
though it does not bother me.
Poor attire taste bothers me more.
( , Thu 16 Oct 2014, 20:14, Reply)

you are unable to move, as a small yellow minion has tied you down.
Your face starts to be slapped by the hair on a butt cheek.
YOU TAKE A DEEP BREATH.
You slowly enter the butt mangle.
Eventually you are reverse-pooped into a bum hole.
You die, Bond, you die.
What is the sound of one butt cheek clapping?
You awake, as if from a dream. M thinks you are dead. You join an inconspicuous drinking game with a crowd of hundreds.
A TV catches your eye.
"BREAKING NEWS: Twerrorists Twerk Vauxhall"
You look into a mirror.
( , Thu 16 Oct 2014, 20:36, Reply)

inventory
go north
go east
give tenner to bouncer
go in
talk to dj
slap dj hard
drop record
drop needle
insert power crystal into buttcheeks
twerk
( , Thu 16 Oct 2014, 21:02, Reply)

But worst of all is lackadaisical attitude and commitment toward hair color.
But these things, dress, sofa taste, hair color commitment, can be managed. That is what six-figure income fixes automatically. Or should So get to twerking.
One time at Brekenridge I said to my dad, is it just me imagining, or is it the ski-clothing, or is everyone who skis gorgeous? It seems always an inordinate percentage of gorgeous people on the slopes. Dad answered that it is self-selecting, everyone has money, sufficient to have their teeth fixed, their hair dressed and cut properly, clothing chosen carefully, good grooming habits, relatively good taste generally. I go, "oh."
( , Thu 16 Oct 2014, 20:59, Reply)

Hmm
( , Fri 17 Oct 2014, 9:35, Reply)