> Offer him a place in your new world order. Then ensnare his legs with vines and crush them. His place will be the golems groin as a weeping codpiece.
> Claim his things as our due.
> Intercept the incoming arrow with your whip, then shove it up the centaur's ass.
Crack a wry smile and say, "Seems like you're... pasture prime." YYYEEEAAAAAHHHHH.
cock hero flux
> use the staff to propel one of the golems arm corpses at him like some kind of nasty rocket punch
> use staff to create vines to bind centaur's arms into a non-firing position, then say "am I disturbing you? you look a little...tied up at the moment"
Simply put, if I had Johnny Manziel’s physical gifts, you better believe I would be there in the Weight Room, getting to bed early, doing whatever I had to do to be the best possible athlete I could be. I wouldn't be posting on social media about sucking titties. I wouldn't even look at a titty, buddy. I'd look at a titty and see two big footballs.
A real friend doesn't move until the middle of August, ensuring temperatures in the 90s and a humidity that turns boxers into moist balls of ruined cotton.
Expendable? You must be joking.
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