Hatemotor Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> Sooooooo,,,,,Are you going to restore this thread
> to it's rightful place as the #1 off topic thread
> or not Miz?
>
> I'm sure Tuttle would appreciate the return of the
> old name too,,,
>
> Start page 108 with the return of the After
> Dark,,,the last two pages sucked,,,


some might venture to say that this thread has lost its zest.

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Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 09/23/2011 01:03AM by bloody blisters.

I think many things go in cycles, just as this thread will...as a person's moods and life goes in various directions and off on many tangents it all seems to circle back across roads that are familiar at one time or another.

A novelty or a place to dump your thoughts, fears and just air out one's feelings, is that FFXU AD? I am not sure...maybe, it is the dumping grounds of pain and anger or could it be a place to release inner thoughts that you can not share in your current circle of friends? Maybe this thread, between the suicidal rants and pure hate, will find some light of others actually sharing something positive about life?

I will start with a positive note --- maybe some others will add to the list in time? --- kind of create a balance between the good and evil we all live in...

I spent some time with my parents the other weekend and also some time with my nephews --- the contrast in where they are in life was a complete revelation and sent me off trying to define where I am and what I can do to be a better son and uncle. I can not say I found any answers right from the beginning, but at least the inner dialogue has started and I am hoping that it will lead me to better, happier and worthwhile endeavors in the future.

Another positive I found myself thinking of is that the term "Unconditional Love" is true...I have it for my nephews, in fact they were the ones who facilitated my realization of the true meaning of the word I had thrown around so easily in the past --- my hopes are that my parents felt the same about their son.

how is any of that shit positive?

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postpoppunk Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> I think many things go in cycles, just as this
> thread will...as a person's moods and life goes in
> various directions and off on many tangents it all
> seems to circle back across roads that are
> familiar at one time or another.
>
> A novelty or a place to dump your thoughts, fears
> and just air out one's feelings, is that FFXU AD?
> I am not sure...maybe, it is the dumping grounds
> of pain and anger or could it be a place to
> release inner thoughts that you can not share in
> your current circle of friends? Maybe this thread,
> between the suicidal rants and pure hate, will
> find some light of others actually sharing
> something positive about life?
>
> I will start with a positive note --- maybe some
> others will add to the list in time? --- kind of
> create a balance between the good and evil we all
> live in...
>
> I spent some time with my parents the other
> weekend and also some time with my nephews --- the
> contrast in where they are in life was a complete
> revelation and sent me off trying to define where
> I am and what I can do to be a better son and
> uncle. I can not say I found any answers right
> from the beginning, but at least the inner
> dialogue has started and I am hoping that it will
> lead me to better, happier and worthwhile
> endeavors in the future.
>
> Another positive I found myself thinking of is
> that the term "Unconditional Love" is true...I
> have it for my nephews, in fact they were the ones
> who facilitated my realization of the true meaning
> of the word I had thrown around so easily in the
> past --- my hopes are that my parents felt the
> same about their son.


OMG..That is so fucking sweet.

.



Edited 3 time(s). Last edit at 03/04/2012 07:02PM by Alias.

do so many folks these days have dogs because they seek the unconditional love they can't find from a human?

Of course , for that unconditional love you have to take them for constant walks and pick their shit up.

it aint nothin but a party... postpop assumes that everyone else is miserable... get off your high horse and get dirty for once, bro...

it's fun...

Signatures are for fags

C'mon HT - I do not have any agenda, I just type what I am thinking at the time --- there is no "assuming" or "high horse" involved.

Not too many posters I would care to respond to personally, but you have been around since I lost my cute feathers and tend to jab at me - lets allow "Each their own" and roll peacefully.

And I am a "dirty" fucking perverted freak, but that remains something to be shared with a select few. Now...if you are talking "dirty" in the sense of fighting and fucking with other posters?, well maybe...time will tell.

Ward Bond sucked off my dick and Mark Adduy toucheds little boys, but not untiol thery'e of legal age of consetnt///

I joust obutout a Roy FROygers Franshoics
Attachments:

postpoppunk Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> C'mon HT - I do not have any agenda, I just type
> what I am thinking at the time --- there is no
> "assuming" or "high horse" involved.

I'm returning the favor...

>
> Not too many posters I would care to respond to
> personally, but you have been around since I lost
> my cute feathers and tend to jab at me

Welp... there goes my street cred... thanks for the endorsement...

I'm just throwing you a little attention... You obviously spend a lot of time crafting your posts and, usually, no one even bats an eye.... No matter how much you develop, you'll always be that awkward little baby goose to me! AWWWWW...

- lets
> allow "Each their own" and roll peacefully.

Want to kiss now?

>
> And I am a "dirty" fucking perverted freak, but
> that remains something to be shared with a select
> few. Now...if you are talking "dirty" in the sense
> of fighting and fucking with other posters?, well
> maybe...time will tell.

Oh, pshaw... You're as pure as the driven snow...

Signatures are for fags

The new Roy Rogers in Manassas on Sudley road may look nice and pretty but the food quality is medicore. the old one on Centreville road may look like dump but food is better.

lets tget our fago on

MMisery....there is a NEW lady here for you...named SHELLY

You can find here easily, good luck lover-boy...

It's squashed bro!! I will leave it at that. This has gone way to far that's for damn sure! I said some shit you said some shit iTS OVER! Call me a punk ass bitch if you guys want but 2 weeks I've been the main topic wtf? Tuttle "returned the favor" & I accepted it. It's dropped. A lot of innocent ppl have been drug into this. For that I apologize! I won't be the one to start the bashing again! It's DONE!! Peace




Harry Tuttle Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> postpoppunk Wrote:
> --------------------------------------------------
> -----
> > C'mon HT - I do not have any agenda, I just
> type
> > what I am thinking at the time --- there is no
> > "assuming" or "high horse" involved.
>
> I'm returning the favor...
>
> >
> > Not too many posters I would care to respond to
> > personally, but you have been around since I
> lost
> > my cute feathers and tend to jab at me
>
> Welp... there goes my street cred... thanks for
> the endorsement...
>
> I'm just throwing you a little attention... You
> obviously spend a lot of time crafting your posts
> and, usually, no one even bats an eye.... No
> matter how much you develop, you'll always be that
> awkward little baby goose to me! AWWWWW...
>
> - lets
> > allow "Each their own" and roll peacefully.
>
> Want to kiss now?
>
> >
> > And I am a "dirty" fucking perverted freak, but
> > that remains something to be shared with a
> select
> > few. Now...if you are talking "dirty" in the
> sense
> > of fighting and fucking with other posters?,
> well
> > maybe...time will tell.
>
> Oh, pshaw... You're as pure as the driven snow...

^^^^^ Forgot one "P" in there...

Where's the P ?

It's running down Harry's leg.

Impersonation = the highest form of flattery...hmm...I suppose I should be happy to have such a devout fan --- even a "Registered" one...WOW.

You're so vain...

Signatures are for fags

I feel my life is coming to an end

but I say that every night, so there's no need to get excited

MISERY, by Anton Chekhov
"To whom shall I tell my grief?"

THE twilight of evening. Big flakes of wet snow are whirling lazily about the street lamps, which have just been lighted, and lying in a thin soft layer on roofs, horses' backs, shoulders, caps. Iona Potapov, the sledge-driver, is all white like a ghost. He sits on the box without stirring, bent as double as the living body can be bent. If a regular snowdrift fell on him it seems as though even then he would not think it necessary to shake it off.... His little mare is white and motionless
too. Her stillness, the angularity of her lines, and the stick-like straightness of her legs make her look like a halfpenny gingerbread horse. She is probably lost in thought. Anyone who has been torn away from the plough, from the familiar gray landscapes, and cast into this slough, full of monstrous lights, of unceasing uproar and hurrying people, is bound to think.
It is a long time since Iona and his nag have budged. They came out of the yard before dinnertime and not a single fare yet. But now the shades of evening are falling on the town. The pale light of the street lamps changes to a vivid color, and the bustle of the street grows noisier.
"Sledge to Vyborgskaya!" Iona hears. "Sledge!"
Iona starts, and through his snow-plastered eyelashes sees an officer in a military overcoat with a hood over his head.
"To Vyborgskaya," repeats the officer. "Are you asleep? To Vyborgskaya!"
In token of assent Iona gives a tug at the reins which sends cakes of snow flying from the horse's back and shoulders. The officer gets into the sledge. The sledge-driver clicks to the horse, cranes his neck like a swan, rises in his seat, and more from habit than necessity brandishes his whip. The mare cranes her neck, too, crooks her stick-like legs, and hesitatingly sets of....
"Where are you shoving, you devil?" Iona immediately hears shouts from the dark mass shifting to and fro before him. "Where the devil are you going? Keep to the r-right!"
"You don't know how to drive! Keep to the right," says the officer angrily.
A coachman driving a carriage swears at him; a pedestrian crossing the road and brushing the horse's nose with his shoulder looks at him angrily and shakes the snow off his sleeve. Iona fidgets on the box as though he were sitting on thorns, jerks his elbows, and turns his eyes about like one possessed as though he did not know where he was or why he was there.
"What rascals they all are!" says the officer jocosely. "They are simply doing their best to run up against you or fall under the horse's feet. They must be doing it on purpose."
Iona looks as his fare and moves his lips.... Apparently he means to say something, but nothing comes but a sniff.
"What?" inquires the officer.
Iona gives a wry smile, and straining his throat, brings out huskily: "My son... er... my son died this week, sir."
"H'm! What did he die of?" Iona turns his whole body round to his fare, and says:
"Who can tell! It must have been from fever.... He lay three days in the hospital and then he died.... God's will."
"Turn round, you devil!" comes out of the darkness. "Have you gone cracked, you old dog? Look where you are going!"
"Drive on! drive on!..." says the officer. "We shan't get there till to-morrow going on like this. Hurry up!"
The sledge-driver cranes his neck again, rises in his seat, and with heavy grace swings his whip. Several times he looks round at the officer, but the latter keeps his eyes shut and is apparently disinclined to listen. Putting his fare down at Vyborgskaya, Iona stops by a restaurant, and again sits huddled up on the box.... Again
the wet snow paints him and his horse white. One hour passes, and then another....
Three young men, two tall and thin, one short and hunchbacked, come up, railing at each other and loudly stamping on the pavement with their goloshes.
"Cabby, to the Police Bridge!" the hunchback cries in a cracked voice. "The three of us,... twenty kopecks!"
Iona tugs at the reins and clicks to his horse. Twenty kopecks is not a fair price, but he has no thoughts for that. Whether it is a rouble or whether it is five kopecks does not matter to him now so long as he has a fare.... The three young men, shoving each other and using bad language, go up to the sledge, and all three try to sit down at once. The question remains to be settled: Which are to sit down and which one is to stand? After a long altercation, ill-temper, and abuse, they
come to the conclusion that the hunchback must stand because he is the shortest.
"Well, drive on," says the hunchback in his cracked voice, settling
himself and breathing down Iona's neck. "Cut along! What a cap you've got, my friend! You wouldn't find a worse one in all Petersburg...."
"He-he!... he-he!..." laughs Iona. "It's nothing to boast of!"
"Well, then, nothing to boast of, drive on! Are you going to drive like this all the way? Eh? Shall I give you one in the neck?"
"My head aches," says one of the tall ones. "At the Dukmasovs' yesterday Vaska and I drank four bottles of brandy between us."
"I can't make out why you talk such stuff," says the other tall one angrily. "You lie like a brute."
"Strike me dead, it's the truth!..." "It's about as true as that a louse coughs." "He-he!" grins Iona. "Me-er-ry gentlemen!"
"Tfoo! the devil take you!" cries the hunchback indignantly. "Will you get on, you old plague, or won't you? Is that the way to drive? Give her one with the whip. Hang it all, give it her well."
Iona feels behind his back the jolting person and quivering voice of the hunchback. He hears abuse addressed to him, he sees people, and the feeling of loneliness begins little by little to be less heavy on his heart. The hunchback swears at him, till he chokes over some elaborately whimsical string of epithets and is overpowered by his cough. His tall companions begin talking of a certain Nadyezhda Petrovna. Iona looks round at them. Waiting till there is a brief pause, he looks round once more and says:
"This week... er... my... er... son died!"
"We shall all die,..." says the hunchback with a sigh, wiping his lips after coughing. "Come, drive on! drive on! My friends, I simply cannot stand crawling like this! When will he get us there?"
"Well, you give him a little encouragement... one in the neck!"
"Do you hear, you old plague? I'll make you smart. If one stands on ceremony with fellows like you one may as well walk. Do you hear, you old dragon? Or don't you care a hang what we say?"
And Iona hears rather than feels a slap on the back of his neck.
"He-he!..." he laughs. "Merry gentlemen.... God give you health!"
"Cabman, are you married?" asks one of the tall ones.
"I? He he! Me-er-ry gentlemen. The only wife for me now is the damp earth.... He-ho-ho!.... The grave that is!... Here my son's dead and I am alive.... It's a strange thing, death has come in at the wrong door.... Instead of coming for me it went for my son...."
And Iona turns round to tell them how his son died, but at that point the hunchback gives a faint sigh and announces that, thank God! they have arrived at last. After taking his twenty kopecks, Iona gazes for a long while after the revelers, who disappear into a dark entry. Again he is alone and again there is silence for him.... The misery which has been for a brief space eased comes back again and tears his heart more cruelly than ever. With a look of anxiety and suffering Iona's eyes
stray restlessly among the crowds moving to and fro on both sides of the street: can he not find among those thousands someone who will listen to him? But the crowds flit by heedless of him and his misery.... His misery is immense, beyond all bounds. If Iona's heart were to burst and his misery to flow out, it would flood the whole world, it seems, but
yet it is not seen. It has found a hiding-place in such an insignificant shell that one would not have found it with a candle by daylight....
Iona sees a house-porter with a parcel and makes up his mind to address him.
"What time will it be, friend?" he asks.
"Going on for ten.... Why have you stopped here? Drive on!"
Iona drives a few paces away, bends himself double, and gives himself up to his misery. He feels it is no good to appeal to people. But before five minutes have passed he draws himself up, shakes his head as though he feels a sharp pain, and tugs at the reins.... He can bear it no
longer. "Back to the yard!" he thinks. "To the yard!"
And his little mare, as though she knew his thoughts, falls to trotting. An hour and a half later Iona is sitting by a big dirty stove. On the stove, on the floor, and on the benches are people snoring. The air is full of smells and stuffiness. Iona looks at the sleeping figures, scratches himself, and regrets that he has come home so early....
"I have not earned enough to pay for the oats, even," he thinks. "That's why I am so miserable. A man who knows how to do his work,... who has had enough to eat, and whose horse has had enough to eat, is always at ease...."
In one of the corners a young cabman gets up, clears his throat sleepily, and makes for the water-bucket.
"Want a drink?" Iona asks him.
"Seems so."
"May it do you good.... But my son is dead, mate.... Do you hear? This week in the hospital.... It's a queer business...."
Iona looks to see the effect produced by his words, but he sees nothing. The young man has covered his head over and is already asleep. The old man sighs and scratches himself.... Just as the young man had been thirsty for water, he thirsts for speech. His son will soon have been
dead a week, and he has not really talked to anybody yet.... He wants to talk of it properly, with deliberation.... He wants to tell how his son was taken ill, how he suffered, what he said before he died, how he died.... He wants to describe the funeral, and how he went to the hospital to get his son's clothes. He still has his daughter Anisya in the country.... And he wants to talk about her too.... Yes, he has plenty to talk about now. His listener ought to sigh and exclaim and lament.... It would be even better to talk to women. Though they are silly creatures, they blubber at the first word.
"Let's go out and have a look at the mare," Iona thinks. "There is always time for sleep.... You'll have sleep enough, no fear...."
He puts on his coat and goes into the stables where his mare is standing. He thinks about oats, about hay, about the weather.... He cannot think about his son when he is alone.... To talk about him with someone is possible, but to think of him and picture him is insufferable anguish....
"Are you munching?" Iona asks his mare, seeing her shining eyes. "There, munch away, munch away.... Since we have not earned enough for oats, we will eat hay.... Yes,... I have grown too old to drive.... My son ought to be driving, not I.... He was a real cabman.... He
ought to have lived...." Iona is silent for a while, and then he goes on:
"That's how it is, old girl.... Kuzma Ionitch is gone.... He said good-by to me.... He went and died for no reason.... Now, suppose you had a little colt, and you were own mother to that little colt. ... And all at once that same little colt went and died.... You'd be sorry, wouldn't you?..."
The little mare munches, listens, and breathes on her master's hands. Iona is carried away and tells her all about it.

Anklewich or red hot and blue - best restaurant in fairfax?

Yes..

Signatures are for fags

I'm going to die tonight

Anklewich or red hot and blue - best restaurant in fairfax???

Feel like gettin' banned again? Go out with a bang...

Signatures are for fags

YOU HAD ME AT PROBIOTIC.

alias

Kidd Fagatron is here... in full effect

Signatures are for fags

You on point, Miz?

Signatures are for fags

I want to fuck every dad in the ass

why doesn't Alias love me anymore?

.



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 03/04/2012 06:42PM by Alias.

Alias Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> Mr. Misery Wrote:
> --------------------------------------------------
> -----
> > alias
>
>
> yes?


I love you.


SOmething weird is happening. I love you.

Alias, Smurfs 3D, next Wednesday, you and me. What do you say?

Alias, check you PMS

.



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 03/04/2012 06:30PM by Alias.

telling me to fuck off is a lesser term than this crap to get me to stay away. good job miz, you are killin teh forumz.

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oh and bloody blisters is dying soon =)

Attachments:

.



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 03/04/2012 06:28PM by Alias.

Mr. Misery Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> alias

Alias is a stupid shithead, an idiot, retarded, and a loser.

.



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 03/04/2012 06:27PM by Alias.

Alias Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------

> Looks like geronimo got scared and had to change
> his name.
>
> What's the matter, dipshit?
>
> Those NY minutes catchin' up with you?
>
> What a baby!


Geronimo never changes his name, Cunt-Fuckwit, except when you passive-agressively register them. There is an infinite supply of numbers--get busy, you fuckwitted bitch.

.



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 03/04/2012 06:46PM by Alias.

OOOh Geronimo is SO impressive with his new vocabulary, using Passive-Agressive in 2 consecutive posts.

Geronimo, does your mom post ads on craigslist for sex for money or does she give it up for free on AFF.com? You two could probably make decent money filming your mother-son incestuial acts.

,,,,



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 02/12/2012 09:48PM by Hatemotor.

Hey cheesedicks, wassup?

no zest

I just can't get it up anymore for the forum in general. My goose is cooked.

take me now, lord

,,,



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 02/12/2012 09:48PM by Hatemotor.

fuck Ward Bond.

he sucked.

ready to die

that's it. I'm dead.

To be stuck inside of NOVA
with the psychache blues again.





Done by request.

,,,



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 02/12/2012 09:49PM by Hatemotor.

Good Grief!!! He goes through this every week. If he really wanted to die, he would have done so and there would be no more post from him. Good Riddance Miz, see ya in the after life if you make it to Heaven.

Ms ProVallone Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> Good Grief!!! He goes through this every week. If
> he really wanted to die, he would have done so and
> there would be no more post from him. Good
> Riddance Miz, see ya in the after life if you make
> it to Heaven.


He wants to fuck Alias in the ass.

.



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 03/04/2012 05:52PM by Alias.

but nobody will be my friend. I have to pay strange men 100 dollars an hour to pretend like they care about me.

that's it.

I'm objectionable.

people would rather not be around me.

I might as well drop dead.

I would love to be dead right now.

Mr. Misery Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> I would love to be dead right now.


We would love you to be dead right now. Do it.

At least you're coming up with new material, 496.. Stay sharp, mate...

496 Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> Mr. Misery Wrote:
> --------------------------------------------------
> -----
> > I would love to be dead right now.
>
>
> We would love you to be dead right now. Do it.

Signatures are for fags

I'm beginning to see the light

TALKING truth to power...........................

.
Attachments:

I'm going to bed because I hurt


fuck Mark Addy

The Adventures of Harry Tuttle
Book 1, Chapter 1
"And So It Begins"





Coming soon, Chapter 2: "Cornholed!"

I feel pretty good now

this is not a bit, at all. About an hour ago, I was ready to die. Now I feel pretty good.


that's good, right? Not a bit.

you were feeling better when you posted the Jabba the Hut attachment.

No man can ponder Jabba the Hut and suicide at the same time.

Mr. Misery Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> this is not a bit, at all. About an hour ago, I
> was ready to die. Now I feel pretty good.
>
>
> that's good, right? Not a bit.


NO...it's not good Miz. Not good at all.
You are destroying your rep here.

The stars were shining, and the leaves rustled in the woods ever so mournful.

And I heard an owl, away off, who-whooing about somebody that was dead, and a
whippowill and a dog crying about somebody that was going to die.

And the wind was trying to whisper something to me, and I couldn't make out what
it was, and so it made the cold shivers run over me.

The Adventures of Harry Tuttle
Book 1, Chapter 2
"Cornholed!"



Conie kept pecking at me, and it got tiresome and lonesome. By
and by they fetched the niggers in and had prayers, and then everybody
was off to bed. I went up to my room with a piece of candle, and put it
on the table. Then I set down in a chair by the window and tried to
think of something cheerful, but it warn't no use. I felt so lonesome I
most wished I was dead.

Then away out in the woods I heard that kind of a sound that a ghost
makes when it wants to tell about something that's on its mind and can't
make itself understood, and so can't rest easy in its grave, and has to
go about that way every night grieving.

I got so down-hearted and scared I did wish I had some company. Pretty soon
a spider went crawling up my shoulder, and I flipped it off and it lit in
the candle; and before I could budge it was all shriveled up. I didn't
need anybody to tell me that that was an awful bad sign and would fetch
me some bad luck, so I was scared and most shook the clothes off of me.

I got up and turned around in my tracks three times and crossed my breast
every time; and then I tied up a little lock of my hair with a thread to
keep witches away. But I hadn't no confidence. You do that when you've
lost a horseshoe that you've found, instead of nailing it up over the
door, but I hadn't ever heard anybody say it was any way to keep off bad
luck when you'd killed a spider.

I set down again, a-shaking all over, and got out my pipe for a smoke;
for the house was all as still as death now, and so Conie wouldn't
know. Well, after a long time I heard the clock away off in the town go
boom--boom--boom--twelve licks; and all still again--stiller than ever.

Pretty soon I heard a twig snap down in the dark amongst the trees
--something was a stirring. I set still and listened. Directly I could
just barely hear a "me-yow! me-yow!" down there.

That was good!

Says I, "me-yow! me-yow!" as soft as I could, and then I put out the light
and scrambled out of the window on to the shed. Then I slipped down to the
ground and crawled in among the trees, and, sure enough, there was Harry
Tuttle waiting for me.

Life is...

Great
Difficult
Empty
Wonderful
Painful
Content
Adventure
Fear
Love
Hate
Laughter
Disease
Family
Friends
Enemies
Consuming
Growing
Companionship
Loneliness
Creation
Annihilation
Poetry
Hypocrisy


Do we write the WORDS that define our lives?

or

Do we allow life to dictate which WORDS define us?


If it is there? I have yet to find the courage to start to take actions that result in myself choosing which WORDS will be a part of my future.






---

A Minor Threat

Interesting...









---

A Minor Threat

Life is Greater with Music After Dark

edit by Cary: Malicious autoplay deleted. Account disabled. email cary@fairfaxunderground.com to re-enable.

I am also gay sometimes to

aw man, here somes miz to fags things up.

Attachments:

is os fags as well I think

Yeah... I thought I felt the fun get sucked out of the forum....

Signatures are for fags

Harry Tuttle Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> Yeah... I thought I felt the fun get sucked out of
> the forum....


thwat the fuck?
P

Harry Tuttle Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> Yeah... I thought I felt the fun get sucked out of
> the forum....


alright man, well ima hit the slay

Attachments:

HA!

Signatures are for fags

Peacemail, bra

bloody blisters Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> Harry Tuttle Wrote:
> --------------------------------------------------
> -----
> > Yeah... I thought I felt the fun get sucked out
> of
> > the forum....
>
>
> alright man, well ima hit the slay

Signatures are for fags

if i wanted to be bored before i fell asleep i would have stared at a wall.

Attachments:

what thei f, Ik yaryyharyy tuttlesm,
hi kslk




ikm so high hright now

h tuts, double pits to chesty man.... double pits to chesty.

Attachments:

i got so moy homeworiks done dbuddies/!!!!!

Did you cross your eyes and dot your tees?

Signatures are for fags

The feet of eesh.




-
Attachments:

Nice armadillo tattoo, fag...

eesh Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> The feet of eesh.
>
>
>
>
> -

Signatures are for fags

The last thing Tuttle will ever see....
Attachments:

I'll never believe that's you...

Signatures are for fags

Check your PMS Harry.

as if the toe glove slippers weren't gay enough, fucking fuckwit.




Harry Tuttle Wrote:
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> Nice armadillo tattoo, fag...
>
> eesh Wrote:
> --------------------------------------------------
> -----
> > The feet of eesh.
> >
> >
> >
> >
> > -

Harry Tuttle Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> I'll never believe that's you...


bloody blisters is gonna rip off your head and shit down your neck.

eesh is such a faggot

by the way, am I the only person bothered by the fact that Eek-A-Mouse was arrested for attempted rape a couple years ago?

I'm watching Bill Burr.... He's great...

Signatures are for fags