08-24-2017, 04:53 PM
*humping Vrook's face* is the BBC ready? I mean BBQ!
Let's see the bright sight of this world!
Such Roleplay!
|
08-24-2017, 04:53 PM
*humping Vrook's face* is the BBC ready? I mean BBQ!
Let's see the bright sight of this world!
08-25-2017, 05:08 AM
It should just be about ready *talking to the Cath now humping Vrooks face*
If you wanna find some quality friends you have to wade through all the dicks first - Eric Cartman
08-25-2017, 06:47 PM
*is being humped by Cath* Did we also have sauce at this BBQ? *is feeling something on his face*
08-25-2017, 09:14 PM
I think there's BBQ, Ketchup, Mustard, and a few others *looking at all the sauces we have* oh yeah You've got a Cath humping your face I hope you realise
If you wanna find some quality friends you have to wade through all the dicks first - Eric Cartman
09-09-2017, 01:43 PM
09-09-2017, 10:02 PM
Yeah it always gets quiet here I always think about doing the future monolog when that happens
If you wanna find some quality friends you have to wade through all the dicks first - Eric Cartman
Well, that would be an interesting story to hear xD
"There's a time for daring and there's a time for caution, and a wise man understands which is called for"
To be, or not to be- that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them. To die- to sleep- No more; and by a sleep to say we end The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd. To die- to sleep. To sleep- perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub! For in that sleep of death what dreams may come When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause. There's the respect That makes calamity of so long life. For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay, The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of th' unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin? Who would these fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death- The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn No traveller returns- puzzles the will, And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, And enterprises of great pith and moment With this regard their currents turn awry And lose the name of action.- Soft you now! The fair Ophelia!- Nymph, in thy orisons Be all my sins rememb'red. Let's see the bright sight of this world!
|
« Next Oldest | Next Newest »
|