You dump out your shitty fries onto the table, and then meticulously smash them with your fingers while dumping the salt and pepper shakers on top. You slide the tomato and lettuce off your burger and mix them into the flat mess. Once a thick paste is formed, you fashion a pinch-pot, and then fill it with root beer and honey mustard. You smack the shit down onto the table, causing the food to spatter around. A little piece flies into your face. Without thinking, you wipe it into your mouth. Whoa. Delicious. You eat your soup up off the table and floor before going back for seconds. Perhaps, just maybe, you've found nirvana.
This libtard terminator keeps asking for guns that don't exist and I may have to close early out of frustration.
Editor's Note: Due to a freak power outage, this obituary of Barbara Bush was written without the benefit of research. In order to pay our respects to this great woman in a timely fashion, we have decided to post this piece as-is. We hope you forgive any errors on our part.
My game is funded. Now I know everything.
Sea of Thieves: Reduced the number of quest types from 3 to 2
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