Steam installeren
inloggen
|
taal
简体中文 (Chinees, vereenvoudigd)
繁體中文 (Chinees, traditioneel)
日本語 (Japans)
한국어 (Koreaans)
ไทย (Thai)
Български (Bulgaars)
Čeština (Tsjechisch)
Dansk (Deens)
Deutsch (Duits)
English (Engels)
Español-España (Spaans - Spanje)
Español - Latinoamérica (Spaans - Latijns-Amerika)
Ελληνικά (Grieks)
Français (Frans)
Italiano (Italiaans)
Bahasa Indonesia (Indonesisch)
Magyar (Hongaars)
Norsk (Noors)
Polski (Pools)
Português (Portugees - Portugal)
Português - Brasil (Braziliaans-Portugees)
Română (Roemeens)
Русский (Russisch)
Suomi (Fins)
Svenska (Zweeds)
Türkçe (Turks)
Tiếng Việt (Vietnamees)
Українська (Oekraïens)
Een vertaalprobleem melden
You didn’t just commit a crime—you committed an affront to existence. You’re a vortex of chaos, a festering, soulless void where empathy should be. I hope every meal you ever eat tastes like guilt and shame. I hope the ghost of my dog haunts you relentlessly, barking at you in every dark corner of your pathetic life. You, Pan, are a living monument to everything wrong with the universe. Sleep lightly, you twisted, dog-devouring fiend—because karma’s coming, and it’s bringing HELL with it.
Nothing is more irresistable than the heat conduction abilities you boast, though the durability, presented in those thousands of use cycles, may be what gets my parts greased with extra virgin olive oil and my mind spinning with lewd pottery fantasies.
You may be nonstick but your sex appeal is permanently glued to my aorta. Alas, I can only wish to know how you could flip my pancakes...