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Priyanka Chopra Brutally Trolled For Smoking Cigarette
Priyanka Chopra Smokes a Cigarette And Trolls Remind Her She Has Asthma – Check Memes
flicker-serthes: sebastianmichaelisthedevilwithin: wortlby2: germanamericanslavic: Colorized footage of the legendary Annie Oakley speed shooting with her Winchester rifle, November 1, 1894 “When a man hits a target, they call him a marksman. When I hit a target, they call it a trick. Never did like that much.” - Annie Oakley Idk who Annie Oakley is, but she’s so cool! Annie Oakley was. BEAST of a marksman. When she was fifteen, she went head-to-head in a shooting contest with a prize of $100, against a travelling exhibition marksman (Frank Butler). She beat him handily, and won the $100 (equivalent to over $2000 today). Please note that it was a shot-for-shot match, and he lost on the TWENTY-FIFTH clay pigeon (so it was a moving target, too). Twenty-five shots in a row, Annie hit them ALL. This, understandably, resulted in Frank, who drank his respect women juice, to be like “Wow that is super hot and I’m in love.” They ended up getting married pretty soon after that, but didn’t have any kids (but IMAGINE IF THEY DID. A FAMILY OF SHARPSHOOTERS). Some of her “trick” shooting (in other words, absolute badass nearly impossible shots given the sights on guns at the time and such) included: Splitting a playing card clean in half from thirty paces while it was place on its edge. Taking off the burning end of a cigarette placed in her husband’s mouth, from thirty+ paces. Having someone throw a DIME into the air, and shooting it clean through. She was lauded by Chief Sitting Bull for her marksmanship when he saw her blow out a candle with one shot, without damaging the wick or the candle itself. Into her sixties, she continued breaking records as well as being a vocal women’s rights activist. She, in her later years, shot 100 clay pigeons in a row from 15 meters. She died in 1915, and her husband was so consumed by grief that he stopped eating and died 18 days later because he couldn’t stand to be apart from her. After her death it was discovered that her ENTIRE fortune (a tidy amount) had been secretly given to several charities, women’s rights groups, and her family in the last few months of her life. She was legendary, and received numerous titles to go along with her abilities, but my favorite is definitely Annie Oakley, Little Sureshot of the West. : Suihisonian CHANNEL flicker-serthes: sebastianmichaelisthedevilwithin: wortlby2: germanamericanslavic: Colorized footage of the legendary Annie Oakley speed shooting with her Winchester rifle, November 1, 1894 “When a man hits a target, they call him a marksman. When I hit a target, they call it a trick. Never did like that much.” - Annie Oakley Idk who Annie Oakley is, but she’s so cool! Annie Oakley was. BEAST of a marksman. When she was fifteen, she went head-to-head in a shooting contest with a prize of $100, against a travelling exhibition marksman (Frank Butler). She beat him handily, and won the $100 (equivalent to over $2000 today). Please note that it was a shot-for-shot match, and he lost on the TWENTY-FIFTH clay pigeon (so it was a moving target, too). Twenty-five shots in a row, Annie hit them ALL. This, understandably, resulted in Frank, who drank his respect women juice, to be like “Wow that is super hot and I’m in love.” They ended up getting married pretty soon after that, but didn’t have any kids (but IMAGINE IF THEY DID. A FAMILY OF SHARPSHOOTERS). Some of her “trick” shooting (in other words, absolute badass nearly impossible shots given the sights on guns at the time and such) included: Splitting a playing card clean in half from thirty paces while it was place on its edge. Taking off the burning end of a cigarette placed in her husband’s mouth, from thirty+ paces. Having someone throw a DIME into the air, and shooting it clean through. She was lauded by Chief Sitting Bull for her marksmanship when he saw her blow out a candle with one shot, without damaging the wick or the candle itself. Into her sixties, she continued breaking records as well as being a vocal women’s rights activist. She, in her later years, shot 100 clay pigeons in a row from 15 meters. She died in 1915, and her husband was so consumed by grief that he stopped eating and died 18 days later because he couldn’t stand to be apart from her. After her death it was discovered that her ENTIRE fortune (a tidy amount) had been secretly given to several charities, women’s rights groups, and her family in the last few months of her life. She was legendary, and received numerous titles to go along with her abilities, but my favorite is definitely Annie Oakley, Little Sureshot of the West.
flicker-serthes: sebastianmichaelisthedevilwithin: wortlby2: germanamericanslavic: Colorized footage of the legendary Annie Oakley speed shooting with her Winchester rifle, November 1, 1894 “When a man hits a target, they call him a marksman. When I hit a target, they call it a trick. Never did like that much.” - Annie Oakley Idk who Annie Oakley is, but she’s so cool! Annie Oakley was. BEAST of a marksman. When she was fifteen, she went head-to-head in a shooting contest with a prize of $100, against a travelling exhibition marksman (Frank Butler). She beat him handily, and won the $100 (equivalent to over $2000 today). Please note that it was a shot-for-shot match, and he lost on the TWENTY-FIFTH clay pigeon (so it was a moving target, too). Twenty-five shots in a row, Annie hit them ALL. This, understandably, resulted in Frank, who drank his respect women juice, to be like “Wow that is super hot and I’m in love.” They ended up getting married pretty soon after that, but didn’t have any kids (but IMAGINE IF THEY DID. A FAMILY OF SHARPSHOOTERS). Some of her “trick” shooting (in other words, absolute badass nearly impossible shots given the sights on guns at the time and such) included: Splitting a playing card clean in half from thirty paces while it was place on its edge. Taking off the burning end of a cigarette placed in her husband’s mouth, from thirty+ paces. Having someone throw a DIME into the air, and shooting it clean through. She was lauded by Chief Sitting Bull for her marksmanship when he saw her blow out a candle with one shot, without damaging the wick or the candle itself. Into her sixties, she continued breaking records as well as being a vocal women’s rights activist. She, in her later years, shot 100 clay pigeons in a row from 15 meters. She died in 1915, and her husband was so consumed by grief that he stopped eating and died 18 days later because he couldn’t stand to be apart from her. After her death it was discovered that her ENTIRE fortune (a tidy amount) had been secretly given to several charities, women’s rights groups, and her family in the last few months of her life. She was legendary, and received numerous titles to go along with her abilities, but my favorite is definitely Annie Oakley, Little Sureshot of the West. : Suihisonian CHANNEL flicker-serthes: sebastianmichaelisthedevilwithin: wortlby2: germanamericanslavic: Colorized footage of the legendary Annie Oakley speed shooting with her Winchester rifle, November 1, 1894 “When a man hits a target, they call him a marksman. When I hit a target, they call it a trick. Never did like that much.” - Annie Oakley Idk who Annie Oakley is, but she’s so cool! Annie Oakley was. BEAST of a marksman. When she was fifteen, she went head-to-head in a shooting contest with a prize of $100, against a travelling exhibition marksman (Frank Butler). She beat him handily, and won the $100 (equivalent to over $2000 today). Please note that it was a shot-for-shot match, and he lost on the TWENTY-FIFTH clay pigeon (so it was a moving target, too). Twenty-five shots in a row, Annie hit them ALL. This, understandably, resulted in Frank, who drank his respect women juice, to be like “Wow that is super hot and I’m in love.” They ended up getting married pretty soon after that, but didn’t have any kids (but IMAGINE IF THEY DID. A FAMILY OF SHARPSHOOTERS). Some of her “trick” shooting (in other words, absolute badass nearly impossible shots given the sights on guns at the time and such) included: Splitting a playing card clean in half from thirty paces while it was place on its edge. Taking off the burning end of a cigarette placed in her husband’s mouth, from thirty+ paces. Having someone throw a DIME into the air, and shooting it clean through. She was lauded by Chief Sitting Bull for her marksmanship when he saw her blow out a candle with one shot, without damaging the wick or the candle itself. Into her sixties, she continued breaking records as well as being a vocal women’s rights activist. She, in her later years, shot 100 clay pigeons in a row from 15 meters. She died in 1915, and her husband was so consumed by grief that he stopped eating and died 18 days later because he couldn’t stand to be apart from her. After her death it was discovered that her ENTIRE fortune (a tidy amount) had been secretly given to several charities, women’s rights groups, and her family in the last few months of her life. She was legendary, and received numerous titles to go along with her abilities, but my favorite is definitely Annie Oakley, Little Sureshot of the West.
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thebluehue22: dairyisntscary: champawattigress: agro-carnist: sebbysheepie: I fully agree with giving nut milks a new name. Because they can be confused with dairy milk and for those of us with nut allergies it could be deadly over those that just have lactose intolerance and have a bad stomachache. However making a label showing you killing a cow don’t make sense as dairy wouldn’t be giving milk if they where shot.. mind you if your trying to say that dairy is evil then you should also point out the issues with the nut milks as well. A large poison symbol perhaps for those of us that it would kill. Or the “may cause cancer” on the fortified ones. Apparently when you shoot a calf in the head, milk comes out instead of blood and brain matter. Who knew? So, should we also change the cashew milk bottles pic so that it better represents the atrocious conditions of the workers who have to shell each nut by hand? Maybe a cigarette box style image of their mangled blistered palms? Or just some text to let people know that these people (mostly women) are often paid as little as two pounds a day for their labour? Or are y’all just totally transparent about how little of a shit you give about people nowadays? MoSt cAsHewS sRe fEd tO liVesToCk dOnTcHa kNow vegans only care about animals, not the horrible conditions HUMAN WORKERS ARE PUT THROUGH. A lot of them are also really shit at caring about animals if we’re being honest.: THE DAIRY INDUSTRY WANTS TO MAKE IT ILLEGAL FOR PLANT BASED MILK LABELS TO USE THE WORD MILK. COW'S MILK CASHEW MILK ALMOND MILK THEY SAY THEY WANT TRUTH IN ADVERTISING. OKAY, LETS DO THAT PLANTBASEDNEWS.ORG ORIGINAL SOURCE: MILK HURTS PBN thebluehue22: dairyisntscary: champawattigress: agro-carnist: sebbysheepie: I fully agree with giving nut milks a new name. Because they can be confused with dairy milk and for those of us with nut allergies it could be deadly over those that just have lactose intolerance and have a bad stomachache. However making a label showing you killing a cow don’t make sense as dairy wouldn’t be giving milk if they where shot.. mind you if your trying to say that dairy is evil then you should also point out the issues with the nut milks as well. A large poison symbol perhaps for those of us that it would kill. Or the “may cause cancer” on the fortified ones. Apparently when you shoot a calf in the head, milk comes out instead of blood and brain matter. Who knew? So, should we also change the cashew milk bottles pic so that it better represents the atrocious conditions of the workers who have to shell each nut by hand? Maybe a cigarette box style image of their mangled blistered palms? Or just some text to let people know that these people (mostly women) are often paid as little as two pounds a day for their labour? Or are y’all just totally transparent about how little of a shit you give about people nowadays? MoSt cAsHewS sRe fEd tO liVesToCk dOnTcHa kNow vegans only care about animals, not the horrible conditions HUMAN WORKERS ARE PUT THROUGH. A lot of them are also really shit at caring about animals if we’re being honest.
thebluehue22: dairyisntscary: champawattigress: agro-carnist: sebbysheepie: I fully agree with giving nut milks a new name. Because they can be confused with dairy milk and for those of us with nut allergies it could be deadly over those that just have lactose intolerance and have a bad stomachache. However making a label showing you killing a cow don’t make sense as dairy wouldn’t be giving milk if they where shot.. mind you if your trying to say that dairy is evil then you should also point out the issues with the nut milks as well. A large poison symbol perhaps for those of us that it would kill. Or the “may cause cancer” on the fortified ones. Apparently when you shoot a calf in the head, milk comes out instead of blood and brain matter. Who knew? So, should we also change the cashew milk bottles pic so that it better represents the atrocious conditions of the workers who have to shell each nut by hand? Maybe a cigarette box style image of their mangled blistered palms? Or just some text to let people know that these people (mostly women) are often paid as little as two pounds a day for their labour? Or are y’all just totally transparent about how little of a shit you give about people nowadays? MoSt cAsHewS sRe fEd tO liVesToCk dOnTcHa kNow vegans only care about animals, not the horrible conditions HUMAN WORKERS ARE PUT THROUGH. A lot of them are also really shit at caring about animals if we’re being honest.: THE DAIRY INDUSTRY WANTS TO MAKE IT ILLEGAL FOR PLANT BASED MILK LABELS TO USE THE WORD MILK. COW'S MILK CASHEW MILK ALMOND MILK THEY SAY THEY WANT TRUTH IN ADVERTISING. OKAY, LETS DO THAT PLANTBASEDNEWS.ORG ORIGINAL SOURCE: MILK HURTS PBN thebluehue22: dairyisntscary: champawattigress: agro-carnist: sebbysheepie: I fully agree with giving nut milks a new name. Because they can be confused with dairy milk and for those of us with nut allergies it could be deadly over those that just have lactose intolerance and have a bad stomachache. However making a label showing you killing a cow don’t make sense as dairy wouldn’t be giving milk if they where shot.. mind you if your trying to say that dairy is evil then you should also point out the issues with the nut milks as well. A large poison symbol perhaps for those of us that it would kill. Or the “may cause cancer” on the fortified ones. Apparently when you shoot a calf in the head, milk comes out instead of blood and brain matter. Who knew? So, should we also change the cashew milk bottles pic so that it better represents the atrocious conditions of the workers who have to shell each nut by hand? Maybe a cigarette box style image of their mangled blistered palms? Or just some text to let people know that these people (mostly women) are often paid as little as two pounds a day for their labour? Or are y’all just totally transparent about how little of a shit you give about people nowadays? MoSt cAsHewS sRe fEd tO liVesToCk dOnTcHa kNow vegans only care about animals, not the horrible conditions HUMAN WORKERS ARE PUT THROUGH. A lot of them are also really shit at caring about animals if we’re being honest.
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thejorie: xilast-zurvifferman: thejorie: jackbecq: thejorie: 19leahjade96: thejorie: madamekagamine: thejorie: gccgrimm: thejorie: gucciballs: thejorie: peble: thejorie: My three girlfriends.And yes, they smoke weed. do they smoke weed? Yes, actually. you mean she isnt just smoking a cigarette? but a weed cigarette? It’s called a bunt…. Not weed cigarette… And yes, it is a weed bunt. They all smoke weed bunts before we kiss. (They are my girlfriends,) They don’t look like they smoke weed. Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.I’m so angry you are so lucky my three weed smorking girlfriends are rubbing my shoulders to calm me down I’m so mad. Your “weed smoking girlfriend” has a Hello Kitty tattoo on her belly. The one in the middle. I printed out a photo of your avatar and taped it to my punching bag that I punch and I mutter your URL with every strong punch I punch you twerp…. Don’t ever Talk about Blaiz or the wicked Tat(tattoo) I drew on her ever again I Don’t wanna see you standing outside my home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again ok leave us alone this is the FINAL FUCKING WARNING  Well that escalated quickly…… What, was that? Hmm? Come again. *Blaiz grabs my shoulder* Come on Jory, they aren’t worth it, please. * I jerk my shoulder shaking her hand off* NO! NOOOOO!!! *starts to just pummel you with my big fucking fists. With each blow I let out a furious yell. The blows come quicker and harder and the yells get louder. I’m yelling so loud and now I’m crying. BREAKING POINT. The week was hard and I can’t take anymore. I’m opening sobbing at this point while you blood gurgle. All three of my girlfriends struggle to pull me off and they finally succeed and lead me away from the goo pile that is now your body* haha oh my god who even is this dude? someone needs some anger management classes. love how he keeps reminding us that “I HAVE THREE GIRLFRIENDS”, “THEY ALL KISS ME”, and “THEY SMOKE WEED HURRP DURR”. and let’s not forget the “Blaiz” and her “wicked tat”, or that he doesn’t “wanna see you standing outside [his] home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again”, and that this is “the FINAL FUCKING WARNING”. “the goo pile that is now your body” i’m dying over here, jesus please, Jory, come challenge me to a bout of internet witticsisms; i promise, it’ll be fun. *shoots you dead* Heh, idiot…*leaves with my three weed smorking girlfriends to go hold hands and kiss.* this dude playin omg  Come again? *The bar falls silent. No one dares to make a sound, as you have just said a very poor choice of words at a very dangerous time. I remain slumped over the bar, not looking back to you. One hand limply holding an almost empty bottle, the other hand cradling my head. I repeat the question, this time louder.* Come again?! *You can hear me slur the words, the sentence sounds like a real struggle for me to get out. I’m clearly intoxicated. A bead of sweat rolls down your face as you realize you might have just fucked up in a very major way. Everyone else in the bar is pretending to not notice what is going on. The bartender idly washes a mug with a cloth. His eyes are closed and he’s muttering something to himself. A handful of people hurriedly leave. One person looks back at you, a look of sorrow on their face. They almost say something, but shake their head and cast their eyes down to the floor, and leave. But not you. You stand, petrified. A quick look at me reveals I’m still  at the bar. You look to the exit, there’s still time. But there’s not, there’s not, there’s not. Your fate was sealed the moment you opened your mouth.* Mother fuck.. what did you say?! *I slowly rise from my stool and being to lumber over to you.  I look a mess. My hair is unkempt, I haven’t shaved in what looks like months, there are dark heavy bags under my eyes, my shirt is stained and has holes in it, and I’m missing a shoe. But the main thing you notice is the gun tucked into my jeans, and my massive muscle arms that look like they were made for punching. You know that song about the boots that were made for walking? Yeah, it’s like that only instead of boots it’s my muscles and instead of walking it’s punching. As I drunkenly sway over to you, you think of your family… Will they mourn you, or will they try and forget this blotch of stupidity, that their child insulted the Jory publicly, ever happened to their family? Your thoughts are cut short as I now stand face to face with you. I grab your face and pull you even closer.* Playin?! There was nothing playing… no playing you fuck. No playing… it was real.. the realest thing I’ve ever know.. felt… Love. I loved them… Blaiz…. Chas-Chas… Funk… I loved all three of em… but they…*My face is wet with tears and I’m blinking constantly in vain to hold them back.* They left me… left… *Almost instantly the sadness leaves my face and is replaced with pure anger.* Playin? Playin?! *My hand leaves your face and starts to head to what you think is the gun. You close your eyes and see God looking at you, shrugging. ‘Pft, you brought this upon yourself dude.’ He says as he waves his hands at you dismissively. But instead of the gun, my hands grab yours. Your eyes jolt open and the anger is gone from my face. There is only sadness.* Left me… * I fall to the floor and sob.*Wow, grow up. *You say before you leave the bar but are hit almost immediately from a car and are killed upon impact.* : thejorie: xilast-zurvifferman: thejorie: jackbecq: thejorie: 19leahjade96: thejorie: madamekagamine: thejorie: gccgrimm: thejorie: gucciballs: thejorie: peble: thejorie: My three girlfriends.And yes, they smoke weed. do they smoke weed? Yes, actually. you mean she isnt just smoking a cigarette? but a weed cigarette? It’s called a bunt…. Not weed cigarette… And yes, it is a weed bunt. They all smoke weed bunts before we kiss. (They are my girlfriends,) They don’t look like they smoke weed. Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.I’m so angry you are so lucky my three weed smorking girlfriends are rubbing my shoulders to calm me down I’m so mad. Your “weed smoking girlfriend” has a Hello Kitty tattoo on her belly. The one in the middle. I printed out a photo of your avatar and taped it to my punching bag that I punch and I mutter your URL with every strong punch I punch you twerp…. Don’t ever Talk about Blaiz or the wicked Tat(tattoo) I drew on her ever again I Don’t wanna see you standing outside my home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again ok leave us alone this is the FINAL FUCKING WARNING  Well that escalated quickly…… What, was that? Hmm? Come again. *Blaiz grabs my shoulder* Come on Jory, they aren’t worth it, please. * I jerk my shoulder shaking her hand off* NO! NOOOOO!!! *starts to just pummel you with my big fucking fists. With each blow I let out a furious yell. The blows come quicker and harder and the yells get louder. I’m yelling so loud and now I’m crying. BREAKING POINT. The week was hard and I can’t take anymore. I’m opening sobbing at this point while you blood gurgle. All three of my girlfriends struggle to pull me off and they finally succeed and lead me away from the goo pile that is now your body* haha oh my god who even is this dude? someone needs some anger management classes. love how he keeps reminding us that “I HAVE THREE GIRLFRIENDS”, “THEY ALL KISS ME”, and “THEY SMOKE WEED HURRP DURR”. and let’s not forget the “Blaiz” and her “wicked tat”, or that he doesn’t “wanna see you standing outside [his] home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again”, and that this is “the FINAL FUCKING WARNING”. “the goo pile that is now your body” i’m dying over here, jesus please, Jory, come challenge me to a bout of internet witticsisms; i promise, it’ll be fun. *shoots you dead* Heh, idiot…*leaves with my three weed smorking girlfriends to go hold hands and kiss.* this dude playin omg  Come again? *The bar falls silent. No one dares to make a sound, as you have just said a very poor choice of words at a very dangerous time. I remain slumped over the bar, not looking back to you. One hand limply holding an almost empty bottle, the other hand cradling my head. I repeat the question, this time louder.* Come again?! *You can hear me slur the words, the sentence sounds like a real struggle for me to get out. I’m clearly intoxicated. A bead of sweat rolls down your face as you realize you might have just fucked up in a very major way. Everyone else in the bar is pretending to not notice what is going on. The bartender idly washes a mug with a cloth. His eyes are closed and he’s muttering something to himself. A handful of people hurriedly leave. One person looks back at you, a look of sorrow on their face. They almost say something, but shake their head and cast their eyes down to the floor, and leave. But not you. You stand, petrified. A quick look at me reveals I’m still  at the bar. You look to the exit, there’s still time. But there’s not, there’s not, there’s not. Your fate was sealed the moment you opened your mouth.* Mother fuck.. what did you say?! *I slowly rise from my stool and being to lumber over to you.  I look a mess. My hair is unkempt, I haven’t shaved in what looks like months, there are dark heavy bags under my eyes, my shirt is stained and has holes in it, and I’m missing a shoe. But the main thing you notice is the gun tucked into my jeans, and my massive muscle arms that look like they were made for punching. You know that song about the boots that were made for walking? Yeah, it’s like that only instead of boots it’s my muscles and instead of walking it’s punching. As I drunkenly sway over to you, you think of your family… Will they mourn you, or will they try and forget this blotch of stupidity, that their child insulted the Jory publicly, ever happened to their family? Your thoughts are cut short as I now stand face to face with you. I grab your face and pull you even closer.* Playin?! There was nothing playing… no playing you fuck. No playing… it was real.. the realest thing I’ve ever know.. felt… Love. I loved them… Blaiz…. Chas-Chas… Funk… I loved all three of em… but they…*My face is wet with tears and I’m blinking constantly in vain to hold them back.* They left me… left… *Almost instantly the sadness leaves my face and is replaced with pure anger.* Playin? Playin?! *My hand leaves your face and starts to head to what you think is the gun. You close your eyes and see God looking at you, shrugging. ‘Pft, you brought this upon yourself dude.’ He says as he waves his hands at you dismissively. But instead of the gun, my hands grab yours. Your eyes jolt open and the anger is gone from my face. There is only sadness.* Left me… * I fall to the floor and sob.*Wow, grow up. *You say before you leave the bar but are hit almost immediately from a car and are killed upon impact.*
thejorie: xilast-zurvifferman: thejorie: jackbecq: thejorie: 19leahjade96: thejorie: madamekagamine: thejorie: gccgrimm: thejorie: gucciballs: thejorie: peble: thejorie: My three girlfriends.And yes, they smoke weed. do they smoke weed? Yes, actually. you mean she isnt just smoking a cigarette? but a weed cigarette? It’s called a bunt…. Not weed cigarette… And yes, it is a weed bunt. They all smoke weed bunts before we kiss. (They are my girlfriends,) They don’t look like they smoke weed. Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.I’m so angry you are so lucky my three weed smorking girlfriends are rubbing my shoulders to calm me down I’m so mad. Your “weed smoking girlfriend” has a Hello Kitty tattoo on her belly. The one in the middle. I printed out a photo of your avatar and taped it to my punching bag that I punch and I mutter your URL with every strong punch I punch you twerp…. Don’t ever Talk about Blaiz or the wicked Tat(tattoo) I drew on her ever again I Don’t wanna see you standing outside my home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again ok leave us alone this is the FINAL FUCKING WARNING  Well that escalated quickly…… What, was that? Hmm? Come again. *Blaiz grabs my shoulder* Come on Jory, they aren’t worth it, please. * I jerk my shoulder shaking her hand off* NO! NOOOOO!!! *starts to just pummel you with my big fucking fists. With each blow I let out a furious yell. The blows come quicker and harder and the yells get louder. I’m yelling so loud and now I’m crying. BREAKING POINT. The week was hard and I can’t take anymore. I’m opening sobbing at this point while you blood gurgle. All three of my girlfriends struggle to pull me off and they finally succeed and lead me away from the goo pile that is now your body* haha oh my god who even is this dude? someone needs some anger management classes. love how he keeps reminding us that “I HAVE THREE GIRLFRIENDS”, “THEY ALL KISS ME”, and “THEY SMOKE WEED HURRP DURR”. and let’s not forget the “Blaiz” and her “wicked tat”, or that he doesn’t “wanna see you standing outside [his] home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again”, and that this is “the FINAL FUCKING WARNING”. “the goo pile that is now your body” i’m dying over here, jesus please, Jory, come challenge me to a bout of internet witticsisms; i promise, it’ll be fun. *shoots you dead* Heh, idiot…*leaves with my three weed smorking girlfriends to go hold hands and kiss.* this dude playin omg  Come again? *The bar falls silent. No one dares to make a sound, as you have just said a very poor choice of words at a very dangerous time. I remain slumped over the bar, not looking back to you. One hand limply holding an almost empty bottle, the other hand cradling my head. I repeat the question, this time louder.* Come again?! *You can hear me slur the words, the sentence sounds like a real struggle for me to get out. I’m clearly intoxicated. A bead of sweat rolls down your face as you realize you might have just fucked up in a very major way. Everyone else in the bar is pretending to not notice what is going on. The bartender idly washes a mug with a cloth. His eyes are closed and he’s muttering something to himself. A handful of people hurriedly leave. One person looks back at you, a look of sorrow on their face. They almost say something, but shake their head and cast their eyes down to the floor, and leave. But not you. You stand, petrified. A quick look at me reveals I’m still  at the bar. You look to the exit, there’s still time. But there’s not, there’s not, there’s not. Your fate was sealed the moment you opened your mouth.* Mother fuck.. what did you say?! *I slowly rise from my stool and being to lumber over to you.  I look a mess. My hair is unkempt, I haven’t shaved in what looks like months, there are dark heavy bags under my eyes, my shirt is stained and has holes in it, and I’m missing a shoe. But the main thing you notice is the gun tucked into my jeans, and my massive muscle arms that look like they were made for punching. You know that song about the boots that were made for walking? Yeah, it’s like that only instead of boots it’s my muscles and instead of walking it’s punching. As I drunkenly sway over to you, you think of your family… Will they mourn you, or will they try and forget this blotch of stupidity, that their child insulted the Jory publicly, ever happened to their family? Your thoughts are cut short as I now stand face to face with you. I grab your face and pull you even closer.* Playin?! There was nothing playing… no playing you fuck. No playing… it was real.. the realest thing I’ve ever know.. felt… Love. I loved them… Blaiz…. Chas-Chas… Funk… I loved all three of em… but they…*My face is wet with tears and I’m blinking constantly in vain to hold them back.* They left me… left… *Almost instantly the sadness leaves my face and is replaced with pure anger.* Playin? Playin?! *My hand leaves your face and starts to head to what you think is the gun. You close your eyes and see God looking at you, shrugging. ‘Pft, you brought this upon yourself dude.’ He says as he waves his hands at you dismissively. But instead of the gun, my hands grab yours. Your eyes jolt open and the anger is gone from my face. There is only sadness.* Left me… * I fall to the floor and sob.*Wow, grow up. *You say before you leave the bar but are hit almost immediately from a car and are killed upon impact.* : thejorie: xilast-zurvifferman: thejorie: jackbecq: thejorie: 19leahjade96: thejorie: madamekagamine: thejorie: gccgrimm: thejorie: gucciballs: thejorie: peble: thejorie: My three girlfriends.And yes, they smoke weed. do they smoke weed? Yes, actually. you mean she isnt just smoking a cigarette? but a weed cigarette? It’s called a bunt…. Not weed cigarette… And yes, it is a weed bunt. They all smoke weed bunts before we kiss. (They are my girlfriends,) They don’t look like they smoke weed. Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.I’m so angry you are so lucky my three weed smorking girlfriends are rubbing my shoulders to calm me down I’m so mad. Your “weed smoking girlfriend” has a Hello Kitty tattoo on her belly. The one in the middle. I printed out a photo of your avatar and taped it to my punching bag that I punch and I mutter your URL with every strong punch I punch you twerp…. Don’t ever Talk about Blaiz or the wicked Tat(tattoo) I drew on her ever again I Don’t wanna see you standing outside my home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again ok leave us alone this is the FINAL FUCKING WARNING  Well that escalated quickly…… What, was that? Hmm? Come again. *Blaiz grabs my shoulder* Come on Jory, they aren’t worth it, please. * I jerk my shoulder shaking her hand off* NO! NOOOOO!!! *starts to just pummel you with my big fucking fists. With each blow I let out a furious yell. The blows come quicker and harder and the yells get louder. I’m yelling so loud and now I’m crying. BREAKING POINT. The week was hard and I can’t take anymore. I’m opening sobbing at this point while you blood gurgle. All three of my girlfriends struggle to pull me off and they finally succeed and lead me away from the goo pile that is now your body* haha oh my god who even is this dude? someone needs some anger management classes. love how he keeps reminding us that “I HAVE THREE GIRLFRIENDS”, “THEY ALL KISS ME”, and “THEY SMOKE WEED HURRP DURR”. and let’s not forget the “Blaiz” and her “wicked tat”, or that he doesn’t “wanna see you standing outside [his] home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again”, and that this is “the FINAL FUCKING WARNING”. “the goo pile that is now your body” i’m dying over here, jesus please, Jory, come challenge me to a bout of internet witticsisms; i promise, it’ll be fun. *shoots you dead* Heh, idiot…*leaves with my three weed smorking girlfriends to go hold hands and kiss.* this dude playin omg  Come again? *The bar falls silent. No one dares to make a sound, as you have just said a very poor choice of words at a very dangerous time. I remain slumped over the bar, not looking back to you. One hand limply holding an almost empty bottle, the other hand cradling my head. I repeat the question, this time louder.* Come again?! *You can hear me slur the words, the sentence sounds like a real struggle for me to get out. I’m clearly intoxicated. A bead of sweat rolls down your face as you realize you might have just fucked up in a very major way. Everyone else in the bar is pretending to not notice what is going on. The bartender idly washes a mug with a cloth. His eyes are closed and he’s muttering something to himself. A handful of people hurriedly leave. One person looks back at you, a look of sorrow on their face. They almost say something, but shake their head and cast their eyes down to the floor, and leave. But not you. You stand, petrified. A quick look at me reveals I’m still  at the bar. You look to the exit, there’s still time. But there’s not, there’s not, there’s not. Your fate was sealed the moment you opened your mouth.* Mother fuck.. what did you say?! *I slowly rise from my stool and being to lumber over to you.  I look a mess. My hair is unkempt, I haven’t shaved in what looks like months, there are dark heavy bags under my eyes, my shirt is stained and has holes in it, and I’m missing a shoe. But the main thing you notice is the gun tucked into my jeans, and my massive muscle arms that look like they were made for punching. You know that song about the boots that were made for walking? Yeah, it’s like that only instead of boots it’s my muscles and instead of walking it’s punching. As I drunkenly sway over to you, you think of your family… Will they mourn you, or will they try and forget this blotch of stupidity, that their child insulted the Jory publicly, ever happened to their family? Your thoughts are cut short as I now stand face to face with you. I grab your face and pull you even closer.* Playin?! There was nothing playing… no playing you fuck. No playing… it was real.. the realest thing I’ve ever know.. felt… Love. I loved them… Blaiz…. Chas-Chas… Funk… I loved all three of em… but they…*My face is wet with tears and I’m blinking constantly in vain to hold them back.* They left me… left… *Almost instantly the sadness leaves my face and is replaced with pure anger.* Playin? Playin?! *My hand leaves your face and starts to head to what you think is the gun. You close your eyes and see God looking at you, shrugging. ‘Pft, you brought this upon yourself dude.’ He says as he waves his hands at you dismissively. But instead of the gun, my hands grab yours. Your eyes jolt open and the anger is gone from my face. There is only sadness.* Left me… * I fall to the floor and sob.*Wow, grow up. *You say before you leave the bar but are hit almost immediately from a car and are killed upon impact.*
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honeydrippingbeehives: ohhellorula: Bill Hader’s knife story is the funniest thing ever TRANSCRIPTIONBill Hader: This funny thing… As PAs we would all hang out. And there was this guy named Big–I was Little Bill on that show because there was a guy named Big Bill, he was like 6′7″–and this other guy named Jason Altieri. And one time Jason, he had this giant bowie knife, like a Rambo knife, and he was hitting a tree with it. [audience laughter] This is what we would do. [Bill laughs] This is Hollywood, guys!Jimmy Kimmel: You’re practicing editing!Bill: Yeah, he was editing! [unintelligible + laughter]Jimmy: The old-fashioned way.Bill: The old-fashioned way. This is the way they did it on Gone With The Wind, I tell ya! [audience laughter] You gotta get your editing thing together, your editing arm down. So he was cutting this thing and we were laughing, and then Bill comes over and he’s like “Hey, J, you should really stop messing with”–this is a cigarette–”you really should stop messing with the knife.” And J went [grunting noises] and he went “Hey, come on! Don’t do that.” And he walked away. Then Bucky, our prop guy, came over and he goes “Hey, I got that exact same knife but it’s retractable. It’s fake.” [inaudible + laughter] So he gets the fake one. He’s doing this…[Bill laughs] And it’s one of those things where we waited, like, an hour. [audience laughter] Like, you couldn’t go, “Hey, Bill! Come over here!” You had to be like…He has to just walk over. So we’re waiting for an hour and J is like “Guys, is he over? Ah, come on, man!” So finally, Bill comes over and goes, “Hey, are you still messing with that knife? You should stop messing with the knife, man.” And he went [grunting noise], and he went “I told you, don’t do that!” And then he just went [clunking sound effect] and stuck him right in the chest [Bill laughs] and Bill went “WHY?!” [laughter] He thought he was murdered! He legit thought he just got murdered! [Bill laughs] And we were…Oh, we were laughing so hard! [laughter] He just went “WHY?!” like that’s the thing you would say.[Bill laughs]Jimmy: Call his parents to tell his final words [Jimmy laughs]Bill: “What did Bill say?” Wait, wait til you hear what he said when he… [inaudible + laughter] He yelled “Why?” [Bill laughs]Jimmy: Oh, that’s good. Oh, boy.: abc honeydrippingbeehives: ohhellorula: Bill Hader’s knife story is the funniest thing ever TRANSCRIPTIONBill Hader: This funny thing… As PAs we would all hang out. And there was this guy named Big–I was Little Bill on that show because there was a guy named Big Bill, he was like 6′7″–and this other guy named Jason Altieri. And one time Jason, he had this giant bowie knife, like a Rambo knife, and he was hitting a tree with it. [audience laughter] This is what we would do. [Bill laughs] This is Hollywood, guys!Jimmy Kimmel: You’re practicing editing!Bill: Yeah, he was editing! [unintelligible + laughter]Jimmy: The old-fashioned way.Bill: The old-fashioned way. This is the way they did it on Gone With The Wind, I tell ya! [audience laughter] You gotta get your editing thing together, your editing arm down. So he was cutting this thing and we were laughing, and then Bill comes over and he’s like “Hey, J, you should really stop messing with”–this is a cigarette–”you really should stop messing with the knife.” And J went [grunting noises] and he went “Hey, come on! Don’t do that.” And he walked away. Then Bucky, our prop guy, came over and he goes “Hey, I got that exact same knife but it’s retractable. It’s fake.” [inaudible + laughter] So he gets the fake one. He’s doing this…[Bill laughs] And it’s one of those things where we waited, like, an hour. [audience laughter] Like, you couldn’t go, “Hey, Bill! Come over here!” You had to be like…He has to just walk over. So we’re waiting for an hour and J is like “Guys, is he over? Ah, come on, man!” So finally, Bill comes over and goes, “Hey, are you still messing with that knife? You should stop messing with the knife, man.” And he went [grunting noise], and he went “I told you, don’t do that!” And then he just went [clunking sound effect] and stuck him right in the chest [Bill laughs] and Bill went “WHY?!” [laughter] He thought he was murdered! He legit thought he just got murdered! [Bill laughs] And we were…Oh, we were laughing so hard! [laughter] He just went “WHY?!” like that’s the thing you would say.[Bill laughs]Jimmy: Call his parents to tell his final words [Jimmy laughs]Bill: “What did Bill say?” Wait, wait til you hear what he said when he… [inaudible + laughter] He yelled “Why?” [Bill laughs]Jimmy: Oh, that’s good. Oh, boy.
honeydrippingbeehives: ohhellorula: Bill Hader’s knife story is the funniest thing ever TRANSCRIPTIONBill Hader: This funny thing… As PAs we would all hang out. And there was this guy named Big–I was Little Bill on that show because there was a guy named Big Bill, he was like 6′7″–and this other guy named Jason Altieri. And one time Jason, he had this giant bowie knife, like a Rambo knife, and he was hitting a tree with it. [audience laughter] This is what we would do. [Bill laughs] This is Hollywood, guys!Jimmy Kimmel: You’re practicing editing!Bill: Yeah, he was editing! [unintelligible + laughter]Jimmy: The old-fashioned way.Bill: The old-fashioned way. This is the way they did it on Gone With The Wind, I tell ya! [audience laughter] You gotta get your editing thing together, your editing arm down. So he was cutting this thing and we were laughing, and then Bill comes over and he’s like “Hey, J, you should really stop messing with”–this is a cigarette–”you really should stop messing with the knife.” And J went [grunting noises] and he went “Hey, come on! Don’t do that.” And he walked away. Then Bucky, our prop guy, came over and he goes “Hey, I got that exact same knife but it’s retractable. It’s fake.” [inaudible + laughter] So he gets the fake one. He’s doing this…[Bill laughs] And it’s one of those things where we waited, like, an hour. [audience laughter] Like, you couldn’t go, “Hey, Bill! Come over here!” You had to be like…He has to just walk over. So we’re waiting for an hour and J is like “Guys, is he over? Ah, come on, man!” So finally, Bill comes over and goes, “Hey, are you still messing with that knife? You should stop messing with the knife, man.” And he went [grunting noise], and he went “I told you, don’t do that!” And then he just went [clunking sound effect] and stuck him right in the chest [Bill laughs] and Bill went “WHY?!” [laughter] He thought he was murdered! He legit thought he just got murdered! [Bill laughs] And we were…Oh, we were laughing so hard! [laughter] He just went “WHY?!” like that’s the thing you would say.[Bill laughs]Jimmy: Call his parents to tell his final words [Jimmy laughs]Bill: “What did Bill say?” Wait, wait til you hear what he said when he… [inaudible + laughter] He yelled “Why?” [Bill laughs]Jimmy: Oh, that’s good. Oh, boy.: abc honeydrippingbeehives: ohhellorula: Bill Hader’s knife story is the funniest thing ever TRANSCRIPTIONBill Hader: This funny thing… As PAs we would all hang out. And there was this guy named Big–I was Little Bill on that show because there was a guy named Big Bill, he was like 6′7″–and this other guy named Jason Altieri. And one time Jason, he had this giant bowie knife, like a Rambo knife, and he was hitting a tree with it. [audience laughter] This is what we would do. [Bill laughs] This is Hollywood, guys!Jimmy Kimmel: You’re practicing editing!Bill: Yeah, he was editing! [unintelligible + laughter]Jimmy: The old-fashioned way.Bill: The old-fashioned way. This is the way they did it on Gone With The Wind, I tell ya! [audience laughter] You gotta get your editing thing together, your editing arm down. So he was cutting this thing and we were laughing, and then Bill comes over and he’s like “Hey, J, you should really stop messing with”–this is a cigarette–”you really should stop messing with the knife.” And J went [grunting noises] and he went “Hey, come on! Don’t do that.” And he walked away. Then Bucky, our prop guy, came over and he goes “Hey, I got that exact same knife but it’s retractable. It’s fake.” [inaudible + laughter] So he gets the fake one. He’s doing this…[Bill laughs] And it’s one of those things where we waited, like, an hour. [audience laughter] Like, you couldn’t go, “Hey, Bill! Come over here!” You had to be like…He has to just walk over. So we’re waiting for an hour and J is like “Guys, is he over? Ah, come on, man!” So finally, Bill comes over and goes, “Hey, are you still messing with that knife? You should stop messing with the knife, man.” And he went [grunting noise], and he went “I told you, don’t do that!” And then he just went [clunking sound effect] and stuck him right in the chest [Bill laughs] and Bill went “WHY?!” [laughter] He thought he was murdered! He legit thought he just got murdered! [Bill laughs] And we were…Oh, we were laughing so hard! [laughter] He just went “WHY?!” like that’s the thing you would say.[Bill laughs]Jimmy: Call his parents to tell his final words [Jimmy laughs]Bill: “What did Bill say?” Wait, wait til you hear what he said when he… [inaudible + laughter] He yelled “Why?” [Bill laughs]Jimmy: Oh, that’s good. Oh, boy.
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