From @_TheQuietBelle_:
I never really did understand the concept of drinking away ones sorrows. For me, no answers lie at the bottom of that Cosmopolitan. For me, there is no respite, relief, reassurance in inebriation. For me, every drop of alcohol assimilates all the love I ever felt for you into a singular mass. Throbbing with yearning. Growing till it consumes me whole.
From @banjaarann:
I never really did understand the concept of drinking away ones sorrows. For me, no answers lie at the bottom of that Cosmopolitan. For me, there is no respite, relief, reassurance in inebriation. For me, every drop of alcohol assimilates all the love I ever felt for you into a singular mass. Throbbing with yearning. Growing till it consumes me whole.
From @banjaarann:
" She was a cosmopolitan, suppressed into her territory. The kind of a cocktail, that was a little inebriated and a lot sensed; yet filled in a glass!
Looking out of the window, when the birds took flight in front of her, she gave a cry.
Being an Indian girl is a very tough job! "
From @oink1729:
Reginald Wrongflop Sauce lay in his hospital bed and plotted. The magazine would be called “The Cosmopolitan Thinker”, each month to contain a selection of 55 word pornographic stories.
“MR. SAUCE?”
He composed: “As she bent over to pick up the book, her ankle length skirt..”
“LETS DO OUR BLADDER IRRIGATION SHALL WE MR. SAUCE?”
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