You could always challenge Acererak to a game of Joust.

Damn, that was very very very likely past the statute of limitations. It’s usually around 7 years, give or take. I don’t know that any last 10 years. He could sue for damages.

My family lived in Northeast Tennessee when I was in 2nd-4th grade. My 4th grade teacher (who was working very hard to make sure rules didn’t pass that said teachers had to treat gay students in the same way as straight): (this is not a joke)

But fuck trying to live our lives in the mold of elite men who lived 240 years ago. I don’t shit in a chamber pot, own slaves, wear peri-wigs, or ride in a carriage, why am I going to allow colonial American values determine the rights and health of myself and others?

Alright, just for you :):

the whole thread is hysterically funny, but you do, indeed, have a gift.

Put him in Hogwarts or on Baker Street and you’ve got fanfic GOLD.

“he applied the cologne liberally, moving his hands slowly, sensually downward...marrying it with his natural, ever-present sheen to make sure that every visible inch of his torso glistened with his musky love elixir. After circling the ridge of his navel once...twice...and stopping with a finger just behind the knot…

:) And I could go on forever. My fan fiction game is strong indeed.

“Without warning, Ted’s robe swung open; grinning, he reached to cover himself with his copy of Atlas Shrugged. The pocket edition.”

It was the last liberal thing he ever did.

“He reached into the pocket of his robe, suavely seizing his jug of Electro Shave. With a final reproachful look at the ladies, he applied the cologne liberally.”

“Your loss is Floor 2’s gain,” he remarked as he made his way to the stairwell, dropping a pair of Hanes on the floor and glancing back coyly over his shoulder.

“The women stared at each other in horror. ‘Um,’ one finally stammered out, ‘I think Dallas is on.’”

“He moved toward them, carrying an odor of Electro Shave and Fruit Roll Ups.”

“Ayn want to know if your Rand-y, ladies,” he smirked to the shocked women to whom he had just exposed his “Cruz Control.”

“Without warning, Ted’s robe swung open; grinning, he reached to cover himself with his copy of Atlas Shrugged.”

Ted Cruz is that one guy on a night out who refused to get the bus with everyone else, and you’re stuck waiting around for him at the pub before the club for so long that you fuck off to the club (you call/text him and he doesn’t call back), only to get continuous texts with variations of “Where r u?” that you don’t…

You KNOW someone, right now, is writing fan fiction revolving around Ted Cruz in a paisley robe.