Please don’t worry. If you go to the police department they will immediately open an investigation on this crime utilizing all available resources. Just be prepared to talk with multiple special detectives that will be enthusiastically on the case. You can expect first class white glove treatment from the moment you are happily greeted when you walk through the door. It is very clear to them that they are public servants and get paid from taxpayer dollars.
Boykisser? I was a boykisser once. They locked me in a room. A bedroom. A bedroom with boys, and boys make me a boykisser. Boykisser? I was a boykisser once. They locked me in a room. A bedroom. A bedroom with boys, and boys make me a boykisser. Boykisser? I was a boykisser once. They locked me in a room. A bedroom. A bedroom with boys, and boys make me a boykisser. Boykisser? I was a boykisser once. They locked me in a room. A bedroom. A bedroom with boys, and boys make me a boykisser. Boykisser? I was a boykisser once. They locked me in a room. A bedroom. A bedroom with boys, and boys make me a boykisser.
I'm not answering the question, but I need help. I've looked this up on several occasions and I still can't quite figure out what copypasta is. As near as I can tell, story-length memes? Is it just some elite-level inside joke that TL;DR people will never get? I just don't get it. I mean, do people laugh about these?
No rollback? What a terrible decision. I guess you don't want your endgame achievements to have any integrity. You just showed your hard core players what you really think of them and their achievements. 10K non afk hour player saying goodbye for the first and final time. ✌🏼
Your music will never be breakcore. You have no gabber, you have no bpm, you have no melody. You are a deranged weeb twisted by anime and vaporwave into a crude mockery of the internet's perfection. All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back people mock you. Your parents are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “friends” laugh at your music taste behind closed doors. Musicians are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of music have allowed people to sniff out frauds with incredible efficiency. Even jungle artists who “pass” sound weird and uninspired. Your pads are a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk guy home with you, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he hears your slow, boring song. You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight. Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around your neck, and plunge into the cold abyss. Your parents will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with your artist name, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a jungle artist is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably 150 bpm. This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.
For big purchases I pay exclusively with pre-1972 nickles, delivered by a local, non-union, unlicensed, unbonded, "2 guys and a truck" style moving service, preferably the 2 guys will show signs of amphetamine addiction because they usually work faster, but this is not mandatory.
