Yeah, honestly. She’s not even a blip on the radar compared to a lot of the other BP cows. She’s not even a calf. She’s just some tard that comes in here and tards all over the place and we point and laugh at her, but no one even bothers to check her other social media because no one really cares. Hell, doxing her wouldn’t really hurt her because no one cares about her identity.
The best part about this thread, by far, has been pointing out just how fucking insane our menagerie is and how boring Christine is in comparison.
Yeah. In addition to the ones we already named, we have two super morbidly obese hillbetties with roaches crawling out of their skin folds, a thirtysomething sociopath who dates teenagers and films himself in diapers, a mean girl trans woman who creates drama in the name of “conservatism” and a barely literate redneck woman who claims to be pregnant with 5 fetuses by 6 fathers, all in different stages of gestation, at any given time. Chrissy needs to step it up.
A grimy heroin addict who
This. This bullshit right here. Stop this. First of all, this statement is a non- sequitur to the rest of the post, about fancy useless clockwork braces. It looks like it's one of your little statements you like to pull out now and then to show how neat-o you are, just like your stupid rosewater lemonade, and you were just waiting for a chance to shoehorn it in somewhere. It comes across as stilted and awkward. Did you feel clever when you came up with it, or more likely heard someone else say it and claimed it for your own?
Yes, I did. I still do. If I could start a Mary Frey-esque vlog where I did nothing but showcase all the dainty, frilly trappings of a chronically ill Cinderella for 10-20 minutes every day, I think I might actually ascend to nirvana. Three words: Pink Bedroom Tour.
Yeah, I just caught up on the threads for the 400 pound wannabe supermodel whose gay feeder fetish husband shoops the hell out of all her photos and the clown makeup wearing potato whose preschool age daughter has a higher mental capacity than her. As I notice new posts in this thread, Chrissy is still sperging about herself. Meh.
I told you it was a date. Had you actually looked at it, you could see that the date is four years ago. You couldn't even not half ass looking at a picture. No, I haven't lost anyone to illness. It was more of a something. But I'm not here to play guessing games or PL.
Ok. You may note, if you look, the rest of the image, ( it's a tattoo) is of a bird. Does it make you think of anything? Also, the custom title under my name is a snippet of song lyric from a very popular popular song from the 90's.
Britfag late to the party. Sorry I was lying in my sickbed, resting as best I could despite the non stop torturous agony of my sinus-based torment. As the morning drew nigh, torrents of phlegm, yellow as the sunshine, spurted from my nasal passages and down my afflicted throat, laughing at me and reminding me of what could have been. I heard children laughing on their way to school, and a single tear slipped gently down one cheek.
God I actually hear the melodrama in your voice in my mind. Quick! Go get your smelling salts. Quit trying to be 'unique'. You are too old for this shit.
You forgot the handsome brooding stranger who realises that he desperately loves you only after you hath taken your last long ragged breath. He flings himself on your corpse vowing to remain chaste as he'll never find another woman as beautiful and wonderful as you. He takes a vow of silence as penance for his stubbornness and failure to recognise his true feelings. He now roams the moors in solitude cursing the fact that the consumption which had taketh you to Elysium did not taketh him. Alas, his fate is a reminder to live life to the fullest and not a be a pretentious little twat.
Stop, my naughty parts are tingling
