>>27395
I came buckets.

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>>26768
im sorry but if someone answers more then 5 questions about current world issues or ideas for something to do with "smoke more and chill" i can't take them seriously and would hardly consider them open minded.

>>26768
hippies are close-minded, racist, warmongering assholes. Everybody knows this.

Where the fuck are all these hippes anyway? I've never seen any...

Okay, I get hippie, but what exactly are hipsters and scensters?
Apparently I've been missing out on this clique/subculture nonsense.

>>27575
well, I'm not sure about scene, but hipsters are anyone the *chans don't like.

i want to fuck francine dee with a bandana over her mouth

It would probably be me going for a quiet walk in the woods to forget my troubles, but along the way i get lost and cant find my way back and after wandering for what seems like hours i stumble upon the long lost land of "Byutifyl Naykiid Woumen". At first i see just a few small buildings but i as i keep walking i enter the town center where all around me all i can see is endless bounties of perfect asses and all kinds of perfectly shaped titties, small ones, large ones, coat hanger titties, pepperoni nipple titties, penny nipple titties, women with three titties even. Soon my presence as the only male within 100 sq miles is realized they descend upon me, all of their gorgeus perfectly shaven, now soaking wet (since they're now aware of how handsome i am) pussies just begging for me to ram my raging 13 inch boner in all of them. Then a gigantic orgy ensues where all the different kinds of incredibly hot naked women start making out and scissoring and all kinds of other awesome girl on girl stuff while i comfortably lay in a bed beckoning over which ever one i desire for that moment. Also i end up spraying MASSIVE amounts of jizz all over the place. And some of the pussies smell and taste like bacon.

yes, I can only fantasize having sexual encounters. DO YOU HAVE TO RUB IT IN?

I approve of this content matter so I will bump it.

1. Keira Knightley on top of the Seattle Space Needle and pressing her tits against the glass so that she could fall if the glass broke. And then other not so gentlemanly things, from there.
2. Roadhead. Always a winner.
3. Always wanted to have sex with Winona Ryder in a church too.

I'm driving through SF or Seattle when my car breaks down. I'm in a bit of a rough neighborhood, and there's a bunch of street niggers walking around looking sketch and selling drugs to each other. Making sure my car is still in my line of sight lest anyone try to break into it, I find a payphone and make a call to AAA to get a tow to the nearest recommended repair shop. When the dispatcher asks me if I'm in a safe location, I give an honest answer and tell her "with this many coons around, I doubt it" which isn't the answer she was looking for. With an edge of impatience in her voice she explains that if I'm not in danger of being run struck by passing cars it's considered a safe location and then explains how I can mitigate the risk of being flattened by a semi truck by staying inside my vehicle. Fifteen minutes later she tells me that the tow truck is on the way and will be there in about half an hour. I politely say thank you and hang up. I walk back to my car to wait for the truck to arrive, and listen to the radio to kill the time. After twenty minutes I've yet to see a tow truck so I wait some more and change the station over to talk radio. Sean Hannity is on, and he's on a rant about the evils of a Democratic controlled senate and the impending doom of America. I give the radio the finger. Another twenty minutes ticks by and finally the truck arrives. The driver, a filthy obese man, hops out of the cab and begins winching my ride up onto his flatbed. After he's loaded and secured my car, I show him my triple A card and he writes down my license plate number, my drivers license number, and unnecessarily asks me the if I need a ride to the shop we climb into the cab of the tow truck and we're off to the shop. The interior of the truck is dingy and smells of stale Lucky Strike cigarette smoke. He has a small calendar featuring a topless woman stuck to his dashboard and country music is playing on the radio. As he reaches to turn up the horrendous caterwauling coming from the radio he glances over and asks me if I like country. I give an honest answer and say "can't stand it" which isn't the answer he's looking for. With an edge of impatience in his voice he informs me that his father played at the Grand Ol' Opry with Merle Haggard and how country music is the heart and soul of his family. I briefly feel pity for him and his inbred kin but the feeling is dislodged by a particularly piercing yodel from Slim Whitman and I'm left feeling the urge to add my vomit to the trucks already filthy interior. With my senses of smell, sound and decency under heavy assault I suffer through the twenty minute ride to the shop. Upon arrival I disembark from the tow truck and watch as the driver drops my car. I watch him drive away with a premature feeling of relief. I walk over to the repair shop office and stand silently in front of the service counter. The woman behind the counter doesn't acknowledge me, focusing intently on the Homes & Garden magazine she's reading. The cover of the magazine features a low fountain surrounded by potted plants and ceramic gnomes, and claims in large print to offer the secret of lower energy bills inside. I loudly clear my throat to get the woman's attention. She raises her hand, index finger extended and pointing up in the universal sign that means hold your horses. After another long moment, she lowers the magazine, pushes her glasses up and and asks if she can help me. I give an honest answer and say "not unless you're the mechanic" which isn't the answer she's looking for. With an edge of impatience in her voice she tells me that the mechanic is busy with another vehicle and probably wouldn't be done for another three hours and after that it would be taking an hour for lunch. I hand her the key to my car, point to it out in the parking lot, and head off to find a quiet bathroom. I find the shop bathroom and lock myself in, settling down for a nice long shit with a newspaper from three weeks ago that I'd picked up in the lobby. It stinks of the voidings of someone who eats asparagus seasoned with Tabasco sauce and green apple air freshener. I read the funnies first and fail to laugh at any of it. With the disappointment of what should have been the funnies weighing on my soul I turn to the sudoku puzzle only to find it's been inaccurately solved in ballpoint pen. I turn then to the commentary section and find an article written by George Will extolling the virtues of summary executions and torture of suspected terrorists. I wipe myself with George Will's column.

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my big boobed queen

DICKS EVERYWHERE

Her name is Duke, and she is a suicide girl
Look her up
I dont really feel like posting what i have

They're Fake. Sadface.

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>>27508

> I'm a total ass man
> I'm a ass man
> ass man

I beg your pardon?

>>27536

You rang?

>>27536
got it?

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>pay for porn.

>Pay for porn

>Does

>pay for porn

>Pay for porn

guess how i got this boner OP?

certainly wasnt from paying for porn

contributing.

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