I am usually someone who doesn't get annoyed when horror movies spend time building up characters, but the first few minutes of the last segment of VHS 2 are painful.
There is more variation between people of the same age than there is between people of different ages.
It is no shame to be short for your age.
The same applies to maturity.
Also, nobody who thinks sex is interesting gets to say that X is boring, and you talk about X too much /you always talk about X and it's always the same, where X is anything.
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
I don't know, I don't want to read into him in any way that could be construed as anti-intellectual, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to shoop him into that thing
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
Hey people, I need suggestions
What are some way to use the magic of the internet to replicate the experience of hanging out with somebody you like?
Death waits inside us for a door to open. Death is patient as a dead cat. Death is a doorknob made of flesh. Death is that angelic farm girl gored by the bull on her way home from school, crossing the pasture for a shortcut. In the seventh grade she couldn't read or write. She wasn't a virgin. She was "simpleminded," we all said. It was May, a time of lilacs and shooting stars. She's lived in my memory for sixty years. Death steals everything except our stories.
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
Comments
*bawls eyes out while listening to Goblin*
Death is patient as a dead cat.
Death is a doorknob made of flesh.
Death is that angelic farm girl
gored by the bull on her way home
from school, crossing the pasture
for a shortcut. In the seventh grade
she couldn't read or write. She wasn't a virgin.
She was "simpleminded," we all said.
It was May, a time of lilacs and shooting stars.
She's lived in my memory for sixty years.
Death steals everything except our stories.
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
also Clapton being racist would be hilarious for its profound unawareness if it weren't so depressing.
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead