ok, your turn.
i don’t think so.
while gargling hot man custard might not have been my first choice of activities at breakfast this morning, the promise of reciprocation was somewhat alluring. i realise that you’re male but why would you renege now?
well, to be honest, you don’t have the balls.
fine, i was only kidding.
utha hucker! an ouse tap?! how da..? you hucking biths!
oh yeah, that’s it baby.
i just slammed my pinky in the door.
what? what?? oh god! no! no, please god!!
oh jesus no!! augh!! aagh!! god no!!!
finger,. my pinky finger.
oh? oh? oh, okay. it’s just that,. er,.. it explained some stuff.
you’re such a fucking retard.
ha! makes sense i guess.
when i was a kid and didn’t particularly feel like doing something my parents asked me to do, i’d say, "i’ll do it tomorrow." to which they would reply, "ah, but ’tomorrow’ never comes."
this helped you to make sense of what exactly?
i’ve been wondering for years now, why there are no porn stars named ’tomorrow,’ bad for business i suppose.
i don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
i’m missing a pair of panties. i don’t suppose you know where they might be found?
they may very well be caressing my derriére with their lacy softness as we speak.
ok, a. that is truly nasty, you disgusting little freak.
b. i don’t want them back and
it was a matter of practicality monique. all my jocks are in the wash.
i only saw one pair in the hamper.
yes you did.
enter the matrix. in the war to save zion, what part will you play?
the part where i don’t die and get to have sex with all the chicks.
except for the fuglies of course.
of course, neo greaseboy.