thx bud :/
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Collie Man
Member
Its ya upper lip!
If you think your breath may smell like dog ass, you probably want to brush your teeth.
or
You could put peanut butter on your balls and see what the dogs does, and tell us how that smells.
or
You could put peanut butter on your balls and see what the dogs does, and tell us how that smells.
alaskan
Member
Oh gross, it smells like dog-breath.
DumYud ?
DumYud ?
Speaking of which, where in the fvck has Smooth been ?
I could use a lil' yarn
The Mud Shark
Member
lick the back of your hand, wait till dry (20 seconds+-), smell.
does it smell like poo?
yes.
It's your breath.
does it smell like poo?
yes.
It's your breath.
who the fock does this shit..?? WTF?? lmfao that was some funny shit right there, thanx for the laugh.. i had a bad day..
peace n pufs..sackO
i cant wait to start building my mancaaaaave!!!!
X
xinsanewickedx
its super gay that they mixed the iw-kk and friends thread with this one
Social group time ?
~fvk~
the Lion is going Guerrilla...
I hear "shit breath" is due to contagious anaerobic/aerobic bacteria, ha.
Don't end up in jail.
Our critique began as all critiques begin, with doubt. Doubt became our narrative. Ours was a quest for a new story: our own. And we grasped towards this new history driven by the suspicion that ordinary language couldn't tell it. Our past appeared frozen in the distance, and our every gesture and accent signified the negation of the Old World, and the reach for a new one. The way we lived created a new situation, one of exuberance and friendship; That of a subversive micro-society in the heart of a society which ignored it. Art was not the goal, but the occasion and the method for locating our specific rhythm and varied possibilities of our time. The discovery of a true communication was what it was about, or at least the quest for such a communication: the adventure of finding it and losing it. We, the unappeased, the unaccepting, continued looking, filling in the silences with our own wishes, fears, and fantasies, driven forward by the fact that no matter how empty the world seemed, no matter how degraded and used up the world appeared to us, we knew that anything was still possible, and, given the right circumstances, a new world was just as likely as an old one.
Don't end up in jail.
Our critique began as all critiques begin, with doubt. Doubt became our narrative. Ours was a quest for a new story: our own. And we grasped towards this new history driven by the suspicion that ordinary language couldn't tell it. Our past appeared frozen in the distance, and our every gesture and accent signified the negation of the Old World, and the reach for a new one. The way we lived created a new situation, one of exuberance and friendship; That of a subversive micro-society in the heart of a society which ignored it. Art was not the goal, but the occasion and the method for locating our specific rhythm and varied possibilities of our time. The discovery of a true communication was what it was about, or at least the quest for such a communication: the adventure of finding it and losing it. We, the unappeased, the unaccepting, continued looking, filling in the silences with our own wishes, fears, and fantasies, driven forward by the fact that no matter how empty the world seemed, no matter how degraded and used up the world appeared to us, we knew that anything was still possible, and, given the right circumstances, a new world was just as likely as an old one.
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