italian civil war

WE STAN

You still don't understand, do you?. There's no such thing as half a victory. Not for us. A lunatic... the ancient enemy, hysterical and spineless. A cowardly old cripple who sends his children to fight in his stead. A pervert who couldn't fight, for whom a merciful death was almost too good. Their neverending suffering, their pain... THAT'S what's in your blood. But you! You're even worse than them. The great Leutnant! Your entire company! Why couldn't you at least have had the decency to die with the rest of them?!

if you see a furry, STOP what you are doing and alert the authorities. the furry subculture is a dangerous cult-like entity whose members seek to achieve a “Beast Form” (commonly called “Fursona”) through sinful means. beware of these practices for they are sure indicators of furry ritual activity: raves, marijuana, devil worship, YCH auctions, “Fursuiting,” and animal roleplay or sacrifice. “Fursuits” (called “Beast Vessels” by the high priests) are abhorrent raiments worn by all furries and made in the image of the wearers’ “Beast Forms.” they are believed by wearers to pull the soul closer to hell, lair of The Beast 666 Satan Lord Of Evil. please share this to spread awareness of this evil organization. stay safe

You wanna know how i got this drip? My father, was a sigma, from ohio. And one night, he goes off sussier than the imposter at 3 am. Mommy gets the baby gronk rizzing up livvy dunn to defend herself. He doesn't like that. Not. One. Bit. So, me watching, he takes the OG fortnite rizzler to ohio, laughing the ocky way while he does it. He turns to me and says, "What the dog doing?" He griddys at me with the goofy ahh kai cenat grimace gyatt level 3. "WHAT THE DOG DOING?" He sticks the ice spice squid game lightskin stare in my mouth and says..."Let's put a skibidi toilet on that cuh dey board."

It's like I told my last wife. I says "Honey, I never drive faster than I can see."
"Besides that, it's all in the reflexes."

You just listen to the Pork-Chop Express and take his advice on a dark and stormy night. When some wild-eyed maniac grabs your neck, taps the back of your head
up against a barroom wall, he looks you crooked in the eye and asks you if you've paid your dues, you just stare that big sucker back in the eye and remember what Jack Burton always says. "Have you paid your dues, Jack?"

"Yes, sir, the cheque is in the mail."