Actually, I very rarely win.
I never get any photoshop stuff.
Mammy, I didn't use the photoshop.There was a sound file to go with, but myfilehut is being shitty, and putfile is just retarded.I never get space debris falling on my head.
Fuck, you're HOTTTT!
If I were to interpret this right, you had a couple Russians in you for a few weeks, too?
Waaaah. I don't get it : (
Try #2:You were launched high into the sky, spun around the earch a few thousand times, had some guys visit you and in the '80s (?) came crashing back to earth to land in your hair?
d.r.: lmao. (& btw, 1979)_______There is no cause for alarm. Yes, I do daydream about getting taken out by a piece of random falling space junk, or--like in that episode of Six Feet Under--a chunk of airplane toilet ice. You know, something to end the drudgery of my daily life. (Typically, this type of thought pops in to my head when I'm on my way to work.) It doesn't mean I actually want it to happen. (That shit would hurt, yo.)I'll have to work on my pictograph skillzzzzzzz. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to close my office door and have my morning cry. L8er.
So you're gonna tell your psychiatrist that you wanna leave your job to become a cosmonot in drag on E?
Take some roofies and date-rape yourself.
My apologies, Mdm.I just realized that you aren't already on my Shit you should read list. I'm going to fix that. Matter of fact you're going to replace the Martian Anthropologist (I never read that shit).
Nyet. Bitch had Ukrainians in him, no lie.
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