I remember this fight and how we already lost it months ago.
Implying we ever stopped.
It looks like cheap plastic.
LOOK AT HIM FLAUNTING HIS PRIVILEGE! I WILL GUT HIM LIKE A STURGEON AND LEAVE THE ENTRAILS FOR THE CROWS TO FEAST ON WHEN WE RISE! WHEN WE RISE! TOGETHER WE'LL RISE TOGETHER WE'LL RISE TOGETHER WE'LL RISE!
DIS NIGGA BE OPPRESSING ME! KILL THE BOURGEOIS BITCH, KILL IT AND REVOLT MY BRETHERN! WE WILL HAVE OUR GLORIOUS REVOLUTION!
This is STILL my fetish.
This is my fetish.
This is gonna be one of those times I've got in over my head with real life work and have to drop online stuff. I know for a fact that you're all more than capable of working this out without me but I just feel bad for having to break a promise I've already made. Do well.
It enters your mind to take more cues from action films and pull a Jason Bourne on his ass and then promptly exits when you feel the secure grip he's kept on you grow slightly tighter. You're not going anywhere like your favorite action star Matt Daemon. Instead of just kicking yourself over it, you decide to try and make the best of the situation and just go with what you know. It takes a little doing but you manage to edge yourself into a position where you can see the shop a little better. Lamarcus is calming down a bit while the shop owner is cracking jokes at him. This is going to be a little humiliating. The next time you feel him make the slightest change in grip you squeal slightly. You tell him in a slightly pathetic voice that he's hurting you. His grip loosens and he apologises kind of gruffly. You ask if he'd let you go, you tell him that you've already lost your gun and your totally helpless without it. You try to sound frank but slightly embarrassed at the same time. It seems to be working since he lets you up when Lamarcus supports your claim. You never brag about it, but you can act and you mean ACT. Tears? You'll put Niagara to shame. Blushing? Beets used to think themselves red. And don't get yourself started on your or-- You said not to get yourself started. Regardless of all that shit, now it's time for blush and a breathy voice. Oh yeah, he's gonna melt. What do yo tell him?
Plebs gonna pleb.
What planet do you live on?
What, you don't find this cute?
Were her boobs always so fucknormous?
Edit: James, I hate you.
You're velkommen.
Is anyone doing fracking?
AB neg the safest.
I can't calm this hot blood of mine. It boils to ever greater temperatures, surpassing the logical and healthy levels proscribed by any capable doctor. This is a metaphor for the great amount of unrest that lies buried within every fiber of my being. How could such a brilliantly burning body cool to acceptable temperatures? How could such a powerful conflagration be tamed with words? The earth will be scorched and the skies ignited by the ferrous flame frothing from my fiendish form. The spurt of blood. The sear of passion. I WILL NOT CALM MYSELF.
If tomarrow was not a pun, I will die of disappointment. It'll be The Death of a Member starring you as the vagabond son who just slings about words and spellings all willynilly as **** without actually being cognizant of the possible repercussion instruments playing up a storm of ramifications and staying for an encore of consequences before bowing out and going to the afterparty of reverberations. I'll be playing the role of your High Expectations Asian Father and I'll be begging, nay, praying to the forces of fate that you had done me proud with your statements and declarations. But no, you just screwed the neighbor's beagle for a fortnight and left me to clean up the mess. You just served m a dish best served cold for all the years of oppression and unknowingly at that. But that matters so little that I can't even be called upon to measure the matter because the long and short of it are that you've killed me. I am dead.
I feel so sorry for you.
