What song are you listening to right now?
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- SoDeepPolaris
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- seveneleven
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- sam
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We are the champions
WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS
OF THE WORLDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD
lol i broke the tables
WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS
OF THE WORLDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD
lol i broke the tables
insert code compile execute return
Asking this question, no matter the intellectual signifigance of the asker, is redundant in the manner.
In many ways, this question that you force me to answer has no meaning whatsoever. I seem to enjoy music, ifyou look at me through the window in my shanty, I sit there bobbing my head up and down as you look through my glossy and poorly made window of salvaged glass that I manually created using a furnace I found at the dump. It's a rainy day, and you walk into my house. The floors creek and the place smells. You seem to recall reading about shanty houses and their occupants. You black out.
You know why you blacked out? It's because my uber-sophisticated nano bots just made you forget what you just saw. You know why my uber-sophisticated nano bots just made you forget what you just saw? It's because they sensed that your pupils let in some light reflected from my poster in the corner behind the lounge chair. This poster has no significance whatsoever. That's why my uber-sophisticated nano bots are really just rocks.
Back to the original question that you pose at me. Although my monologue seems to be boring and tedious, it is for a reason. Not really, I'm just trying to justify the fact that my life is a complete and utter shame as I post this onto your commune. I see that you have knives and spears pointed at me. I am strapped into a chair, I see. I also see that large reptilian creature that is housed a few inches from my forehead. Yes, you want me to answer the question, no?
I suppose I should finally give you a reason to find the true identity of the artist who produces the melodies and arias I prefer to listen to. These waves of sound coming from my shanty speakers makes me cringe with joy. They percolate my truest feelings. A pure form of happiness coming from within. I listen to Michael Jackson himself.
In many ways, this question that you force me to answer has no meaning whatsoever. I seem to enjoy music, ifyou look at me through the window in my shanty, I sit there bobbing my head up and down as you look through my glossy and poorly made window of salvaged glass that I manually created using a furnace I found at the dump. It's a rainy day, and you walk into my house. The floors creek and the place smells. You seem to recall reading about shanty houses and their occupants. You black out.
You know why you blacked out? It's because my uber-sophisticated nano bots just made you forget what you just saw. You know why my uber-sophisticated nano bots just made you forget what you just saw? It's because they sensed that your pupils let in some light reflected from my poster in the corner behind the lounge chair. This poster has no significance whatsoever. That's why my uber-sophisticated nano bots are really just rocks.
Back to the original question that you pose at me. Although my monologue seems to be boring and tedious, it is for a reason. Not really, I'm just trying to justify the fact that my life is a complete and utter shame as I post this onto your commune. I see that you have knives and spears pointed at me. I am strapped into a chair, I see. I also see that large reptilian creature that is housed a few inches from my forehead. Yes, you want me to answer the question, no?
I suppose I should finally give you a reason to find the true identity of the artist who produces the melodies and arias I prefer to listen to. These waves of sound coming from my shanty speakers makes me cringe with joy. They percolate my truest feelings. A pure form of happiness coming from within. I listen to Michael Jackson himself.
MIcHAEL jACkSON IS INNOCENT!!!!!
He is. No, really.
He is. No, really.
- Original Sin
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- seveneleven
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- seveneleven
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- seveneleven
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