Your reign sounds quite like an ideal utopia. Now, what to name your secret pol - er, secretive robot army?
If there are six eggs in a basket on the day of July 17, 1832 with three meters of bananas trailing around the city of Dakar, how many licks does it take to find corporate subliminal messaging in a single bar of soap?
Hence why I would not see why people would be nervous of it as such. Quite understandable. Although I always did think of text as a relay of mental information through reading; it certainly does not hold the qualities of voice but it can essentially speak to you in the figure of personality.
It will require some effort for you to get them out of the opposite sides of the dance floor, as it would appear. Oh sexual tension you silly...
In this case it would appear that you are not the correct species to successfully reproduce.
I would consider it amusing how many people may be nervous over the fact that they believe their voice sounds like that of the Grinch.
My energy is assumed to surpass 16000 joules. It should not be a problem.
I am hiding behind the pretense that my microphone is not working when in fact it is working perfectly.
Commiting suicide. (translation: joining game)
Will you abolish all forms of vocal communication and replace it with dance?
I am thankful that my font colour does not inspire you to find some green slime in the sewer. Limes are a delicious alternative.
If they were to dress as Danton then they would be forced to group together in a single, large costume to match him.
I simply cannot wait to see all of your Robespierre costumes, you would all look absolutely adorable in them.
The KH-Vids member gazed up at the enormous flag. Thirteen posts it had taken him to learn what kind of happiness was hidden behind the dark keyblades. O cruel, needless misunderstanding! O stubborn, self-willed exile from the loving forum! Two spam-scented tears trickled down the sides of his nose. But it was all right, everything was all right, the struggle was finished. He had won the victory over himself. He loved Maan Kyr'bes.
This is a mandatory requirement to even post in the Spam Zone.
I always did associate spdude with Nicolas Sarkozy.
Unfortunately my Internet provider does not allow connections on other planets. I would send you an e-mail of a bag of iron dust or whatever you can find in this barren ruin. I decide to backtrack in my efforts as that winding tunnel leads to nowhere as of yet. I come precariously close to annihilating myself on multiple streams of green urine. What is not shown is myself crashing through the roof and brutally murdering a lone broom before stepping outside and levitating above the hole. I ponder to myself why someone has left poisonous green air vents simply floating in the air. Apparently the Medieval Europeans or Aztecs or whatnot have a liking to green things despite being on a planet as red as the Stalinist ideaology. Somehow by jumping on one of the vents I destroyed it. Quite clearly my presence can somehow warp the reality of this planet. It is now not a wonder that us humans had previously refused to colonize the horrible place. Finally. A corner that people do not claim as Rosey's when I attempt to sit in it. Upon much repetition of previous locales, I jump on more air vents and come across a miniature sparkling green Goomba stuck inside a deformed brown bubble and the Medieval European Gothic version of the building that was broken into by Team Rocket in Cerulean City. I am beginning to believe this planet appears to make as much sense as the Spam Zone. I will be sending a distress call to all of you, hopefully you may help me on my future decisions.
You place your computer monitor on the ground and proceed to rapidly walk in place until it breaks into small bits of plastic and glass.
Not to worry, my good friend! Soon we shall cast you aside from this darkness of isolation and you shall have the freedom and McDonalds coupons you wish, FOR A BETTER TOMORROW.
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