le Führer

cheater

Eramos companheiros de quarto. Nunca aprendi grande coisa com ele visto que é um burro do crl. Nos intervalos da quimioterapia que fizemos para recuperar do nosso cancro ele tentou ensinar-me a arrotar de propósito, a mandar piropos às enfermeiras e ainda me tentou convencer que levar no ♥♥ só custava à primeria. Hoje ele ainda me deve 23 euros que lhe emprestei para comprar fraldas de incontinência. O meu único arrependimento dos tempos hospitalares é não ter trocado de companheiro de quarto, o gajo só se peidava, queria sempre ver o Goucha e estava sempre a pedir para lhe porem o termómetro no ♥♥. Os outros pacientes já não o podiam ver à frente e odiavam este rabeta. Mas enfim, são águas passadas...Fico triste que ainda tenhas essas tendências agr que te encontrei na steam... Abraço e deixa-te dessas mariquices ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

Trains are really unpredictable. Even in the middle of a forest two rails can appear out of nowhere, and a 1.5-mile fully loaded coal drag, heading east out of the low-sulfur mines of the PRB, will be right on your a ss the next moment.

I was doing laundry in my basement, and I tripped over a metal bar that wasn't there the moment before. I looked down: "Rail? WTF?" and then I saw concrete sleepers underneath and heard the rumbling.

Deafening railroad horn. I dumped my wife's pants, unfolded, and dove behind the water heater. It was a double-stacked Z train, headed east towards the fast single track of the BNSF Emporia Sub (Flint Hills). Majestic as hell: 75 mph, 6 units, distributed power: 4 ES44DC's pulling, and 2 Dash-9's pushing, all in run 8. Whole house smelled like diesel for a couple of hours!

Fact is, there is no way to discern which path a train will take, so you really have to be watchful. If only there were some way of knowing the routes trains travel.

I used to roll half a bottle of laxative pills into a Crunch wrap supreme and then leave cow pies on peoples door mats. People in my town installed porch cameras to catch the "Phantom S hitter" they said it couldn't possibly be one man, the hits were too frequent and too large. It had to be a whole gang of city punks coordinating and making planned precision strikes. I felt like a god among lesser beings in my town. Every time i was at the local diner and i overheard someone screaming about the black slop they found on their porch i felt powerful and unstoppable. I became too arrogant, started striking during the day. That's when they caught me and strung me up in the streets and hit me with rocks. I barely escaped with my life and i had to leave town. Now after all these years, I'm in a new town and I behave well enough. But I've got this nagging feeling, the urge is back, and I'm starting to think that my new town is about to experience a storm

Olá Tomás,daqui é o teu amigo Orácio,só para lembrar que nunca me chegaste a pagar pelas farturas que foste buscar na quarta.Por favor contacta-me