My three girlfriends. And yes, they smoke weed.
do they smoke weed?
Yes, actually.
you mean she isnt just smoking a cigarette? but a weed cigarette?
Itâs called a buntâŚ. Not weed cigarette⌠And yes, it is a weed bunt. They all smoke weed bunts before we kiss. (They are my girlfriends,)
They donât look like they smoke weed.
Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Iâm so angry you are so lucky my three weed smorking girlfriends are rubbing my shoulders to calm me down Iâm so mad.
Your âweed smoking girlfriendâ has a Hello Kitty tattoo on her belly. The one in the middle.
I printed out a photo of your avatar and taped it to my punching bag that I punch and I mutter your URL with every strong punch I punch you twerpâŚ. Donât ever Talk about Blaiz or the wicked Tat(tattoo) I drew on her ever again I Donât wanna see you standing outside my home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again ok leave us alone this is the FINAL FUCKING WARNINGÂ
Well that escalated quicklyâŚâŚ
What, was that? Hmm? Come again. *Blaiz grabs my shoulder* Come on Jory, they arenât worth it, please. * I jerk my shoulder shaking her hand off* NO! NOOOOO!!! *starts to just pummel you with my big fucking fists. With each blow I let out a furious yell. The blows come quicker and harder and the yells get louder. Iâm yelling so loud and now Iâm crying. BREAKING POINT. The week was hard and I canât take anymore. Iâm opening sobbing at this point while you blood gurgle. All three of my girlfriends struggle to pull me off and they finally succeed and lead me away from the goo pile that is now your body*
haha oh my god
who even is this dude? someone needs some anger management classes.
love how he keeps reminding us that âI HAVE THREE GIRLFRIENDSâ, âTHEY ALL KISS MEâ, and âTHEY SMOKE WEED HURRP DURRâ.
and letâs not forget the âBlaizâ and her âwicked tatâ, or that he doesnât âwanna see you standing outside [his] home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever againâ, and that this is âthe FINAL FUCKING WARNINGâ.
âthe goo pile that is now your bodyâ
iâm dying over here, jesus
please, Jory, come challenge me to a bout of internet witticsisms; i promise, itâll be fun.
*shoots you dead* Heh, idiot⌠*leaves with my three weed smorking girlfriends to go hold hands and kiss.*
this dude playin omgÂ
Come again? *The bar falls silent. No one dares to make a sound, as you have just said a very poor choice of words at a very dangerous time. I remain slumped over the bar, not looking back to you. One hand limply holding an almost empty bottle, the other hand cradling my head. I repeat the question, this time louder.* Come again?! *You can hear me slur the words, the sentence sounds like a real struggle for me to get out. Iâm clearly intoxicated. A bead of sweat rolls down your face as you realize you might have just fucked up in a very major way. Everyone else in the bar is pretending to not notice what is going on. The bartender idly washes a mug with a cloth. His eyes are closed and heâs muttering something to himself. A handful of people hurriedly leave. One person looks back at you, a look of sorrow on their face. They almost say something, but shake their head and cast their eyes down to the floor, and leave. But not you. You stand, petrified. A quick look at me reveals Iâm still  at the bar. You look to the exit, thereâs still time. But thereâs not, thereâs not, thereâs not. Your fate was sealed the moment you opened your mouth.* Mother fuck.. what did you say?! *I slowly rise from my stool and being to lumber over to you.  I look a mess. My hair is unkempt, I havenât shaved in what looks like months, there are dark heavy bags under my eyes, my shirt is stained and has holes in it, and Iâm missing a shoe. But the main thing you notice is the gun tucked into my jeans, and my massive muscle arms that look like they were made for punching. You know that song about the boots that were made for walking? Yeah, itâs like that only instead of boots itâs my muscles and instead of walking itâs punching. As I drunkenly sway over to you, you think of your family⌠Will they mourn you, or will they try and forget this blotch of stupidity, that their child insulted the Jory publicly, ever happened to their family? Your thoughts are cut short as I now stand face to face with you. I grab your face and pull you even closer.* Playin?! There was nothing playing⌠no playing you fuck. No playing⌠it was real.. the realest thing Iâve ever know.. felt⌠Love. I loved them⌠BlaizâŚ. Chas-Chas⌠Funk⌠I loved all three of em⌠but theyâŚ*My face is wet with tears and Iâm blinking constantly in vain to hold them back.* They left me⌠left⌠*Almost instantly the sadness leaves my face and is replaced with pure anger.* Playin? Playin?! *My hand leaves your face and starts to head to what you think is the gun. You close your eyes and see God looking at you, shrugging. âPft, you brought this upon yourself dude.â He says as he waves his hands at you dismissively. But instead of the gun, my hands grab yours. Your eyes jolt open and the anger is gone from my face. There is only sadness.* Left me⌠* I fall to the floor and sob.* Wow, grow up. *You say before you leave the bar but are hit almost immediately from a car and are killed upon impact.*
Lol itâs âbluntâ not âbuntâ. Bunt is a cake.
