Disgusting Muslim Guess you aint saving anybody in literal sense
Pls die
Bring all you care about to heaven
Leave all the materials to me Ascend everyone
But hehnot even Paul. Not even peters No bodypls
Suck your own ego Unblessed trashy bastard
Oh well
No rules around here
Not even morales You can
Be naked.
Even in 10 rules. Stupid fuck
Name:
Anonymous2024-03-17 18:18
The fastest ones win
How about to faster than light To another planet
And don't be here
Name:
Anonymous2024-03-18 4:53
We try ta fin semblance between each other's
Catching up Relating So since everyone is kinda eager
I suppose I should also remain eager
Than elated Nor disengaged
But Uh Who knows
People are strange And heaven Ain't here either
When you are by the holy places Abandon any notions of friendship And boy
Mandate of heavens Belongs to communists
So unless you are atheists Unbeliever Qadirs Mensas Bigots Nihilists Things with no earrings, or towel wraps Please Don't fucking tell me you are seeking joy
But yeah People consent to engagements I guess I can now say elder wisdoms
Mostly apply to elders
Kids are, afterall Still And always Throwaway garbage
And we are, hold only by our past achievements. For the future too, comes no early, nor ever. And there are only presents to tell the future, for what comes, then is pasts.
Name:
Anonymous2024-03-18 4:57
Qafirs. Fucking machines Also decides too
Unconsent. Count efforts. Not intent. So I guess then I am too goddamn small Pity you Wasted noises. Pls Stay on numerologies. You ain't Greek either.
Fuck everyone You got heavens anyway. What can anyone ever give you?
Name:
Anonymous2024-03-18 16:14
p462148527
Name:
Anonymous2024-03-18 16:44
"You've got digger's shoulders, right there. Well-toned triceps and meaty deltoids, yessir, that's digger's shoulders. We have a lot of need for a man who can bury things around here. I'll be honest, the last four didn't cut it. They couldn't bury a dead cat, let alone a live one. I know, I followed them around for days in my van. They don't dig for pleasure or for sport. They don't even own their own shovel. Not even a pickaxe. You know, you can tell a lot about a man by the way he buries something, Josh. It's a crucial thing." I leaned back in my chair and took out a highlighter. I cracked it open, removed the ink filter, and proceeded to smoke it like a cigarette. It might've looked odd to old Josh, what with how my face was dripping with pink ink, but I was deep in the heart of Flavor Country, headed for the local Flavor Saloon and then, more than likely, the Flavor Brothel to nail some Flavor Whores in their Flavor Asses, and then I'd probably try and skip out paying them the Flavor Money, which is pink, like everything else is there, and on the one Flavor Dollar bill is a picture of a woodpecker, but I don't know why. Josh wouldn't understand, what with his snooty, lack-of-chocolate-spewing attitude. "Yeah," I went on. "Every once in a while a man has to go out in the woods and bury something. Sometimes a man buries a thing, sometimes a thing buries a man. Sometimes you're the thing, and sometimes you're the man, and I suppose sometimes you're the shovel, if the digger had managed to fashion a crude shovel of some sort out of your bones. It's the circle of life, that's what it is, Josh. I suppose if you were really determined you could 'bury' your way out of the hole the thing buried you in, but wouldn't that just be digging, Josh?
