who are your parasocial enemies, like mine are andrew lloyd webber and butch hartman
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@kasparovv
who are your parasocial enemies, like mine are andrew lloyd webber and butch hartman

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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the Leather Archives & Museum in chicago is remodeling and they posted a pic of some of their bathroom graffiti before they presumably tear it down/paint over it and
Who wanna tell me im a pretty little fag for pride mounth
i was playing overclown earlier and there were like 2 jesters guarding the jokepoint and we had three fucking booboos on our team that wouldnt switch to something useful like a bozo or a bongo and right as we were capturing the first point this goddamn kookoo used his clown car ultimate and won them the match. terrible game

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Worry about it kitten
ok ā„ļø
fuck ā„ļø
šššššš ššš ā¼ļø
Again the girlies ć½(°ć°)ļ¾
laura palmer would NOT ālove getting so gay off that tequilaā her substance abuse problems were born from deep trauma and making light of that is dismissive to csa victims everywhere
laura palmer canonically gets gay off of crack cocaine
chewing on your gravity falls water tower au (: so good
omg thank you... believe it or not I am writing more but i did something stupid (got a job) so fun stuff has been on the back burner. but i'm glad you like it!!

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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girls going to a partay
daniilās route is so funny itās like a hallmark movie about a big city lawyer going to a small town and learning about the value of love and honesty except he doesnāt learn anything and leaves with his life ruined
Doodles of teenagers
"Come. It is time to keep your appointment with the Wicker Man." The Wicker Man (1973) dir. Robin Hardy

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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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?
Itās called a buntā¦. Not weed cigarette⦠And yes, it is a weed bunt. They all smoke weed bunts before we kiss. (They are my girlfriends,)
They donāt 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. Iām so angry you are so lucky my three weed smorking girlfriends are rubbing my shoulders to calm me down Iām so mad.
YourĀ āweed smoking girlfriendā 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 twerpā¦. Donāt ever Talk about Blaiz or the wicked Tat(tattoo) I drew on her ever again I Donāt 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 WARNINGĀ
Well that escalated quicklyā¦ā¦
What, was that? Hmm? Come again. *Blaiz grabs my shoulder* Come on Jory, they arenāt 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. Iām yelling so loud and now Iām crying. BREAKING POINT. The week was hard and I canāt take anymore. Iām 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 āI HAVE THREE GIRLFRIENDSā, āTHEY ALL KISS MEā, and āTHEY SMOKE WEED HURRP DURRā.
and letās not forget the āBlaizā and her āwicked tatā, or that he doesnāt āwanna see you standing outside [his] home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever againā, and that this is āthe FINAL FUCKING WARNINGā.
āthe goo pile that is now your bodyā
iām dying over here, jesus
please, Jory, come challenge me to a bout of internet witticsisms; i promise, itāll be fun.
*shoots you dead* Heh, idiot⦠*leaves with my three weed smorking girlfriends to go hold hands and kiss.*
this dude playin omgĀ
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. Iām 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 heās 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 Iām still Ā at the bar. You look to the exit, thereās still time. But thereās not, thereās not, thereās 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. Ā I look a mess. My hair is unkempt, I havenāt shaved in what looks like months, there are dark heavy bags under my eyes, my shirt is stained and has holes in it, and Iām 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, itās like that only instead of boots itās my muscles and instead of walking itās 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 insultedĀ theĀ 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 Iāve ever know.. felt⦠Love. I loved them⦠Blaizā¦. Chas-Chas⦠Funk⦠I loved all three of em⦠but theyā¦*My face is wet with tears and Iām 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?!Ā *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.Ā āPft, you brought this upon yourself dude.ā 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.*
Happy 420