Decided I will no longer be paying taxes. What are they gonna do, tax me more? Go ahead.
I wont pay those either
Oh im going to prison?
The one paid for by my tax dollars?
Sorry. Didn't pay em. Now there is no prison.
I am at least 3 steps ahead of the government at all times.
I used to be a real ad
More Copypastas
Wow, that actually killed me
twitchquotes:
The year is 2034. QT lies on his death bed. As he lies there in his last breath he whispers: "Wow, that actually killed me."
The year is 2034. QT lies on his death bed. As he lies there in his last breath he whispers: "Wow, that actually killed me."
twitch chat
imaqtpie
League of Legends
Kripp invites twitch chat to his wedding
twitchquotes:
★ ★ ° ☾ ☆ ¸¸ . …somewhere ° ☾ ° ¸. ● ¸ . ★ ° :. . • ° . * :. . ¸ .☾ . ● ¸ . ★ ° . • ○ ° ★ . * . ☾ ° ¸. …in a parallel universe* ● ¸ ° ☾ °☆ . * ¸. ★ ★ ° . . . ☾ °☆ . * ● ¸ . ★°★ . * . . ¸. * ● ¸ . …KRIPP ° ☾ ★ °● ¸ . ★ ° :. . • ○ ° ★. ● . ° ☾ °° . * :. . ¸ . ● ¸ * . …invites twitch chat to his wedding
twitch chat
Kripp
"Why does chat hate me?" Cybrix wonders
twitchquotes:
Pizza. Pizza. The chat's hurtful words haunt Cybrix at night as he sleeps on his bed of bagel bites. "Why does chat hate me?" he wonders. One day he gets on Mumble and finds the chat no longer hates him. Because it turns out even an obese pizzabator is more tolerable than Rick.
twitch chat
Kripp
Prove you aren't a mobile user
twitchquotes:
Copypaste this within the next ten seconds to prove you aren't a mobile user 
twitch chat
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.