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There is nothing so beautiful as the curves of a woman who enjoys them herself and delights in sharing them with you.
You're disgusting. Come here.
Me, hold a grudge? Never. I carry a battle axe at all times and settle any nonsense as it happens.
Life will be the death of me.
I finally realized why I fear people I know: strangers are much less likely to hurt me.
And of course, the hottest and most potentially satisfying people on Twitter live thousands of miles away.
If it involves pizza, or alcohol, or your clothes coming off, I'm down. You don't really have to explain any further than that.
You're so fucking weird. We're gonna be friends.
I have a crush on your tweets.
I may not be the brightest captive in your basement, but I will be your favorite.
"You smell nice" is my mating call.
A pillow was molested in your honor last night.
Home is where the phone charger is.
Before Twitter, I thought I was too awkward, uninteresting, and common. Thank you sweethearts for making me feel worth talking to.
This soul is too much to be wrapped in this small body--sometimes it pushes its way out, through tears, through desire for connection.
We come for the tweets. We stay for the people.
If I talk with you, tell you my thoughts and ask for yours, you don't have to put on a performance. I want the real you, raw and unfiltered.
Time passes faster than we realize. Do what matters. Forget the rest.
Take my hand and let's walk this path together. With you, I don't mind the rain.
I have the stupidest smile on my face. Your fault.
Nerd. Spontaneously combusts. Kill your expectations before they kill you. Works in a mental hospital. Known to bite when excited. This bio is radioactive.