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that's a Neapolitan ice cream sammy, too. the ultimate ice cream sammy.
All birds doPigeons shit everywhere. fuck em
Way to have limited 2D thinking, bro. You'd have someone in front/behind/above/below too.I'm only wondering which two people I'm sandwiched between. Could be awesome. 
Dude I was already sold on the idea with just two people. Anyone after that is just a bonus!Way to have limited 2D thinking, bro. You'd have someone in front/behind/above/below too.
He wasn’t thinking diagonallyWay to have limited 2D thinking, bro. You'd have someone in front/behind/above/below too.
You’ve got armpits and elbowsI can only do stuff with seven people at a time, but I'll do my best anyway.
I'm sure they'd all separate into layers. Like beads in sand, as the pile is agitated the smaller children will tumble into the gaps created, pushing the larger adults towards the top.You know there's kids and shit in there too right
Ben rn:I'm sure they'd all separate into layers. Like beads in sand, as the pile is agitated the smaller children will tumble into the gaps created, pushing the larger adults towards the top.
Edit: Percolation? Convection currents? Science words.
Lost Connections ad:
Hey. It's the guy from the 47th layer from the bottom, on the north east side. I had a few gray hairs in my brown bush, and a tat of tweety bird above it. Although I never saw your face, I had a heavenly hour where I got to look at and smell your butthole and instantly I felt we had a connection. You might have felt it when I playfully stuck my kazoo up there, and when you farted you successfully made it do that humming sound for almost a full second before the wax paper tore, and I heard you giggling. I used my so-called "brown ink" to write my number on the inside of your cheeks where it's less likely to get rubbed off, before remembering that if I don't even have a pen to write with then why the hell would any of us have a phone? Anyway if you get this message, meet me in the same spot after the sun goes down. I want to see what beautiful music we can make with your ass and this harmonica next.
Yours forever,
-Tweety Bush.
What an unfortunate day to know how to read.Lost Connections ad:
Hey. It's the guy from the 47th layer from the bottom, on the north east side. I had a few gray hairs in my brown bush, and a tat of tweety bird above it. Although I never saw your face, I had a heavenly hour where I got to look at and smell your butthole and instantly I felt we had a connection. You might have felt it when I playfully stuck my kazoo up there, and when you farted you successfully made it do that humming sound for almost a full second before the wax paper tore, and I heard you giggling. I used my so-called "brown ink" to write my number on the inside of your cheeks where it's less likely to get rubbed off, before remembering that if I don't even have a pen to write with then why the hell would any of us have a phone? Anyway if you get this message, meet me in the same spot after the sun goes down. I want to see what beautiful music we can make with your ass and this harmonica next.
Yours forever,
-Tweety Bush.
What an unfortunate day to have eyes.