank. I had nothing. They killed my family. I was alone.
At that moment I knew what I had to do. They took everything from me. Well then, I would take everything from them. Pizza Hut was so terrified of being out pizza'd, they forgot there's one thing worse than a man with a recipe: A man with nothing to lose. I'll give them a limited time offer they won't be able to refuse: two bullets for the price of one.
With a free side order of pain.
Kripp needs to find a Romanian woman
Day 2 without sports
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Day 2 without sports: Found a young lady sitting on my couch yesterday. Apparently she’s my wife. She seems nice. Apparently we also have 2 kids.
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