red nose energy
It’s name means ‘agriculture’.
Taliban squats on suffering of afghani people and slices it’s workforce in half just because. They know the donations would come. They don’t need to do anything for the west to feel pity of this country for the years of occupation - and while Talibs don’t have anything to do with it afghani nation would be carefully supported whatever bullshit they do.
Talibs took over Afghanistan in mere days because the existing government (whatever platform they even had) was too codependent on american presence. Corrupt and weak, without any political or military might, it predictably flopped. That’s what 20 years of this ‘buildimg’ effort went up to become. There were no plan to leave, especially that fast, and as long as it existed the way it did, no one bothered to nurture afghani own political ground. And when they left, it crumbled.
50 years ago, sheesh. He’s that fucking old.
The way the US moved to leave was a disaster, now punished with these bloodsuckers demanding help for problems they themselves create.
Their camo and equipment? Yep. But it’s arguable if they are rad themselves.
I wonder what could have happened if he had announced he is against aid in that short window before the elections, how many power pro-Israeli lobby has to sink a man fast. I imagine, it can be twisted badly to hurt his and dem’s chances at winning, and they avoid touching that topic at all for now, with a reasoning that they’d not be able to affect it at all if they lose. That’s so if we assume they’d be dare to change the policies after they get there.
Yep, that’s what confuses me too. Seems like I’ve missed the time when this photo was popular. Can’t do a proper reverse search from mobile tho.
As for railings: I have a couple of these combinations around me in Russia because these basic colors are, well, that basic. There were some news about communal service workers repainting park benches and fences into different colors after someone spotted they are blue-yellow. But even Zet-head users found this ridiculous and stupid.
Would it be a despise or a praise at home if someone like him succedes? He’s probably mentally ill and purposedly radicalized by someone. Yet, I can see people cheering his failed deeds and him becoming this week’s martyr for the religious right majority in the East.
Stalker’s Monolith guys: Yeah, that would do.
Another post with the same claim with original photo in the comms.
meemes ahaha i like them. this chat needs more of them. about the OP too - the famous guy I’m yet to meet
That’s not mine, it’s a classic from 9mother9horse9eyes9.
Haven’t seen one. One another thing I miss from the previous site.
It’s an essay by tommorow morning or you are banned on every instance. I don’t make rules.
Okay, I’d try to salt your wounds harder.
I fall asleep in the closet but I wake up in my bed. Before I open my eyes I know she will be there.
She is.
Standing at the end of the bed. Morning time. She is not a person. She is something else. I try not to cry. I start crying right away. Can’t stop. She is tall but her body is not a body. It is just a pile of things. It’s covered in a long shiny robe. Shiny from a million blue-gold flies crawling on her. Long gray hair covers most of her face. I look up at the ceiling and scream and scream and scream. I scream for mommy to come back. The ceiling turns pink and fuzzy I am screaming so hard.
Then she is standing over me looking down on me. Her face is awful pieces of animal. I remember her eyes. The same eyes as the white horse Brittany rides, the one that mom said I could pet but it bit my hand and I had to go to the hospital. The eyes are just hanging on the face not really looking at me. Flies crawl on them. I am shaking scared.
Please God please please make her go away.
She snorts and makes animal sounds. Her old barn smell makes me want to throw up. She reaches out and her fingers are made of crab legs all different sizes. No no no. I hate crabs more than anything. When we go to the beach, my dad always makes sure to pick a part of the beach with no crabs. He says he can tell when there are crabs because no no no she touches my face with her crab hands horrible horrible I close my eyes as tight as I can and scoot against the back of the bed.
The touching stops. I press my eyes shut tight.
Tweets and chirps. “Drink,” a happy little voice says.
I keep my eyes closed.
“Drink,” says the voice. It sounds fun and cartoony.
I open my eyes just a little bit. Oh a dozen bird heads have crawled out of a hole in her neck. They move in different ways. I found a dead baby bird once in our backyard. It had no skin and blue lumps for eyes. It is there with the other heads. “Drink!” it says in its funny parrot voice.
She holds up a big silver spoon in her crab hand. A greenish monkey hand holds up a glass bottle full of purple stuff and pours it out into the spoon. I can smell it. Grapey like the medicine mom gives me. Is it the same stuff? She holds the spoon up for me to drink.
Please God make this stop.
All the birds giggle.
Her claw pinky pokes my neck. It hurts. I open my mouth. Down goes the medicine.
I lie there with my eyes shut tight. I cry and stop crying and cry again. I know she’s there. The smell. The flies. The sound of animal breath. Why won’t she go away? Please go away go away go away. Please God make her go away.
Something’s slipped inside my eyes. I can see it even though they’re closed. Not a square. Not a triangle. A shape I don’t know the name of. Lots of shapes. Oh no my eyeballs fill up with little people like a Where’s Waldo book. There’s a million of them all doing different things moving around in an old city with castles and flags. They’re running through tunnels and climbing up towers. I can watch them all at once. Wow. There’s a baker and a knight and clown and a queen with lots of – they’re all dying! Cartoony blood pours everywhere and they’ve all got scared looks on their faces and the blood washes away and they’re all playing and smiling again.
The places and people change. I see stories. They happen all at once, a hundred stories, but I can watch them all at once. It’s different people crying and laughing and living and dying and doing all kinds of things. It’s like seeing ten movies all at once and it’s so much too much I open my eyes.
She is still there piled up on the edge of the bed. The Where’s Waldo people are still there, playing and laughing and bleeding and dying. The animal pieces of her face open up and – look! there’s another face inside. It’s a woman’s face or maybe a man’s face made of wet clay. It’s smooth and beautiful and I’m not scared at all looking at it and I feel like I’m floating. The clay changes and the face turns into other faces – an old man, a young man, a Chinese guy, a sad black guy, other guys, a cat. The shapes of the faces change but something in the eyes stays the same. Staring at me. Telling me something.
The face changes one more time. It is a woman’s face. Mother. Maybe very old maybe very young. Mother. The eyes say something clearly. Mother. I can feel my heart beating when it beats it says Mother. Mother. Mother. The eyes are sad so old and sad and kind so kind like they’re sorry for me like they wish they could help me. But the face is still and the lips are pressed together like she – Mother – is trying to hide that she is sad. Trying not to be sad. Trying to be strict. Because…
Because she is going to punish me. It is the same look mom gives me when I’ve been bad and she puts me in time out. The face is mom’s face but also a thousand other faces. They feel sorry for me.
Oh no. Oh no no no no no no no no. I scream and scream scream scream.
Hehe, that’s nice.
Cooper also framed the slaughter of millions of people, most of them Jewish, as a logistical failure. Nazi leader Adolf Hitler, he said, entered Germany into “a war where they were completely unprepared to deal with the millions and millions of prisoners of war, of local political prisoners.”
“They went in with no plan for that and they just threw these people into camps,” he added. “And millions of people ended up dead there.”
Poor little nazis, kek.
That ‘historian’ is to be bullied from every college debate club.
These placards are top design lmao. Highlighting something with a darker color on a dark background is exactly the thing you’d imagine from them.
"Meet your neighbors […] IF KAMALA WINS.”
Meaning all these racist dummies holding these pictures? They won’t go anywhere anyways. Big sad.
The guy in pink: 😞😣😢
Just a little coma, you won’t even notice it.