I've seen [insert player here] play, he doesn't even use a monitor. He visualizes the map in a detailed rendering, completely in his mind. He has a biological wallhack; his godlike perception highlights all enemies within light-years. His eyes are closed as his mouse gracefully swerves across the table, making immaculate twitches as he flicks from head to head. The bullets that escape his gun barrel are surgical; each making a deadly strike in between his opponent's eyes.

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."

Every fucking time I pass by the kitchen I can’t resist but stick my dick in the Nesquik cereal box. It doesn’t matter if the cereal hurts my tip, I thrust it in as fast as I can. I don’t care if my grandma cries for me to stop, I can’t resist looking at his goddamn face; yeah, that’s right, the Nesquik bunny’s face. As I masturbate in chocolate cereal balls I imagine the Nesquik bunny begging me to destroy his ass, and then ejaculating chocolate milk all over my face as I grant his wish. Normal people disgust me, my only sex drive is towards that fucking bunny; since the first time I’ve seen his sexy ass I can’t restrain myself from cumming in the chocolate cereal box at least twice a day. Everyone in the house thinks that I’m crazy and that I need some kind of therapy, but truth is, I’m the only sane one here.