Women belong in the kitchen. If they want to, of course. Yet only 20% of chefs are women. We're on a mission to change the gender ratio in the restaurant industry by empowering female employees with the opportunity to pursue a culinary career. #IWD - We are proud to be launching a new scholarship programme which will help female Burger King employees pursue their culinary dreams!
I used to be a real ad
More Copypastas
Scamaz had struck again
twitch chat
Reynad
single least favorite form of communication
twitchquotes:
Honestly, 99% of the time, twitch chat is the stupidest thing alive. That and copypasta is my single least favorite form of communication, somehow being incredibly lazy and entirely impersonal all at once.
twitch chat
I hate Twitch Chat
Sneaky goes to town
twitchquotes:
It was a hot and sultry night at the c9 gaming house. everyone was in bed except for meteos and sneaky. "we can't keep doing this, baby" says sneaky. "put that mouth to use, you dirty tramp" replies meteos. "LCS starts tmrw, and if you expect me to carry you again, i need to you to suck me to completion." sneaky grins sl*ttily, and goes to town
twitch chat
Sneaky
League of Legends
xqcK
⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⠟⠛⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡆⠀
⠀⢴⣿⣿⢯⣤⠾⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀
⠀⣾⢿⣛⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠙⠛⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀
⠀⣰⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣤⣀⡈⢻⣿⣿⣿⠟⠉⠀⣴
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣶⣶⣤⡀⠀⣠⣶⠀⠀⠈⠉⠙⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠀⣀⣾⣿
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⣼⣿⣤⡤⠞⠀⠀⠀⢨⣿⡟⠋⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣁⡀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⢣⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡧⣾⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠉⠉⠁⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠻⠿⢿⣇⣀⣤⣀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⣴⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣤⣀⣀⡀⢀⣀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠉⠉⢉⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
xQcOW
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.