fukk off Liverpool
That Atl Madrid goal
Downing that was your chance lad
Mate, i'm back in the edumacation thing and in my english class i had to write a short 1000 word piece/story about a significant moment in my life. Since i'm a bit of a show off i wrote about making a sandwich then throwing it in the bin at the end, did it in my usual parody, someone who has no self awareness whatsoever, style. shyt was hailed a classic as soon as it hit the streets, top possible marks the lot.Brehs, I'm looking through some of the stories I've written over the years, and I have a properly flowery writing that is tailor made to tickle the fancies of one of the major tastemakers in the writing world: adult white women.
Like, this isn't even me sitting down and trying to write something pretentious , this is actually natural to me. I'mma focus this fanciful style into some melodramatic romantic bullshyt, let 'em hate and watch the money pile up
Also, it seems I have a thing for references to sheet music.
Mate, i'm back in the edumacation thing and in my english class i had to write a short 1000 word piece/story about a significant moment in my life. Since i'm a bit of a show off i wrote about making a sandwich then throwing it in the bin at the end, did it in my usual parody, someone who has no self awareness whatsoever, style. shyt was hailed a classic as soon as it hit the streets, top possible marks the lot.
Thanks breh. I think the key for me will me to only write after I drink to the point of nearly blacking out. I retain way too much dignity when I'm only normal drunk to write such trash but if I get to that "Yeah...........that sloppy bytch might have to get it" level, the pages will fill up by the minute.But m8 i'll say this, i like your style, you need to twilight up or something.
Thanks breh. I think the key for me will me to only write after I drink to the point of nearly blacking out. I retain way too much dignity when I'm only normal drunk to write such trash but if I get to that "Yeah...........that sloppy bytch might have to get it" level, the pages will fill up by the minute.
You me and penbreh need to form a trilateral writing commission. I'll get back to you when I figure out what that actually entails.
Also, this whole Athletico without Falcao thing needs to never be aired on TV again.
Thanks breh. I think the key for me will me to only write after I drink to the point of nearly blacking out. I retain way too much dignity when I'm only normal drunk to write such trash but if I get to that "Yeah...........that sloppy bytch might have to get it" level, the pages will fill up by the minute.
You me and penbreh need to form a trilateral writing commission. I'll get back to you when I figure out what that actually entails.
Also, this whole Athletico without Falcao thing needs to never be aired on TV again.
Don edged closer to his prize, his predatory instincts were taking over; a monstrous predator circling it's hobbled, wounded prey, she was his, and no others. Her every nerve ending was dancing, begging for his touch. She thought she may well explode when that lustful caress finally decorated her milky white skin, the contrast would be too much for her to take. And as he finally, out of a dark abyss of baggy clothing, thrust his hand toward her, she came. The End.
My eyes widened. “Of course!” I said laughing triumphantly, finger in air, as if
I were Archimedes making a great mathematical breakthrough. Strawberry Jam,
Morrisons own. I lowered myself downward to meet the jars gaze with my own eyes.
I gripped it by its golden top and spun it slowly, so that I might see behind its generic
label. “Ah, yes” I sighed with glee. Partial strawberry chunks, mixing within the
sweet, red elixir beyond the glass, now frozen to fit the jar, but one would wonder if
the chunks were once free to travel amongst their jammy surroundings, free to
indulge in its sticky splendour. I rose again. “This will not do, how am I to choose
from 3 such spreads? How does one choose between such worthy candidates?” I
said, hands on hip inspecting the 3 products. I looked toward the ceiling, for what I
don’t know, but I found my arms raising at my sides, then suddenly I wailed “won’t
someone give me a sign?!”. Then as if I had a direct line to God himself, the sun and
the clouds adjudged it time to complete their merry dance, leaving light, almost
beam like, shining upon a section of the chopping board. My jaw dropped, could it
be? I moved my head in the direction of the beams destination “You…you are, the
chosen one!”