Found 400 results
Found 400 results
kill old lady
kill armored vehicles
kill national guard
kill all bystanders
stay cool hunny bunny
you still a busta CJ!
The whole point of writing is to avoid cliché, and this is an attitude you should hold in your method as well as your product.
Omg Thats ****ing Hilarious, Can You Say It Again?
Do You Have Time?
Or you could not take the advice of some random guy on the internet and think for yourself whether you want to or not...
CoreysMonster for supreme dictator of the world.
You bought one? :3
I used to listen to these guys quite a bit, 8/10
Never heard of this guy until he came up here and played a show not long ago:
*attempt at humor*
Fuck the sharks.
“George, would you hand me a trowel, please?” She held an arm out behind her, palm up, fingers opening and closing around an invisible handle as she waited. “George, please, a trowel. I need to move this dirt around, get it even. George!”
“I am sorry, Susan. But I cannot help but think that a hand rake would work much better in this situation.”
“Goddammit, George, will you just do as I say? For fuck’s sake.” She turned and scowled at him. George shrugged his shoulders and handed her a trowel.
“I am still of the opinion that-“
Susan stood up and walked around the flower bed, kneeling on the other side. “Seriously, George? Don’t you have something better to do? Like ****ing a wall socket or putting your hand in a tin opener?”
Shock streamed across his face. “Now Susan, there is no need for such-“
“I don’t give a flying fuck, you monotonous asshole! I don’t even want to fucking garden right now!” She wound up and threw the trowel at him. The point of its blade plunged into his chest, the earth that was held in its curve hit the rest of his body with tiny, hollow clunks.
“Susan.” George stared at her, then looked down at the trowel. He wrenched it free in a swift, easy movement. He held it out to her again. “Susan, gardening is supposed to be relaxing. You are not relaxed. Try going slowly and perhaps whistle a song that you know.”
“I don’t want to garden, George,” she said, her voice strangely thick. “I don’t want to do anything. I just want to die.”
“I know, Susan. But that is why I am here, so you do not die.” He put the trowel in her hand and turned to walk to the house.
“I’m so lonely now.” Her face contorted.
“I just want him back.” Her eyes began to water and spill onto her face.
“Thank you. I’m sorry.”
“It is okay, Susan.” His face flashed a smile. “You are going through a very difficult time. That is why I am here.”
“I’m sorry about your chestplate, too. I’ll buy you a new one in a week or so.”
“I can fix this one up for now. You should wait and spend the money on something you would like. It would make you a little happier.”
Susan knelt down again and began shifting soil around. George’s circuits quickly calculated her heart rate, temperature, and breathing rate. They sent a series of ones and zeroes to his central processor that her outburst had passed and she could be left alone for a while without supervision. He nodded, satisfied, and turned his hips towards the garage. He kept his main optics on Susan as she dug and tamped and poked the dirt like a small child, and whirred towards the garage and his recharge unit and repair kit.
viajantes do tempo = time travelers
Also: I -in the future- am reading what you -in the past- posted. You're not posting it from the future; you are in the past, your post happened before I read it.
Hello, Writer's Thread. I regret not being born as Tom Robbins. That is all.
About the stupidest thing you've while wasted.