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time-for-horse · 24 days
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Ive been imagining dragons for years now what is the next step
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time-for-horse · 2 months
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I need a shirt that says “its alright, love. I’m british.” Just so that I can speak to people in an aggressive thick brooklyn accent
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time-for-horse · 2 months
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Oddly enough I think Hazbin Hotel probably does the idea of the purge the best since sinners come into being fully formed and fully able to defend themselves, unlike children in the purge.
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time-for-horse · 2 months
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I need someone to hold me gently and it's getting critical
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time-for-horse · 2 months
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Eating crab feels like one of those licker mats thats meant to stimulate hunting instincts or something.
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time-for-horse · 2 months
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Spondgebib
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TREES ARE THE AIR CONDITIONERS
BUT MAINLY ITS PLANKTON.
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time-for-horse · 2 months
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You spend your whole life dreaming, and eventually you resign your dreams to fantasy, and then fantasy slips away into forgotten, and you lose yourself in the hustle and bustle of life, surrounded by the dreams of others.
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time-for-horse · 2 months
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Druid except instead of wild shape they just carry around a bunch of potions to turn them into animals and back like in the emperors new groove.
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time-for-horse · 2 months
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What is the maximum amount of vanilla extract you can add to a recipe before it becomes disgusting
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time-for-horse · 2 months
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Let no government or corporation trick you into working “for something greater” because nothing is greater than yourself. Anyone who tells you otherwise simply wishes you serve them.
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time-for-horse · 2 months
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I’m mister wood chipper, I’m mister mulch.
I’m mister stray splinter, I’m mister timberlow
They call me oak miser, the sunlight I touch,
turns to food in my trunk. I’m too much.
(He’s mister wood chipper, he’s mister mulch.)
(He’s mister stray splinter, he’s mister timberlow.)
Friends call me oak miser, the sunlight I touch,
turns to food in my trunk. (He’s too much!)
I never wanna know a tree thats under 70 feet,
I’d rather have it 80, 90, 100 feet tall!
(He’s mister wood chipper, he’s mister mulch.)
(He’s mister stray splinter, he’s mister timberlow.)
They call me oak miser, the sunlight I touch,
Turns to food in my trunk.
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