I don’t remember feeling that good. I let myself slip away into his arm arms. Thank you.
You are all forgiven.
Who are you to tell me to shut the fuck up. You’re a sick bastard who takes pleasure in other people’s downfalls.
I slept on an old, worn-out couch, pressing my face into a foul smelling pillow and clutching a jacket that didn’t belong to me. I listened to you guys play Postal, I Wanna Be The Guy, and watch Mario Frustration. Funny stuff. I may just have to try my hand at that.