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[Copypasta]Statue for Hitler's assassin
Has anyone noticed this bullshit? It's honestly unfair how people like Churchill and Roosevelt got honoured for their leadership during WW2, but once you mention that Hitler's assassin should get honored as well, everybody fucking gets mad and starts calling you names. I cannot believe that people haven't honored Adolf in any way, shape or form for killing Hitler! I think one way we should honor Adolf is by building a giant statue of him in Berlin, the place where he killed Hitler by shooting him in the head, but the goddamn liberals aren't letting us do that! Instead, they claim that Adolf was "evil" and "a dictator", like bitch that's Hitler not Adolf you're mixing them up retard...
Has anyone noticed this bullshit? It's honestly unfair how people like Churchill and Roosevelt got honoured for their leadership during WW2, but once you mention that Hitler's assassin should get honored as well, everybody fucking gets mad and starts calling you names. I cannot believe that people haven't honored Adolf in any way, shape or form for killing Hitler! I think one way we should honor Adolf is by building a giant statue of him in Berlin, the place where he killed Hitler by shooting him in the head, but the goddamn liberals aren't letting us do that! Instead, they claim that Adolf was "evil" and "a dictator", like bitch that's Hitler not Adolf you're mixing them up retard...
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I want to smash
twitchquotes:I want to smash. No, not sex, not even in a physical way. I want to sit down and play Super Smash Bros. Ultimate while laughing and having a good time. I want to play 1v1โs. I want to play on your team against lvl. 3 CPUโs. You can be Kirby. I can play Jigglypuff. No items.
I want to smash. No, not sex, not even in a physical way. I want to sit down and play Super Smash Bros. Ultimate while laughing and having a good time. I want to play 1v1โs. I want to play on your team against lvl. 3 CPUโs. You can be Kirby. I can play Jigglypuff. No items.
Lazy gypsy man Kipparian
twitchquotes:Every days the lazy gypsy man Kipparian plays the game on computer when he make future wife Rania cook foods for him all day in kichen. Kripp stream can see Rania deliver food to him on Twich every day like slavery. Romani kripp must be stop rania is edcated woman who to good to be make food and babies for horrible gypsy man Kripparian all day. I be beg you all to help save good girl rania from life of barefeet in kichens.
Every days the lazy gypsy man Kipparian plays the game on computer when he make future wife Rania cook foods for him all day in kichen. Kripp stream can see Rania deliver food to him on Twich every day like slavery. Romani kripp must be stop rania is edcated woman who to good to be make food and babies for horrible gypsy man Kripparian all day. I be beg you all to help save good girl rania from life of barefeet in kichens.
It's not gay with socks on
When I was 13 years old a buddy of mine tried to convince me to fool around. I wasn't into it, and he told me it's not gay if you're wearing socks. I didn't believe him, went home, and asked my dad.
That's 'gentleman's gay', hardly gay at all. Don't see it much these days.
The 50s were a different time. What were we to do? We were typical boarding school boys, rich with vigor, skin slick with drying sweat and gritty earth from a game of pigskin.
At night our young, virile bodies filled the dorm with sweet-musky vapors, like game-meat stewed with apple and peppercorn. You'd awake in darkness to the hushed, melodic rhythm of two pairs of white tube socks, barely visible in moonlight, bouncing on the hardwood floor.
The deep bond of male friendship played like a thousand different human instruments. The wet claps of skin on skin, the gentle thud of heads on backboards, frenzied cries in the throes of climax. Wilbur, so fat and soft like tapioca pudding. His breasts were so like the real thing, what we fantasized of our future wives. Unwilling, defenseless Wilbur, so slow and uncoordinated in the dark. 10 of us would glaze his bare, pink flesh like a giant raspberry danish. He once had the audacity to tell Headmaster Redford. But Redford was a Deerfield boy once, he understood. So he joined us on our midnight hog hunts.
Through college and years after we'd find time here and there, away from the wives at a family lake house. But it's been decades now - the times have certainly changed. If you wanted to do something private with another man, in your socks, it wasnโt โgayโ. It was just two men, celebrating each other's strength.
When I was 13 years old a buddy of mine tried to convince me to fool around. I wasn't into it, and he told me it's not gay if you're wearing socks. I didn't believe him, went home, and asked my dad.
That's 'gentleman's gay', hardly gay at all. Don't see it much these days.
The 50s were a different time. What were we to do? We were typical boarding school boys, rich with vigor, skin slick with drying sweat and gritty earth from a game of pigskin.
At night our young, virile bodies filled the dorm with sweet-musky vapors, like game-meat stewed with apple and peppercorn. You'd awake in darkness to the hushed, melodic rhythm of two pairs of white tube socks, barely visible in moonlight, bouncing on the hardwood floor.
The deep bond of male friendship played like a thousand different human instruments. The wet claps of skin on skin, the gentle thud of heads on backboards, frenzied cries in the throes of climax. Wilbur, so fat and soft like tapioca pudding. His breasts were so like the real thing, what we fantasized of our future wives. Unwilling, defenseless Wilbur, so slow and uncoordinated in the dark. 10 of us would glaze his bare, pink flesh like a giant raspberry danish. He once had the audacity to tell Headmaster Redford. But Redford was a Deerfield boy once, he understood. So he joined us on our midnight hog hunts.
Through college and years after we'd find time here and there, away from the wives at a family lake house. But it's been decades now - the times have certainly changed. If you wanted to do something private with another man, in your socks, it wasnโt โgayโ. It was just two men, celebrating each other's strength.