Holy fucking shit. I want to bang Timmy Nook from Animal Crossing so goddamn bad. I can't stand it anymore. Every time I go to Nook’s Cranny I get a massive erection. I've seen literally every rule 34 post there is of him online. My dreams are nothing but constant fucking sex with Timmy Nook. I'm sick of waking up every morning with six nuts in my boxers and knowing that those are nuts that should've been busted inside of Timmy Nook’s tight tanuki asshole. I want him to have my mutant human/tanuki babies.
Fuck, my fucking mom caught me with a raccoon I found in the trash. I'd dressed him in my dad’s Hawaiian shirt and went to fucking town. She hasn't said a word to me in 10 hours and I'm worried she's gonna take away my Nintendo Switch. I might not ever get to see Timmy Nook again.
I used to be a real ad
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Groot in pot
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Lying about service dogs
I work in a restaurant. We only allow dogs in if they are service dogs. If anyone comes in with any dog I ask;
‘Is it a service dog?’
With a big wink to give them the opportunity to lie to me making it obvious I want them to.
If at first they say ‘no’ I reply with ‘are you sure? This dog here? Sure looks like a service dog to me. Are you sure this is not a service dog?’with another big wink
Always works.
I love dogs
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."
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