About 5 years ago I was making a character on an RPG and my ex girlfriend was sitting next to me talking to me and asking me questions about my game. I had a dwarf and dreamed up the name Murk Durgle. My ex hated that name and said it felt gross, like the word moist.
I shrugged it off. We went about our day and after putting the kids to bed we started having sex. She tells me she's about to come and I bellow out "MUUUURRRKKKK DUUUURGLE" and she punches me in the chest and yelled at me "what the fuck dude?! You fucking murk durgled me?! Give me my vibrator and get the fuck out"
Then I sat out in the kitchen laughing for a few minutes
(▀̿Ĺ̯├┬┴┬┴ Psst... kid, you wanna disable adblock?
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Hello, I'm Sarah McLanchdong. Every day millions of poor, helpless dongers go unraised everyday. Dongers that are abused and negated, like this poor fellow ༼ ▀̿ ̿ ل͟ຈ ༽. For just one Dongerbill [̲$̲(̲ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°̲)̲$̲] a day we can help save these forgotten dongers (◉_☢) ༼ ͝°ʖಠ ༽ ( ͡°ل͜ º) from a life time of being lowered. Your there only hope, because just a minute of your time and a single Dongerbill [̲$̲(̲ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°̲)̲$̲] can save a life.
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Late last year, we were on an expedition to find the rarest hairstyle of them all.. the "MALDHAWK" A combination of MALD and a hawk nest, it combines the fluidity of middle aged male pattern baldness to a contrast of dead rats. Much to our chagrin, we found it April 13th, 2020, on a morose Canadian gypsy's stream. He had over 10k viewers at the time of writing this
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Sometimes, whenever i eat M&Ms, i like to hold two m&ms in between my fingers and squeeze as hard as i can until one m&m cracks. I eat the cracked one and the one that didn't crack becomes champion, then i grab another m&m and force it to compete with the champion in this deadly game of m&m gladiators. I do this until i run out of m&ms, and when there is one left standing i send a letter to m&ms brand with the champion in it and a note attached that reads "please use this m&m for breeding purposes"
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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.
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"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?"
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"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?"
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"I don't like sand," I tell her. "It's coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere."