God Bless you my child… now suck it! kek
you see FAGGOT SHILL… before the COMMS FAGGOT SHILL bakers union was even OUTTED along with the FAGGOT who tries to claim responsibility for putting the FAGGOTS out…
There was Nightshift and there was Midnight Riders and when all their PUSSY FAGGOT SHILLY GATE KEEPERING MUH POPE P = PAYSEUR MY RELIGIONS! FAGGOT, ONLY HERE TO CONTROL THE NARRATIVE TRAITOR SHIT is done… there will still be nightshift and midnight riders.
KEKITTY!
MUH RELIGIONS!
WE GOTTA WIN THIS 'LECTION FER POTUS!
"Martha! did you hear what some anon said on muh kuns! Thats it! I am voting for Biden!"
SAID NO ONE EVER!
:D
Fucking fundy tools only here to cheer on what they think is THEIR shit…
but I am all woke, Anons!
do the thought of muh Satan exist!?
because we all know it's the thought that counts!
Just FYI: I have thoroughly enjoyed the "WE HAVE ACB NOW SO WE ARE SAVED!" bullshit.
See graphic + prove anon wrong!
kek
Anytime Shill.
awww did you get outed also, Faggot?
Muh Vatican? Muh Religion? Muh Jesus is the only way?
AND THAT AIN'T DIVIDING… huh uh!
kek
Did any of that touch a widdle nerve?
Fucking Rookie Pukes!
If—
BY RUDYARD KIPLING
(‘Brother Square-Toes’—Rewards and Fairies)
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
phil turd!
reality!