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I don't fart. I whisper in my panties.
I'm a sexual atheist. I don't believe I'll ever get laid.
What happened to good old hardcore guitar solos?
I keep trying out poetry but it keeps turning into porn.
My sanity is slipping and only my recluse of a hamster and my two gay fish are witnesses.
Now all I wish I could do is sit in my unders on the couch and play Fallout til my eyeballs actually shrivel up & slip out my eye sockets.
My head's check engine light is on.
What did Bowser ever want with the princess anyway?
My bra is squeaking. Should I be alarmed?
I really hate my ex. I hate that I hate him. HAAAAAATE. End transmission.
Katy Perry isn't a band. It's feces with frosting and boobs.
Don't tell me you don't like honey roasted peanuts. Because then you'd be lying.
I am thinking that if I ever get married my SO will often come home to find me in naked in a Boba Fett helmet intensely gaming too often
I'm like cat here, a no-name slob. We belong to nobody, and nobody belongs to us. We don't even belong to each other.