(quite possibly one of many) Zachary Quinto and Chris Pine’s vocabulary battle(s)
I read it in the paper so it must be true.
I love newspapers. Fairytales.
I am from the planet Gallifrey, representing Ravenclaw House, sent to this planet to study the strange creature known as the 'fangirl'. As a survivor of the Hunger Games, and a Browncoat, I was recruited by S.H.I.E.L.D. to locate and retrieve the One Ring so as to bring peace to all of Camelot. I now operate from 221B with my supieriors John and Hank Green.
Go big or go home
So I tried to recreate this, because I knew the responses would be different, and consequently realized that it’s either extremely old or faked, as Cleverbot auto-capitalizes and auto-punctuates your sentences for you if you do not. Oh well.
In light of that fact, here’s my go at cybersexing Cleverbot.
So I decided to try it
alrighty, let’s go one more step
i’M ACTUALLY CRYING.
fjdsahg TAKES OFF SKIN, THAT’S THE SPIRIT.
tAKES OUT FAJITA
crying omg.
IT’S BACK! i’ve forgotten how much i missed this post ahaha
oh and i tried it too - cleverbot gave me a flat out “No.”
I tried it and got- cleverbot *takes out God
I just tried it and cleverbot took out Chuck Norris. TWICE
![Username Graphics [x]↳keepoffthedirigibleplums-x](http://25.media.tumblr.com/020f21443ffbd60083f5a985fb2517b3/tumblr_monf6hJHr21qk4cb3o1_500.gif)
white women are earning 77 cents for every dollar a white man earns. the actual breakdown goes a bit more like this:
white women make more than Black AND Hispanic men
Black and Hispanic women make less than all aforementioned categories
whoops your intersectionality here you dropped it
Welp
whoops
BAM
![[x]](http://24.media.tumblr.com/b56109aec2b26b813cad591cde1479f9/tumblr_mokum3x42g1rrl1gwo1_500.jpg)
“I got a fan letter from a young lady. It was a suicide note.So I called her, and I said, “Hey, this is Jimmy Doohan. Scotty, from Star Trek.” I said, “I’m doing a convention in Indianapolis. I wanna see you there.”
I saw her — boy, I’m telling you, I couldn’t believe what I saw. It was definitely suicide. Somebody had to help her, somehow. And obviously she wasn’t going to the right people.
I said to her, “I’m doing a convention two weeks from now in St. Louis.” And two weeks from then, in somewhere else, you know? She also came to New York - she was able to afford to got to these places. That went on for two or three years, maybe eighteen times. And all I did was talk positive things to her.
And then all of the sudden — nothing. I didn’t hear anything. I had no idea what had happened to her because I never really saved her address.
Eight years later, I get a letter saying, “I do want to thank you so much for what you did for me, because I just got my Master’s degree in electronic engineering.”
That’s…to me, the best thing I’ve ever done in my life.”
Q: What was your favourite "Dammit Jim, I'm a doctor not a..."
fill in the blank sort of line?KU: My favouite one is uhhh "Dammit, I'm a doctor not an escalator!"
I think that's my favourite.
“
I met my wife in English class. By just random chance, I was the only boy in the class. And I flirted with her. She was totally preppy. She would wear pennyloafers and a jacket - a blazer - to class every day, and I was the opposite. So I figured it was a little bit of the opposite attracts kind of business. I wrote her poems in class that, um, made fun of her. So, um. (rubs his eyes) I’m not crying, I’m not crying! Yes, I wrote her a poem. This is before we consummated our relationship. And by “consummated,” I mean gave each other hickeys. But I wrote her a poem about her beauty, in which I likened her nose to a great cathedral. I’ll tell you everything. We’ve been together for twenty-something years, so it’s a genuine love story. We went on a trip together. We went to Boston together for something called Head of the Charles, rowing? crew? boats? And we went there and there was some vodka. Somebody got somebody to go to the liquor store and buy the booze and vodka. This is inappropriate and I don’t know why I’m telling this story. Anyway, we got a little drunk, we were in high school, we went back to a hotel room, with a bunch of other people, I might add - we were very virginal at the time. And then, part of which I had to go to my dad’s, and she had to go do some other things, and so we met back at school on the bus. And I noticed that Vicki had hickeys all over her neck. And I was like, “Wow! Three days, and she already met somebody.” I didn’t say it to her face, but “Slut!” is what I thought. And then we got to talking, walking from the bus to our class and I asked her very eloquently if she would be interested in “a relationship,” because I didn’t know what else to say. So we’ve been stuck for some time now. But those hickeys, apparently, were from me. She had gone through the same thought process when she saw the ones on my neck. Neither of us had any recollection of that. We were both still - we both had preserved our delicate flowers of virginity on that weekend. But she also came back from that weekend bearing some bruises on her inner thighs. Which neither of us, again, can account for. Serious overshare just then. The message I’m trying to tell is that all good things begin with a blackout.
