A chair that is not in use at the particular time it is being spoken about. Examples include folding chairs, reclining chairs, or chairs that one would not necesarily choose to sit in for comfortability.
by Kingsleyplimpton September 14, 2017
Get the part-time chairmug. January 1, 2020 through April 1, 2020
The part of 2020 before all the stupid stuff. It's the often forgotten part.
The part of 2020 before all the stupid stuff. It's the often forgotten part.
by Xxxxxxxxfanboyxxxxxxxxxx January 17, 2021
Get the Good part of 2020mug. Any lyric or segment in a song where the singer sings with such powerful emotion, it almost sounds like they are crying.
Famous Crying Parts:
"Never thought a rumor would ruin my moonlight!" -Brendan Flowers
"It's time I got back, it's time I got back, and I don't even know how I got off the track!" -Rivers Cuomo
"he's fighting and fighting and riding on his horse" -John McRea
"Never thought a rumor would ruin my moonlight!" -Brendan Flowers
"It's time I got back, it's time I got back, and I don't even know how I got off the track!" -Rivers Cuomo
"he's fighting and fighting and riding on his horse" -John McRea
by BarackObama1138thx August 22, 2011
Get the Crying Partmug. This is getting pretty interesting, huh? I’m a pretty smort cookie ain’t I? You should have let me in the box when you had a chance you old fucking faggot. I’m going to breed your slut daughter by the time this is over. Just you wait and see.
Hym “Ok. So. These grawoops have different roles. The role of one side (Let’s call iiiiit... rrrr-East), the East side, is to defend the box. We need the 📦. The other side, (Lets call iiiiiit.... llll-www-Side 2... We’ll call it ‘Side 2!’), their role is to remind the East side that there are people outside of the box and to speak FOR the people outside of the box. Now, you may be wondering ‘But Mr. Dr. Hym! Why can’t the people outside of the box speak for themselves?’ Well, they’re not in the box, silly! That’s not allowed! They aren’t even a part of one of the grawoops! And are, therefore, not even sane! They’re like.... Some kind of... I donno... Schizophrenic horde or something! Now you my be wondering ‘But Captain Lieutenant Always-Right Senior! How do these grawoops interact with each other!?’ Well, what THEY do is.... vie for power... Ooooh... Oh shit! Oh, wait.... Why does this sound familiar? Hmmm... 🤔 Nevermind.
Hym “Ok. So. These grawoops have different roles. The role of one side (Let’s call iiiiit... rrrr-East), the East side, is to defend the box. We need the 📦. The other side, (Lets call iiiiiit.... llll-www-Side 2... We’ll call it ‘Side 2!’), their role is to remind the East side that there are people outside of the box and to speak FOR the people outside of the box. Now, you may be wondering ‘But Mr. Dr. Hym! Why can’t the people outside of the box speak for themselves?’ Well, they’re not in the box, silly! That’s not allowed! They aren’t even a part of one of the grawoops! And are, therefore, not even sane! They’re like.... Some kind of... I donno... Schizophrenic horde or something! Now you my be wondering ‘But Captain Lieutenant Always-Right Senior! How do these grawoops interact with each other!?’ Well, what THEY do is.... vie for power... Ooooh... Oh shit! Oh, wait.... Why does this sound familiar? Hmmm... 🤔 Nevermind.
‘What purpose does this box (Hmm... I don’t like that. We need a name for the box. Leeeeeeet’s caaaaaaalllll iiiiiiitt.... Harharachy. The harhararchy!), the harhararchy, serve?’ Well, it allows Dr. Jergal Prophetstork to accrue benefits that he could not earn for himself. Because he had a certain lifestyle before he yelled at a retard. Now, he has a different lifestyle. But HE’S allowed to do it. You are not. And we need the harhararchy! We need him to be able to do that. You don’t need to do it though. So don’t even think about it. Oh, wait, you can’t think about it. Well, don’t talk about it. Oh, wait, you can’t do that either. You’re not in the harhararchy. OH WAIT! There is no YOU. The autonomous individual is a fiction Jordan Peterson uses to advance his power maneuvering writing the confines of the box... Err... Harhararchy.... Yeah, that. And that’s who Jordan Peterson really is: A Social Contract ideologue who used postmodernist power gaming to ascend the harhararchy he could not climb on his own to advance his position and use that position to try and restructure the world in his own warped image by colluding with the politicians to which he has ingratiated himself for the purpose of doing things like (including but not limited to) silencing dissidents by restructuring the online discourse. That is all.” Free speech part 2
by Hym Iam November 16, 2022
Get the Free speech part 2mug. Pop part a fabulous girl she love for kids to play with her she is one cute person kind person kids fight over her name she is awesome 😎
by anonymous December 28, 2021
Get the pop partmug. The air between them burned hotter with every breath. Her dupatta slid from her shoulders, pooling quietly, and his eyes followed the fall. His chest rose sharply—he wanted her, needed her—but he stayed still, holding himself back.
She saw it in his face, that ache, that hunger wrapped in love. Smiling faintly, she reached for the hem of her kameez. Her hands shook, but she didn’t stop. Slowly, she lifted it, inch by inch, until her skin showed, soft and glowing in the dim light. His gaze followed helplessly, as though nothing else in the world existed.
When her breasts came into view, covered only by the thin fabric of her bra, his breath caught. “God…” he whispered, rough, broken, reverent. She blushed, but instead of hiding, she leaned closer, offering herself.
His hand rose, trembling, then steady, cupping her over the fabric, feeling her warmth, her softness. She gasped, arching into his touch, her nipple already tightening beneath the cloth. The sound made him groan low, deep in his chest.
“Please…” she whispered, her voice shaking. That was all he needed. His fingers slid beneath the fabric, freeing her breast. The sight made his heart pound so hard it almost hurt. He lowered his mouth, lips brushing her skin, then closing around her nipple at last.
She moaned, clutching his hair, her body trembling with every lick, every suck, every slow graze of his tongue. The room filled with the fire of two bodies finally breaking years of restraint.
She saw it in his face, that ache, that hunger wrapped in love. Smiling faintly, she reached for the hem of her kameez. Her hands shook, but she didn’t stop. Slowly, she lifted it, inch by inch, until her skin showed, soft and glowing in the dim light. His gaze followed helplessly, as though nothing else in the world existed.
When her breasts came into view, covered only by the thin fabric of her bra, his breath caught. “God…” he whispered, rough, broken, reverent. She blushed, but instead of hiding, she leaned closer, offering herself.
His hand rose, trembling, then steady, cupping her over the fabric, feeling her warmth, her softness. She gasped, arching into his touch, her nipple already tightening beneath the cloth. The sound made him groan low, deep in his chest.
“Please…” she whispered, her voice shaking. That was all he needed. His fingers slid beneath the fabric, freeing her breast. The sight made his heart pound so hard it almost hurt. He lowered his mouth, lips brushing her skin, then closing around her nipple at last.
She moaned, clutching his hair, her body trembling with every lick, every suck, every slow graze of his tongue. The room filled with the fire of two bodies finally breaking years of restraint.
by WordWeaver & WebWeaver September 17, 2025
Get the Part 5 — Just Usmug. 