Fave Person Quotes

That’s my cousin, dickwad,” Agent Jaxon Tremain said from Hector’s left. Had Whacky Jacky been next to Dallas, he would have drilled his knuckles into the guy’s bicep. “Watch your mouth.” “By watch my mouth do you mean I should invite your cuz back to my place for a game of Hide the Magic Wand, or my new personal fave, Puff on the Magic Dragon?” Dallas asked conversationally. “And I know what you’re thinking. I’m really into wizardry these days. Well, you’re right.” Hector gave a rusty bark of laughter. He hadn’t observed Dallas in this good a mood in a long time. A low growl escaped Jaxon. “I meant I’d scoop out your liver with a spoon, you idiot!” “Sterling silver or plastic?” Hector asked. In their line of work, details were important. Besides, he liked being part of their banter.

Trojan is a no-blow-job- condom. The flavor is horrible. Someone should come up with a barbecue-flavored condom for the hood. But greedy bitches would probably start chewing dicks.

Was it love when we met on the Internet? Was it love when he pursued me with silly messages and praise for my writing and a picture drawn in my favourite candy? When an attractive person pursues you, there is the luxury of not having to worry about whether it is love, because you are not the one don't the pursuing. At least, not at first. My usual habit of falling for people, when I think I am not falling, seemed irrelevant. He poked and messaged and "liked" and faved my every Internet itch. I had feelings, any feelings, under control.

FUCK THESE PEOPLE!" ☆KELLY LEE☆ ~2022~

Carnegie, disgusted, fave up all faith that the Colonel would serve as his personal peace envoy at Potsdam. "There's a trace of the savage," he wrote, "in that original compound.

I’ve nicknamed the condoms according to color: red is for devil dick, green is the green giant, blue is for smurf cock, and the black is the sledgehammer. I’m not a fan of the yellow ones; they look less banana-y and more like my dick has jaundice. My personal faves are the glow-in-the-dark ones, which make my dick look like a big glow stick.

Turning things around, I asked him what his feelings were about our ending things. 'I'm incredibly angry,' he responded fondly. 'How dare you? You should at least have to come have coffee with me once a week.' I asked if he felt that way about most of his patients. 'Not really,' he responded.(Sigh. Should you happen to be possessed of a certain verbal acuity coupled with a relentless, hair-trigger humor and surface cheer spackling over a chronic melancholia and loneliness--a grotesquely caricatured version of your deepest Self which you trot out at the slightest provocation to endearing and glib comic effect, thus rendering yo the kind of fellow who is beloved by all yet loved by none, all of it to distract, however fleetingly, from the cold and dead-faced truth that each passing year you fave the unavoidable certainly of a solitary feature in which you will perish one day while vainly attempting the Heimlich maneuver to yourself over the back of a kitchen chair-- then this confirmation that you have triumphed and managed to gull yet another mark, except this time it is the one person you'd hoped might be immune to your ever-creakier, puddle-shallow, sideshow-barker variation on "adorable" even though you'd been launching this campaign weekly with a single-minded concentration from day one...well, it conjures up feelings that are best described as mixed, to say the least.)