I just started playing this week. Seems OK so far.
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that sounds like a pretty good movie script. I have always wanted a nice, meat helmet?The details of my life are quite inconsequential... Very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French waitress named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds- pretty standard really. At the age of 12 I recieved my first scribe. At the age of 14 a Zoroastrian named Vilma taught me how to play Disc Golf, it's breathtaking- I suggest you try it.
The details of my life are quite inconsequential... Very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French waitress named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds- pretty standard really. At the age of 12 I recieved my first scribe. At the age of 14 a Zoroastrian named Vilma taught me how to play Disc Golf, it's breathtaking- I suggest you try it.
The details of my life are quite inconsequential... Very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French waitress named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds- pretty standard really. At the age of 12 I recieved my first scribe. At the age of 14 a Zoroastrian named Vilma taught me how to play Disc Golf, it's breathtaking- I suggest you try it.
I just started playing this week. Seems OK so far.
. Crack isn't as addictive as disc golf.