I need a thread
Thread Topic: I need a thread
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wow this is awkward as f---
uuuum you don't have to do that I'm just idk f---ing myself with words? -
NO NO NO DONT FEEL COMPELLED LIKE HONESTLY NOPE
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WELL THIS HAPPENED
MY OVARIES -
Your ovaries? O.o
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he's so wonderful my ovaries are committing suicide
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= Phoebe
= Matt -
Explosive ovarian tubes.
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I laughed wayyy to hard at that
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//screeches
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//grunt
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Let's gather 'round the campfire
And sing our campfire song -
Our C-A-M-P-F-I-R-E S-O-N-G song
And if you don't think that we can sing it faster, then you're wrong
It'll help if you just sing along -
"Please listen. If you don't care to, then please, leave the room. Walk out the door and we can pretend like this never happened," she nods, straightening herself in the uncomfortable wood chair, and no longer trying to divert her attention elsewhere, she got a decent look at him.
He looked emaciacted, weak and frail, like a man much older than breathing on twenty-three. With an expert sweep of a shaky hand, his hair fell back over his ear, and he focused his pale green eyes on her blue ones. He stumbled over his first words, and then began his sentence.
"He's dead. Peter.... Peter died. He was dr-driving his motorbike down the r-r-road. A drunken... A drunken idiot c-came, speeding along, and k-ki-killed him. He lived for a very long time, several hours I believe. They couldn't get to me. They-they-they-"
He froze, welling up. His throat burned with the oncoming wave fresh tears and sobbing.
"Oh my god. Benjamin... I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry." He glanced down to the dress she wore, a light turquoise, that revealed her shapely legs, and a fine set of patent leather shoes. He forced a smile while he brought himself back together.
"You still can't match, Jane. Patent leather doesn't go with a velvet pocketbook."
She grabbed his shoulder and gestured with her eyes to his own wear. It was a grey shirt with a navy silk tie, complete with navy pants and shoes.
"Just because you have the most impeccable fashion..." She suppressed a laugh. "Doesn't mean you can rub it in."
"Yes it does." He nodded, looking down to the barely touched cup of tea. The cafe they were in seemed almost sullen, and unbearably empty to here, whilst being perfect to him.
"If you weren't gay, I'd marry you in seconds just to pick my outfits each morning for me." He smiled, and flashed his teeth.
"I still will. P-pi-pick your outfits, I m-mean. Not m-marry you."
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