Silk Road forums
Discussion => Newbie discussion => Topic started by: HughBerto on January 18, 2013, 02:26 am
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title says it all
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You delight yourself in a paranoid state of mind
A bunch of mischief talking shit, it's what you're all about
You celebrate yourself in filth and self-indulgence
As you believe you own the world — fuck you
You blame us all to never trust your lies
Your lame words won't ever justify wasting our precious time
You want it all, could kill for five seconds of fame
No matter who you suck, you're just a hopeless case
You rate yourself as fucking number one
A poisoned ego oversized but undefined
No hope you'll improve yourself
No reason to try to understand
A worthless, miserable one, absurd and non-relevant
You'll burn yourself with all your hate
You're tainted, devoid of soul
A vain being to nullify with no remorse
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35
so a nun walked into a bar (don't you think that thats like a little out of character i mean comon a nun whos gone selibit and all walking into a bar like i think i should end the joke but wow if you wanna keep reading then go ahead theirs really nothing to say at this point this is it i hope you stopped reading before the end.)
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37
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And once again we feel the silence
So far away from being able to wait for deliverance
We consume ourselves into the flame of a perfect pain
As we stand alone, separated
We're floating down the complex stream of existence
Grey shadow plays reflecting vanity
We live to lie and to betray
As we stand alone, separated
We lick the blood of our tainted, shattered innocence
We are used to swallowing the poison
To close our eyes as we descend
And loss our will in self-affliction
A false promise to break our heart
We are so sick to live this way
But we enjoy the lack of light
Walking in darkness to run away
The blindness to cure our mind from dreadful misery
We can't find the right belief
We can't find salvation
Frail, pathetic — we're unborn possibilities
Dissolved plasmaterial, we hide injuries
Afraid to show our wounds, we enjoy damnation
Disconnected, we have no goal or meaning to lead our steps on this floor
Like mannequins we're evolving in the fields of a dead reality
Surrounded by our own delusions, fractured and distorted to the core
We're searching the ecstasy of faith in this masquerade called life
As we stand alone, separated
And we welcome the fall
Softly in our arms we embrace the disease called humanity
The genesis of tears and exquisite agony
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asdf
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I don't need your scornful reply, I'm sick of your constant denial
Don't want to face your immorality
Irritated by your vicious mind, I cannot stand your bitter hate
Your presence is a pain
Hurt my soul with all your fucking lies
I'm searching for redemption
I wish I could find an answer
Words are perfect deceivers
They revive my wounds forever
A black star moving around a pole of raw negativity
Like a void never fulfilled
The wage of sin is to fall in self-destructive schemes
I feel so numb, I feel so cold
Your vain delusive heresy makes me so nonexistent and dead inside
I would rather disappear or shed my blood onto the ground
Than having to face your sheer vanity
I taste my anger, reacting to preserve my mind
I left your twisted, pervert world behind
Control is over, no more tainted promises
My eyes are open wide
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Your delusion is fascinated with bitter cruelty
You deny the sanctity of flesh, urging me to destroy
You say it's not a question of trust: "the strongest don't lie"
No matter if I have to bleed my own kind, it's alright
Like Lucifer rising from the ashes of grace
The downfall of the sun, my heart is frozen
Like Lucifier rising from the ashes of grace
The downfall of the sun, my wings are burning down
Oh doppelganger, I hear you in my head, whispering:
"What a joke! Their so-called faith and beliefs are but filth"
"Give up all tolerance, they loath lust and depravity but ignore their own sins"
"When zeitgeist extols raw pandemonium, bring them hell!"
There is no place for hope in your world
You love to deride my sustained endeavor to find a way to stand still
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30 something
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We were blind and we couldn’t conceive the color of blood
This crimson flood soaking the ground
We stare in shock as the world unveils its true features to us
You then exclaim, “where is God now?”
You ask me, "Why do we forever feast on pain"
"And act like mindless fiends programmed for boundless rage? "
"The carnage never cease, the poison is never drained"
"For this, should we blame the maker of everything divine?"
The virtuous dies as well as the sinful one
Death strikes all life, blind in its random ways
In essence, we contradict the conception of a watchful shaper
And still we consider being observed and closely monitored
Primitive we remain
We were devised to enjoy trials
The choice has never been ours
We are inclined to violence
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Accretion of stellar matter collapsing
Particles crushed at excessive speeds
The protostar, pressured by gravitation forces
Awaits its ascent to radiance
Red nova ignition phase one:
To set ablaze the cosmos in all directions
To combust electron discharge
And dissipate the greatest void
The solar newborn shall be crowned
To reign over new, pristine worlds
And inundate their immaculate crust with heavy radiations
Spiraling, hydrostatic equilibrium
Photon winds diffusing light
Explosive, universal space/time commotion
Following a scheme divine
Repelling darkness
Iluminating the canvas of all creation
Destroying eons of death
The monad has come to life
Submerged in the fire, burning the vault of heaven
The celestial scion shines upon the universe frame
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BOOBS! hot young girls make me want to dance.
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should have some more shroom listings up in the next week or so
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should have some more shroom listings up in the next week or so
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Day after day, recurring self-acting gestures
I can but feel this repetition and stand benumbed
I cannot run away, my existence in dissolution
How could I break this steady cycle to rise instead into the light again?
I have been waiting for the day when I could sort it out
But nothing ever changes, I'm wasting my own life
I am going from zero to nothing
And becoming what I have sworn to never be
When there is no way out, all just become insignificant
I can't breath, I can't sleep, am I dead?
No more faith, no more hopes
No more dreams
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...
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We believe to be eternal until we face the point of no return
All state of grace is transient
All shall die and turn to ashes and dust
Desacralized, desensitized
We're chasing the light, wishing to live a little more
It's like a hole inside our chest
A clear cut bleeding, always open wide
To reach the apex of life is to walk in a vale of tears
Heavens still remain out of sight wherever we watch
To reach the apex of life is to walk in a vale of tears
We shine to finally dissolve in oblivion and be absolved through death
We've looked for strength through joy
Deprivation is all what we get
We've kept on trying to reach the stars and deny mortality
We rise to bitter fall, condemned to rust and crumble for centuries
To behold the leftovers of our dreams now turn to smoking ruins
We ride the whirlwind of doom
A gigantic storm of cataclysmic and catastrophic proportions
Death
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...
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...
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Your skin is such a perfect lie
I never get enough of your sweet, deceptive delight
It burns me like a wound
I know you re never truly here no matter what I see
Your voice is nothing but a dirge celebrating downfall and sin
Stunned and cold whether I hate or adore your glorious body
I can t escape from lust and vanity
Crimson doll delivering plastic love, giving mercy killing
Please consume me with your kiss, don't set me free
You re like a frozen shade of black I couldn't tear apart
Helpless I want to ruin you, to penetrate you deep inside
Sometimes I try to break loose from you, to slip out of your grasp
But pure devotion to flesh and pain is a lasting poison
I know I cannot run away from you
I keep drowning inside your eyes
I hope I'll never find a way to cure my jaded heart from your scarlet smile
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A mass of emptied minds, docile imitators, we never try to see the light
Corrupted to the core, we are breeding in the vaccum, our words are useless noise
Automaton chained to common patterns, so inane
Fuck now: Adaptable, manipulated, you consume and then you're erased
Shit, submit to system pressure - programmed to never deviate
We've learned to hide, to blame, to follow, to never askin' why
We only want to be quiet, to be safe, we're blind
Could we choose to live, could we choose to exist?
Trapped into descent, just waiting to revive
We've locked our soul, so close to the other but so far
We remain so cold inside, running in reverse, directionless we drown
Plunged in delusion, as a puppet marching to the sound of lies
In cruelty we collide, slave to delusion, we define this perfect lake of courage
Reflecting in our eyes; all things now retaken, all things we've forgotten
Control, it's what it's all about: trust the pigs and eat their shit
We don't give a fuck about truth
We're just leaping into a dream of perfect norm without recognition for misery
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The indulgence of our lives has cast a shadow on the world
Our devotion to our appetite betrayed us all
Apocalyptic plight, more destruction will unfold
Mother earth will show her darker side and take her toll
It's just another way to die
There can be no other reason why, you know we should have seen it coming
Consequences we cannot deny will be revealed in time
Glaciers melt as we pollute the sky, a sign of devastation coming
We don't need another way to die, can we repent in time?
The time bomb is ticking and no one is listening
Our future is fading, is there any hope we'll survive?
Still we ravage the world that we love and the millions cry out to be saved
Our endless maniacal appetite left us with another way to die
Greed and hunger led to our demise, a path I can't believe we followed
Black agendas rooted in a lie, will we repent in time?
Species fall before our very eyes
A world that they cannot survive in left them with another way to die
Are we dead inside?
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your poetry lacks depth
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need to get to 50
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sam i am
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[It's not my poetry, these are lyrics from bands and their respective songs that I like]
\Who is innocent, is it relevant in the world today?
I shake my head in disbelief
The killer walks again, freed by evil men and their dark charade
This can't be happening
A mother's selfish pride, her child's homicide
"Can she be to blame?", the suited vulture's circling
A father's cruelty, a murdered family
Is the world insane?
Their defenders ready to embrace their lies with their devious slights
Your corruption is like a cancer growing inside
You owe the world an apology
You've been taught all your life that truth is easy to hide
You'll face your judgement another day and suffer eternally
Presumed innocent, justice fails again in the masqeraude
A battered woman trembling
Her lover drunk again, when will the torture end
In her web of shame is death the only way?
A child vicitimized, the crime politicized
For the counselor's gain, the rabid media congregates
His tortured memories, a pervert's fantasies
Is the world insane?
The parastic devastation seen on your TV screen
Cold and spineless, have no you soul?
Wicked minded, out of control
And guided by their hunger
They will find new ways to betray us
Has the whole world become insane?
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Proceeding through passageways of the lost
Unclear screeches disarray my solace, growing louder, they iterate
I've been located by the wings of consternation, calling for my surrender
The lack feathers circulate, plotting my casualty
Revolving watchers personified
I regard into the flames that ignite my resolve
Evolving reapers personified
I regard into the flames that ignite my resolve
Perpetuation
Attempting to evade, in the mist of panic I desist
Claws of the harvesters lacerate
Directing me to my apex of trepidation
I gaze up in the fire, coalescing with the blaze
Of the inanimate, yes
The waves of bright combustion embody me
As I'm pulled into the whirl, while levitating I'm embraced
By the vortex of flares and soaring wings
I bow to the tide, steering me towards the endless center
The funnel opens wide, welcoming me to infinity
In the sea of decomposed shades, the sea of decomposed ravenants
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Faltering into the entity of time, I see the prospect of your wrongs
The end consoled into the clarity of sorrow, of the fated
Witness the turn of tide that disintegrates, unraveling the hole in me
The grey fields in my sleep, the sphere of the unsaved
The skyline is chemical
I wait for the ground to resemble the sun
Watching the ashes descend from the sky
Dust surrounds us in whole, but the purpose of the proud will not be covered
The end is close and revolves on the axis of unknown premonitions, our desolation
In the sight of things to come I can't find one way out of this grey foretold
You won't live forever, eternity in sublety is choking
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I promised to review a sample by a vendor, so I have to be able to post to his thread. My apologies to anyone who has to scroll through all my spam messages.
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19
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title says it all
read http://www.thedea.org/neurotoxicity.html to learn how not to harm yourself when using mdma
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20
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yippi yi yo
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24
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25
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26
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27
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so lame
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28
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i dont know
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30
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31
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32
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33
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34 i feel guilty having to do this.
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35
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36
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you should feel guilty
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This is a full time job.
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hi
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and dirty
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37
o/~ I've been working on the railroad... o/~
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38
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It's so funny some people are giving -1 just because everyone is trying to get to 50 posts. llolololol fags
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It's so funny some people are giving -1 just because everyone is trying to get to 50 posts. llolololol fags
I don't think it's funny at all. I need to be able to post to vendor's thread so I can review his free sample. I promised to do that in a timely manner. So because of that, I'm getting bad karma for going through the tedious effort to do it. Wonderful.
Unless it's an automatic process or something due to the high number of posts in a short amount of time.
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soooasfnsd
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Only ten more to go and then I'm never doing this spam-type stuff again. If they raise the bar to 100 posts for newbies, then I'll just quit the f*king forum. What a nightmare.
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9 to go.
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Eight to go.
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adsfh
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7 more. I hope I don't end up with more bad karma.
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Six!
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Oh well, just another 37 to go :o
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5
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4
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TREEEE
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TWOOOO
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One
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i am close
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peaceandlove
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getting closer
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Lol these threads are cheating
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warning! many posts ahead
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First one, 49 more.
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1
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2
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Are the mods condoning these threads or deleting them?
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a few more
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Lol these threads are cheating
Your mom is cheating
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blah
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bluh
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blargh
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hhooooooooooooohooooooooooooo
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santa claus
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36
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easter bunny
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tooth fairy
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yogi bear
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IDK
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big foot
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jesus christ
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Closer
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GOD
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closer?
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Yoda
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And
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luke skywalker
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Darth vader
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spam
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jabba the hut
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Closer
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death star
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chihauaua
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poodle
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ten more
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dalmation
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maltese
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labrador
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a few more
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boxer
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vodka
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cmon 50
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brandy
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scotch
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rum
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bug
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mosquito
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getting there
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2 more after this
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fly
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Like myriads of variation for every shade of grey!
"Warning - while you were typing a new reply has been posted. You may wish to review your post. "
= FUCK YOU.
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ant
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spider
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ferrari
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lamborghini
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porsche
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McLaren
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honda
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tesla
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audi
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lexus
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toyota
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volkswagen
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Mercedes
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BMW
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land rover
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range rover
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acura
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dell
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fine. subaru...
i wanted to say "boop" but I couldn't break the chain.
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kia
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hyundai
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dodge
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Toshiba
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Lenovo
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warning, 54 new replies. baha
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Fujitsu Siemens Computer
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Sony
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HP
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Apple
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kenzi kensington
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Gateway
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Packard Bell
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Asus
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Acer
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These captchas are awful.
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Or maybe I'm part robot.
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I think I'm getting the same captchas.
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Something more.
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Something morer.
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Lalala.
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There seems to be little randomness in these captchas.
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This captcha is spells the sound that a cute, tiny dinosaur might make.
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I think these captchas only use half the letter in the alphabet, if that.
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This captcha was in alphabetical order, starting with A, except for the last letter.
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Bullshit posts are bullshit.
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This forum is hard on lurkers, but this is crazy.
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I'm putting off eating dinner for this. wth is wrong with me?
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But I'm just having frozen veggie for dinner, so I'm not really missing out on anything.
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Somethhinng.
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My cats are also waiting for me to finish this so they can have dinner.
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They have dry food available, but they are picky bastards who only eat dry food if they absolutely have to.
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I should clean my laptop screen. So many smudges.
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to the pop mobile!
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I'm getting kinda close.
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omforever
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no use for an old man like me
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I could go out the grocery store to get some ingredients for a better dinner, but it's cold and my car is snow-covered.
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i reckon its me rectum
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So I'm just having green beans for dinner.
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Lalala la.
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its so fuckin hot here
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44
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45
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Forty-six.
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Two-score and seven.
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Hm. I don't think there should be a hyphen there. So, twoscore and eight.
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I wonder if I have pasta. I might make that for dinner.
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I do have some chipotle-flavored olive oil. So I could have pasta and green beans with chipotle olive oil? Sounds good.
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This new policy is complete BS
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Don't forget!
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123 123 123 123....5
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Pasta and green beans is the shit! That's my dinner on Fridays..
:)
I do have some chipotle-flavored olive oil. So I could have pasta and green beans with chipotle olive oil? Sounds good.
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Cookie
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Pasta and green beans is the shit! That's my dinner on Fridays..
:)
I do have some chipotle-flavored olive oil. So I could have pasta and green beans with chipotle olive oil? Sounds good.
Did you purchase all that using coupons ??
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yes u r
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you are too!
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apology
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No u
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I insist,you
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Big black dude gunna kick my ass
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fuuuck
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I went to a job fair last month and met people from a British company that were recruiting people to work in The Falklands. They swiped my ID tag, giving them my address and other information and sent me a package containing pamphlets and random trinkets, including this shirt.
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Off to bed!
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daniel..
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Good night/morning..
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boon
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was
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a
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man..
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a
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I can't sleep! Im back up from bed..
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BIIIIIIIIIG
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man - apparately
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Hi VISAHATE :)
Taking the short cut to 50..
feel free to join me..
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... but ...
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the
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bear
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was
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Drinking too much is bad for your liver and brain cells.
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Well! 17 till roll..
Hi VISAHATE :)
Taking the short cut to 50..
feel free to join me..
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bigger
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faster
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so
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lets play the association game
lie down on the couch..
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egg
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white
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What is the etiquette when using public transport in your country?
Do you give up your seat for elderly people or pregnant women if there is no space available?
Do you buy your tickets from the driver or a machine at the stop?
When getting off the bus, do you press a bell indicating that the next stop is your stop, or do you tell the driver? Or does the driver remember and stop for you?
In Britain we don't have trolleybuses any more, but how do you use these, are they more like standard buses or Trams.
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room
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Und das beste ist, ich habe grad noch ein Bierchen gefunden.
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house
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sitting in an english garden.. waiting for the sun
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Goa Goa Goa MPU MPU
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scata moosh scata moosh..
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welcome to speed posting..
the accelerator is on the right
and the keyboard straight ahead..
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hits the half way mark
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..and if the sun don't come..
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and get a tan..
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standing in the english rain
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I'll probably do some awkward dickings when I'm over 30 but that's probably it.
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semolina pilchers
start now :)
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In the beginning...
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god said 'let there be light'
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and there was light
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and it was good
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then
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The Franconians are a strange people, but their hearts can be won, if you know how. Things to say to a Franconian:
- Franconian beer is definitely better than Bavarian.
- These fucking Müncheners, they should give us back our Dürer.
- This is bullshit, Franconia should be its own Bundesland. See, I have drawn up these plans ...
- Don't say "I'm sorry" to people. The most Franconians will say to apologize is "hobbala".
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interestingly enough I hate big cities and city sized sewers
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What do you know about Portugal and what do you think about it today?
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the turtle dove sings
good morning good morning Russ
I rise happily
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do not touch the trim
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TIL when an italian traveller visited Sparta, he tasted one of their staple foods, black broth. After eating it he responded, "Now I know why the Spartans do not fear death".
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fuck this sucks. :( sad face for being sad.
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hmmmm
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spamming sucks, but there is no other way for normal users to reach 50 posts.
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this bloooooows
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like how da fuq am I supposed to communicate wif da smartiez?
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annnnd y da fuq wont mi shit go through
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this really sucks doing this over and over again
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This is fun
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I love bungee jumping.
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yaaa
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spam is a delicious sandwich acoutremount
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Butter is the devil's spunk
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>:(
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laalalaa this will take a while :o
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~
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k
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ok
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a ok
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`
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1
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la
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my
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what number+
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me~
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qe
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not even close
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asd2
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but i figure i could get closer
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ok time to move on
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my
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Butter is the devil's spunk
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8da
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ubnfem
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asd2
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asd2
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tddnnm
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tddnnm
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tddnnm
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asd2
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asd2
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asd2
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asd2
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asd2
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asd2
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asd2
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asd2
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I
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I
just
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I
just
want
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I
just
want
to
-
8)
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I
just
want
to
hit
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I
just
want
to
hit
my
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Hit IT ! lol
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TIL Stephen Colbert is deaf in his right ear, lost his parents and two siblings to an airliner crash in 1974, used to play Dungeons and Dragons, and briefly fronted a Rolling Stones cover band.
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I am
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building
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building
my count
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half way there...
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TIL Steve from "Blues Clues" released an indie rock album produced by Dave Fridmann of Mercury Rev and featuring Steve Drozd of The Flaming Lips.
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I used to REALLY like Barney.
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joining the count
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joining the count
HEY! we both have 34 posts. congrats getting this far. God knows its been a long haul.
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I
just
want
to
hit
my
50
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I
just
want
to
hit
my
50
posts
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I
just
want
to
hit
my
50
posts
and
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Almost there. Fed up of this spamming lark
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I
just
want
to
hit
my
50
posts
and
I'm
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Not far now
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I
just
want
to
hit
my
50
posts
and
I'm
done,
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00000001
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00000010
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00000011
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00000100
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00000101
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00000110
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00000111
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and another
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00001000
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and that is it. 50 posts and I am now FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
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00001001
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00001010
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00001011
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00001100
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00001101
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00001110
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00001111
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00010000
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00010001
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00010010
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00010011
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00010100
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00010101
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00010110
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00010111
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00011000
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00011001
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00011010
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00011011
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00011100
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00011101
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00011111
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00100000
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001000001
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00100010
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00100011
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00100100
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00100101
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00100110
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00100111
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00101000
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00101001
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00101010
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00101011
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00101100
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Dude don't spam bro that's not cool
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Blargh
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00101101
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00101110
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I am fat.
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I am fat and sassy.
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BOOBS! hot young girls make me want to dance.
hot young girls make me want to FUCK, which usually end in me masturbating
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00101111
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I am fat and sassy, and rich.
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blah
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1
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meow
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cocainemeowmemowo
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bleh
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Meowington you're a spammer dude GTFO
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Almost thurrrr....
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ballllz
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hoooola
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hafway dur
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Kiss my beautiful ass
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No can't do.
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penis envy
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sjtfjtfzjztjztjtj
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~!^_^!~
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Fuckin spammers >:( This 50 post rule should only apply to if your user id number on the forums is very new. I'm sure there are PLENTY of us with forum accts over a year old that don't post much but lurk plenty...
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47 ;D
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kkkyeah
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uno
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dos
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bandz a make her dance
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:o
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post
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fucking 15, im a vendor and need to do this shit
-
What it is yo
-
50
-
god damn shit the bed, cant remember what they said
-
Cant stand this rule
-
:D
-
fuckfuckfuck
-
Steve Smokes Shardy Shards By The Sea Shore
-
u wot m8
-
imma eat da whole ass 8)
-
dicks
-
and balls
-
2
-
spiral out
-
4
-
thank you based god
-
llkjdfvl;kjdsfjkladsfjkl
-
6
-
keep going
-
i love you based god
-
8
-
i want pie right now
-
10
-
like chocolate or something
-
12
-
or maybe peach
-
yeah i think peach would do it
-
now where do i get peach pie this time of night
-
gab that to my mug not online m8 and see what comes about
-
jbcgiucoi
-
ooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhh yyyyyyyyyyyyywaahshs
-
ill end yee
-
dgdGdmt
-
23
-
two for
-
quick reply ftw
-
half
-
26
-
hhkhkhk
-
stop telling me about new replies i don't eif a fuck
-
almost there f
-
jhgg
-
stop telling me about new replies i don't eif a fuck
this
-
coachella
-
jjhjhji
-
60000000000000000000000000000000
-
will be
-
hiijj
-
nhjjnnn
-
fucccck
-
jhphpho
-
uuuuu
-
I be fucking them bitches I hope all dogs go to heaven
-
yrkxktykze
-
10
-
ggggggg
-
ggggggggggggggggggggg
-
ggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg
-
gg
-
kk
-
hhh
-
ooo
-
nbnnn
-
5 more
-
4
-
3
-
2
-
fbzfb
-
FIFTY MOTHERFUCKER
-
GET ME OUT OF HERE!!!
-
iF the shoe fits wear it!
-
keep posting!!!
-
FLAMING BALD EAGLES
-
am I there yet?
-
I spent an hour messing with my settings trying to post in the other forums.
-
yuuuuu
-
this some bullllsheeeet
-
spamity spam spam
-
Fuck 50 posts.
-
posting shit to 50
-
Fuck this shite
-
sssssssssssssssspppppppppppppppppppppppppppppaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaammmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
-
Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party.
-
post
-
asdf
-
35
-
asdf
-
asdf
-
asdf
-
asdf
-
asdf
-
asdf
-
asdf
-
asdf
-
asdf
-
asdf
-
asdf
-
asdf
-
asdf
-
asdf
-
asdf
-
asdf
-
asdf
-
asdf
-
asdf
-
asdf
-
sdf
-
asdf
-
asdf
-
asdf
-
asdf
-
asdf
-
asdf
-
asdf
-
asdf
-
asdf
-
spam-o!
-
asdf ?
fdsa!
-
it's a long way to 50 ...
-
4
-
5
-
6
-
1
-
2
-
3
-
4
-
thanks for this nice thread
-
moar
-
this will take long... :P
-
KEEP GOING
-
AND GOING
-
STILL GOING
-
Ah, that is what spam looks like, interesting.
-
bump looking foward
-
this is gonna take ages
-
yep
-
yes
-
bump
-
lol
-
16
-
l;kkad
-
ower
-
almost their
-
spam
-
spam
-
Dam we get to spam
-
hello
-
what is 3x18
-
54
-
;ladkkasd
-
almost their
-
No games
-
OMG
-
OMG I FUCKING MADE IT
-
Hugh motha fucka you back! I think I may recall some of your penis envies ::)
-
Spaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaam
-
With my feet upon the ground
-
I lose myself between the sounds
-
and open wide to suck it in
-
I feel it move across my skin
-
I'm reaching up and reaching out
-
I'm reaching for the random or
-
Whatever will bewilder me
-
And following our will and wind
-
8)
-
8)
-
:) :)
-
8)
-
::)
-
8)
-
???
-
8)
-
::)
-
we may just go where no one's been
-
We'll ride the spiral to the end
-
8)
-
???
-
::)
-
8)
-
::)
-
:-[ :P :-X
-
8)
-
8)
-
;D
-
8)
-
8)
-
:-\
-
8)
-
8)
-
8)
-
8)
-
8)
-
8)
-
8)
-
8)
-
almost theerrree
-
47
-
48
-
8)
-
8)
-
8)
-
8)
-
/r/SilkRoad
-
/r/SilkRoad
-
/r/SilkRoad
-
/r/SilkRoad
-
420
-
421
-
WHAM BAM THANKYOU MAAM
-
422
-
423
-
424
-
how many posts to post in other threads?
-
2
-
3
-
4
-
5
-
and may just go where no one's been
-
Spiral out. Keep going,
-
Spiral out. Keep going,
-
Spiral out. Keep going,
-
Spiral out. Keep going,
-
Spiral out. Keep going,
-
Spiral out. Keep going,
-
Spiral out. Keep going,
-
425
50 posts to post in other forums
-
testing
-
426
-
testing
-
Spiral Out
-
427
-
428
-
428
-
430
-
431
-
432
-
433
-
3
-
4
-
5
-
434
-
435
-
436
-
437
-
438
-
439
-
440
-
441
-
442
-
443
-
444
-
Hello
-
445
-
446
-
447
-
448
-
449
-
450
-
451
-
452
-
Hello
-
453
-
7
-
8
-
9
-
hello
-
10
-
453
-
11
-
454
-
455
-
12
-
456
-
457
-
458
-
459
-
1
-
2
-
3
-
13
-
14
-
15
-
hola. first post.
-
16
-
17
-
18
-
19
-
20
-
22
-
23
-
24
-
halfway
-
5
-
6
-
i dont like this stuff but i want 50 ><
-
7
-
Ah... lost count
-
You're at 15 ^^^ :)
-
9
-
10
-
11?
-
2222222222
-
so annoying to have to spam 50posts just to legit post
-
spam
-
.....................
-
uga
-
its annoying.. why do i have to have 50 posts for posting in other threads, if im allowed to spam here anyway...
-
yup
-
35 to go
-
28
-
30
-
31
-
31
-
32
-
33
-
34
-
35
-
36
-
37
-
38
-
39
-
40
-
44
-
42
-
43
-
44
-
45
-
46
-
47
-
48
-
49
-
49
-
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..... ;1tjlllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllljO;, .;LiBlllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllfty,. :....
..... ...:,;v3jjllllllllllllllllllllfW. ,mllllllllllllllllllllfft41,,:.. ......
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-
sure
-
ACAB
-
Is it to 50 posts? But how the **ck did i post before i lost my password++ I hadnt over 50 posts then? Strange ???
-
Grumpygumpgrump
-
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Tumbleweed
-
Money hoes and clothes is all this nigga knows
-
bump
-
bumpy bump
-
howdy fellas
-
z
-
the reason for high treason.
-
zzzz
-
asdfa
-
54zth6
-
86g8z67fg
-
safaf
-
sgdfgsdfg
-
8)
-
:o
-
Welcome.
-
:-\
-
soft spot for short size socket
-
::) >:(
-
Code
-
spamspam ::) ::)
-
50 posts? huh, lots of spamming needed :o
-
8) :o
-
Greetings from Finland
-
sggs
-
im horny who wants to blow me??
-
Try your vacuum cleaner (Y)
-
;D ;D
-
weeee
-
bleh bleh blah
-
insert funny joke here
-
bas
-
asd
-
23
-
waiting
-
asdf
-
beans
-
get me to 50 asap
-
asdf
-
asdf
-
asdf
-
yahh
-
asdf
-
asdf
-
wee
-
asdf
-
yay
-
uahdfa
-
asdf
-
asdf
-
vas
-
asdf
-
pasd
-
byksht
-
adsf
-
asdf
-
asdf
-
wpe
-
asdf
-
asdf
-
almost
-
there
-
one
-
more
-
to
-
go
-
yay
-
Blaaalal laaal let me write
-
yay
-
yay
-
let
-
Hah
-
This is a joke.
-
12 to go
-
11 more till I can post
-
Spamming more.
-
Spamaps
-
bump for spam
-
blah!
-
thanks
-
spam
-
spam
-
derp
-
whats the 50 for
-
31
-
post
-
32
-
33
-
34
-
35
-
36
-
37
-
38
-
39
-
41
-
cheese dick
-
39
-
44
-
45
-
spam
-
goddam captcha
-
48
-
49
-
FUCK
-
32
-
33
-
Wheels without spokes ever turning
Ageless eyes lidless, unblinking
Walls without depth, ever shifting
A cold horizon beyond all seeing
-
39
-
39
-
39
-
39
-
Complexities in perpetual motion
Unuttered words of a story unfinished
An inception beyond description
Night with no knowledge of dawn
-
Creation in inhalation
Breaths in the cold vastitude
In exhalation, destruction
A beautiful chaos
-
Masked in a droplet falling
The face of the Absolute
Crystalline systems self-forming
Essence of a singularity
-
The void ephemeral lights greet
Canvas without centre or corner
Existence in a mere heartbeat
The sight arisen in the precious few
-
To ask the unanswerable
Of a voiceless mother
To seek the intangible
In a spectral infinite
-
adfs
-
blurp
-
It sucks that I can't comment on threads until I have 50 posts. It should at least be possible to comment on topics i have posted in before....
-
It sucks that I can't comment on threads until I have 50 posts. It should at least be possible to comment on topics i have posted in before....
-
It sucks that I can't comment on threads until I have 50 posts. It should at least be possible to comment on topics i have posted in before....
-
It sucks that I can't comment on threads until I have 50 posts. It should at least be possible to comment on topics i have posted in before....
-
It sucks that I can't comment on threads until I have 50 posts. It should at least be possible to comment on topics i have posted in before....
-
It sucks that I can't comment on threads until I have 50 posts. It should at least be possible to comment on topics i have posted in before....
herddat
-
Copy that!
-
bump
-
Already posted once to 50, but all my spam posts in topic like these got deleted. I don't why. Am I the only one? :P
-
need 50
-
???
-
fitty
-
spam
-
spam n whatnot
-
i love cox
-
this is a damm retarded thing to make people do
-
waht a dumb rule
-
spam
-
spam
-
dfg
-
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0dI3u69_lN0
-
+1
-
öoiugfdxfhlkl
-
3.....Final Countdown 8)
-
2
-
jfdn
-
+1
-
done :P
-
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2PVEUGVtpA0
-
I miss you, like the desert miss the rain :-*
-
thth
-
slow but sure...
-
a
-
:D
-
;)
-
nii
-
-jrpjrpr
-
:(
-
grow
-
lulz
-
:'(
-
tear
-
tear
-
Guys, don't worry you can still ask questions, without fifty posts. (sensible ones ;D ) of course, the mods and other well established members will see the thread and post here to answer. hope this helps
Received my first order, so buzzin right now!!!
Shiiitttt this is quality. now I know why the older generation used to go on about how " back in my day the gear was quality) Well it still is, on SR !!!!!!!
-
They may not be likely to review the spam threads as much because spam threads are more for spam posts.
Great to see you just got your first order! ;D Awesome.
Vendors here are not like street dealers. So don't be surprised if quality is better! :D
-
What's up Doc?
-
:(
-
>:(
-
>:(
-
:-X
-
:-[
-
:(
-
:)
-
8)
-
:P
-
Please do not post on this for an hour while I get through this shit
-
:)
-
What we do for SR
-
What we do for SR
-
:D
-
;D
-
;D
-
;D
-
>:(
-
8)
-
bacon
-
livermush
-
Pate?
-
:-*
-
:-X
-
This is hard work
-
Goijng insane
-
Weell get there
-
vb :'(
-
:-[
-
>:D
-
Hi Dex
-
can i beat you???
-
2
-
ok
-
Soon
-
Warning - while you were reading a new reply has been posted. You may wish to review your post.
uuuuhg
-
:-X
-
ff
-
KK
-
I fight like a ninja
-
Die Like a Ninja
-
YY?
-
me ninja
-
Wat kyk jy?
-
This is hard work
-
Warning - while you were reading a new reply has been posted. You may wish to review your post.
I knoooooow, I don't care
-
;D
-
3 more :o 8) :-\ :'( :)
-
this is
final
-
Bastatrd you made it :) :) :) :) :) :)
-
We will follow
-
go Speed Go
-
3 more
-
all This
-
yayaaa
-
hard hard
-
+1
-
bump
-
.
-
whats a sentence again?
-
spam spam thank you mam
-
slowly getting there
-
we all try
-
Very slowly getting there
-
that's the time
-
who knows
-
try try
-
almost half way there... can i have my twix now?
-
-5
-
done??
-
...
-
hjkhkjh
-
first post =O
-
man this is kinda ridic. just let me post anywhere already.
-
20
-
fd
-
sdf
-
adf
-
sdfg
-
dfsdf
-
sdf
-
dsf
-
sdf
-
sdf
-
Politicians and diapers have one thing in common. They should both be changed regularly, and for the same reason.
-
sdf
-
1
-
2
-
3
-
sdf
-
Chuck
-
#line
-
asdf asdf
-
asf asf asdf as
-
as fasdf asdf as f
-
asdf asf asf sadf as
-
asd asdf asf asf asf asf
-
spam spam spam spam
-
as fas asf asf as
-
as fas asf saf as
-
as asdf asdf asf
-
as asdf asf asdf asf
-
as dfasdf asdf asf
-
as fasdf asf
-
asf asfd asdf asf
-
i c u have a lot 2 say
-
asdf asdf asdf asf
-
thc thc thc thc
-
as fasf asf
-
asf asf
-
as fasdf as
-
as fasdf
-
Hello
-
as asf asf
-
asd fasf as fa
-
Hello
hi
-
as asdf as
-
as fasdf a
-
asd fasdf
-
asf asf asf
-
as fasf as fas f
-
Warning - while you were typing a new reply has been posted. You may wish to review your post.
-
as fasf as f
-
asf asf as
-
as fasdf asf a
-
We are all on our way!
-
itz 50, they say itz 50
-
roll on ecstasy everyday for your whole life
-
great idea!
-
I'm in.
-
Let's do it!
-
Or not?
-
2
-
Thinking of a new possibility.
-
$
-
Very interesting.
-
Whoop whoop.
-
Love
-
Drugs
-
Yeah!
-
Seems like it isn't just an ORDINARY SPAM TO 50
-
Yadda.
-
TWOOOO
-
up
-
why is this needed?
-
1
-
er
-
2
-
3
-
e
-
1 :(
-
4
-
5
-
v
-
7
-
20
-
21
-
22
-
23
-
24
-
25
-
1
-
1
-
27
-
28
-
29
-
30
-
I think I will post one in here too.
-
30
-
33
-
34
-
34
-
35
-
36
-
38
-
39
-
gmxmaw
-
9
-
8
-
7`
-
6
-
5
-
4
-
3
-
2
-
2
-
1
-
this is so dumb. its still not stopping spam. at least there is less of it now.
-
woooooooooooooooooootttttttttttttttttttttttttt
-
+1
-
+1
-
,
-
Spamming...
-
woooooooooooooooooootttttttttttttttttttttttttt
-
fd
-
Number 10.
-
cymyuv
-
asdlkfasldk
-
asdklfjsdlkfj
-
50? Yay!
-
asdllkjsdf
-
lkjsdaflkj
-
cymyuv
-
PENISES
-
jklsdfjlksdfjksdfjkl
-
The following error or errors occurred while posting this message:
The letters you typed don't match the letters that were shown in the picture.
-
The following error or errors occurred while posting this message:
The letters you typed don't match the letters that were shown in the picture.
-
The following error or errors occurred while posting this message:
The letters you typed don't match the letters that were shown in the picture.
-
fwgef
-
The following error or errors occurred while posting this message:
The letters you typed don't match the letters that were shown in the picture.
-
The following error or errors occurred while posting this message:
The letters you typed don't match the letters that were shown in the picture.
-
40th
-
8)
-
sdf
-
sdf
-
sdf
-
my very second.
-
mmmmm. 30 somthing.. I think
-
u
-
title says it all
i forgot how many posts ive done. dam it
-
title says it all
spamming
-
1!
-
elp
Search
Profile
My Messages
Members
Logout
-
elp
Search
Profile
My Messages
Members
Logout
-
1234
-
12332
-
123474
-
1234
-
444
-
444
-
t
-
spam
-
annoing
-
spam
-
11
-
21
-
SHE DONT BELIEVE IN SHOOTIN STARS
-
443
-
323
-
BUT SHE BELIEVE IN SHOES AND CARS
-
dont stroke the cat
-
d
-
WOOD FLOORS IN THE NEW APARTMENT
-
kittensneeze
-
1
-
11
-
33
-
COUTURE FROM THE STORE'S DEPARTMENTS
-
2
-
until the end
-
1
-
YOU MORE LIKE LOVE THE STAR SH*T
-
12
-
22
-
fuc k this
-
only one left
-
i made it
-
spam
-
Snow
-
spam2
-
Spam :)
-
spam3
-
nrPa
-
test12
-
spam
-
1
-
and no 2.
-
Logged back in after some time off and couldnt post! WTF I thought my account was banned for a minute
-
BOOBS! hot young girls make me want to dance.
-
x ;)
-
I lost my password from my old account. On top of that I get the wrong verification letters. I have to listen (that means downloading) every time to get the correct ones, wich is not easy with the crappy quality. D, p, n, m and b, v it all sounds the same to me.
and that's 3.
-
9
-
9
-
9
-
9
-
9
-
9
-
9
-
9
-
9
-
;D
-
9
-
26 to go..
-
spamming
-
some postings
-
more of em
-
replay
-
wish i could
-
;D
-
spamspamspam
-
spamspam
-
nxjedhbviounvpiur;
-
__
/ \`\ __
| \ `\ /`/ \
\_/`\ \-"-/` /\ \
| | \ |
(d b) \_/
/ \
,".|.'.\_/.'.|.",
/ /\' _|_ '/\ \
| / '-`"`-' \ |
| | | |
| \ \ / / |
jgs \ \ \ / / /
`"`\ : /'"`
`""`""`
-
Pink Floyd
/\ ___---
------/ \---
-----/ \---------
-----/ \---___
/ \ ---
/__________\
-
aka to me benzis just a car
-
the black keys are legit
-
i've come around, oh come around
-
spamspsiafj
-
blahablajhdsds
-
dfsdfasdasd
-
20 more
-
huh?
-
let it be
-
X T C
-
music is a lifestyle
-
another one bites the dust
-
without her im lost and my love don't fade away
-
soul food
-
this is fucking stupid
-
fuck i hate waiting for my drugs to come inthe mail
-
asdfjasdkl;fjal;ksdfjal;kdfjakl;sdf :-X :-X :-X :-X :-X :-X :-X :-X
-
fakl;sdfjaklsdjfa;lsdf 8) >:(
-
fasdfasdfasdf
-
title says it all
spam
-
spammity spammity spammity spam!
-
lol, just the thread I was looking for
-
spammin and hittin the clam 8)
-
so once u hit 50 u can post in other forums?
-
post 7
-
post 8
-
post 9
-
poast 10
-
Fuck fiddy, trying to get to a hundy
-
fiddy cent sucks!
-
still so farrr
-
I know its hard to get there! 8)
-
super, this is just what i need :D
-
do it to it
-
post 12
-
have u seen the show eastbound and down? hilarious ::)
-
post
-
woooohoooooo
-
this is retarded
-
im playing with my balls
-
Well I'm upper upper class high society
-
God's gift to ballroom notoriety
-
And I always fill my ballroom
-
The event is never small
-
The social pages say I've got
-
The biggest balls of all
-
I've got big balls
I've got big balls
They're such big balls
And they're dirty big balls
And he's got big balls
And she's got big balls
(But we've got the biggest balls of them all)
-
hi
-
Just a few more
-
hi
-
barking dogs!
-
3
-
moreeeeee
-
im
-
spam is tasty
-
half way
-
moreeeeeeee
-
spammm
-
spam to 50
-
im almost there
-
9 moreeeeee
-
even closer
-
spam to 50 is almost done!
-
fgsdgdfsg
-
fdsafsdf
-
dasfdsf
-
fgdsfgdsgf
-
vyfggdfsyg
-
asdsads
-
fsafadsd
-
fdsafasd
-
fdsfdsafsa
-
adsfasdf
-
gasdgdsaf
-
asdfasdfs
-
fasdsad
-
asdfadsfsa
-
fadsad
-
spam
-
8) coolt
-
one man's trash is another man's come up lincoln grand ave!
-
on my way to 50
-
a
-
d
-
ass
-
asdf
-
kl
-
f
-
kjklmlmlmlm
-
lkll;
-
on my way
-
erer
-
like a rocket, just taking off
-
2
-
50
-
lucky 13.
-
No 14.
-
Hang on now its 15...
-
.
-
Spam
-
7
-
title says it all
spam
-
spam
-
spam
-
Spam!
-
YES i am a N00B on this forum but i guess i will have to write soon on the main pages regarding how things are turning .....
-
:)
-
I AM A N00B HERE & I BLOODY HATE SPAMMING ..... But i guess the situation requires that i can post on the main threads ....
-
I AM A N00B HERE & I BLOODY HATE SPAMMING ..... But i guess the situation requires that i can post on the main threads ....
-
:o
-
50
-
::) :o
-
yup
-
more spam
-
silly post limit
-
I'm hungry for spam!
-
another one down
-
Two away!
-
;D ;D ;D ;D
-
Simplicity doesn't come from great power.
-
Once more
-
Rawr
-
Can't argue with that.
-
25 to go
-
ok then
-
I hate to spam , but considering how things are turning , i need to share my experience about good and bad sellers on the main forum ....
-
holllla
-
Benny Benassi
-
I wish coins weren't so hi
-
bv cb
-
42
-
43
-
48
-
Sooo close
-
Im out of here
-
ada
-
asd
-
112
-
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-
SPAAAAAM
-
We Bulk Buy In Australia To Provide You With The Best Product At The Best Price.
Your Order Will Be Packaged To The Highest Standard And Will Be Sent ASAP.
We Will Add More Product To Our Store Soon So Keep An Eye On Our Listings.
Return Policy.
We do not except returns. If your item get caught in customs I am sorry but it is gone for you and me and I will need full payment. I will offer a discount on your next order though.
Shipping.
Shipping within Australia Will be within 5 business days.
International Shipping will be within 8 business days.
-
We Bulk Buy In Australia To Provide You With The Best Product At The Best Price.
Your Order Will Be Packaged To The Highest Standard And Will Be Sent ASAP.
We Will Add More Product To Our Store Soon So Keep An Eye On Our Listings.
Return Policy.
We do not except returns. If your item get caught in customs I am sorry but it is gone for you and me and I will need full payment. I will offer a discount on your next order though.
Shipping.
Shipping within Australia Will be within 5 business days.
International Shipping will be within 8 business days.
-
S
-
F
-
spam
-
sssss
-
Do you know whats worth fighting for
-
When its not worth dying for
-
Does it take your breath away
-
FFFF
-
And you feel yourself suffocating?
-
Does the pain weigh out the pride?
-
And you look for a place to hide?
-
Did someone break your heart inside?
-
You're in ruins
-
She's just a small town girl
-
livin' in this lonely world
-
One, Twenty One Guns
Lay down your arms, give up the fight
-
she took the midnight train
-
One, 21 guns
Throw up your arms into the sky, you and I
-
goin' annnnyyyyywherrrrrre
-
dshgadhagh
-
When you're at the end of the road
-
And you lost all sense of control
-
And your thoughts have taken their toll
-
When your mind breaks the spirit of your soul
-
Your faith walks on broken glass
-
And the hangover doesn't pass
-
Nothing's ever built to last
-
You're in ruins
-
One, 21 guns
Lay down your arms, give up the fight
One, 21 guns
Throw up your arms into the sky, you and I
-
FFF
-
FFFF
-
AAAAAA
-
spam some mahh
-
cool
-
just another fuck off post
-
finally
-
RMDEFU
-
i dont wan to
-
again and again
-
it took me this long just
-
to figure out where i could post
-
so i could reach the 50
-
so i could post on the regular
-
threads even though i already
-
had 22 posts and
-
have been a member on the board
-
and on silk road for
-
over a year and
-
spent close to 1500 btc
-
in dozens of transactions
-
F-ing bulls-t if you ask me
-
and i'm only gonna get
-
halfway there cause this is too slow
-
and just a stupid game
-
unbelievable how painful
-
speaking of painful
-
i got some relatively bad yayo from 10toes
-
i was sick for a week after it
-
but that was about a month ago and i think he's fixed it since then
-
should've known better, by first order from him wasn't that great
-
i should just stick to the guys i know and trust
-
there's only two for me right now
-
but i'm not gonna say
-
who they are
-
cause i wanna keep it
-
all to myself
-
wouldn't you?
-
:)
-
:)
-
8)
-
;)
-
;D
-
8)
-
;)
-
ill be happy when this is done
-
Did you try to live on your own
-
When you burned down the house and home?
-
??? >:(
-
Did you stand too close to the fire
-
Like a liar looking for forgiveness from a stone?
Read more: GREEN DAY - 21 GUNS LYRICS
-
When it's time to live and let die
-
And you can't get another try
-
Something inside this heart has died
-
You are in ruins
8)
-
::)
-
:-[
-
8)
-
:D
-
They made me log in again
-
aaaaa
-
Whoaa black betty
-
26!
-
27!
-
ANOTHER POST CAME IN?
-
resplendant Lenslords
-
eag
-
Vagina
-
Am I nearly there yet
-
captain captcha fightin the evil in me !
-
captain captcha fightin the evil in me !
-
best
-
y1
-
y2
-
y3
-
y4
-
y5
-
y6
-
:D Thanks for the post.
-
sdlkjlkdsfkljfsdjlkdjflksdfj
-
ffff
-
fffffffffff
-
ddddd
-
ffffffffff
-
i need the url for SR
-
is sr down
-
silly
-
chilly
-
If I would have know this I would have posted in random threads throughout the year instead of actually trying to not clutter things.
-
opiates for the masses.
-
ffffff
-
dddd
-
Interesting convo from new vendor. What a douche. And to think my cart had his gear in it. I don't care if that shit is made of t he worlds best dope that gives you a magical blowjob I still wouldn't buy anything from this dick. If you don't have time to explain your product then gtfo.
hellokitty69 Wow what a salesman. GL on the road, thanks for helping make my choice. And what reviews are you talking about because a whole forum is interested in them. 1 hour unread
delete
MarloStanfield(100) Listen, Read the reviews. I don't use but my dope isn't some garbage. I don't have time to go back and forth about 2 grams that you haven't even purchased yet. 1 hour read
delete
hellokitty69 Can you please give me an idea of the strength of this? Like compared to another vendor? I have tried purest, Nod, Supersun, Smile Awhile (WOW), and Supreme smoke (which was when his stuff was grey junk). Thanks! Im about to order, please try to make the overnight deadline as I am dopesick as can be1 2 hours read
delete
MarloStanfield(100) You put 2 in the quantity field and you pay express for 1 package. 2 hours read
delete
hellokitty69 So you won't do a custom listing? Because if I ordered 2gs I would be paying for two express which is alot. The silkroad still gets their fees from making a custom order. Most vendors have an 0$ additional package. If you could add that option it would greatly help and I can order 2g's. Sound cool? 2 hours read
delete
MarloStanfield(100) You gotta pay sr fees...every middleman should get paid something. 2 hours read
delete
hellokitty69 Hey, I went ahead and bought the BTC for 2 gs express from you but the problem is that somehow the price went from 150 to like 158. I have 321 total in my account as of right now. Is there anyway you could make me a custom listing for 2gs and it express at 321? If not I understand but I REALLY wanted to get 2gs instead of one. Please help a brotha out. Or do you have a better way we can do this?
3 hours read
delete
MarloStanfield(100) it will go out Mon. Post offices close 12 on sat. 8 hours read
delete
hellokitty69 Also what part of the country are you in? I really want to place an order on some boy, but am scared it wont go out today. 8 hours read
delete
MarloStanfield(100) Monday 8 hours read
delete
hellokitty69 Hey man i was wondering if I could make todays express shipping. If so I want to place an order ASAP. Please get back wtih me on this. I am 100%
-
one mo gyen
-
Sometimes I think these vendors need to take some of their own product.
-
:) :) :) :)
-
ASDF
-
8) 8)
-
;D ;D ;D
-
:o :o
-
;) :D ;D
-
:-\ :-\ :-\
-
:) :)
-
:(
-
:-[
-
>:(
-
:P
-
:'(
-
;D
-
::)
-
internet.thugs.professional.
-
:-[
-
:o
-
:'(
-
safads
-
8)
-
this blows
-
:-\
-
booooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooommmmmmmmmmmmzzzzzzzzzzzzzleeeeeee
-
bababbabababababababaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh
-
black sheep
-
have
-
you
-
any
-
WOLF :o
-
no i don't want to review my post! you triflin my spam!!
-
666
-
spam
-
You walk before you talk boi
-
24s or 22s that is the question.
-
I am the king of the road
-
27
-
28
-
MOther Foka
-
29
-
35
-
32
-
33
-
count 50
-
dfjdlaksfjldsjflkjfalskdjflk
-
spamspamspamspamspamspamspamspamspamspamspam
-
spamspamspam
-
spamspamspamspamspam
-
spamspamspamspam
-
dsafdsfasfadsf
I am the king of the road
-
ewrwq
-
sdaghfkgjj
-
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
-
bbb
-
ccccccccccccc
-
eeeeeeeee
-
ffffff
-
reyulkrsew
-
sadffgdsfadsf
-
gffffffffffffffffffffff
-
vdg
-
dfgdg
-
bxfdvd
-
rewtyjukgl
-
cxvxgvsdfgf
-
sdfsdf
-
dsafdsgfs
-
sdf
-
fasd
-
dsg
-
25: halfway!
-
YGRMTH
-
sadcasd
-
27 and counting
-
sdf
-
28
-
fsdasdfdf
-
29 up on the way!
-
rghkjl
-
dfdfsdfsadf
-
egrhljk;
-
30!!!
-
Does anyone know how this bitcoin scam spamguy can make 5 posts per minute?
Would love to be able too!
And all of this shit started out because of him lol
-
34, 16 more to go.
-
Ok now then
-
35, closing in.
-
36 and rising fast.
-
37 and running out of time
-
38, will finish later.
-
2.
-
x
-
35
-
36
-
37
-
38. Cant wait to get out of this newbie twilight zone.
-
39
-
40
-
41
-
42
-
ass
-
43
-
44
-
45
-
46
-
47
-
48
-
loiohkjlaladf
-
49
-
40!!!
-
50.
-
41, 9 to go.
-
42 ::)
-
43, 7 more
-
44, 6 till the finish
-
45, 5 more
-
46, 4 more
-
47, only 3 to go;)
-
48, finish in sight
-
49, one more!!!
-
50 :)
-
This takes too long!
-
Interesting convo from new vendor. What a douche. And to think my cart had his gear in it. I don't care if that shit is made of t he worlds best dope that gives you a magical blowjob I still wouldn't buy anything from this dick. If you don't have time to explain your product then gtfo.
hellokitty69 Wow what a salesman. GL on the road, thanks for helping make my choice. And what reviews are you talking about because a whole forum is interested in them. 1 hour unread
delete
MarloStanfield(100) Listen, Read the reviews. I don't use but my dope isn't some garbage. I don't have time to go back and forth about 2 grams that you haven't even purchased yet. 1 hour read
delete
hellokitty69 Can you please give me an idea of the strength of this? Like compared to another vendor? I have tried purest, Nod, Supersun, Smile Awhile (WOW), and Supreme smoke (which was when his stuff was grey junk). Thanks! Im about to order, please try to make the overnight deadline as I am dopesick as can be1 2 hours read
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MarloStanfield(100) You put 2 in the quantity field and you pay express for 1 package. 2 hours read
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hellokitty69 So you won't do a custom listing? Because if I ordered 2gs I would be paying for two express which is alot. The silkroad still gets their fees from making a custom order. Most vendors have an 0$ additional package. If you could add that option it would greatly help and I can order 2g's. Sound cool? 2 hours read
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MarloStanfield(100) You gotta pay sr fees...every middleman should get paid something. 2 hours read
delete
hellokitty69 Hey, I went ahead and bought the BTC for 2 gs express from you but the problem is that somehow the price went from 150 to like 158. I have 321 total in my account as of right now. Is there anyway you could make me a custom listing for 2gs and it express at 321? If not I understand but I REALLY wanted to get 2gs instead of one. Please help a brotha out. Or do you have a better way we can do this?
3 hours read
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MarloStanfield(100) it will go out Mon. Post offices close 12 on sat. 8 hours read
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hellokitty69 Also what part of the country are you in? I really want to place an order on some boy, but am scared it wont go out today. 8 hours read
delete
MarloStanfield(100) Monday 8 hours read
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hellokitty69 Hey man i was wondering if I could make todays express shipping. If so I want to place an order ASAP. Please get back wtih me on this. I am 100%
Sometimes I think people believe they're the only ones with the pm message. This whole convo has Been edited. Go play in traffic. That whole "help a brotha out" line came from This guy. Asking Where im at in the country. The next line was edted. Im not here to win the coolest Kid in highschool award. Its certain shit you dont do when conducting business. Haggling the Fuck outta someone after your already catching a break compared to all the other choices. Just buy and ask Where your shit is at if it takes to Long. All or WHO you.'ve purchased from in the past isnt Required. The best teacher is experience. Buy it, shoot it or sniff it and if you dont like then dont buy again. Lets not get info a whose Dick is bigger contest (pause). I would win.......brotha!
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ok, im in.
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now
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whoop
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whoop
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I guess I'm going to use these threads to get my post count up since there is very little relevant discussion in this forum. Kinda seems like an arbitrary requirement of 50 posts.
4
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it'll all be over soon
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CHECK ME OUT
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CHECKM
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I GUESS IM NOT THE ONLY ONE DOING THIS
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I WISH YOU ALL WELL IN THE NOOB FORUM
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SEE YOU IN THE REAL FORUMS
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☻/ This is bob. Copy and paste him so he can take over SilkRoad.
/▌
/\
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☻/ This is bob. Copy and paste him so he can take over SilkRoad.
/▌
/\
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☻/ This is bob. Copy and paste him so he can take over SilkRoad.
/▌
/\
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☻/ This is bob. Copy and paste him so he can take over SilkRoad.
/▌
/\
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☻__
/▌ /▌
/\ /\ ☻ Bob is dead
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Spam to 50
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dante
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dante
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dante
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dante
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dante
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dante
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dante
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dante
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dante
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dante
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dante
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dante
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dante
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dante
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dante
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dante
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dante
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dante
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dante
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dante
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dante
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dante
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dante
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dante
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dante
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dante
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dante
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yup
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nuh
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dante
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yea
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dante
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dante
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dante
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11
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dante
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12
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dante
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dante
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13
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dante
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14
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dante
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15
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dante
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dante
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dante
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dante
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dante
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dante
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dante the racist badger
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JustAnotherStoner
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JustAnotherStoner
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JustAnotherStoner
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JustAnotherStoner
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JustAnotherStoner
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JustAnotherStoner
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JustAnotherStoner
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JustAnotherStoner
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JustAnotherStoner
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JustAnotherStoner
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JustAnotherStoner
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5555555555
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JustAnotherStoner
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JustAnotherStoner
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JustAnotherStoner
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dreamcaster
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JustAnotherStoner
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cooocaaaaiine
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damn this 50 thing sucks, I guess its needed though
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Why is this necessary?
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Good question, the necessity has to be question when spamming your way to freedom on this board is permitted.
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JustAnotherStoner
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JustAnotherStoner
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bump
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JustAnotherStoner
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31
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JustAnotherStoner
-
JustAnotherStoner
-
JustAnotherStoner
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Bump
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JustAnotherStoner
-
JustAnotherStoner
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bumpagain
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sj;;j;
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bunp
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emo poem
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just working to 100
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a
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heyyy
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kik
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jwwww
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asdasdasdasd
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asdasdasd
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asdasdasdasd
-
rhrthrt
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bfbbfbdfbdfb
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gfhfghfghfgh
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jyjyjyj
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hhhhhfghfhfh
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nnnmnmnmnmnm
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ggngngngn
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,,,,,,,jjj,,hghghghrthrththththththrth
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dsdfvsdsdv
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asdasdsdsdsdasd
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xcxcxcxcxx
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1
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2
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tree - fiddy
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3
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you fukkd it up jimboHDK
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8
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I dont know my post count... but i know its less than 50 :( And I am certainly not a spammer!
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I dont know my post count... but i know its less than 50 :( And I am certainly not a spammer!
Check your profile summary ;)
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30 something
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OK
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10 2 go
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1
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Hopping on this!
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18!
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19!
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20!
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21!
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22!
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23!
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24!
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25!
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Isn't this against the rules?
Or does nobody really care much....
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um....spam
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Honestly, as far as I know, people do this. I'm not trying to be a spamming idiot, I'd just love to contribute to the rest of the messageboard without having to pretend to care about stuff in the Newbie Discussion.
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So all that being said...
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28!
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29!
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30! Bear with me guys.
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31!
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32!
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33!
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a
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a
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a
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s
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a
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34!
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35!
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36!
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37!
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38!
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39!
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40! Home stretch now...
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41!
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42!
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43!
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44!
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45!
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46!
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47!
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48!
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49!
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50! Shit, finally.
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One for good measure.
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fghjjgfg
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jfjdhsgshjdksbsucks
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:-)
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!!!!!!!!!!!!! 50 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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happy moday!
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till 50
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:-X
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;)
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how many more
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why?
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:) ;) :D ;D >:( :( :o 8) ??? ::) :P :-[ :-X :-\ :-* :'(
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Just here to spam as well
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10
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11
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12
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2/50!
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4/50
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6/50
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5/50
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7/50
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8/50
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9/50
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10
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10/50
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12 :)
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14
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16
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16
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18/50
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19
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20
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21
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22
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23
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23
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25
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27
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28
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29
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bcvbcc
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11
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13
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14
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15
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16
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0717
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yolo
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faggeafsdfd
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sdfasdfas
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30
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twerk
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31
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swagggggggg
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26
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i love fucking scooby doo
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christ on a christmas tree
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wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww
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32
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i love durgs
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dsfffffffffff
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vvvvvvvvvv
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32
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crackejakcz
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vnnnn
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bh
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33
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mmm
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41
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42
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76
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77
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84
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tywer
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almost done
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48
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fff
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50
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34
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35
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36
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44
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45
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11
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2
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3
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IM ON A HORSE
NOO IMM AAA HOOORSEEEEE
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LOOKS GREEN
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yes
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4
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5
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6
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6
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positive vibe
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I have measured out my life in coffee spoons
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post
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In freedom and responsability we trust
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7
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9
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IM ON A HORSE
NOO IMM AAA HOOORSEEEEE
AND IM BANGING SNOW WHITE.
BUT I WOULD GLADLY BANG "A" HORSE NOW.
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number 1
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Twinkle
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Twinkle
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Little
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Star
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10
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11
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12
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13
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14
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15
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16
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17
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18
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19
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tired of waiting
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gotta make this happen
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20
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21
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22
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23
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a lot more to go!!
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24
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25
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26
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27
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28
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29
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30
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31
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32
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33
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34
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35
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36
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37
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38
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Annnd it's 50
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Lucky bastartds with 50 postings
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22
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23
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jjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj
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dfdfdfdfdfdfdfdfdfdfdfdf
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dfdfdfdfdfdfdfdfdfdfdfdf :P :P :P :P :P
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fokkkkkkkkkk
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wowowowow
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gahdddamnniot
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jjjzzz
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jy
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jyty
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Tuna is pretty good
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yuesss
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HELO
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dj
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is
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dj
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dj
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dj
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dj
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can i have one
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just one
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12
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what about one
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12
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there should be more
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I get this
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13
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and importantly its
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Gonna take a long time
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14
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15
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A bit boring
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positive vibe
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Easter holiday :)
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Gotta be done
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zzz zzz zzz
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whats the question
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Long way to go
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To be or not to be
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Hmm
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Snow and ice :(
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its discrimination
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easter away
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What to say
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an new post
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galapagos.
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cats and dogs
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Come on come on come on
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"annoying
-
What's with this "There are new posts on this thread....you may want to edit your post" shit?
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That sucks
-
ddrmnn
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notice the deleted posts?!
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... :-\
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notice the deleted posts?!
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Can't believe honest and successful vendors have to be a part of spamming to 50 SMH
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suppper!
-
notice the deleted posts?!
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:o :o :o :o :o :o
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posts are being deleted?!
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They are?
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What's with this "There are new posts on this thread....you may want to edit your post" shit?
-
Annoying
-
This shit is really getting boring
-
46
-
Choking Elderberry cheese Urad Bean Ear
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47
-
Twisted Melon napkin Mustard Navel
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48
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Still some way to go
-
When does the slimy current bought the story?
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50!
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It's getting late
-
And one for good luck.
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Congratulation :D
-
How does the extra-large flower instruct the belief?
-
Yo yo
-
Yayo?
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buerxp
-
It's easy but boring
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16
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Keep going. All most there
-
we love the world.
in safety we trust
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Last one. See ya guys 8)
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feel safe
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17
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50 i mean 4
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POST
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post
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post
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1
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:)
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=/
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Brap brap bumbleclot
-
=/
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z.z
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1
-
2
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20
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slowly but surely getting there
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fun fun fun fun
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20
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very fun
-
..
-
ikokf
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hhhhhhhhhh
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bbbbbbbbbb
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spam
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,,,,,,,,,
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buump
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jkfjkjyf
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mn,,
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cvbcvbcv
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...
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ffffffff
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hate Warning - while you were typing a new reply has been posted. You may wish to review your post.
-
mmmmmmmmmm
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1
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2
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,,
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Omfg
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Gay
-
...
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SO GAY
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Argh
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Fuck
-
Wtf.. Why do we have to do this
-
S
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.....
-
D
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I am not sure
-
S
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Ughh
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Stop interrupting me!!
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...
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I am sure LE wouldnt mind taking the time to get to 50...
-
...
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M
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I am sure LE wouldnt mind taking the time to get to 50...
they get paid to sit on their asses anyway so you are right
Warning - while you were typing a new reply has been posted. You may wish to review your post.
again Warning - while you were typing a new reply has been posted. You may wish to review your post.
-
...
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time wasted
-
yes
-
1
-
i wonder how much time is spent on average trying to unlock these accounts to post in other areas. 1 hour down, many more posts to go.
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...
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...
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sldjfl'
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...
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...
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sucks
-
...
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...
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...
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asdf
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a
-
...
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:)
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...
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...
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adsfadsf
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...
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...
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...
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...
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...
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...
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...
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...
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...
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...
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post
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post
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post2
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post3
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post
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1
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post
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tits i like em
-
don't like this 50 post thing though
-
post
-
post
-
post
-
post
-
post
-
hello
-
so annoying.
-
tits
-
post
-
post
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post
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2
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post
-
post
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post
-
post
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damn it dank master your faster than me
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post
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3
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post
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post
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post
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post
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post
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post
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post
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post
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post
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4
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234
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post
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post
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432423
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5
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6
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7
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post
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post
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post
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post
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post
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post
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35
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post
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post388888
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post
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So it seems 50 posts are required but its legal to spam to get them? nice.. (what is the point of it?)
-
post
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post
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psot3
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post
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post
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8 FFS
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post
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wish this wasnt so fucking slow
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9
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dur
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10
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45f
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post
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post
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post
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post
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post
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post
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post
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11
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12
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13
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14
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15
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hallo
-
rrrrrrrrrrrrr
-
Honestly this is a stupid rule.
-
;D
-
I knew a drugstore cowgirl,
So afraid of getting bored
-
enough of this
-
this sucks
-
You're a butterfly in the wind without a care
A pretty train crash to me and I can't care
-
Warning - while you were typing a new reply has been posted. You may wish to review your post.
-
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Porn hub is down
Your mums facebook will do!
Sup everyone! :D
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20
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21
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377
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38
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3
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42
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title says it all
spam
-
title says it all
spam
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every
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dumb
-
Really, to 50. That is a pain. Have to start somewhere. Blaine is a pain.
-
yep
-
vector
-
derp
-
:)
-
:)
-
another minute another post. so close
-
:P
-
eevil
-
::)
-
:-X
-
:-X
-
???
-
:P
-
::)
-
:-\
-
>:(
-
:-\
-
:-X
-
8)
-
:o
-
errrrmmm
-
swoop
-
>:(
-
;D
-
:)
-
dun dun dun
-
Merely a post to get to 50
-
:)
-
completion in 3
-
help my friend
-
Need 50 so I can review
-
Need 50 so I can review
-
Need 50 so I can review
-
f
-
Need 50 so I can review
-
d
-
Need 50 so I can review
-
Need 50 so I can review
-
Need 50 so I can review
-
Need 50 so I can review
-
Spamming to 50 so I can review
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Spamming to 50 so I can review
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Spamming to 50 so I can review
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Spamming to 50 so I can review
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Spamming to 50 so I can review
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Spamming to 50 so I can review
-
45
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Spamming to 50 so I can review
-
Spamming to 50 so I can review
-
Spamming to 50 so I can review
-
Spamming to 50 so I can review
-
Spamming to 50 so I can review
-
Spamming to 50 so I can review
-
Spamming to 50 so I can review
-
Spamming to 50 so I can review
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It's a long way to the top
-
I hate scoobs
-
I hate scoobs
-
yes
-
maybe
-
Spamming to 50 so I can review.
-
Spamming to 50 so I can review.
-
Spamming to 50 so I can review.
-
Spamming to 50 so I can review.
-
Spamming to 50 so I can review.
-
almost there!
-
I know that I said I wouldn't do this (in my last post), but I have to contact a vendor, before my transaction auto finalises. It's stupid that we have to do this, to contact someone.
-
A
-
B
-
C
-
D
-
E
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yes
-
2
-
F
-
title says it all
spam
-
.
-
.
-
.
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..
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.
-
.
-
.
-
.
-
.
-
.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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sckznxlkcm
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zlkfnlkasf
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X>XNc.zx
-
zccxnvlzk
-
xcklvl
-
zsopjcpamc
-
addaadad
-
asdsdasd
-
asdadfa
-
adfaf
-
adsasdasd
-
aefadf
-
adfsdfaf
-
asdasda
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regwegsg
-
asdasdasd
-
acdfdsfdsf
-
asdasdasd
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asdadasd
-
asdasdsd
-
asdasd
-
asdasdadasd
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sdadsad
-
afdfsdfsd
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asdasdasd
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adsdasdsad
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asdasdsads
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asfdafadsf
-
dfWAFR
-
dsfddfadsf
-
::)
-
need 100
-
:-[
-
lalalallalallalal
-
:P
-
19875098385160298365019832
-
:P
-
8)
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sweet
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18
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19
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21
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21
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22
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23
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24
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25
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26
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27
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28
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29
-
eep
-
meo
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qq
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spammmm
-
another
-
going!
-
;)
-
more
-
meow
-
Ha Ha
-
more!
-
and miles and miles to go
-
and miles and miles to go!
-
another
-
:P :P :P :P :P
-
mooooooore
-
8) 8) 8) 8) 8)
-
????/
-
$$$
-
!
-
this sucks huh?
-
$$$$
-
s
-
loloololol
-
s
-
moar
-
halfway!
-
poop
-
push it!
-
qweorclj re12e
-
ahhhh
-
jsdnfjn2r2`
-
ksdnfklnsfn
-
nwfkj2nr1
-
ls dvlkmsklmv
-
BINGO
-
qwertyuiop
-
lololool
-
SIX
-
8)
-
Where is 50 at?
-
need to get to 50 . It sucks that I have to spam to do this.
-
SPAM
-
26!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
-
im so much faster then u guys, haha 8) 8) 8)
-
:-[ :o :)
-
uh huh
-
ert
-
hate to spam but want to contribute on other sections outside of newb zone
-
hate to spam but want to contribute on other sections outside of newb zone
-
hate to spam but want to contribute on other sections outside of newb zone
-
hate to spam but want to contribute on other sections outside of newb zone!!
-
let's goooo!
-
checking in
-
...
-
...
-
....
-
...
-
....
-
...
-
...
-
hello
-
fuego
-
almost there
-
..
-
caliente
-
..
-
climbin the ladda
-
yo sr
-
i cant even with this
-
................
-
i want some cheesy bread
-
.........
-
xxxx
-
..
-
.........
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xxxx
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bbb
-
i spend gours spamming
-
soo close
-
afdghdfhdfahdfh
-
WOOP WOOP WoOoOoP
-
14 years of coke XP reporting for duty.
-
tttttttttttttttt
-
consider
-
Ain't nobody got time for this.
-
hsfhfgh
-
soon to break the surly bonds of the post limit
-
;D
-
>:( >:( >:( >:( >:( >:(
-
what what
what
-
tretar
-
gadfgdaf
-
413
-
I just want to review stuff.
-
Some one needs to clear up how you need 50 posts before posting elsewhere.
-
dfkks
-
HEHE
-
Climbing!
-
BLOOP ;)
-
Let's go!
-
Come on :(
-
This is slow
-
YEEEH
-
go go
-
Ain't nobody got time for this.
-
Ain't nobody got time for this... srsly
-
goood lawd
-
Ain't nobody got time for this.
-
AINT
-
NBDY
-
GOT TIME
-
Work
and work
-
Keep those lines and machines comin
-
NO TIME FO DAT
-
Hey hey hey get your car washed today
-
Sheeeeeeit
-
SUP
-
GOGO
-
GGGGGG
-
GOGOGO
-
a
-
b
-
c
-
Never give up! :o
-
d
-
HELLO
-
e
-
f
-
"Get to the powder, NOW!"
(Said in an Arnold accent)
-
g
-
gggggggggggggg
-
h
-
i
-
j
-
Respond to this by private msg. me first and I send you 0,001 BC... Hey. I'm borred :)
-
k
-
So close
-
Oh yes baby I am nearly there
-
l
-
Oh yeah you are hitting my spot... Nearly there baby
-
Always wear sunscreen
-
You are NOT as fat as you imagine.
-
m
-
Remember compliments you received.
Forget the insults.
-
Keep your old love letters.
Throw away your old bank statements.
-
klnm'
-
n
-
o
-
p
-
03
-
1
-
5
-
tt
-
tg
-
deekpn
-
asd
-
xx
-
asd
-
are
-
asfdf
-
sadlkjg
-
poiuj
-
sf.kgjn
-
lknv
-
as;dgjn
-
,mc xv
-
mnxcbv
-
wivqug
-
iwugqrh
-
ufh
-
oief
-
,vsman
-
qwoiru
-
wqoru
-
lqwriu
-
qpwor
-
qworu
-
qwoiru
-
sn
-
pqowei
-
vksn
-
adlkvn
-
vldk
-
qweioru
-
qwroi
-
asdflkj
-
as;fj
-
qwlkrj
-
qwrl
-
qwori
-
wqoieu
-
as;lfj
-
saf
-
aslfkj
-
saf
-
walkrj
-
asfj
-
aks;d
-
aslkfj
-
aslkf
-
asdf
-
asf,m
-
drugsss
-
drugs
-
16
-
0934
-
moab1
-
543
-
dggd
-
17
-
y
-
eth
-
35hytr
-
fdr43rg
-
Type your name: Thatone567
Type your name with your elbow:gv bnzSAfikjm nedst
Type your name with your chin: hgdfhgnbfrytiu
Smash your face against the keyboard:
About three things I was absolutely positive. First Edward was a vampire. Second, there was a part of him-and I didn't know how potent that part might be-that thirsted for my blood. And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.
-
fhgrn
-
we
-
can
-
ryu5tyjh
-
sfhg
-
edfhg
-
place spam here
-
more spam
-
more spam....yum
-
adcsv
-
dgh
-
fh
-
spamming is for losers....damn i guess i'm a hypocrite. Kind of like the rest of people here.
peace and love bitchs
-
ohlawdythirty
-
sfhggh fuuuuuuuuuuckkkkkkk
-
blaaaaah
-
blaaaaah
I don't like that can you stop? Please, if not it's ok too
-
i only need 20 more posts until i can post yay
-
nah but for real this is lame
-
qrstuv
-
the roots- game theory
-
Tupac shakur-changes
-
lowkey- my soul
-
the roots- lighthouse
-
jimi hendrix- power to love
-
the roots- compared to what
-
black sabbath- war pigs
-
Do Make Say Think - Ontario Plates
-
jaco pastorious- opus pocus
-
6
-
spam
-
here
-
Anoushka Shankar-voice of the moon
if you ignored my other posts idgaf look this song up
-
and
-
now
-
out
-
aslkdjfa;sdf
-
So
-
damn
-
close
-
to
-
Hi
-
level
-
50
-
waht's up
-
I
-
Im gonna spam too
-
can't
-
can't
-
Penis vagina
-
penis lol
-
wait
-
to be
-
done
-
Lfjlwj
-
asljfw
-
Meow
-
1
-
29
-
30
-
31
-
32
-
adasd
-
asdasd
-
dasd
-
asdasd
-
asdasdas
-
soon
-
basd
-
asdasdas
-
Smiling as he watches the
-
so.....whats the topic?
-
dasdas
-
ettet
-
asujdhnasidj
-
asdas
-
sadasd
-
asDASDAS
-
bicken chutts
-
sdfaesfasef
-
asdasd
-
sadasd
-
important
-
asdasd
-
asdasd
-
asdasdasd
-
sadasd
-
what's the point of spamming to 50?
-
is that the minimum number of posts to leave the newbie forum?
-
If so, I have a long way to go.
-
well, i'm sure i'll get there eventually
-
but i dont think i'll completely spam my way to 50.
-
at least not tonight
-
but i may make a couple more posts here.
-
i miss being able to post in regular sections
-
i posted in a couple of vendor review threads when i first registered
-
The 50 post requirement is pointless. Number posts incoming
-
and now i'm stuck in this newb section, it's kind of annoying
-
I like boobs
-
Waste of time
-
spam n chips...
-
1
-
spammety spam
-
HOW NOW BROWN COW
-
:o 8)
-
??? ??? :o >:(
-
SPAM!
-
More spam
-
Just want to post in the forums!
-
If there's one thing that'll make someone solve capchas, it'll be this 50 newbpost requirement...
-
:o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o :o
-
im almost there and I only had a lil spam, yaaaayyyyyy
-
im almost there and I only had a lil spam, yaaaayyyyyy
This is most virtuous.
-
Spam, spam and more spam.
-
Steve from autoglass.
-
>:(
-
>:(
-
>:(
-
:-\
-
wfe
-
spam
-
balls
-
bump
-
spam
-
This sucks!! But here's a funny quote :D
"The American Dream is the constant promise of jam tomorrow, while ignoring the need for bread today...."
:o :P ;) :D ;D :o
-
This sucks!! But here's a funny quote :D
"The American Dream is the constant promise of jam tomorrow, while ignoring the need for bread today...."
:o :P ;) :D ;D :o
-
bdbsfgb fgb
-
This sucks!! But here's a funny quote :D
"The American Dream is the constant promise of jam tomorrow, while ignoring the need for bread today...."
:o :P ;) :D ;D :o
-
hshgbgfn
-
spam
-
kk
-
jrkrk
-
This sucks!! But here's a funny quote :D
"The American Dream is the constant promise of jam tomorrow, while ignoring the need for bread today...."
:o :P ;) :D ;D :o
-
kdkdk
-
avctcn
-
im not even sure
-
Shsshs
-
Aba
-
Eeke
-
20
-
ergerg
-
Fgk
-
Jeh
-
8)
-
Jsjs
-
Akas
-
f
-
cloer
-
Skaka
-
Aujas
-
Jaja
-
fvf
-
20
-
Jaja
-
Jajia
-
Nasn
-
fe
-
Aiia
-
ff
-
Nans
-
dfdd
-
nano
-
skk
-
d
-
df
-
dfdf
-
axle grease
-
ddfdf
-
dsdsd
-
blah
-
29
-
blah
-
scc
-
blah
-
blah
-
blah
-
::)
-
Kakka
-
mfmmvv
-
mmvm
-
50
-
sf
-
aregrgrgarga
-
reghrhhqh
-
ee
-
raegreagreg
-
df
-
d
-
dsd
-
This sucks!! But here's a funny quote :D
"The American Dream is the constant promise of jam tomorrow, while ignoring the need for bread today...."
:o :P ;) :D ;D :o
-
This sucks!! But here's a funny quote :D
"The American Dream is the constant promise of jam tomorrow, while ignoring the need for bread today...."
:o :P ;) :D ;D :o
-
This sucks!! But here's a funny quote :D
"The American Dream is the constant promise of jam tomorrow, while ignoring the need for bread today...."
:o :P ;) :D ;D :o
-
need 50 now the road is down so have to do this to contact a vendor
-
This sucks!! But here's a funny quote :D
"The American Dream is the constant promise of jam tomorrow, while ignoring the need for bread today...."
:o :P ;) :D ;D :o
-
This sucks!! But here's a funny quote :D
"The American Dream is the constant promise of jam tomorrow, while ignoring the need for bread today...."
:o :P ;) :D ;D :o
-
efweffewwfwe
-
reaghaerge
-
fthtrhsth
-
aergagrgr
-
k
-
agrg
-
asd
-
wefwefWEFEWFWFFW
-
6
-
8
-
10
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12
-
1
-
2
-
yolo
-
4
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5
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6
-
7
-
8
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9
-
earhrhh
-
15
-
16
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17
-
18
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19
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fwefwefweffeeee!
-
20
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Boo
-
blargh
-
34
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35
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36
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37
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38
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39
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40
-
41
-
.
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43
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44
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45
-
46
-
47
-
.
-
48
-
49
-
50
-
.
-
.
-
.
-
.
-
.
-
.
-
sryjsryjsryj
-
I FUCKING LOVE MARMITE
-
khbohb
-
rgrg
-
efgrrgrw
-
lyfjhg
-
lkhfg
-
rttrhojrhlkmhrt
-
ooh ahh ting tang walla walla bing bang
-
cdsvd
-
come on you guys. We can do better than this!@!!
-
WEEEE!
-
whoop
-
rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
-
ohh ee ohh a a ting tang walla walla bing bang
-
jffgkjbjg
-
kugg
-
my very elderly mother just sat up near pluto?
-
vwrggr
-
jkgg
-
uy
-
,jhvjhbkhv
-
mjghhg
-
for 50...
:/
-
,jjlj
-
Spam
-
hnvhgv
-
aihfaidog
-
:)
-
uhgj
-
make em say uhhhhhhhhh
-
ohh you silly cat
-
kjfg
-
easy enough
-
lkh
-
insert generic reply here:
-
dpr
-
, ,m
-
DPR
-
gotta get posts up during this intense period of time
-
oh hi.
-
2
-
3
-
Simple quick question about PGP and Silk Road: If I am sending my shipment receiving address (encrypted and signed) do I also need to include my public key so that they can confirm my signature? The buyer's guide states that most seller would probably prefer a signature, but do they actually care enough to validate the signature and would like my public key?
-
Simple quick question about PGP and Silk Road: If I am sending my shipment receiving address (encrypted and signed) do I also need to include my public key so that they can confirm my signature? The buyer's guide states that most seller would probably prefer a signature, but do they actually care enough to validate the signature and would like my public key?
-
too much spam
-
Title is helpful - thanks
-
and again
-
but before my top ramen...
had to write another spam post :D
Alright stop!
Its ramen time!
-
i'd love to have some ramen right now :-\
-
A long road...
-
1
-
2
-
50 soon
-
41?...cuckoo
-
:-[
-
45?
-
ALMOST
-
light
-
tunnel
-
End...
-
:D
-
gz
-
one spammer less :P
-
adgsdf
-
here we go!!!!
-
anyone want me to bump this
-
;)
-
;D
-
:o
-
:-X
-
+1 Karma!? Thankyou anonymous friend :)
-
wasnt me but when i get there i wiill do you.
-
HEY!! I got there :) here you go :)
-
Thanks man :)
-
spam
-
let´s go to SPAM :D
-
Spamming
-
spam
-
let-s go
-
dghdah
-
fhrh
-
bm,b,bnv
-
gnmgmd
-
5utju
-
gfjkgtj
-
fhdfhs
-
dhsdfh
-
sdfhsdfh
-
bmbmbgj
-
8
-
9
-
fhfh
-
cx
-
fsfsf
-
gdh
-
tjty
-
rhe
-
egae
-
johnny hammersticks, tommy noble
-
16
-
18
-
18
-
19
-
21
-
23
-
26
-
Gotta get there if I ever gonna get there 8)
-
See you when I get there ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D
-
28
-
really dont see the point in the 50 post limit 20/25 okay but 50 bit over the top :)
-
Hi internets are good m8
-
30
-
throwback time
"ice ice baby"
lol
-
Spam
-
Spam
-
Spam
-
Spam
-
r3fr34f
-
Spam
-
:-*
-
this is tedious!
-
:P
-
another!
-
16
-
yay
-
18
-
19
-
spam
-
:P
-
spam
-
cheese and pepperoni
-
peanut butter jelly time
-
I love SR thank you DPR for all your hard work on getting the site back up.
-
1
-
first post
-
3
-
tits or gtfo
-
uhm
-
derp
-
thegsq
-
5 mo
-
qgfgfqwdas
-
423Q1
-
HGFDS
-
CAPTCHA CUNT
-
GSAEWSAG
-
GFRDSZA
-
BVGFDCSXAZ
-
GFVDCSX
-
HGTFRDES
-
TFGVSDCASXA
-
GDSFA
-
4
-
3
-
2
-
1
-
lll
-
the good shit is on its way
-
make the money don't let the money make you
-
this takes too long
-
once im out of newbie prison im going to show everyone my superior product and give them superior customer service
-
WhoO!
-
thumbs up for the good shit
-
4
-
OH YEA
-
Guess i'll make my first post in here. ;)
-
1
-
almost
-
:o
-
almost there
-
This is going to take a while
-
so close, man there is nothing worse than getting errors for posting too soon just after another post when you are so close
-
I love SR.
-
stealing post
-
1
-
9
-
1
-
1
-
2
-
3
-
:D
-
23
-
24
-
Im hungry for actual spam
-
ejdfbsjfas
-
using your noodle
-
fdsfds
-
Still hungry
-
12
-
ewr
-
bvc
-
fds
-
UT
-
GDGD
-
GFD
-
DSA
-
GD
-
FSD
-
DAFDGDD
-
GFDNFD
-
FSD
-
Why
-
GFDGDHFGHGF
-
I ran into a guy who was calling himself the virgin-bury-shit-pubes-carry. Listen I don't care what consenting adults do to one another be it straight or gay or what ever. Just clean your self afterwards. Having feces in your pubic region is unsanitary and could potentially spread disease.
-
FDSFDF
-
BVCHJHGJG
-
FSDFS
-
even
-
JTHGF
-
HGFHGFHFGHF
-
HTRHTR
-
HDGDFGHGFH
-
bother
-
GFDBG
-
to
-
have
-
a
-
post
-
requirement
-
if
-
you
-
are
-
dssfsadf a asd asdsa dasd as ds
-
dsf asfsd fadf sadf s
-
dfawdf asfd af sdf asf sdf asdf daf
-
I recently evacuated my self. I left the room. By the way, you don't evacuate people in an emergency. You can evacuate a building but, people only get evacuated in a lavitory typically or by a tree occasionally.
-
going
-
dfsdf asdf dasfsafsad f
-
dsfsadf sdfafd adsf dasf ds
-
afsdfdsfasfs df saf asdf saf sad
-
to
-
sdafsaf df fdsaf asf sadfads
-
dsfasdf asf saf
-
sdfs fasf ds fsaf
-
dsf asdf safsad faf dsf asd
-
Get me outta here!
-
allow
-
people
-
to
-
just
-
Spam it up
-
spam
-
Still here
-
their
-
Do it
-
way
-
there
-
bump
-
I got that hellsmoke
-
?
-
1
-
dfsafsdaf saf sadf sadf
-
fsg dfg sg fgdsg
-
safsdaf saf saf saf
-
dsfsdf sfsd
-
safsdf asdf sadfsd
-
sadfsadfsdafdf
-
sdfsdaf sdf sdf s
-
Just another new vendor trying to make some scratch.
-
sdfsfsd fsf sdfsa
-
sgdfg dg sdfgdf g
-
dasf sf sdfaf
-
sdfasf sdf sdafs fs
-
dfasf sf asdfsadf
-
dasf asf dsf saf
-
adfdsf sdafsfsdf
-
dafsdfsadf sdfsaf
-
sdfsadfs dfsdfs
-
dasfsf asdfsadfsdafsdfs
-
afdsfasfsdfsdf
-
dfsfdsf sfsadfdsfs
-
afdas fafsdfsadfsadffdsf
-
sdfsfas fafsdf
-
zcvxczvxvx
-
dasfs dfas fsfsdfasf
-
dsafs dfasd fsafdsfsfsdf
-
adfsdf fdsfasfdsaf
-
dsf saf sdfas fsdf asfsadfs
-
dsf sdf asf asdfsad fsf s
-
sf safisoifsaif soidf dsoif s
-
sdfas sf asdfasf sadf
-
afdsafsadfs af saf asfs adf
-
:) ;) :D ;D >:( :( :o 8) ??? ::) :P :-[ :-X :-\ :-* :'(
-
sdf af sf sf asf saf sadf sdaf
-
as fdf safasfs adfsafsfdsdfs
-
af sdf asf asf sf safs
-
sdf asf asdf asf safsafsf
-
:(
-
hafiushfu osafhou safhouasfh
-
igghiuhiuh iuhuih iu hiuh uihuh
-
oiahfoi hsfoihsafio h
-
oiafoid foiahfoih
-
jsofj oigsjdfgiodjsgoidfjdsfg
-
asoifjaiosfj iosajfoisfjsoiaf
-
dafhosifhjoiasjfoisjfioasdjfis
-
odsijfo iasdjfo iasjfoisajdfiosadf
-
sfjiaojf oiasjdfio asf
-
dfnjkoasdnfo sndfoians
-
ijiojoijfdiosajfoisadfj
-
afkaopsfjkaoisfjioaf
-
ijoiafjoiasfjoisdfj
-
iodjaoif jdsiofjasiofdjsdf
-
fajisodfj aosidfjoiasdf
-
jisjfoisajfoisajfoisaf
-
iojadsoi fjiosajfiosjfoias
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jgiosdfjgoisdfgj oidsgj
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dfadisofj oaisfjoisfj
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afsdf afsdiofjaosifj oasf
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dfasfsadfjasoifj aosif
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dfjasiodfjsaoidfj oisdfjaoiasfjoisdaf
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fasjfoisadj foijasdofijasdifjsa
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jasdfiosjdfoisa jfiosajfoisadjfiosadf
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dfiaofjoisadfjoisafjiosf
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sdjfoijsadfoijasfoijsafjasf
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fasfiojsdfoisjadfoisfjsaf sfdsafas
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fjioajfoisajfoijsf iojio
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ghmnmfd
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jtrjkt
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sfsf
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fncf
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egdegg
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this is the second time hitting 100 posts? my captcha was removed, i gave out a page full of karma, then it took back 6 posts and my karma powers, also re applied the captcha ?? wthh?
-
;D ;D ;D
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1,2,3,4 gogogogg
-
ssh,xv,fyjxtywshkgdr 564217852 8) 8)
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fucking tornadoes
-
Fucking weather
-
3 am
-
What u talking bout
-
what
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what?
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danger
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thats why
-
I will never tell!
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spam
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spam
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5
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6
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7
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if i knew it was gonna be this type of party I woulda stuck my dick in tha mashed potatos
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TGIF
-
YAMMIE
-
10 more
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#1 in the hood g
-
The captchas are the annoying bit
-
3
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spam
-
AGAIN
-
STEAK AND TITTIES
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WHY 50
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GIVE ME KARMA
-
:)
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KK
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X
-
XX
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XXX
-
and again
-
keep rollin
-
50 posts to post elsewhere is obscene.
-
50 posts to post elsewhere is obscene.
Agreed.
-
Again.
-
The George Foreman Lean Mean Fat-Reducing Grilling Machine.
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2
>:(
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3
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The range enlightens the vagabond salt.
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4 >:(
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The disillusioned committee saves the existence.
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5
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The groovy snow interfaces the time.
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6
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6? 7?
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The spotless machine mechanizes the education.
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9
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10
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15
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15
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to 50!
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to 50!
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to 50!
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to 50!
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to 50!
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to 50!
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to 50!
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to 50!
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to 50!
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to 50!
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to 50!
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to 50!
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to 50!
-
to 50!
-
to 50!
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:oto 50!
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to 50!
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to 50!
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to 50!
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to 50!
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to 50!
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to 50!
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to 50!
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to 50!
-
to 50!
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OHHH YES! ;D
-
trying to get to 100 :D
-
trying to get to 100 :D
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trying to get to 100 :D
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trying to get to 100 :D
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trying to get to 100 :D
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trying to get to 100 :D
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trying to get to 100 :D
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trying to get to 100 :D
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spamit
-
trying to get to 100 :D
-
Reach 50 then what?
Starting asking noob questions in the other sections.
This forum is better for reading if you can filter through all the bullshit and find some valuable information.
I think this is about my 5th post but Ive read probably over 100. The Forum needs to delete all the useless rubbish and make the informative post easier to filter.
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1
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Trying to reach 50
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Trying to reach 50
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Trying to reach 50
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Trying to reach 50
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Trying to reach 50
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Trying to reach 50
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Trying to reach 50
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Trying to reach 50
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Trying to reach 50
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Trying to reach 50
-
Trying to reach 50
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Trying to reach 50
-
Trying to reach 50
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Trying to reach 50
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Trying to reach 50
-
Trying to reach 50
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Trying to reach 50
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Trying to reach 50
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Trying to reach 50
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Trying to reach 50
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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V
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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starting at number 1
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HHVFYP
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2
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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HHVFYP
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Trying to reach 50
-
Somewhere over the rainbow
-
Way up high
-
There's a land that I heard of
-
Once in a lullaby
-
Somewhere over the rainbow
-
Skies are blue
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And the dreams that you dare to dream
-
Really do come true
-
Someday I'll wish upon a star
-
And wake up where the clouds are far
-
Behind me
-
Where troubles melt like lemon drops
-
Away above the chimney tops
-
That's where you'll find me
-
Somewhere over the rainbow
-
Somewhere over the rainbow
-
Bluebirds fly
-
Birds fly over the rainbow
-
Why then, oh why can't I
-
If happy little bluebirds fly
-
Beyond the rainbow
-
Why, oh why can't I?
-
Somewhere over the rainbow
-
Way up high
-
There's a land that I heard of
-
Once in a lullaby
-
Somewhere over the rainbow
Way up high,
There's a land that I heard of
Once in a lullaby.
Somewhere over the rainbow
Skies are blue,
And the dreams that you dare to dream
Really do come true.
Someday I'll wish upon a star
And wake up where the clouds are far
Behind me.
Where troubles melt like lemon drops
Away above the chimney tops
That's where you'll find me.
Somewhere over the rainbow
Bluebirds fly.
Birds fly over the rainbow.
Why then, oh why can't I?
If happy little bluebirds fly
Beyond the rainbow
Why, oh why can't I?
-
50 bitches, I demand respect ;D
-
LET'S BEGIN
-
skoop doop
-
loop de-froop
-
this is seriously a ridiculous process
-
it's like
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all i want to do
-
is talk to people
-
on this anonymous forum
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about drugs
-
which i think are pretty cool
-
but i gotta make a bajillion posts
-
which is totally lame.
-
moose can be very mean sometimes
-
a moose bit my sister once...
-
moose bites can be very nasty
-
or llamas for that matter
-
like a venomous llama
-
that would be pretty cool
-
and you could be all
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'don't fuck with my llama dude, it's venomous'
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first
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second
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shitfuckshit
-
and they'd be all like
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'nah man, i ain't scared of a llama'
-
and then your llama would bite him
-
and he'd be all 'aaarrrrgghhhhhh'
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'i've been poisoned by a llama'
-
Hi guys.
-
and you and your llama would roll out
-
like fuckin clint eastwood on a horse
-
but really y'all
-
I'm chillin here
-
watchin the x-files on netflix
-
this is a pretty good one so I'm gonna narrate it for y'all
-
there's some big schwarzenegger-looking dude
-
ok dude's explaining that they're actually all clones
-
named gregor
-
and the schwarzenegger-looking guy is tryna murder all the clones
-
Gillian Anderson is a babe for real
-
and there's some cia guy who says he's friendly but i ain't buyin it
-
ok so a dude just jumped out a window
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AMANDA BERRY.
-
and i think fake cia guy is
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i think they're all aliens or something
-
ok skipped ahead a little, now there's a bounty hunter and a submarine and shit is seriously getting weird
-
Suitable sections for defining the base of the Ionian Stage are located in southern Italy.
-
TUPAC SHAKUR IS ALIVE!!!!!
-
Got milk?
-
sheeit now there's a dude who shapeshifted into mulder
-
and he just beat the shit outta scully
-
You are the Diet Coke of evil.
-
and mulder's sister is back
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human-alien hybrid yadda yadda yadda
-
there's no way this chick is mulder's sister
-
fuckin hate shapeshifty shit
-
but assistant director skinner is pretty cool
-
mulder's gotta be a shitty employee, objectively speaking; that man is a saint
-
just to reiterate: gillian anderson is a total babe
-
I'm currently spying on a Grizzly Bear in my hut. One huge motherfucker.
-
He looks pretty angry.
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Killed the bastard.
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:)
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:-*
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8)
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8)
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:o
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:-X
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:D
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8)
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:-\
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;D ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D
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My word, the spamming in here is shameless.
-
I could swear I entered that captcha correctly.
-
I hate when I can't search because someone else on TOR just did.
-
8)
>:( >:(
;D ;D ;D
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;D 8)
8) ;D
;D 8)
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:-* :'( :-*
:'( :-* :'(
:-* :'( :-*
-
Zip bop a wow
-
8) ;D 8)
8) ;D 8)
8) 8) 8)
;D ;D 8)
;D ;D 8)
-
8) 8) 8)
8) ;D 8)
;D ;D 8)
;D 8) ;D
8) 8) 8)
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yo yo ma
-
8) 8) 8)
8) :o 8)
8) :o 8)
8) :o 8)
8) 8) 8)
-
8) 8) 8) ;D ;D 8) 8) 8) ;D ;D 8) 8) 8)
8) :o 8) ;D ;D 8) ;D 8) ;D ;D 8) ;D 8)
8) :o 8) ;D ;D ;D ;D 8) ;D ;D 8) ;D 8)
8) :o 8) ;D ;D ;D 8) ;D ;D ;D 8) ;D 8)
8) 8) 8) ;D ;D 8) 8) 8) ;D ;D 8) 8) 8)
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8) ;D 8);D ;D 8) 8) 8) ;D ;D 8) 8) 8)
8) ;D 8) ;D ;D 8) ;D 8) ;D ;D 8) ;D 8)
8) 8) 8) ;D ;D ;D ;D 8) ;D ;D 8) ;D 8)
;D ;D 8) ;D ;D ;D 8) ;D ;D ;D 8) ;D 8)
;D ;D 8) ;D ;D 8) 8) 8) ;D ;D 8) 8) 8)
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tramalama ding dong
-
8) ;D 8) ;D ;D 8) 8) 8) ;D ;D 8) 8) 8)
8) ;D 8) ;D ;D 8) ;D 8) ;D ;D 8) ;D 8)
8) 8) 8) ;D ;D ;D ;D 8) ;D ;D 8) ;D 8)
;D ;D 8) ;D ;D ;D 8) ;D ;D ;D 8) ;D 8)
;D ;D 8) ;D ;D 8) 8) 8) ;D ;D 8) 8) 8)
-
"The problem is not the problem. The problem is your attitude about the problem".
Captain Jack Sparrow
-
Lamp.
-
Home Alone
-
"The person you are the most afraid to contradict is yourself."
-
Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure
-
The Simpsons Movie
-
"Pharmaceutical companies are better at inventing diseases that match existing drugs, rather than inventing drugs to match existing diseases."
-
Easy A
-
spam
-
Who Framed Roger Rabbit
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Mean Girls
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Demolition Man
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Encino Man
-
Work destroys your soul by stealthily invading your brain during the hours not officially spent working; be selective about professions.
-
Blank Check > Richie Rich
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Honey I Shrunk The Kids
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There is no intermediate state between ice and water but there is one between life and death: employment.
-
Ferris Bueller's Day Off
-
Procrastination is the soul rebelling against entrapment
-
Airheads
-
When we want to do something while unconsciously certain to fail, we seek advice so we can blame someone else for the failure.
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Wayne's World
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Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
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Good Burger
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Naked Lunch
-
Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2
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Enter The Void
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The Jerk
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Bulworth
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In the Mouth of Madness
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Heat
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Evil Dead 2
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Smokin Aces
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Blood Simple
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Hotel Rwanda
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We Need to Talk About Kevin
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We Bought A Zoo
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Seven Psychopaths
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The Mist
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Back to the Future
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Back to the Future 2
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Back to the Future 3
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Back to the Future 4
-
DieselTherapy is an amazing H vendor
-
Forward to the Past
-
buy from Dieseltherapy
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q
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q
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bah hahahahaha
-
~
-
DieselTherapy's H "stamps" are 3-4 times larger than anyone elses on SR and are cheap. The cut is no more offensive than anyone else's that I have tried.
-
a$ap!!
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fSGgAGAGFDGDFG
-
~
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ttj
-
HDJN
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FY
-
GUJL
-
FHCM
-
DHDFJ
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CYXD
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~
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CYHMFM
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++
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SEJGK
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-
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XGSYH
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HUDT
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I want to be understood! I doing a spam rant in 3-2
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one
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I love this forum.
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I have like ten tabs open to reply here.
-
I wish that life was easier. Someone pm me the meaning behind it.
-
This is like counting sheeps - 11
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I'm so tired.
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13
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14 zzz
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Standing by liberty and will i ever get it. I don't know.
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65
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15
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453
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16
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So boring
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12
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4
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fff
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25
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ffr
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26
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f
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g
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28
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ggdf
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29
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adgg
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ASD
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4
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FGDSA
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GFD
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LKMNB
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sigh....ADFAD
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OLKJ
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IUJHGF
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JHGVC
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YGTFD
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GUM
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HGFDX
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UJHYGFDS
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HGVF
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CGRD
-
123
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6E
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342
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8765
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8I7643
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987654
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634
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09876
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764
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098765
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DDDD
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WWWW
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QQQQ
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YYYY
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643
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6432
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UJYTRDFESA
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boogers
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boogers
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1
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sfaasdfa
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2
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0
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pigs
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aa
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aaaa
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aaaaaa
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plaq
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plaqyou
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jumbo
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23e
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thre
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te
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on
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tw
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thre
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fou
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fiv
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si
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seve
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eigh
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kkkkkkkkkkk
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nin
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te
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eleve
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twelv
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thirtee
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fourtee
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fiftee
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seventee
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eightee
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nintee
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twente
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sherpa pooper
-
got ass?
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1
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2
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1
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call 911
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CALL 911
-
nin on on
-
NIN ON ON
-
george
-
hah
-
u see
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EJSY STR UPI ;PPLOMH SY
-
o fpmy lmpe
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hah
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rijg
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ihhf
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7745i
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jgfgj
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khgf
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ojhdd
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fkkfdd
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368844
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&774
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afjhvff
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4888
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jhygj
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tag
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google
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kudkl
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Well... that was annoying, but apparently necessary!
-
g
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a
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f
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ass
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a
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a
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ass
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1
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a
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A
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f
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a
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a
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a
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a
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2
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a
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a
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2
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funny thing, to proove you're not a spammer you have to spam yourself in :-P
-
as funny as annoying
-
just notes from a 2yo newbie
-
:-P
-
gogogogogo
-
ithinkthereforeiam
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whoareyouwhowho
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sr ftw
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iamthewalruscookoocachoo
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howmuchwoodwould
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yo yo
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wouldawoodchuckchuck
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pushin to 50 gogogo
-
8
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9
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who suddenly isn't able to comment his own posts from the past
-
what is the differnece between a trampoline and a baby?
-
fdfs
-
next posts will be even more senseless
-
43
-
1 + 1 = 3
-
everything is false
-
I take off my boots before I jump on a trampoline.
-
assume nothing
-
murphy is right
-
go with your gut, it is your operational antenna. if it feels wrong it is wrong
-
nothing is true
-
reached 13
-
lull them into a false sense of complacency.
-
14
-
build in opportunity, use it sparingly.
-
lull them into a false sense of complacency.
congrats, you got it
-
16
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17
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R
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and then this annoying additional captcha
-
20
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21 (which number does that remind me?)
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V
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W
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X
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Y
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Z
-
-
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39
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through with letters
-
28
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boring
-
reached thirty :)
-
post
-
by post
-
by post
-
by post
-
bhgrwf
-
once i will reach 50
-
i believe
-
37
-
as i said
-
post
-
by post
-
by post
-
42 wasn't this the answer?
-
7 posts left
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6
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5
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4
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3
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2
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1
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0
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ignition ;)
-
+1
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1
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d
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1
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d
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s
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s
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s
-
s
-
s
-
s
-
d
-
d
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a
-
s
-
s
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ss
-
s
-
gg
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bb
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dfff
-
f
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fff
-
ff
-
d
-
df
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Dick schlong
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fd
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dfgg
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d
-
df
-
df
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dfdf
-
df
-
df
-
df
-
df
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sd
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sd
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sd
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sd
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sd
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sdf
-
df
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sd
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sd
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sd
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df
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sddf
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df
-
df
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sd
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+
-
-
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*
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*
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GotGas GotGas GotGas GotGas GotGas GotGas GotGas GotGas GotGas
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ok
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Spam haiku archive...
-
"I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best." -Marilyn Monroe
-
shifting, shifting, apparition
sideward sliding shade magician,
mist and myth of shadow rhythm
swathe my hills in cotton.
-
I start spamming, too:-)
-
skdad
-
sfdsfdsg
-
BSH
-
and again
-
sdb :)
-
zseg
-
zer
-
Spam to 50
-
Spam to 50
-
Ballz
-
kat
-
sdvsdfvsvsdf
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weiner
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meow
-
im a cat
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jk ruff
-
chicken salad
-
where
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you
-
you
-
people
-
at
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fsvdvfsvfs
-
just get me to 50
-
spam
-
sdkvkdjsvomdskv
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oknfvownvw
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nw;fkvw
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jknfdsvnlvw
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jlnbwcjvw
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4854654
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Hey /b/. So some asshole fucked up the entire side of my car today in a hit and run while I was at work. I'd ask for advice since I think I know who it was, but I know I won't get anything I'd actually do. So here's some tits in case you're having a bad day too.
-
sddsacsa
-
klmfdsvdfsvds w
-
spamalot
-
spamalot
-
Hey /b/. So some asshole fucked up the entire side of my car today in a hit and run while I was at work. I'd ask for advice since I think I know who it was, but I know I won't get anything I'd actually do. So here's some tits in case you're having a bad day too.
-
spam
-
spammmm
-
Hey /b/. So some asshole fucked up the entire side of my car today in a hit and run while I was at work. I'd ask for advice since I think I know who it was, but I know I won't get anything I'd actually do. So here's some tits in case you're having a bad day too.
-
Hey /b/. So some asshole fucked up the entire side of my car today in a hit and run while I was at work. I'd ask for advice since I think I know who it was, but I know I won't get anything I'd actually do. So here's some tits in case you're having a bad day too.
-
spamm
-
yolo
-
ff
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solo
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mcnugget
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Who moved my cheese ???
-
spam in a pan
-
finally i came
-
spam in a pan
-
Hey /b/. So some asshole fucked up the entire side of my car today in a hit and run while I was at work. I'd ask for advice since I think I know who it was, but I know I won't get anything I'd actually do. So here's some tits in case you're having a bad day too.
-
original spam
-
Hey /b/. So some asshole fucked up the entire side of my car today in a hit and run while I was at work. I'd ask for advice since I think I know who it was, but I know I won't get anything I'd actually do. So here's some tits in case you're having a bad day too.
-
Hey /b/. So some asshole fucked up the entire side of my car today in a hit and run while I was at work. I'd ask for advice since I think I know who it was, but I know I won't get anything I'd actually do. So here's some tits in case you're having a bad day too.
-
Hey /b/. So some asshole fucked up the entire side of my car today in a hit and run while I was at work. I'd ask for advice since I think I know who it was, but I know I won't get anything I'd actually do. So here's some tits in case you're having a bad day too.
-
Hey /b/. So some asshole fucked up the entire side of my car today in a hit and run while I was at work. I'd ask for advice since I think I know who it was, but I know I won't get anything I'd actually do. So here's some tits in case you're having a bad day too.
-
Hey /b/. So some asshole fucked up the entire side of my car today in a hit and run while I was at work. I'd ask for advice since I think I know who it was, but I know I won't get anything I'd actually do. So here's some tits in case you're having a bad day too.
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
Hey /b/. So some asshole fucked up the entire side of my car today in a hit and run while I was at work. I'd ask for advice since I think I know who it was, but I know I won't get anything I'd actually do. So here's some tits in case you're having a bad day too.
-
original spam
-
Hey /b/. So some asshole fucked up the entire side of my car today in a hit and run while I was at work. I'd ask for advice since I think I know who it was, but I know I won't get anything I'd actually do. So here's some tits in case you're having a bad day too.
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
Hey /b/. So some asshole fucked up the entire side of my car today in a hit and run while I was at work. I'd ask for advice since I think I know who it was, but I know I won't get anything I'd actually do. So here's some tits in case you're having a bad day too.
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
original spam
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
Hey /b/. So some asshole fucked up the entire side of my car today in a hit and run while I was at work. I'd ask for advice since I think I know who it was, but I know I won't get anything I'd actually do. So here's some tits in case you're having a bad day too.
-
i have had it with these monkey fighting snakes on this monday to friday plane
-
Spam
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
:O
-
i have had it with these monkey fighting snakes on this monday to friday plane
-
Anyone going to some neat festivals this year?
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
spam.
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
spammmm
-
i have had it with these monkey fighting snakes on this monday to friday plane
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
i have had it with these monkey fighting snakes on this monday to friday plane
-
spamm
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
Hey /b/. So some asshole fucked up the entire side of my car today in a hit and run while I was at work. I'd ask for advice since I think I know who it was, but I know I won't get anything I'd actually do. So here's some tits in case you're having a bad day too.
-
Congrats deadlydove
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
Many thanks best of luck with your spam
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
Many thanks best of luck with your spam
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
:)
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:)
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Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
do
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
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need to post
-
post
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
spam
-
john
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
reed
-
Hope everyone has some smooth spamming
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
Spam lll
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
2 more to go! :D
-
Been a part of this community for 1 year and 2 days, but haven't really posted anything lol.
-
Spammin that train ;D
-
spam to 50!
-
spam to 50!
-
spam to 50!
-
spam to 50!
-
spam to 50!
-
spam to 50!
-
spam to 50!
-
spam to 50!
-
spam to 50!
-
spam to 50!
-
spam to 50!
-
spam to 50!
-
spam to 50!
-
spam to 50!
-
spam to 50!
-
spam to 50!
-
spam to 50!
-
spam to 50!
-
spam to 50!
-
spam to 50!
-
spam to 50!
-
spam to 50!
-
spam to 50!
-
spam to 50!
-
spam to 50!
-
spam to 50!
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spam to 50!
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spam to 50!
-
dat first post
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21
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22
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23
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24
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grunty 8)
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wibble :-\
-
h-here I go
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spam yo
-
h-here I go
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h-here I go
-
h-here I go
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h-here I go
-
h-here I go
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h-here I go
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h-here I go
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h-here I go
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h-here I go
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h-here I go
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h-here I go
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h-here I go
-
h-here I go
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h-here I go
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KHAN!
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KHAN!!
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h-here I go
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h-here I go
-
h-here I go
-
h-here I go
-
h-here I go
-
h-here I go
-
h-here I go
-
h-here I go
-
h-here I go
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h-here I go
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h-here I go
-
h-here I go
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h-here I go
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h-here I go
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h-here I go
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h-here I go
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h-here I go
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h-here I go
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h-here I go
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h-here I go
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h-here I go
-
h-here I go
-
h-here I go
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h-here I go
-
h-here I go
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h-here I go
-
h-here I go
-
h-here I go
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h-here I go
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h-here I go
-
h-here I go
-
h-here I go
-
h-here I go
-
h-here I go
-
h-here I go
-
lawl
-
sha-wing
-
yeaaaah!
-
c
-
aef
-
You delight yourself in a paranoid state of mind
A bunch of mischief talking shit, it's what you're all about
You celebrate yourself in filth and self-indulgence
As you believe you own the world — fuck you
You blame us all to never trust your lies
Your lame words won't ever justify wasting our precious time
You want it all, could kill for five seconds of fame
No matter who you suck, you're just a hopeless case
You rate yourself as fucking number one
A poisoned ego oversized but undefined
No hope you'll improve yourself
No reason to try to understand
A worthless, miserable one, absurd and non-relevant
You'll burn yourself with all your hate
You're tainted, devoid of soul
A vain being to nullify with no remorse
-
Dd
-
Dd
-
Edd
-
what exactly is this?
-
I hope you dont mind me getting to 50 with you!
-
Posting in the USA
-
I like cheese
-
Yes
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Fence Post
-
69
-
Alright
-
You delight yourself in a paranoid state of mind
A bunch of mischief talking shit, it's what you're all about
You celebrate yourself in filth and self-indulgence
As you believe you own the world — fuck you
You blame us all to never trust your lies
Your lame words won't ever justify wasting our precious time
You want it all, could kill for five seconds of fame
No matter who you suck, you're just a hopeless case
You rate yourself as fucking number one
A poisoned ego oversized but undefined
No hope you'll improve yourself
No reason to try to understand
A worthless, miserable one, absurd and non-relevant
You'll burn yourself with all your hate
You're tainted, devoid of soul
A vain being to nullify with no remorse
-
spam
-
BTCs going to rise or fall again with the US scandles?
-
I don't care what you post here. gibberish, fifty individual character posts , anything. This is annoying that I can't ask SR experts for the advice I NEED to stay safe so lets rebel! fuck, its what Pirate Roberts would do, isn't it?
-
I don't care what you post here. gibberish, fifty individual character posts , anything. This is annoying that I can't ask SR experts for the advice I NEED to stay safe so lets rebel! fuck, its what Pirate Roberts would do, isn't it?
-
I don't care what you post here. gibberish, fifty individual character posts , anything. This is annoying that I can't ask SR experts for the advice I NEED to stay safe so lets rebel! fuck, its what Pirate Roberts would do, isn't it?
-
I don't care what you post here. gibberish, fifty individual character posts , anything. This is annoying that I can't ask SR experts for the advice I NEED to stay safe so lets rebel! fuck, its what Pirate Roberts would do, isn't it?
-
I don't care what you post here. gibberish, fifty individual character posts , anything. This is annoying that I can't ask SR experts for the advice I NEED to stay safe so lets rebel! fuck, its what Pirate Roberts would do, isn't it?
-
I don't care what you post here. gibberish, fifty individual character posts , anything. This is annoying that I can't ask SR experts for the advice I NEED to stay safe so lets rebel! fuck, its what Pirate Roberts would do, isn't it?
-
I don't care what you post here. gibberish, fifty individual character posts , anything. This is annoying that I can't ask SR experts for the advice I NEED to stay safe so lets rebel! fuck, its what Pirate Roberts would do, isn't it?
-
I don't care what you post here. gibberish, fifty individual character posts , anything. This is annoying that I can't ask SR experts for the advice I NEED to stay safe so lets rebel! fuck, its what Pirate Roberts would do, isn't it?
-
I don't care what you post here. gibberish, fifty individual character posts , anything. This is annoying that I can't ask SR experts for the advice I NEED to stay safe so lets rebel! fuck, its what Pirate Roberts would do, isn't it?
-
I don't care what you post here. gibberish, fifty individual character posts , anything. This is annoying that I can't ask SR experts for the advice I NEED to stay safe so lets rebel! fuck, its what Pirate Roberts would do, isn't it?
-
so been a member here for over a year
coome to post a review but does not look i can carry out my end of the deal now
50 posts is a bit OTT????
-
I don't care what you post here. gibberish, fifty individual character posts , anything. This is annoying that I can't ask SR experts for the advice I NEED to stay safe so lets rebel! fuck, its what Pirate Roberts would do, isn't it?
-
don't stop won't stop
-
I don't care what you post here. gibberish, fifty individual character posts , anything. This is annoying that I can't ask SR experts for the advice I NEED to stay safe so lets rebel! fuck, its what Pirate Roberts would do, isn't it?
-
I don't care what you post here. gibberish, fifty individual character posts , anything. This is annoying that I can't ask SR experts for the advice I NEED to stay safe so lets rebel! fuck, its what Pirate Roberts would do, isn't it?
-
I don't care what you post here. gibberish, fifty individual character posts , anything. This is annoying that I can't ask SR experts for the advice I NEED to stay safe so lets rebel! fuck, its what Pirate Roberts would do, isn't it?
-
I don't care what you post here. gibberish, fifty individual character posts , anything. This is annoying that I can't ask SR experts for the advice I NEED to stay safe so lets rebel! fuck, its what Pirate Roberts would do, isn't it?
-
I don't care what you post here. gibberish, fifty individual character posts , anything. This is annoying that I can't ask SR experts for the advice I NEED to stay safe so lets rebel! fuck, its what Pirate Roberts would do, isn't it?
-
I don't care what you post here. gibberish, fifty individual character posts , anything. This is annoying that I can't ask SR experts for the advice I NEED to stay safe so lets rebel! fuck, its what Pirate Roberts would do, isn't it?
-
I don't care what you post here. gibberish, fifty individual character posts , anything. This is annoying that I can't ask SR experts for the advice I NEED to stay safe so lets rebel! fuck, its what Pirate Roberts would do, isn't it?
-
I don't care what you post here. gibberish, fifty individual character posts , anything. This is annoying that I can't ask SR experts for the advice I NEED to stay safe so lets rebel! fuck, its what Pirate Roberts would do, isn't it?
-
I don't care what you post here. gibberish, fifty individual character posts , anything. This is annoying that I can't ask SR experts for the advice I NEED to stay safe so lets rebel! fuck, its what Pirate Roberts would do, isn't it?
-
I don't care what you post here. gibberish, fifty individual character posts , anything. This is annoying that I can't ask SR experts for the advice I NEED to stay safe so lets rebel! fuck, its what Pirate Roberts would do, isn't it?
-
I don't care what you post here. gibberish, fifty individual character posts , anything. This is annoying that I can't ask SR experts for the advice I NEED to stay safe so lets rebel! fuck, its what Pirate Roberts would do, isn't it?
-
I don't care what you post here. gibberish, fifty individual character posts , anything. This is annoying that I can't ask SR experts for the advice I NEED to stay safe so lets rebel! fuck, its what Pirate Roberts would do, isn't it?
-
I don't care what you post here. gibberish, fifty individual character posts , anything. This is annoying that I can't ask SR experts for the advice I NEED to stay safe so lets rebel! fuck, its what Pirate Roberts would do, isn't it?
-
I don't care what you post here. gibberish, fifty individual character posts , anything. This is annoying that I can't ask SR experts for the advice I NEED to stay safe so lets rebel! fuck, its what Pirate Roberts would do, isn't it?
-
GETTING THERE SPANX
-
AND ANOTHER
-
I am a unicorn :-\
-
Cheating will get you no were
Spiritguru123
Appreciate your help man, I'll be in contact with you to payback that loan ASAP.
Thanks again!
Chesting gets you no where
-
I need fitty y'all
-
We will kill the ones who eat us and eat the ones we Kill
-
Brain function limited
-
drugs might help
-
I aint no biggie small'
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I feel my soul shriveling inside while i attempt this spamming
-
And if she jiggy bra
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ght ght ghf
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19
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farse
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19
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20
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21
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entanglement
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22
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23
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24
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25
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26
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27
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28
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30
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31
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32
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33
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34
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35
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36
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37
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38
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39
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40
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colloquiallism
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41
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43
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1
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2
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44
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45
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3
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46
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4
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47 - ak 47
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48
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49
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50
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Collect mah vig ma fah
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bullshit
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5
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6
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egg plant
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3
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.
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1
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4
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1
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7
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8
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5
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9
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2
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6
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5
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3
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5
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8
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9
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7
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123
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Blah blah blah...only 46 more to go...
10 orders in and I have to do this stupid shit.
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I need 50
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50
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50
-
50
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50
-
50
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jimp
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spam
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gut
-
50!
-
50!
-
50!
-
50!
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qwad
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50!
-
50!
-
50!
-
50!
-
50!
-
50!
-
g
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50!
-
q
-
50!
-
50!
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yu
-
50!
-
50!
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spam
-
50!
-
50!
-
50!
-
50!
-
50!
-
.
-
50!
-
50!
-
spam
-
9
-
50!
-
spam
-
10
-
Almost there!
-
11
-
12
-
50!
-
50!
-
13
-
50!
-
spam
-
o'hai
-
14
-
15
-
16
-
yes!!
-
17
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18
-
19
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20
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Spam :P
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1
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l
-
o
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tt
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12
-
t
-
wr
-
c
-
7
-
8
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78
-
k
-
x
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kkgh
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x
-
x
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x
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asd
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ttt
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tre
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ddd
-
hu
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ggg
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1
-
2
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rr
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sp
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lk
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rtt
-
hut
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x
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tt
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y
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t
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5
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Yes it does
-
They don't think it be like it is, but it do.
-
hiay
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8)
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i like chicken.
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8)
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Vaseline.
-
;)
-
title says it all
one more
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dda
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d
-
a
-
b
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5
-
a
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5
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11
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12
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5
-
1
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78
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slowly but surely gettin' there.
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4
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23
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1
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78
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11
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aaaa
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bb
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ddddd
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vewrdw
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43333333
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Excuse me while I go take a shit. Be right back.
-
222
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d2
-
Thats better. I feel 10 pounds lighter.
-
t5
-
hh
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333
-
aa
-
a
-
aaa
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789
-
46 ..Almost there >:(
-
spam
-
KJLOBN
-
JSF BXGC
-
just
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passing
-
a
-
bit
-
of
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time
-
till
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1
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2
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3
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4 - - - Fuck this
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5
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6
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the
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7
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postman
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makes
-
8
-
the
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rounds
-
and
-
delivers
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a
-
much
-
anticipated
-
package
-
delivery
-
9
-
10
-
45
-
46
-
47
-
48
-
49
-
50
-
and 1 for good luck
-
!
-
mmmm
-
Hello
-
4
-
5
-
It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. Winston
Smith, his chin nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped
quickly through the glass doors of Victory Mansions, though not quickly enough
to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from entering along with him.
The hallway smelt of boiled cabbage and old rag mats. At one end of it a
coloured poster, too large for indoor display, had been tacked to the wall. It
depicted simply an enormous face, more than a metre wide: the face of a man of
about forty-five, with a heavy black moustache and ruggedly handsome features.
Winston made for the stairs. It was no use trying the lift. Even at the best
of times it was seldom working, and at present the electric current was cut off
during daylight hours. It was part of the economy drive in preparation for Hate
Week. The flat was seven flights up, and Winston, who was thirty-nine and had
a varicose ulcer above his right ankle, went slowly, resting several times on the
way. On each landing, opposite the lift-shaft, the poster with the enormous face
gazed from the wall. It was one of those pictures which are so contrived that
the eyes follow you about when you move. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING
YOU, the caption beneath it ran.
-
Inside the flat a fruity voice was reading out a list of figures which had
something to do with the production of pig-iron. The voice came from an
oblong metal plaque like a dulled mirror which formed part of the surface of the
right-hand wall. Winston turned a switch and the voice sank somewhat, though
the words were still distinguishable. The instrument (the telescreen, it was
called) could be dimmed, but there was no way of shutting it off completely. He
moved over to the window: a smallish, frail figure, the meagreness of his body
merely emphasized by the blue overalls which were the uniform of the party.
His hair was very fair, his face naturally sanguine, his skin roughened by coarse
soap and blunt razor blades and the cold of the winter that had just ended.
-
Outside, even through the shut window-pane, the world looked cold. Down
in the street little eddies of wind were whirling dust and torn paper into spirals,
and though the sun was shining and the sky a harsh blue, there seemed to be
no colour in anything, except the posters that were plastered everywhere. The
black-moustachio’d face gazed down from every commanding corner. There was
one on the house-front immediately opposite. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING
YOU, the caption said, while the dark eyes looked deep into Winston’s own.
Down at streetlevel another poster, torn at one corner, flapped fitfully in the
wind, alternately covering and uncovering the single word INGSOC. In the far
distance a helicopter skimmed down between the roofs, hovered for an instant
like a bluebottle, and darted away again with a curving flight. It was the police
patrol, snooping into people’s windows. The patrols did not matter, however.
Only the Thought Police mattered.
-
Behind Winston’s back the voice from the telescreen was still babbling away
about pig-iron and the overfulfilment of the Ninth Three-Year Plan. The tele-
screen received and transmitted simultaneously. Any sound that Winston made,
above the level of a very low whisper, would be picked up by it, moreover, so long
as he remained within the field of vision which the metal plaque commanded, he
could be seen as well as heard. There was of course no way of knowing whether
you were being watched at any given moment. How often, or on what system,
the Thought Police plugged in on any individual wire was guesswork. It was
even conceivable that they watched everybody all the time. But at any rate
they could plug in your wire whenever they wanted to. You had to live — did
live, from habit that became instinct — in the assumption that every sound you
made was overheard, and, except in darkness, every movement scrutinized.
-
Winston kept his back turned to the telescreen. It was safer, though, as
he well knew, even a back can be revealing. A kilometre away the Ministry of
Truth, his place of work, towered vast and white above the grimy landscape.
This, he thought with a sort of vague distaste — this was London, chief city
of Airstrip One, itself the third most populous of the provinces of Oceania.
He tried to squeeze out some childhood memory that should tell him whether
London had always been quite like this. Were there always these vistas of
rotting nineteenth-century houses, their sides shored up with baulks of timber,
their windows patched with cardboard and their roofs with corrugated iron,
their crazy garden walls sagging in all directions? And the bombed sites where
the plaster dust swirled in the air and the willow-herb straggled over the heaps of
rubble; and the places where the bombs had cleared a larger patch and there had
sprung up sordid colonies of wooden dwellings like chicken-houses? But it was no
use, he could not remember: nothing remained of his childhood except a series
of bright-lit tableaux occurring against no background and mostly unintelligible.
-
The Ministry of Truth — Minitrue, in Newspeak* — was startlingly different
from any other object in sight. It was an enormous pyramidal structure of
glittering white concrete, soaring up, terrace after terrace, 300 metres into the
air. From where Winston stood it was just possible to read, picked out on its
white face in elegant lettering, the three slogans of the Party:
WAR IS PEACE
FREEDOM IS SLAVERY
IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH
The Ministry of Truth contained, it was said, three thousand rooms above
ground level, and corresponding ramifications below. Scattered about London
there were just three other buildings of similar appearance and size. So com-
pletely did they dwarf the surrounding architecture that from the roof of Victory
Mansions you could see all four of them simultaneously. They were the homes
of the four Ministries between which the entire apparatus of government was
divided. The Ministry of Truth, which concerned itself with news, entertain-
ment, education, and the fine arts. The Ministry of Peace, which concerned
itself with war. The Ministry of Love, which maintained law and order. And
the Ministry of Plenty, which was responsible for economic affairs. Their names,
in Newspeak: Minitrue, Minipax, Miniluv, and Miniplenty.
-
The Ministry of Love was the really frightening one. There were no windows
in it at all. Winston had never been inside the Ministry of Love, nor within half
a kilometre of it. It was a place impossible to enter except on official business,
and then only by penetrating through a maze of barbed-wire entanglements,
steel doors, and hidden machine-gun nests. Even the streets leading up to its
outer barriers were roamed by gorilla-faced guards in black uniforms, armed
with jointed truncheons.
Winston turned round abruptly. He had set his features into the expression
of quiet optimism which it was advisable to wear when facing the telescreen.
He crossed the room into the tiny kitchen. By leaving the Ministry at this time
of day he had sacrificed his lunch in the canteen, and he was aware that there
was no food in the kitchen except a hunk of dark-coloured bread which had got
to be saved for tomorrow’s breakfast. He took down from the shelf a bottle
of colourless liquid with a plain white label marked VICTORY GIN. It gave
off a sickly, oily smell, as of Chinese rice-spirit. Winston poured out nearly a
teacupful, nerved himself for a shock, and gulped it down like a dose of medicine.
-
Instantly his face turned scarlet and the water ran out of his eyes. The stuff
was like nitric acid, and moreover, in swallowing it one had the sensation of being
hit on the back of the head with a rubber club. The next moment, however,
the burning in his belly died down and the world began to look more cheerful.
He took a cigarette from a crumpled packet marked VICTORY CIGARETTES
and incautiously held it upright, whereupon the tobacco fell out on to the floor.
With the next he was more successful. He went back to the living-room and sat
down at a small table that stood to the left of the telescreen. From the table
drawer he took out a penholder, a bottle of ink, and a thick, quarto-sized blank
book with a red back and a marbled cover.
For some reason the telescreen in the living-room was in an unusual position.
Instead of being placed, as was normal, in the end wall, where it could command
the whole room, it was in the longer wall, opposite the window. To one side
of it there was a shallow alcove in which Winston was now sitting, and which,
when the flats were built, had probably been intended to hold bookshelves. By
sitting in the alcove, and keeping well back, Winston was able to remain outside
the range of the telescreen, so far as sight went. He could be heard, of course,
but so long as he stayed in his present position he could not be seen. It was
partly the unusual geography of the room that had suggested to him the thing
that he was now about to do.
-
But it had also been suggested by the book that he had just taken out of the
drawer. It was a peculiarly beautiful book. Its smooth creamy paper, a little
yellowed by age, was of a kind that had not been manufactured for at least forty
years past. He could guess, however, that the book was much older than that.
He had seen it lying in the window of a frowsy little junk-shop in a slummy
quarter of the town (just what quarter he did not now remember) and had been
stricken immediately by an overwhelming desire to possess it. Party members
were supposed not to go into ordinary shops (’dealing on the free market’, it was
called), but the rule was not strictly kept, because there were various things,
such as shoelaces and razor blades, which it was impossible to get hold of in any
other way. He had given a quick glance up and down the street and then had
slipped inside and bought the book for two dollars fifty. At the time he was not
conscious of wanting it for any particular purpose. He had carried it guiltily
home in his briefcase. Even with nothing written in it, it was a compromising
possession.
-
The thing that he was about to do was to open a diary. This was not illegal
(nothing was illegal, since there were no longer any laws), but if detected it was
reasonably certain that it would be punished by death, or at least by twenty-
five years in a forced-labour camp. Winston fitted a nib into the penholder
and sucked it to get the grease off. The pen was an archaic instrument, seldom
used even for signatures, and he had procured one, furtively and with some
difficulty, simply because of a feeling that the beautiful creamy paper deserved
to be written on with a real nib instead of being scratched with an ink-pencil.
Actually he was not used to writing by hand. Apart from very short notes, it was
usual to dictate everything into the speak-write which was of course impossible
for his present purpose. He dipped the pen into the ink and then faltered for
just a second. A tremor had gone through his bowels. To mark the paper was
the decisive act. In small clumsy letters he wrote:
April 4th, 1984.
He sat back. A sense of complete helplessness had descended upon him. To
begin with, he did not know with any certainty that this was 1984. It must be
round about that date, since he was fairly sure that his age was thirty-nine, and
he believed that he had been born in 1944 or 1945; but it was never possible
nowadays to pin down any date within a year or two.
-
i'll post... chalk up another one.. :)
-
For whom, it suddenly occurred to him to wonder, was he writing this di-
ary? For the future, for the unborn. His mind hovered for a moment round
the doubtful date on the page, and then fetched up with a bump against the
Newspeak word doublethink. For the first time the magnitude of what he had
undertaken came home to him. How could you communicate with the future?
It was of its nature impossible. Either the future would resemble the present,
in which case it would not listen to him: or it would be different from it, and
his predicament would be meaningless.
For some time he sat gazing stupidly at the paper. The telescreen had
changed over to strident military music. It was curious that he seemed not
merely to have lost the power of expressing himself, but even to have forgotten
what it was that he had originally intended to say. For weeks past he had been
making ready for this moment, and it had never crossed his mind that anything
would be needed except courage. The actual writing would be easy. All he had
to do was to transfer to paper the interminable restless monologue that had
been running inside his head, literally for years. At this moment, however, even
the monologue had dried up. Moreover his varicose ulcer had begun itching
unbearably. He dared not scratch it, because if he did so it always became
inflamed. The seconds were ticking by. He was conscious of nothing except the
blankness of the page in front of him, the itching of the skin above his ankle,
the blaring of the music, and a slight booziness caused by the gin.
Suddenly he began writing in sheer panic, only imperfectly aware of what
he was setting down. His small but childish handwriting straggled up and down
the page, shedding first its capital letters and finally even its full stops:
April 4th, 1984. Last night to the flicks. All war films. One very good
one of a ship full of refugees being bombed somewhere in the Mediterranean.
Audience much amused by shots of a great huge fat man trying to swim away
with a helicopter after him, first you saw him wallowing along in the water like a
porpoise, then you saw him through the helicopters gunsights, then he was full
of holes and the sea round him turned pink and he sank as suddenly as though
the holes had let in the water, audience shouting with laughter when he sank.
-
then you saw a lifeboat full of children with a helicopter hovering over it. there
was a middle-aged woman might have been a jewess sitting up in the bow with
a little boy about three years old in her arms. little boy screaming with fright
and hiding his head between her breasts as if he was trying to burrow right into
her and the woman putting her arms round him and comforting him although
she was blue with fright herself, all the time covering him up as much as possible
as if she thought her arms could keep the bullets off him. then the helicopter
planted a 20 kilo bomb in among them terrific flash and the boat went all to
matchwood. then there was a wonderful shot of a child’s arm going up up up
right up into the air a helicopter with a camera in its nose must have followed
it up and there was a lot of applause from the party seats but a woman down in
the prole part of the house suddenly started kicking up a fuss and shouting they
didnt oughter of showed it not in front of kids they didnt it aint right not in front
of kids it aint until the police turned her turned her out i dont suppose anything
happened to her nobody cares what the proles say typical prole reaction they
never
Winston stopped writing, partly because he was suffering from cramp. He
did not know what had made him pour out this stream of rubbish. But the
curious thing was that while he was doing so a totally different memory had
clarified itself in his mind, to the point where he almost felt equal to writing
it down. It was, he now realized, because of this other incident that he had
suddenly decided to come home and begin the diary today.
It had happened that morning at the Ministry, if anything so nebulous could
be said to happen.
It was nearly eleven hundred, and in the Records Department, where Win-
ston worked, they were dragging the chairs out of the cubicles and grouping
them in the centre of the hall opposite the big telescreen, in preparation for
the Two Minutes Hate. Winston was just taking his place in one of the middle
rows when two people whom he knew by sight, but had never spoken to, came
unexpectedly into the room. One of them was a girl whom he often passed
in the corridors. He did not know her name, but he knew that she worked in
the Fiction Department. Presumably — since he had sometimes seen her with
oily hands and carrying a spanner she had some mechanical job on one of the
novel-writing machines. She was a bold-looking girl, of about twenty-seven,
with thick hair, a freckled face, and swift, athletic movements. A narrow scarlet
sash, emblem of the Junior Anti-Sex League, was wound several times round
the waist of her overalls, just tightly enough to bring out the shapeliness of her
hips. Winston had disliked her from the very first moment of seeing her. He
knew the reason. It was because of the atmosphere of hockey-fields and cold
baths and community hikes and general clean-mindedness which she managed
to carry about with her. He disliked nearly all women, and especially the young
and pretty ones. It was always the women, and above all the young ones, who
were the most bigoted adherents of the Party, the swallowers of slogans, the
amateur spies and nosers-out of unorthodoxy. But this particular girl gave him
the impression of being more dangerous than most. Once when they passed in
the corridor she gave him a quick sidelong glance which seemed to pierce right
into him and for a moment had filled him with black terror.
-
The idea had even
crossed his mind that she might be an agent of the Thought Police. That, it
was true, was very unlikely. Still, he continued to feel a peculiar uneasiness,
which had fear mixed up in it as well as hostility, whenever she was anywhere
near him.
The other person was a man named O’Brien, a member of the Inner Party
and holder of some post so important and remote that Winston had only a
dim idea of its nature. A momentary hush passed over the group of people
round the chairs as they saw the black overalls of an Inner Party member ap-
proaching. O’Brien was a large, burly man with a thick neck and a coarse,
humorous, brutal face. In spite of his formidable appearance he had a certain
charm of manner. He had a trick of resettling his spectacles on his nose which
was curiously disarming — in some indefinable way, curiously civilized. It was a
gesture which, if anyone had still thought in such terms, might have recalled an
eighteenth-century nobleman offering his snuffbox. Winston had seen O’Brien
perhaps a dozen times in almost as many years. He felt deeply drawn to him,
and not solely because he was intrigued by the contrast between O’Brien’s ur-
bane manner and his prize-fighter’s physique. Much more it was because of
a secretly held belief — or perhaps not even a belief, merely a hope — that
O’Brien’s political orthodoxy was not perfect. Something in his face suggested
it irresistibly. And again, perhaps it was not even unorthodoxy that was written
in his face, but simply intelligence. But at any rate he had the appearance of
being a person that you could talk to if somehow you could cheat the telescreen
and get him alone. Winston had never made the smallest effort to verify this
guess: indeed, there was no way of doing so. At this moment O’Brien glanced
at his wrist-watch, saw that it was nearly eleven hundred, and evidently decided
to stay in the Records Department until the Two Minutes Hate was over. He
took a chair in the same row as Winston, a couple of places away. A small,
sandy-haired woman who worked in the next cubicle to Winston was between
them. The girl with dark hair was sitting immediately behind.
The next moment a hideous, grinding speech, as of some monstrous machine
running without oil, burst from the big telescreen at the end of the room. It
was a noise that set one’s teeth on edge and bristled the hair at the back of
one’s neck. The Hate had started.
As usual, the face of Emmanuel Goldstein, the Enemy of the People, had
flashed on to the screen. There were hisses here and there among the audi-
ence. The little sandy-haired woman gave a squeak of mingled fear and disgust.
Goldstein was the renegade and backslider who once, long ago (how long ago,
nobody quite remembered), had been one of the leading figures of the Party,
almost on a level with Big Brother himself, and then had engaged in counter-
revolutionary activities, had been condemned to death, and had mysteriously
escaped and disappeared. The programmes of the Two Minutes Hate varied
from day to day, but there was none in which Goldstein was not the principal
figure. He was the primal traitor, the earliest defiler of the Party’s purity. All
subsequent crimes against the Party, all treacheries, acts of sabotage, heresies,
deviations, sprang directly out of his teaching. Somewhere or other he was still
alive and hatching his conspiracies: perhaps somewhere beyond the sea, under
the protection of his foreign paymasters, perhaps even — so it was occasionally
rumoured — in some hiding-place in Oceania itself.
-
Winston’s diaphragm was constricted. He could never see the face of Gold-
stein without a painful mixture of emotions. It was a lean Jewish face, with a
great fuzzy aureole of white hair and a small goatee beard — a clever face, and
yet somehow inherently despicable, with a kind of senile silliness in the long thin
nose, near the end of which a pair of spectacles was perched. It resembled the
face of a sheep, and the voice, too, had a sheep-like quality. Goldstein was de-
livering his usual venomous attack upon the doctrines of the Party — an attack
so exaggerated and perverse that a child should have been able to see through
it, and yet just plausible enough to fill one with an alarmed feeling that other
people, less level-headed than oneself, might be taken in by it. He was abusing
Big Brother, he was denouncing the dictatorship of the Party, he was demand-
ing the immediate conclusion of peace with Eurasia, he was advocating freedom
of speech, freedom of the Press, freedom of assembly, freedom of thought, he
was crying hysterically that the revolution had been betrayed — and all this
in rapid polysyllabic speech which was a sort of parody of the habitual style of
the orators of the Party, and even contained Newspeak words: more Newspeak
words, indeed, than any Party member would normally use in real life. And all
the while, lest one should be in any doubt as to the reality which Goldstein’s
specious claptrap covered, behind his head on the telescreen there marched the
endless columns of the Eurasian army — row after row of solid-looking men
with expressionless Asiatic faces, who swam up to the surface of the screen and
vanished, to be replaced by others exactly similar. The dull rhythmic tramp of
the soldiers’ boots formed the background to Goldstein’s bleating voice.
Before the Hate had proceeded for thirty seconds, uncontrollable exclama-
tions of rage were breaking out from half the people in the room. The self-
satisfied sheep-like face on the screen, and the terrifying power of the Eurasian
army behind it, were too much to be borne: besides, the sight or even the
thought of Goldstein produced fear and anger automatically. He was an object
of hatred more constant than either Eurasia or Eastasia, since when Oceania
was at war with one of these Powers it was generally at peace with the other.
But what was strange was that although Goldstein was hated and despised
by everybody, although every day and a thousand times a day, on platforms,
on the telescreen, in newspapers, in books, his theories were refuted, smashed,
ridiculed, held up to the general gaze for the pitiful rubbish that they were in
spite of all this, his influence never seemed to grow less. Always there were
fresh dupes waiting to be seduced by him. A day never passed when spies and
saboteurs acting under his directions were not unmasked by the Thought Po-
lice. He was the commander of a vast shadowy army, an underground network
of conspirators dedicated to the overthrow of the State. The Brotherhood, its
name was supposed to be. There were also whispered stories of a terrible book,
a compendium of all the heresies, of which Goldstein was the author and which
circulated clandestinely here and there. It was a book without a title. People
referred to it, if at all, simply as the book. But one knew of such things only
through vague rumours. Neither the Brotherhood nor the book was a subject
that any ordinary Party member would mention if there was a way of avoiding
it.
-
In its second minute the Hate rose to a frenzy. People were leaping up
and down in their places and shouting at the tops of their voices in an effort
to drown the maddening bleating voice that came from the screen. The little
sandy-haired woman had turned bright pink, and her mouth was opening and
shutting like that of a landed fish. Even O’Brien’s heavy face was flushed. He
was sitting very straight in his chair, his powerful chest swelling and quivering
as though he were standing up to the assault of a wave. The dark-haired girl
behind Winston had begun crying out ’Swine! Swine! Swine!’ and suddenly
she picked up a heavy Newspeak dictionary and flung it at the screen. It struck
Goldstein’s nose and bounced off; the voice continued inexorably. In a lucid
moment Winston found that he was shouting with the others and kicking his
heel violently against the rung of his chair. The horrible thing about the Two
Minutes Hate was not that one was obliged to act a part, but, on the contrary,
that it was impossible to avoid joining in. Within thirty seconds any pretence
was always unnecessary. A hideous ecstasy of fear and vindictiveness, a desire
to kill, to torture, to smash faces in with a sledge-hammer, seemed to flow
through the whole group of people like an electric current, turning one even
against one’s will into a grimacing, screaming lunatic. And yet the rage that
one felt was an abstract, undirected emotion which could be switched from one
object to another like the flame of a blowlamp. Thus, at one moment Winston’s
hatred was not turned against Goldstein at all, but, on the contrary, against
Big Brother, the Party, and the Thought Police; and at such moments his heart
went out to the lonely, derided heretic on the screen, sole guardian of truth and
sanity in a world of lies. And yet the very next instant he was at one with the
people about him, and all that was said of Goldstein seemed to him to be true.
At those moments his secret loathing of Big Brother changed into adoration,
and Big Brother seemed to tower up, an invincible, fearless protector, standing
like a rock against the hordes of Asia, and Goldstein, in spite of his isolation,
his helplessness, and the doubt that hung about his very existence, seemed like
some sinister enchanter, capable by the mere power of his voice of wrecking the
structure of civilization.
It was even possible, at moments, to switch one’s hatred this way or that
by a voluntary act. Suddenly, by the sort of violent effort with which one
wrenches one’s head away from the pillow in a nightmare, Winston succeeded in
transferring his hatred from the face on the screen to the dark-haired girl behind
him. Vivid, beautiful hallucinations flashed through his mind. He would flog
her to death with a rubber truncheon. He would tie her naked to a stake and
shoot her full of arrows like Saint Sebastian. He would ravish her and cut her
throat at the moment of climax. Better than before, moreover, he realized why
it was that he hated her. He hated her because she was young and pretty and
sexless, because he wanted to go to bed with her and would never do so, because
round her sweet supple waist, which seemed to ask you to encircle it with your
arm, there was only the odious scarlet sash, aggressive symbol of chastity.
The Hate rose to its climax. The voice of Goldstein had become an actual
sheep’s bleat, and for an instant the face changed into that of a sheep. Then
the sheep-face melted into the figure of a Eurasian soldier who seemed to be ad-
vancing, huge and terrible, his sub-machine gun roaring, and seeming to spring
out of the surface of the screen, so that some of the people in the front row
actually flinched backwards in their seats. But in the same moment, drawing a
deep sigh of relief from everybody, the hostile figure melted into the face of Big
Brother, black-haired, black-moustachio’d, full of power and mysterious calm,
and so vast that it almost filled up the screen. Nobody heard what Big Brother
was saying. It was merely a few words of encouragement, the sort of words that
are uttered in the din of battle, not distinguishable individually but restoring
confidence by the fact of being spoken. Then the face of Big Brother faded away
again, and instead the three slogans of the Party stood out in bold capitals:
WAR IS PEACE
FREEDOM IS SLAVERY
IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH
-
But the face of Big Brother seemed to persist for several seconds on the
screen, as though the impact that it had made on everyone’s eyeballs was too
vivid to wear off immediately. The little sandy-haired woman had flung herself
forward over the back of the chair in front of her. With a tremulous murmur
that sounded like ’My Saviour!’ she extended her arms towards the screen.
Then she buried her face in her hands. It was apparent that she was uttering a
prayer.
At this moment the entire group of people broke into a deep, slow, rhyth-
mical chant of ’B-B! ... B-B!’ — over and over again, very slowly, with a long
pause between the first ’B’ and the second-a heavy, murmurous sound, some-
how curiously savage, in the background of which one seemed to hear the stamp
of naked feet and the throbbing of tom-toms. For perhaps as much as thirty
seconds they kept it up. It was a refrain that was often heard in moments of
overwhelming emotion. Partly it was a sort of hymn to the wisdom and majesty
of Big Brother, but still more it was an act of self-hypnosis, a deliberate drown-
ing of consciousness by means of rhythmic noise. Winston’s entrails seemed to
grow cold. In the Two Minutes Hate he could not help sharing in the general
delirium, but this sub-human chanting of ’B-B! ... B-B!’ always filled him with
horror. Of course he chanted with the rest: it was impossible to do otherwise.
To dissemble your feelings, to control your face, to do what everyone else was
doing, was an instinctive reaction. But there was a space of a couple of seconds
during which the expression of his eyes might conceivably have betrayed him.
And it was exactly at this moment that the significant thing happened — if,
indeed, it did happen.
Momentarily he caught O’Brien’s eye. O’Brien had stood up. He had taken
off his spectacles and was in the act of resettling them on his nose with his
characteristic gesture. But there was a fraction of a second when their eyes
met, and for as long as it took to happen Winston knew — yes, he knew! —
that O’Brien was thinking the same thing as himself. An unmistakable message
had passed. It was as though their two minds had opened and the thoughts were
flowing from one into the other through their eyes. ’I am with you,’ O’Brien
seemed to be saying to him. ’I know precisely what you are feeling. I know all
about your contempt, your hatred, your disgust. But don’t worry, I am on your
side!’ And then the flash of intelligence was gone, and O’Brien’s face was as
inscrutable as everybody else’s.
That was all, and he was already uncertain whether it had happened. Such
incidents never had any sequel. All that they did was to keep alive in him
the belief, or hope, that others besides himself were the enemies of the Party.
Perhaps the rumours of vast underground conspiracies were true after all —
perhaps the Brotherhood really existed! It was impossible, in spite of the endless
arrests and confessions and executions, to be sure that the Brotherhood was
not simply a myth. Some days he believed in it, some days not. There was no
evidence, only fleeting glimpses that might mean anything or nothing: snatches
of overheard conversation, faint scribbles on lavatory walls — once, even, when
two strangers met, a small movement of the hand which had looked as though
it might be a signal of recognition. It was all guesswork: very likely he had
imagined everything. He had gone back to his cubicle without looking at O’Brien
again. The idea of following up their momentary contact hardly crossed his
mind. It would have been inconceivably dangerous even if he had known how to
set about doing it. For a second, two seconds, they had exchanged an equivocal
-
glance, and that was the end of the story. But even that was a memorable event,
in the locked loneliness in which one had to live.
Winston roused himself and sat up straighter. He let out a belch. The gin
was rising from his stomach.
His eyes re-focused on the page. He discovered that while he sat helplessly
musing he had also been writing, as though by automatic action. And it was
no longer the same cramped, awkward handwriting as before. His pen had slid
voluptuously over the smooth paper, printing in large neat capitals
-
DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER
DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER
DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER
DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER
DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER
-
over and over again, filling half a page.
He could not help feeling a twinge of panic. It was absurd, since the writing
of those particular words was not more dangerous than the initial act of opening
the diary, but for a moment he was tempted to tear out the spoiled pages and
abandon the enterprise altogether.
He did not do so, however, because he knew that it was useless. Whether
he wrote DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER, or whether he refrained from writing
it, made no difference. Whether he went on with the diary, or whether he did
not go on with it, made no difference. The Thought Police would get him just
the same. He had committed — would still have committed, even if he had
never set pen to paper — the essential crime that contained all others in itself.
Thoughtcrime, they called it. Thoughtcrime was not a thing that could be
concealed for ever. You might dodge successfully for a while, even for years, but
sooner or later they were bound to get you.
It was always at night — the arrests invariably happened at night. The
sudden jerk out of sleep, the rough hand shaking your shoulder, the lights glaring
in your eyes, the ring of hard faces round the bed. In the vast majority of cases
there was no trial, no report of the arrest. People simply disappeared, always
during the night. Your name was removed from the registers, every record of
everything you had ever done was wiped out, your one-time existence was denied
and then forgotten. You were abolished, annihilated: vaporized was the usual
word.
For a moment he was seized by a kind of hysteria. He began writing in a
hurried untidy scrawl:
theyll shoot me i don’t care theyll shoot me in the back of the neck i dont
care down with big brother they always shoot you in the back of the neck i dont
care down with big brother
He sat back in his chair, slightly ashamed of himself, and laid down the pen.
The next moment he started violently. There was a knocking at the door.
Already! He sat as still as a mouse, in the futile hope that whoever it was
might go away after a single attempt. But no, the knocking was repeated. The
worst thing of all would be to delay. His heart was thumping like a drum, but
his face, from long habit, was probably expressionless. He got up and moved
heavily towards the door.
-
As he put his hand to the door-knob Winston saw that he had left the diary
open on the table. DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER was written all over it, in
letters almost big enough to be legible across the room. It was an inconceivably
stupid thing to have done. But, he realized, even in his panic he had not wanted
to smudge the creamy paper by shutting the book while the ink was wet.
He drew in his breath and opened the door. Instantly a warm wave of relief
flowed through him. A colourless, crushed-looking woman, with wispy hair and
a lined face, was standing outside.
’Oh, comrade,’ she began in a dreary, whining sort of voice, ’I thought I
heard you come in. Do you think you could come across and have a look at our
kitchen sink? It’s got blocked up and-’
It was Mrs Parsons, the wife of a neighbour on the same floor. (’Mrs’ was
a word somewhat discountenanced by the Party — you were supposed to call
everyone ’comrade’ — but with some women one used it instinctively.) She
was a woman of about thirty, but looking much older. One had the impression
that there was dust in the creases of her face. Winston followed her down the
passage. These amateur repair jobs were an almost daily irritation. Victory
Mansions were old flats, built in 1930 or thereabouts, and were falling to pieces.
The plaster flaked constantly from ceilings and walls, the pipes burst in every
hard frost, the roof leaked whenever there was snow, the heating system was
usually running at half steam when it was not closed down altogether from
motives of economy. Repairs, except what you could do for yourself, had to be
sanctioned by remote committees which were liable to hold up even the mending
of a window-pane for two years.
’Of course it’s only because Tom isn’t home,’ said Mrs Parsons vaguely.
The Parsons’ flat was bigger than Winston’s, and dingy in a different way.
Everything had a battered, trampled-on look, as though the place had just been
visited by some large violent animal. Games impedimenta — hockey-sticks,
boxing-gloves. a burst football, a pair of sweaty shorts turned inside out — lay
all over the floor, and on the table there was a litter of dirty dishes and dog-
eared exercise-books. On the walls were scarlet banners of the Youth League
and the Spies, and a full-sized poster of Big Brother. There was the usual
boiled-cabbage smell, common to the whole building, but it was shot through
by a sharper reek of sweat, which-one knew this at the first sniff, though it was
hard to say how was the sweat of some person not present at the moment. In
another room someone with a comb and a piece of toilet paper was trying to
keep tune with the military music which was still issuing from the telescreen.
-
’It’s the children,’ said Mrs Parsons, casting a half-apprehensive glance at
the door. ’They haven’t been out today. And of course-’
She had a habit of breaking off her sentences in the middle. The kitchen
sink was full nearly to the brim with filthy greenish water which smelt worse
than ever of cabbage. Winston knelt down and examined the angle-joint of the
pipe. He hated using his hands, and he hated bending down, which was always
liable to start him coughing. Mrs Parsons looked on helplessly.
’Of course if Tom was home he’d put it right in a moment,’ she said. ’He
loves anything like that. He’s ever so good with his hands, Tom is.’
Parsons was Winston’s fellow-employee at the Ministry of Truth. He was a
fattish but active man of paralysing stupidity, a mass of imbecile enthusiasms —
one of those completely unquestioning, devoted drudges on whom, more even
than on the Thought Police, the stability of the Party depended. At thirty-
five he had just been unwillingly evicted from the Youth League, and before
graduating into the Youth League he had managed to stay on in the Spies for
a year beyond the statutory age. At the Ministry he was employed in some
subordinate post for which intelligence was not required, but on the other hand
he was a leading figure on the Sports Committee and all the other committees
engaged in organizing community hikes, spontaneous demonstrations, savings
campaigns, and voluntary activities generally. He would inform you with quiet
pride, between whiffs of his pipe, that he had put in an appearance at the
Community Centre every evening for the past four years. An overpowering
smell of sweat, a sort of unconscious testimony to the strenuousness of his life,
followed him about wherever he went, and even remained behind him after he
had gone.
‘Have you got a spanner?’ said Winston, fiddling with the nut on the angle-
joint.
‘A spanner,’ said Mrs Parsons, immediately becoming invertebrate. ‘I don’t
know, I’m sure. Perhaps the children -’
There was a trampling of boots and another blast on the comb as the children
charged into the living-room. Mrs Parsons brought the spanner. Winston let
out the water and disgustedly removed the clot of human hair that had blocked
up the pipe. He cleaned his fingers as best he could in the cold water from the
tap and went back into the other room.
’Up with your hands!’ yelled a savage voice.
A handsome, tough-looking boy of nine had popped up from behind the
table and was menacing him with a toy automatic pistol, while his small sister,
about two years younger, made the same gesture with a fragment of wood. Both
of them were dressed in the blue shorts, grey shirts, and red neckerchiefs which
were the uniform of the Spies. Winston raised his hands above his head, but
with an uneasy feeling, so vicious was the boy’s demeanour, that it was not
altogether a game.
‘You’re a traitor!’ yelled the boy. ‘You’re a thought-criminal! You’re a
Eurasian spy! I’ll shoot you, I’ll vaporize you, I’ll send you to the salt mines!’
Suddenly they were both leaping round him, shouting ’Traitor!’ and ’Thought-
criminal!’ the little girl imitating her brother in every movement. It was some-
how slightly frightening, like the gambolling of tiger cubs which will soon grow
up into man-eaters. There was a sort of calculating ferocity in the boy’s eye,
a quite evident desire to hit or kick Winston and a consciousness of being very
nearly big enough to do so. It was a good job it was not a real pistol he was
holding, Winston thought.
-
Mrs Parsons’ eyes flitted nervously from Winston to the children, and back
again. In the better light of the living-room he noticed with interest that there
actually was dust in the creases of her face.
’They do get so noisy,’ she said. ’They’re disappointed because they couldn’t
go to see the hanging, that’s what it is. I’m too busy to take them. and Tom
won’t be back from work in time.’
’Why can’t we go and see the hanging?’ roared the boy in his huge voice.
’Want to see the hanging! Want to see the hanging!’ chanted the little girl,
still capering round.
Some Eurasian prisoners, guilty of war crimes, were to be hanged in the
Park that evening, Winston remembered. This happened about once a month,
and was a popular spectacle. Children always clamoured to be taken to see
it. He took his leave of Mrs Parsons and made for the door. But he had not
gone six steps down the passage when something hit the back of his neck an
agonizingly painful blow. It was as though a red-hot wire had been jabbed into
him. He spun round just in time to see Mrs Parsons dragging her son back into
the doorway while the boy pocketed a catapult.
’Goldstein!’ bellowed the boy as the door closed on him. But what most
struck Winston was the look of helpless fright on the woman’s greyish face.
Back in the flat he stepped quickly past the telescreen and sat down at the
table again, still rubbing his neck. The music from the telescreen had stopped.
Instead, a clipped military voice was reading out, with a sort of brutal relish, a
description of the armaments of the new Floating Fortress which had just been
anchored between lceland and the Faroe lslands.
With those children, he thought, that wretched woman must lead a life of
terror. Another year, two years, and they would be watching her night and
day for symptoms of unorthodoxy. Nearly all children nowadays were horrible.
What was worst of all was that by means of such organizations as the Spies
they were systematically turned into ungovernable little savages, and yet this
produced in them no tendency whatever to rebel against the discipline of the
Party. On the contrary, they adored the Party and everything connected with
it. The songs, the processions, the banners, the hiking, the drilling with dummy
rifles, the yelling of slogans, the worship of Big Brother — it was all a sort of
glorious game to them. All their ferocity was turned outwards, against the
enemies of the State, against foreigners, traitors, saboteurs, thought-criminals.
It was almost normal for people over thirty to be frightened of their own children.
And with good reason, for hardly a week passed in which The Times did not
carry a paragraph describing how some eavesdropping little sneak — ’child hero’
was the phrase generally used — had overheard some compromising remark and
denounced its parents to the Thought Police.
The sting of the catapult bullet had worn off. He picked up his pen half-
heartedly, wondering whether he could find something more to write in the
diary. Suddenly he began thinking of O’Brien again.
Years ago — how long was it? Seven years it must be — he had dreamed
that he was walking through a pitch-dark room. And someone sitting to one
side of him had said as he passed: ’We shall meet in the place where there is
no darkness.’ It was said very quietly, almost casually — a statement, not a
command. He had walked on without pausing. What was curious was that at
the time, in the dream, the words had not made much impression on him.
-
It was only later and by degrees that they had seemed to take on significance. He
could not now remember whether it was before or after having the dream that
he had seen O’Brien for the first time, nor could he remember when he had first
identified the voice as O’Brien’s. But at any rate the identification existed. It
was O’Brien who had spoken to him out of the dark.
Winston had never been able to feel sure — even after this morning’s flash
of the eyes it was still impossible to be sure whether O’Brien was a friend
or an enemy. Nor did it even seem to matter greatly. There was a link of
understanding between them, more important than affection or partisanship.
’We shall meet in the place where there is no darkness,’ he had said. Winston
did not know what it meant, only that in some way or another it would come
true.
The voice from the telescreen paused. A trumpet call, clear and beautiful,
floated into the stagnant air. The voice continued raspingly:
’Attention! Your attention, please! A newsflash has this moment arrived
from the Malabar front. Our forces in South India have won a glorious victory.
I am authorized to say that the action we are now reporting may well bring the
war within measurable distance of its end. Here is the newsflash -’
Bad news coming, thought Winston. And sure enough, following on a gory
description of the annihilation of a Eurasian army, with stupendous figures
of killed and prisoners, came the announcement that, as from next week, the
chocolate ration would be reduced from thirty grammes to twenty.
Winston belched again. The gin was wearing off, leaving a deflated feeling.
The telescreen — perhaps to celebrate the victory, perhaps to drown the memory
of the lost chocolate — crashed into ’Oceania, ’tis for thee’. You were supposed
to stand to attention. However, in his present position he was invisible.
’Oceania, ’tis for thee’ gave way to lighter music. Winston walked over to
the window, keeping his back to the telescreen. The day was still cold and clear.
Somewhere far away a rocket bomb exploded with a dull, reverberating roar.
About twenty or thirty of them a week were falling on London at present.
Down in the street the wind flapped the torn poster to and fro, and the
word INGSOC fitfully appeared and vanished. Ingsoc. The sacred principles of
Ingsoc. Newspeak, doublethink, the mutability of the past. He felt as though
he were wandering in the forests of the sea bottom, lost in a monstrous world
where he himself was the monster. He was alone. The past was dead, the future
was unimaginable. What certainty had he that a single human creature now
living was on his side? And what way of knowing that the dominion of the Party
would not endure for ever? Like an answer, the three slogans on the white face
of the Ministry of Truth came back to him:
WAR IS PEACE
FREEDOM IS SLAVERY
IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH
He took a twenty-five cent piece out of his pocket. There, too, in tiny clear
lettering, the same slogans were inscribed, and on the other face of the coin the
head of Big Brother. Even from the coin the eyes pursued you. On coins, on
stamps, on the covers of books, on banners, on posters, and on the wrappings of
a cigarette Packet — everywhere. Always the eyes watching you and the voice
enveloping you. Asleep or awake, working or eating, indoors or out of doors, in
the bath or in bed — no escape. Nothing was your own except the few cubic
centimetres inside your skull.
-
The sun had shifted round, and the myriad windows of the Ministry of
Truth, with the light no longer shining on them, looked grim as the loopholes of
a fortress. His heart quailed before the enormous pyramidal shape. It was too
strong, it could not be stormed. A thousand rocket bombs would not batter it
down. He wondered again for whom he was writing the diary. For the future,
for the past — for an age that might be imaginary. And in front of him there lay
not death but annihilation. The diary would be reduced to ashes and himself
to vapour. Only the Thought Police would read what he had written, before
they wiped it out of existence and out of memory. How could you make appeal
to the future when not a trace of you, not even an anonymous word scribbled
on a piece of paper, could physically survive?
The telescreen struck fourteen. He must leave in ten minutes. He had to be
back at work by fourteen-thirty.
Curiously, the chiming of the hour seemed to have put new heart into him.
He was a lonely ghost uttering a truth that nobody would ever hear. But so
long as he uttered it, in some obscure way the continuity was not broken. It
was not by making yourself heard but by staying sane that you carried on the
human heritage. He went back to the table, dipped his pen, and wrote:
To the future or to the past, to a time when thought is free, when men are
different from one another and do not live alone — to a time when truth exists
and what is done cannot be undone:
From the age of uniformity, from the age of solitude, from the age of Big
Brother, from the age of doublethink — greetings!
He was already dead, he reflected. It seemed to him that it was only now,
when he had begun to be able to formulate his thoughts, that he had taken the
decisive step. The consequences of every act are included in the act itself. He
wrote:
Thoughtcrime does not entail death: thoughtcrime IS death.
Now he had recognized himself as a dead man it became important to stay
alive as long as possible. Two fingers of his right hand were inkstained. It was
exactly the kind of detail that might betray you. Some nosing zealot in the
Ministry (a woman, probably: someone like the little sandy-haired woman or
the dark-haired girl from the Fiction Department) might start wondering why he
had been writing during the lunch interval, why he had used an old-fashioned
pen, what he had been writing — and then drop a hint in the appropriate
quarter. He went to the bathroom and carefully scrubbed the ink away with
the gritty dark-brown soap which rasped your skin like sandpaper and was
therefore well adapted for this purpose.
He put the diary away in the drawer. It was quite useless to think of hiding it,
but he could at least make sure whether or not its existence had been discovered.
A hair laid across the page-ends was too obvious. With the tip of his finger he
picked up an identifiable grain of whitish dust and deposited it on the corner of
the cover, where it was bound to be shaken off if the book was moved.
-
Winston was dreaming of his mother.
He must, he thought, have been ten or eleven years old when his mother
had disappeared. She was a tall, statuesque, rather silent woman with slow
movements and magnificent fair hair. His father he remembered more vaguely
as dark and thin, dressed always in neat dark clothes (Winston remembered
especially the very thin soles of his father’s shoes) and wearing spectacles. The
two of them must evidently have been swallowed up in one of the first great
purges of the fifties.
At this moment his mother was sitting in some place deep down beneath
him, with his young sister in her arms. He did not remember his sister at all,
except as a tiny, feeble baby, always silent, with large, watchful eyes. Both of
them were looking up at him. They were down in some subterranean place —
the bottom of a well, for instance, or a very deep grave — but it was a place
which, already far below him, was itself moving downwards. They were in the
saloon of a sinking ship, looking up at him through the darkening water. There
was still air in the saloon, they could still see him and he them, but all the while
they were sinking down, down into the green waters which in another moment
must hide them from sight for ever. He was out in the light and air while they
were being sucked down to death, and they were down there because he was
up here. He knew it and they knew it, and he could see the knowledge in their
faces. There was no reproach either in their faces or in their hearts, only the
knowledge that they must die in order that he might remain alive, and that this
was part of the unavoidable order of things.
He could not remember what had happened, but he knew in his dream that in
some way the lives of his mother and his sister had been sacrificed to his own. It
was one of those dreams which, while retaining the characteristic dream scenery,
are a continuation of one’s intellectual life, and in which one becomes aware of
facts and ideas which still seem new and valuable after one is awake. The thing
that now suddenly struck Winston was that his mother’s death, nearly thirty
years ago, had been tragic and sorrowful in a way that was no longer possible.
Tragedy, he perceived, belonged to the ancient time, to a time when there was
still privacy, love, and friendship, and when the members of a family stood by
one another without needing to know the reason. His mother’s memory tore at
his heart because she had died loving him, when he was too young and selfish
to love her in return, and because somehow, he did not remember how, she had
sacrificed herself to a conception of loyalty that was private and unalterable.
Such things, he saw, could not happen today. Today there were fear, hatred,
and pain, but no dignity of emotion, no deep or complex sorrows. All this he
seemed to see in the large eyes of his mother and his sister, looking up at him
through the green water, hundreds of fathoms down and still sinking.
-
Suddenly he was standing on short springy turf, on a summer evening when
the slanting rays of the sun gilded the ground. The landscape that he was looking
at recurred so often in his dreams that he was never fully certain whether or not
he had seen it in the real world. In his waking thoughts he called it the Golden
Country. It was an old, rabbit-bitten pasture, with a foot-track wandering
across it and a molehill here and there. In the ragged hedge on the opposite
side of the field the boughs of the elm trees were swaying very faintly in the
breeze, their leaves just stirring in dense masses like women’s hair. Somewhere
near at hand, though out of sight, there was a clear, slow-moving stream where
dace were swimming in the pools under the willow trees.
The girl with dark hair was coming towards them across the field. With what
seemed a single movement she tore off her clothes and flung them disdainfully
aside. Her body was white and smooth, but it aroused no desire in him, indeed
he barely looked at it. What overwhelmed him in that instant was admiration
for the gesture with which she had thrown her clothes aside. With its grace
and carelessness it seemed to annihilate a whole culture, a whole system of
thought, as though Big Brother and the Party and the Thought Police could all
be swept into nothingness by a single splendid movement of the arm. That too
was a gesture belonging to the ancient time. Winston woke up with the word
’Shakespeare’ on his lips.
The telescreen was giving forth an ear-splitting whistle which continued on
the same note for thirty seconds. It was nought seven fifteen, getting-up time for
office workers. Winston wrenched his body out of bed — naked, for a member
of the Outer Party received only 3,000 clothing coupons annually, and a suit of
pyjamas was 600 — and seized a dingy singlet and a pair of shorts that were
lying across a chair. The Physical Jerks would begin in three minutes. The
next moment he was doubled up by a violent coughing fit which nearly always
attacked him soon after waking up. It emptied his lungs so completely that he
could only begin breathing again by lying on his back and taking a series of
deep gasps. His veins had swelled with the effort of the cough, and the varicose
ulcer had started itching.
’Thirty to forty group!’ yapped a piercing female voice. ’ Thirty to forty
group! Take your places, please. Thirties to forties!’
Winston sprang to attention in front of the telescreen, upon which the image
of a youngish woman, scrawny but muscular, dressed in tunic and gym-shoes,
had already appeared.
’Arms bending and stretching!’ she rapped out. ’Take your time by me.
One, two, three, four! One, two, three, four! Come on, comrades, put a bit of
life into it! One, two, three four! One two, three, four! . . .’
The pain of the coughing fit had not quite driven out of Winston’s mind
the impression made by his dream, and the rhythmic movements of the exercise
restored it somewhat. As he mechanically shot his arms back and forth, wearing
on his face the look of grim enjoyment which was considered proper during the
Physical Jerks, he was struggling to think his way backward into the dim period
of his early childhood. It was extraordinarily difficult. Beyond the late fifties
everything faded. When there were no external records that you could refer
to, even the outline of your own life lost its sharpness.
-
You remembered huge events which had quite probably not happened, you remembered the detail of
incidents without being able to recapture their atmosphere, and there were long
blank periods to which you could assign nothing. Everything had been different
then. Even the names of countries, and their shapes on the map, had been
different. Airstrip One, for instance, had not been so called in those days: it
had been called England or Britain, though London, he felt fairly certain, had
always been called London.
Winston could not definitely remember a time when his country had not
been at war, but it was evident that there had been a fairly long interval of
peace during his childhood, because one of his early memories was of an air raid
which appeared to take everyone by surprise. Perhaps it was the time when
the atomic bomb had fallen on Colchester. He did not remember the raid itself,
but he did remember his father’s hand clutching his own as they hurried down,
down, down into some place deep in the earth, round and round a spiral staircase
which rang under his feet and which finally so wearied his legs that he began
whimpering and they had to stop and rest. His mother, in her slow, dreamy
way, was following a long way behind them. She was carrying his baby sister —
or perhaps it was only a bundle of blankets that she was carrying: he was not
certain whether his sister had been born then. Finally they had emerged into a
noisy, crowded place which he had realized to be a Tube station.
There were people sitting all over the stone-flagged floor, and other people,
packed tightly together, were sitting on metal bunks, one above the other. Win-
ston and his mother and father found themselves a place on the floor, and near
them an old man and an old woman were sitting side by side on a bunk. The
old man had on a decent dark suit and a black cloth cap pushed back from
very white hair: his face was scarlet and his eyes were blue and full of tears.
He reeked of gin. It seemed to breathe out of his skin in place of sweat, and
one could have fancied that the tears welling from his eyes were pure gin. But
though slightly drunk he was also suffering under some grief that was genuine
and unbearable. In his childish way Winston grasped that some terrible thing,
something that was beyond forgiveness and could never be remedied, had just
happened. It also seemed to him that he knew what it was. Someone whom the
old man loved — a little granddaughter, perhaps had been killed. Every few
minutes the old man kept repeating:
’We didn’t ought to ’ave trusted ’em. I said so, Ma, didn’t I? That’s what
comes of trusting ’em. I said so all along. We didn’t ought to ’ave trusted the
buggers.
But which buggers they didn’t ought to have trusted Winston could not now
remember.
-
Since about that time, war had been literally continuous, though strictly
speaking it had not always been the same war. For several months during
his childhood there had been confused street fighting in London itself, some of
which he remembered vividly. But to trace out the history of the whole period,
to say who was fighting whom at any given moment, would have been utterly
impossible, since no written record, and no spoken word, ever made mention
of any other alignment than the existing one. At this moment, for example,
in 1984 (if it was 1984), Oceania was at war with Eurasia and in alliance with
Eastasia. In no public or private utterance was it ever admitted that the three
powers had at any time been grouped along different lines. Actually, as Winston
well knew, it was only four years since Oceania had been at war with Eastasia
and in alliance with Eurasia. But that was merely a piece of furtive knowledge
which he happened to possess because his memory was not satisfactorily under
control. Officially the change of partners had never happened. Oceania was at
war with Eurasia: therefore Oceania had always been at war with Eurasia. The
enemy of the moment always represented absolute evil, and it followed that any
past or future agreement with him was impossible.
-
The frightening thing, he reflected for the ten thousandth time as he forced
his shoulders painfully backward (with hands on hips, they were gyrating their
bodies from the waist, an exercise that was supposed to be good for the back
muscles) — the frightening thing was that it might all be true. If the Party could
thrust its hand into the past and say of this or that event, it never happened
— that, surely, was more terrifying than mere torture and death?
The Party said that Oceania had never been in alliance with Eurasia. He,
Winston Smith, knew that Oceania had been in alliance with Eurasia as short
a time as four years ago. But where did that knowledge exist? Only in his own
consciousness, which in any case must soon be annihilated. And if all others
accepted the lie which the Party imposed -if all records told the same tale —
then the lie passed into history and became truth. ’Who controls the past,’ ran
the Party slogan, ’controls the future: who controls the present controls the
past.’ And yet the past, though of its nature alterable, never had been altered.
Whatever was true now was true from everlasting to everlasting. It was quite
simple. All that was needed was an unending series of victories over your own
memory. ’Reality control’, they called it: in Newspeak, ’doublethink’
’Stand easy!’ barked the instructress, a little more genially.
Winston sank his arms to his sides and slowly refilled his lungs with air. His
mind slid away into the labyrinthine world of doublethink. To know and not
to know, to be conscious of complete truthfulness while telling carefully con-
structed lies, to hold simultaneously two opinions which cancelled out, knowing
them to be contradictory and believing in both of them, to use logic against
logic, to repudiate morality while laying claim to it, to believe that democracy
was impossible and that the Party was the guardian of democracy, to forget
whatever it was necessary to forget, then to draw it back into memory again
at the moment when it was needed, and then promptly to forget it again: and
above all, to apply the same process to the process itself. That was the ulti-
mate subtlety: consciously to induce unconsciousness, and then, once again, to
become unconscious of the act of hypnosis you had just performed. Even to
understand the word ’doublethink’ involved the use of doublethink.
The instructress had called them to attention again. ’And now let’s see
which of us can touch our toes!’ she said enthusiastically. ’Right over from the
hips, please, comrades. One-two! One-two! ...’
Winston loathed this exercise, which sent shooting pains all the way from
his heels to his buttocks and often ended by bringing on another coughing fit.
The half-pleasant quality went out of his meditations. The past, he reflected,
had not merely been altered, it had been actually destroyed. For how could
you establish even the most obvious fact when there existed no record outside
your own memory? He tried to remember in what year he had first heard
mention of Big Brother. He thought it must have been at some time in the
sixties, but it was impossible to be certain. In the Party histories, of course,
Big Brother figured as the leader and guardian of the Revolution since its very
earliest days. His exploits had been gradually pushed backwards in time until
already they extended into the fabulous world of the forties and the thirties,
when the capitalists in their strange cylindrical hats still rode through the streets
of London in great gleaming motor-cars or horse carriages with glass sides.
There was no knowing how much of this legend was true and how much invented.
Winston could not even remember at what date the Party itself had come into
existence.
-
He did not believe he had ever heard the word Ingsoc before 1960,
but it was possible that in its Oldspeak form-’English Socialism’, that is to say
— it had been current earlier. Everything melted into mist. Sometimes, indeed,
you could put your finger on a definite lie. It was not true, for example, as was
claimed in the Party history books, that the Party had invented aeroplanes.
He remembered aeroplanes since his earliest childhood. But you could prove
nothing. There was never any evidence. Just once in his whole life he had held
in his hands unmistakable documentary proof of the falsification of an historical
fact. And on that occasion
’Smith!’ screamed the shrewish voice from the telescreen. ’6079 Smith W.!
Yes, you! Bend lower, please! You can do better than that. You’re not trying.
Lower, please! That’s better, comrade. Now stand at ease, the whole squad,
and watch me.’
A sudden hot sweat had broken out all over Winston’s body. His face re-
mained completely inscrutable. Never show dismay! Never show resentment!
A single flicker of the eyes could give you away. He stood watching while the
instructress raised her arms above her head and — one could not say gracefully,
but with remarkable neatness and efficiency — bent over and tucked the first
joint of her fingers under her toes.
’There, comrades! That’s how I want to see you doing it. Watch me again.
I’m thirty-nine and I’ve had four children. Now look.’ She bent over again.
’You see my knees aren’t bent. You can all do it if you want to,’ she added
as she straightened herself up. ’Anyone under forty-five is perfectly capable of
touching his toes. We don’t all have the privilege of fighting in the front line,
but at least we can all keep fit. Remember our boys on the Malabar front! And
the sailors in the Floating Fortresses! Just think what they have to put up
with. Now try again. That’s better, comrade, that’s much better,’ she added
encouragingly as Winston, with a violent lunge, succeeded in touching his toes
with knees unbent, for the first time in several years.
-
With the deep, unconscious sigh which not even the nearness of the telescreen
could prevent him from uttering when his day’s work started, Winston pulled
the speakwrite towards him, blew the dust from its mouthpiece, and put on his
spectacles. Then he unrolled and clipped together four small cylinders of paper
which had already flopped out of the pneumatic tube on the right-hand side of
his desk.
In the walls of the cubicle there were three orifices. To the right of the
speakwrite, a small pneumatic tube for written messages, to the left, a larger
one for newspapers; and in the side wall, within easy reach of Winston’s arm, a
large oblong slit protected by a wire grating. This last was for the disposal of
waste paper. Similar slits existed in thousands or tens of thousands throughout
the building, not only in every room but at short intervals in every corridor.
For some reason they were nicknamed memory holes. When one knew that any
document was due for destruction, or even when one saw a scrap of waste paper
lying about, it was an automatic action to lift the flap of the nearest memory
hole and drop it in, whereupon it would be whirled away on a current of warm
air to the enormous furnaces which were hidden somewhere in the recesses of
the building.
Winston examined the four slips of paper which he had unrolled. Each
contained a message of only one or two lines, in the abbreviated jargon — not
actually Newspeak, but consisting largely of Newspeak words — which was used
in the Ministry for internal purposes. They ran:
times 17.3.84 bb speech malreported africa rectify
times 19.12.83 forecasts 3 yp 4th quarter 83 misprints verify current issue
times 14.2.84 miniplenty malquoted chocolate rectify
times 3.12.83 reporting bb dayorder doubleplusungood refs unpersons rewrite
fullwise upsub antefiling
With a faint feeling of satisfaction Winston laid the fourth message aside.
It was an intricate and responsible job and had better be dealt with last. The
other three were routine matters, though the second one would probably mean
some tedious wading through lists of figures.
-
Winston dialled ’back numbers’ on the telescreen and called for the appro-
priate issues of The Times, which slid out of the pneumatic tube after only a
few minutes’ delay. The messages he had received referred to articles or news
items which for one reason or another it was thought necessary to alter, or, as
the official phrase had it, to rectify. For example, it appeared from The Times
of the seventeenth of March that Big Brother, in his speech of the previous
day, had predicted that the South Indian front would remain quiet but that a
Eurasian offensive would shortly be launched in North Africa. As it happened,
the Eurasian Higher Command had launched its offensive in South India and
left North Africa alone. It was therefore necessary to rewrite a paragraph of
Big Brother’s speech, in such a way as to make him predict the thing that had
actually happened. Or again, The Times of the nineteenth of December had
published the official forecasts of the output of various classes of consumption
goods in the fourth quarter of 1983, which was also the sixth quarter of the
Ninth Three-Year Plan. Today’s issue contained a statement of the actual out-
put, from which it appeared that the forecasts were in every instance grossly
wrong. Winston’s job was to rectify the original figures by making them agree
with the later ones. As for the third message, it referred to a very simple er-
ror which could be set right in a couple of minutes. As short a time ago as
February, the Ministry of Plenty had issued a promise (a ’categorical pledge’
were the official words) that there would be no reduction of the chocolate ration
during 1984. Actually, as Winston was aware, the chocolate ration was to be
reduced from thirty grammes to twenty at the end of the present week. All that
was needed was to substitute for the original promise a warning that it would
probably be necessary to reduce the ration at some time in April.
-
As soon as Winston had dealt with each of the messages, he clipped his
speakwritten corrections to the appropriate copy of The Times and pushed
them into the pneumatic tube. Then, with a movement which was as nearly as
possible unconscious, he crumpled up the original message and any notes that
he himself had made, and dropped them into the memory hole to be devoured
by the flames.
What happened in the unseen labyrinth to which the pneumatic tubes led,
he did not know in detail, but he did know in general terms. As soon as all the
corrections which happened to be necessary in any particular number of The
Times had been assembled and collated, that number would be reprinted, the
original copy destroyed, and the corrected copy placed on the files in its stead.
This process of continuous alteration was applied not only to newspapers, but
to books, periodicals, pamphlets, posters, leaflets, films, sound-tracks, cartoons,
photographs — to every kind of literature or documentation which might con-
ceivably hold any political or ideological significance. Day by day and almost
minute by minute the past was brought up to date. In this way every prediction
made by the Party could be shown by documentary evidence to have been cor-
rect, nor was any item of news, or any expression of opinion, which conflicted
with the needs of the moment, ever allowed to remain on record. All history was
a palimpsest, scraped clean and reinscribed exactly as often as was necessary. In
no case would it have been possible, once the deed was done, to prove that any
falsification had taken place. The largest section of the Records Department,
far larger than the one on which Winston worked, consisted simply of persons
whose duty it was to track down and collect all copies of books, newspapers,
and other documents which had been superseded and were due for destruction.
A number of The Times which might, because of changes in political alignment,
or mistaken prophecies uttered by Big Brother, have been rewritten a dozen
times still stood on the files bearing its original date, and no other copy existed
to contradict it. Books, also, were recalled and rewritten again and again, and
were invariably reissued without any admission that any alteration had been
made.
-
Even the written instructions which Winston received, and which he
invariably got rid of as soon as he had dealt with them, never stated or implied
that an act of forgery was to be committed: always the reference was to slips,
errors, misprints, or misquotations which it was necessary to put right in the
interests of accuracy.
But actually, he thought as he re-adjusted the Ministry of Plenty’s figures,
it was not even forgery. It was merely the substitution of one piece of nonsense
for another. Most of the material that you were dealing with had no connexion
with anything in the real world, not even the kind of connexion that is contained
in a direct lie. Statistics were just as much a fantasy in their original version
as in their rectified version. A great deal of the time you were expected to
make them up out of your head. For example, the Ministry of Plenty’s forecast
had estimated the output of boots for the quarter at 145 million pairs. The
actual output was given as sixty-two millions. Winston, however, in rewriting
the forecast, marked the figure down to fifty-seven millions, so as to allow for
the usual claim that the quota had been overfulfilled. In any case, sixty-two
millions was no nearer the truth than fifty-seven millions, or than 145 millions.
Very likely no boots had been produced at all. Likelier still, nobody knew
how many had been produced, much less cared. All one knew was that every
quarter astronomical numbers of boots were produced on paper, while perhaps
half the population of Oceania went barefoot. And so it was with every class
of recorded fact, great or small. Everything faded away into a shadow-world in
which, finally, even the date of the year had become uncertain.
Winston glanced across the hall. In the corresponding cubicle on the other
side a small, precise-looking, dark-chinned man named Tillotson was working
steadily away, with a folded newspaper on his knee and his mouth very close
to the mouthpiece of the speakwrite. He had the air of trying to keep what he
was saying a secret between himself and the telescreen. He looked up, and his
spectacles darted a hostile flash in Winston’s direction.
-
Winston hardly knew Tillotson, and had no idea what work he was employed
on. People in the Records Department did not readily talk about their jobs.
In the long, windowless hall, with its double row of cubicles and its endless
rustle of papers and hum of voices murmuring into speakwrites, there were
quite a dozen people whom Winston did not even know by name, though he
daily saw them hurrying to and fro in the corridors or gesticulating in the
Two Minutes Hate. He knew that in the cubicle next to him the little woman
with sandy hair toiled day in day out, simply at tracking down and deleting
from the Press the names of people who had been vaporized and were therefore
considered never to have existed. There was a certain fitness in this, since
her own husband had been vaporized a couple of years earlier. And a few
cubicles away a mild, ineffectual, dreamy creature named Ampleforth, with
very hairy ears and a surprising talent for juggling with rhymes and metres,
was engaged in producing garbled versions — definitive texts, they were called
— of poems which had become ideologically offensive, but which for one reason
or another were to be retained in the anthologies. And this hall, with its fifty
workers or thereabouts, was only one sub-section, a single cell, as it were, in
the huge complexity of the Records Department. Beyond, above, below, were
other swarms of workers engaged in an unimaginable multitude of jobs. There
were the huge printing-shops with their sub-editors, their typography experts,
and their elaborately equipped studios for the faking of photographs. There was
the tele-programmes section with its engineers, its producers, and its teams of
actors specially chosen for their skill in imitating voices.
-
There were the armies
of reference clerks whose job was simply to draw up lists of books and periodicals
which were due for recall. There were the vast repositories where the corrected
documents were stored, and the hidden furnaces where the original copies were
destroyed. And somewhere or other, quite anonymous, there were the directing
brains who co-ordinated the whole effort and laid down the lines of policy which
made it necessary that this fragment of the past should be preserved, that one
falsified, and the other rubbed out of existence.
And the Records Department, after all, was itself only a single branch of
the Ministry of Truth, whose primary job was not to reconstruct the past but
to supply the citizens of Oceania with newspapers, films, textbooks, telescreen
programmes, plays, novels — with every conceivable kind of information, in-
struction, or entertainment, from a statue to a slogan, from a lyric poem to a
biological treatise, and from a child’s spelling-book to a Newspeak dictionary.
And the Ministry had not only to supply the multifarious needs of the party,
but also to repeat the whole operation at a lower level for the benefit of the
proletariat. There was a whole chain of separate departments dealing with pro-
letarian literature, music, drama, and entertainment generally. Here were pro-
duced rubbishy newspapers containing almost nothing except sport, crime and
astrology, sensational five-cent novelettes, films oozing with sex, and sentimen-
tal songs which were composed entirely by mechanical means on a special kind
of kaleidoscope known as a versificator. There was even a whole sub-section —
Pornosec, it was called in Newspeak — engaged in producing the lowest kind of
pornography, which was sent out in sealed packets and which no Party member,
other than those who worked on it, was permitted to look at.
Three messages had slid out of the pneumatic tube while Winston was work-
ing, but they were simple matters, and he had disposed of them before the Two
Minutes Hate interrupted him. When the Hate was over he returned to his cubi-
cle, took the Newspeak dictionary from the shelf, pushed the speakwrite to one
side, cleaned his spectacles, and settled down to his main job of the morning.
Winston’s greatest pleasure in life was in his work. Most of it was a tedious
routine, but included in it there were also jobs so difficult and intricate that
you could lose yourself in them as in the depths of a mathematical problem
— delicate pieces of forgery in which you had nothing to guide you except
your knowledge of the principles of Ingsoc and your estimate of what the Party
wanted you to say. Winston was good at this kind of thing. On occasion he had
even been entrusted with the rectification of The Times leading articles, which
were written entirely in Newspeak. He unrolled the message that he had set
aside earlier. It ran:
times 3.12.83 reporting bb dayorder doubleplusungood refs unpersons rewrite
fullwise upsub antefiling
In Oldspeak (or standard English) this might be rendered: The reporting of
Big Brother’s Order for the Day in The Times of December 3rd 1983 is extremely
unsatisfactory and makes references to non-existent persons. Rewrite it in full
and submit your draft to higher authority before filing.
Winston read through the offending article. Big Brother’s Order for the Day,
it seemed, had been chiefly devoted to praising the work of an organization
known as FFCC, which supplied cigarettes and other comforts to the sailors
in the Floating Fortresses. A certain Comrade Withers, a prominent member
of the Inner Party, had been singled out for special mention and awarded a
decoration, the Order of Conspicuous Merit, Second Class.
-
Three months later FFCC had suddenly been dissolved with no reasons
given. One could assume that Withers and his associates were now in disgrace,
but there had been no report of the matter in the Press or on the telescreen.
That was to be expected, since it was unusual for political offenders to be put
on trial or even publicly denounced. The great purges involving thousands of
people, with public trials of traitors and thought-criminals who made abject
confession of their crimes and were afterwards executed, were special show-
pieces not occurring oftener than once in a couple of years. More commonly,
people who had incurred the displeasure of the Party simply disappeared and
were never heard of again. One never had the smallest clue as to what had
happened to them. In some cases they might not even be dead. Perhaps thirty
people personally known to Winston, not counting his parents, had disappeared
at one time or another.
Winston stroked his nose gently with a paper-clip. In the cubicle across
the way Comrade Tillotson was still crouching secretively over his speakwrite.
He raised his head for a moment: again the hostile spectacle-flash. Winston
wondered whether Comrade Tillotson was engaged on the same job as himself.
It was perfectly possible. So tricky a piece of work would never be entrusted
to a single person: on the other hand, to turn it over to a committee would
be to admit openly that an act of fabrication was taking place. Very likely as
many as a dozen people were now working away on rival versions of what Big
Brother had actually said. And presently some master brain in the Inner Party
would select this version or that, would re-edit it and set in motion the complex
processes of cross-referencing that would be required, and then the chosen lie
would pass into the permanent records and become truth.
Winston did not know why Withers had been disgraced. Perhaps it was for
corruption or incompetence. Perhaps Big Brother was merely getting rid of a
too-popular subordinate. Perhaps Withers or someone close to him had been
suspected of heretical tendencies. Or perhaps — what was likeliest of all — the
thing had simply happened because purges and vaporizations were a necessary
part of the mechanics of government. The only real clue lay in the words ’refs
unpersons’, which indicated that Withers was already dead. You could not
invariably assume this to be the case when people were arrested. Sometimes
they were released and allowed to remain at liberty for as much as a year or
two years before being executed. Very occasionally some person whom you had
believed dead long since would make a ghostly reappearance at some public trial
where he would implicate hundreds of others by his testimony before vanishing,
this time for ever. Withers, however, was already an unperson. He did not exist:
he had never existed. Winston decided that it would not be enough simply to
reverse the tendency of Big Brother’s speech. It was better to make it deal with
something totally unconnected with its original subject.
-
He might turn the speech into the usual denunciation of traitors and thought-
criminals, but that was a little too obvious, while to invent a victory at the front,
or some triumph of over-production in the Ninth Three-Year Plan, might com-
plicate the records too much. What was needed was a piece of pure fantasy.
Suddenly there sprang into his mind, ready made as it were, the image of a cer-
tain Comrade Ogilvy, who had recently died in battle, in heroic circumstances.
There were occasions when Big Brother devoted his Order for the Day to com-
memorating some humble, rank-and-file Party member whose life and death he
held up as an example worthy to be followed. Today he should commemorate
Comrade Ogilvy. It was true that there was no such person as Comrade Ogilvy,
but a few lines of print and a couple of faked photographs would soon bring him
into existence.
Winston thought for a moment, then pulled the speakwrite towards him
and began dictating in Big Brother’s familiar style: a style at once military
and pedantic, and, because of a trick of asking questions and then promptly
answering them (’What lessons do we learn from this fact, comrades? The
lesson — which is also one of the fundamental principles of Ingsoc — that,’ etc.,
etc.), easy to imitate.
At the age of three Comrade Ogilvy had refused all toys except a drum, a
sub-machine gun, and a model helicopter. At six — a year early, by a special
relaxation of the rules — he had joined the Spies, at nine he had been a troop
leader. At eleven he had denounced his uncle to the Thought Police after
overhearing a conversation which appeared to him to have criminal tendencies.
At seventeen he had been a district organizer of the Junior Anti-Sex League.
At nine teen he had designed a hand-grenade which had been adopted by the
Ministry of Peace and which, at its first trial, had killed thirty-one Eurasian
prisoners in one burst. At twenty-three he had perished in action. Pursued by
enemy jet planes while flying over the Indian Ocean with important despatches,
he had weighted his body with his machine gun and leapt out of the helicopter
into deep water, despatches and all — an end, said Big Brother, which it was
impossible to contemplate without feelings of envy. Big Brother added a few
remarks on the purity and single-mindedness of Comrade Ogilvy’s life. He was
a total abstainer and a nonsmoker, had no recreations except a daily hour in
the gymnasium, and had taken a vow of celibacy, believing marriage and the
care of a family to be incompatible with a twenty-four-hour-a-day devotion to
duty. He had no subjects of conversation except the principles of Ingsoc, and
no aim in life except the defeat of the Eurasian enemy and the hunting-down of
spies, saboteurs, thoughtcriminals, and traitors generally.
Winston debated with himself whether to award Comrade Ogilvy the Order
of Conspicuous Merit: in the end he decided against it because of the unneces-
sary cross-referencing that it would entail.
Once again he glanced at his rival in the opposite cubicle. Something seemed
to tell him with certainty that Tillotson was busy on the same job as himself.
There was no way of knowing whose job would finally be adopted, but he felt a
profound conviction that it would be his own. Comrade Ogilvy, unimagined an
hour ago, was now a fact. It struck him as curious that you could create dead
men but not living ones. Comrade Ogilvy, who had never existed in the present,
now existed in the past, and when once the act of forgery was forgotten, he
would exist just as authentically, and upon the same evidence, as Charlemagne
or Julius Caesar.
-
held up as an example worthy to be followed. Today he should commemorate
Comrade Ogilvy. It was true that there was no such person as Comrade Ogilvy,
but a few lines of print and a couple of faked photographs would soon bring him
into existence.
Winston thought for a moment, then pulled the speakwrite towards him
and began dictating in Big Brother’s familiar style: a style at once military
and pedantic, and, because of a trick of asking questions and then promptly
answering them (’What lessons do we learn from this fact, comrades? The
lesson — which is also one of the fundamental principles of Ingsoc — that,’ etc.,
etc.), easy to imitate.
At the age of three Comrade Ogilvy had refused all toys except a drum, a
sub-machine gun, and a model helicopter. At six — a year early, by a special
relaxation of the rules — he had joined the Spies, at nine he had been a troop
leader. At eleven he had denounced his uncle to the Thought Police after
overhearing a conversation which appeared to him to have criminal tendencies.
At seventeen he had been a district organizer of the Junior Anti-Sex League.
At nine teen he had designed a hand-grenade which had been adopted by the
Ministry of Peace and which, at its first trial, had killed thirty-one Eurasian
prisoners in one burst. At twenty-three he had perished in action. Pursued by
enemy jet planes while flying over the Indian Ocean with important despatches,
he had weighted his body with his machine gun and leapt out of the helicopter
into deep water, despatches and all — an end, said Big Brother, which it was
impossible to contemplate without feelings of envy. Big Brother added a few
remarks on the purity and single-mindedness of Comrade Ogilvy’s life. He was
a total abstainer and a nonsmoker, had no recreations except a daily hour in
the gymnasium, and had taken a vow of celibacy, believing marriage and the
care of a family to be incompatible with a twenty-four-hour-a-day devotion to
duty. He had no subjects of conversation except the principles of Ingsoc, and
no aim in life except the defeat of the Eurasian enemy and the hunting-down of
spies, saboteurs, thoughtcriminals, and traitors generally.
Winston debated with himself whether to award Comrade Ogilvy the Order
of Conspicuous Merit: in the end he decided against it because of the unneces-
sary cross-referencing that it would entail.
Once again he glanced at his rival in the opposite cubicle. Something seemed
to tell him with certainty that Tillotson was busy on the same job as himself.
There was no way of knowing whose job would finally be adopted, but he felt a
profound conviction that it would be his own. Comrade Ogilvy, unimagined an
hour ago, was now a fact. It struck him as curious that you could create dead
men but not living ones. Comrade Ogilvy, who had never existed in the present,
now existed in the past, and when once the act of forgery was forgotten, he
would exist just as authentically, and upon the same evidence, as Charlemagne
or Julius Caesar.
-
In the low-ceilinged canteen, deep underground, the lunch queue jerked slowly
forward. The room was already very full and deafeningly noisy. From the grille
at the counter the steam of stew came pouring forth, with a sour metallic smell
which did not quite overcome the fumes of Victory Gin. On the far side of the
room there was a small bar, a mere hole in the wall, where gin could be bought
at ten cents the large nip.
’Just the man I was looking for,’ said a voice at Winston’s back.
He turned round. It was his friend Syme, who worked in the Research
Department. Perhaps ’friend’ was not exactly the right word. You did not have
friends nowadays, you had comrades: but there were some comrades whose
society was pleasanter than that of others. Syme was a philologist, a specialist
in Newspeak. Indeed, he was one of the enormous team of experts now engaged
in compiling the Eleventh Edition of the Newspeak Dictionary. He was a tiny
creature, smaller than Winston, with dark hair and large, protuberant eyes, at
once mournful and derisive, which seemed to search your face closely while he
was speaking to you.
’I wanted to ask you whether you’d got any razor blades,’ he said.
’Not one!’ said Winston with a sort of guilty haste. ’I’ve tried all over the
place. They don’t exist any longer.’
Everyone kept asking you for razor blades. Actually he had two unused ones
which he was hoarding up. There had been a famine of them for months past.
At any given moment there was some necessary article which the Party shops
were unable to supply. Sometimes it was buttons, sometimes it was darning
wool, sometimes it was shoelaces; at present it was razor blades. You could
only get hold of them, if at all, by scrounging more or less furtively on the ’free’
market.
’I’ve been using the same blade for six weeks,’ he added untruthfully.
The queue gave another jerk forward. As they halted he turned and faced
Syme again. Each of them took a greasy metal tray from a pile at the end of
the counter.
’Did you go and see the prisoners hanged yesterday?’ said Syme.
’I was working,’ said Winston indifferently. ’I shall see it on the flicks, I
suppose.’
’A very inadequate substitute,’ said Syme.
His mocking eyes roved over Winston’s face. ’I know you,’ the eyes seemed
to say, ’I see through you. I know very well why you didn’t go to see those
prisoners hanged.’ In an intellectual way, Syme was venomously orthodox.
-
He would talk with a disagreeable gloating satisfaction of helicopter raids on enemy
villages, and trials and confessions of thought-criminals, the executions in the
cellars of the Ministry of Love. Talking to him was largely a matter of getting
him away from such subjects and entangling him, if possible, in the technicalities
of Newspeak, on which he was authoritative and interesting. Winston turned
his head a little aside to avoid the scrutiny of the large dark eyes.
’It was a good hanging,’ said Syme reminiscently. ’I think it spoils it when
they tie their feet together. I like to see them kicking. And above all, at the
end, the tongue sticking right out, and blue a quite bright blue. That’s the
detail that appeals to me.’
’Nex’, please!’ yelled the white-aproned prole with the ladle.
Winston and Syme pushed their trays beneath the grille. On to each was
dumped swiftly the regulation lunch — a metal pannikin of pinkish-grey stew,
a hunk of bread, a cube of cheese, a mug of milkless Victory Coffee, and one
saccharine tablet.
’There’s a table over there, under that telescreen,’ said Syme. ’Let’s pick up
a gin on the way.’
The gin was served out to them in handleless china mugs. They threaded
their way across the crowded room and unpacked their trays on to the metal-
topped table, on one corner of which someone had left a pool of stew, a filthy
liquid mess that had the appearance of vomit. Winston took up his mug of
gin, paused for an instant to collect his nerve, and gulped the oily-tasting stuff
down. When he had winked the tears out of his eyes he suddenly discovered that
he was hungry. He began swallowing spoonfuls of the stew, which, in among
its general sloppiness, had cubes of spongy pinkish stuff which was probably a
preparation of meat. Neither of them spoke again till they had emptied their
pannikins. From the table at Winston’s left, a little behind his back, someone
was talking rapidly and continuously, a harsh gabble almost like the quacking
of a duck, which pierced the general uproar of the room.
’How is the Dictionary getting on?’ said Winston, raising his voice to over-
come the noise.
’Slowly,’ said Syme. ’I’m on the adjectives. It’s fascinating.’
He had brightened up immediately at the mention of Newspeak. He pushed
his pannikin aside, took up his hunk of bread in one delicate hand and his cheese
in the other, and leaned across the table so as to be able to speak without
shouting.
’The Eleventh Edition is the definitive edition,’ he said. ’We’re getting the
language into its final shape — the shape it’s going to have when nobody speaks
anything else. When we’ve finished with it, people like you will have to learn it
all over again. You think, I dare say, that our chief job is inventing new words.
But not a bit of it! We’re destroying words — scores of them, hundreds of them,
every day. We’re cutting the language down to the bone. The Eleventh Edition
won’t contain a single word that will become obsolete before the year 2050.’
He bit hungrily into his bread and swallowed a couple of mouthfuls, then
continued speaking, with a sort of pedant’s passion. His thin dark face had
become animated, his eyes had lost their mocking expression and grown almost
dreamy.
’It’s a beautiful thing, the destruction of words. Of course the great wastage
is in the verbs and adjectives, but there are hundreds of nouns that can be got
rid of as well. It isn’t only the synonyms; there are also the antonyms.
-
After all, what justification is there for a word which is simply the opposite of some other
word? A word contains its opposite in itself. Take ”good”, for instance. If you
have a word like ”good”, what need is there for a word like ”bad”? ”Ungood”
will do just as well — better, because it’s an exact opposite, which the other
is not. Or again, if you want a stronger version of ”good”, what sense is there
in having a whole string of vague useless words like ”excellent” and ”splendid”
and all the rest of them? ”Plusgood” covers the meaning, or ” doubleplusgood”
if you want something stronger still. Of course we use those forms already. but
in the final version of Newspeak there’ll be nothing else. In the end the whole
notion of goodness and badness will be covered by only six words — in reality,
only one word. Don’t you see the beauty of that, Winston? It was B.B.’s idea
originally, of course,’ he added as an afterthought.
A sort of vapid eagerness flitted across Winston’s face at the mention of Big
Brother. Nevertheless Syme immediately detected a certain lack of enthusiasm.
’You haven’t a real appreciation of Newspeak, Winston,’ he said almost
sadly. ’Even when you write it you’re still thinking in Oldspeak. I’ve read some
of those pieces that you write in The Times occasionally. They’re good enough,
but they’re translations. In your heart you’d prefer to stick to Oldspeak, with
all its vagueness and its useless shades of meaning. You don’t grasp the beauty
of the destruction of words. Do you know that Newspeak is the only language
in the world whose vocabulary gets smaller every year?’
Winston did know that, of course. He smiled, sympathetically he hoped, not
trusting himself to speak. Syme bit off another fragment of the dark-coloured
bread, chewed it briefly, and went on:
’Don’t you see that the whole aim of Newspeak is to narrow the range of
thought? In the end we shall make thoughtcrime literally impossible, because
there will be no words in which to express it. Every concept that can ever
be needed, will be expressed by exactly one word, with its meaning rigidly
defined and all its subsidiary meanings rubbed out and forgotten. Already, in
the Eleventh Edition, we’re not far from that point. But the process will still be
continuing long after you and I are dead. Every year fewer and fewer words, and
the range of consciousness always a little smaller. Even now, of course, there’s
no reason or excuse for committing thoughtcrime. It’s merely a question of
self-discipline, reality-control. But in the end there won’t be any need even for
that. The Revolution will be complete when the language is perfect. Newspeak
is Ingsoc and Ingsoc is Newspeak,’ he added with a sort of mystical satisfaction.
’Has it ever occurred to you, Winston, that by the year 2050, at the very latest,
not a single human being will be alive who could understand such a conversation
as we are having now?’
-
Except-’ began Winston doubtfully, and he stopped.
It had been on the tip of his tongue to say ’Except the proles,’ but he
checked himself, not feeling fully certain that this remark was not in some way
unorthodox. Syme, however, had divined what he was about to say.
’The proles are not human beings,’ he said carelessly. ’ By 2050 earlier,
probably — all real knowledge of Oldspeak will have disappeared. The whole
literature of the past will have been destroyed. Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton,
Byron — they’ll exist only in Newspeak versions, not merely changed into some-
thing different, but actually changed into something contradictory of what they
used to be. Even the literature of the Party will change. Even the slogans will
change. How could you have a slogan like ”freedom is slavery” when the concept
of freedom has been abolished? The whole climate of thought will be different.
In fact there will be no thought, as we understand it now. Orthodoxy means
not thinking — not needing to think. Orthodoxy is unconsciousness.’
One of these days, thought Winston with sudden deep conviction, Syme will
be vaporized. He is too intelligent. He sees too clearly and speaks too plainly.
The Party does not like such people. One day he will disappear. It is written
in his face.
-
Winston had finished his bread and cheese. He turned a little sideways in
his chair to drink his mug of coffee. At the table on his left the man with
the strident voice was still talking remorselessly away. A young woman who
was perhaps his secretary, and who was sitting with her back to Winston, was
listening to him and seemed to be eagerly agreeing with everything that he said.
From time to time Winston caught some such remark as ’I think you’re so right,
I do so agree with you’, uttered in a youthful and rather silly feminine voice. But
the other voice never stopped for an instant, even when the girl was speaking.
Winston knew the man by sight, though he knew no more about him than
that he held some important post in the Fiction Department. He was a man
of about thirty, with a muscular throat and a large, mobile mouth. His head
was thrown back a little, and because of the angle at which he was sitting, his
spectacles caught the light and presented to Winston two blank discs instead of
eyes. What was slightly horrible, was that from the stream of sound that poured
out of his mouth it was almost impossible to distinguish a single word. Just
once Winston caught a phrase-’complete and final elimination of Goldsteinism’-
jerked out very rapidly and, as it seemed, all in one piece, like a line of type
cast solid. For the rest it was just a noise, a quack-quack-quacking. And yet,
though you could not actually hear what the man was saying, you could not
be in any doubt about its general nature. He might be denouncing Goldstein
and demanding sterner measures against thought-criminals and saboteurs, he
might be fulminating against the atrocities of the Eurasian army, he might be
praising Big Brother or the heroes on the Malabar front-it made no difference.
Whatever it was, you could be certain that every word of it was pure orthodoxy,
pure Ingsoc. As he watched the eyeless face with the jaw moving rapidly up
and down, Winston had a curious feeling that this was not a real human being
but some kind of dummy. It was not the man’s brain that was speaking, it was
his larynx. The stuff that was coming out of him consisted of words, but it was
not speech in the true sense: it was a noise uttered in unconsciousness, like the
quacking of a duck.
-
Syme had fallen silent for a moment, and with the handle of his spoon was
tracing patterns in the puddle of stew. The voice from the other table quacked
rapidly on, easily audible in spite of the surrounding din.
’There is a word in Newspeak,’ said Syme, ’I don’t know whether you know
it: duckspeak, to quack like a duck. It is one of those interesting words that
have two contradictory meanings. Applied to an opponent, it is abuse, applied
to someone you agree with, it is praise.’
Unquestionably Syme will be vaporized, Winston thought again. He thought
it with a kind of sadness, although well knowing that Syme despised him and
slightly disliked him, and was fully capable of denouncing him as a thought-
criminal if he saw any reason for doing so. There was something subtly wrong
with Syme. There was something that he lacked: discretion, aloofness, a sort
of saving stupidity. You could not say that he was unorthodox. He believed in
the principles of Ingsoc, he venerated Big Brother, he rejoiced over victories,
he hated heretics, not merely with sincerity but with a sort of restless zeal,
an up-to-dateness of information, which the ordinary Party member did not
approach. Yet a faint air of disreputability always clung to him. He said things
that would have been better unsaid, he had read too many books, he frequented
the Chestnut Tree Caf ́e, haunt of painters and musicians. There was no law,
not even an unwritten law, against frequenting the Chestnut Tree Caf ́e, yet the
place was somehow ill-omened. The old, discredited leaders of the Party had
been used to gather there before they were finally purged. Goldstein himself, it
was said, had sometimes been seen there, years and decades ago. Syme’s fate
was not difficult to foresee. And yet it was a fact that if Syme grasped, even for
three seconds, the nature of his, Winston’s, secret opinions, he would betray him
instantly to the Thought police. So would anybody else, for that matter: but
Syme more than most. Zeal was not enough. Orthodoxy was unconsciousness.
-
Syme looked up. ’Here comes Parsons,’ he said.
Something in the tone of his voice seemed to add, ’that bloody fool’. Parsons,
Winston’s fellow-tenant at Victory Mansions, was in fact threading his way
across the room — a tubby, middle-sized man with fair hair and a froglike face.
At thirty-five he was already putting on rolls of fat at neck and waistline, but his
movements were brisk and boyish. His whole appearance was that of a little boy
grown large, so much so that although he was wearing the regulation overalls, it
was almost impossible not to think of him as being dressed in the blue shorts,
grey shirt, and red neckerchief of the Spies. In visualizing him one saw always a
picture of dimpled knees and sleeves rolled back from pudgy forearms. Parsons
did, indeed, invariably revert to shorts when a community hike or any other
physical activity gave him an excuse for doing so. He greeted them both with a
cheery ’Hullo, hullo!’ and sat down at the table, giving off an intense smell of
sweat. Beads of moisture stood out all over his pink face. His powers of sweating
were extraordinary. At the Community Centre you could always tell when he
had been playing table-tennis by the dampness of the bat handle. Syme had
produced a strip of paper on which there was a long column of words, and was
studying it with an ink-pencil between his fingers.
’Look at him working away in the lunch hour,’ said Parsons, nudging Win-
ston. ’Keenness, eh? What’s that you’ve got there, old boy? Something a bit
too brainy for me, I expect. Smith, old boy, I’ll tell you why I’m chasing you.
It’s that sub you forgot to give me.’
’Which sub is that? said Winston, automatically feeling for money. About a
quarter of one’s salary had to be earmarked for voluntary subscriptions, which
were so numerous that it was difficult to keep track of them.
’For Hate Week. You know — the house-by-house fund. I’m treasurer for
our block. We’re making an all-out effort — going to put on a tremendous show.
I tell you, it won’t be my fault if old Victory Mansions doesn’t have the biggest
outfit of flags in the whole street. Two dollars you promised me.’
Winston found and handed over two creased and filthy notes, which Parsons
entered in a small notebook, in the neat handwriting of the illiterate.
’By the way, old boy,’ he said. ’I hear that little beggar of mine let fly at
you with his catapult yesterday. I gave him a good dressing-down for it. In fact
I told him I’d take the catapult away if he does it again.
’I think he was a little upset at not going to the execution,’ said Winston.
’ Ah, well — what I mean to say, shows the right spirit, doesn’t it?
-
Mischievous little beggars they are, both of them, but talk about keenness! All they
think about is the Spies, and the war, of course. D’you know what that little
girl of mine did last Saturday, when her troop was on a hike out Berkhamsted
way? She got two other girls to go with her, slipped off from the hike, and
spent the whole afternoon following a strange man. They kept on his tail for
two hours, right through the woods, and then, when they got into Amersham,
handed him over to the patrols.’
’What did they do that for?’ said Winston, somewhat taken aback. Parsons
went on triumphantly:
’My kid made sure he was some kind of enemy agent — might have been
dropped by parachute, for instance. But here’s the point, old boy. What do you
think put her on to him in the first place? She spotted he was wearing a funny
kind of shoes — said she’d never seen anyone wearing shoes like that before. So
the chances were he was a foreigner. Pretty smart for a nipper of seven, eh?’
’What happened to the man?’ said Winston.
’Ah, that I couldn’t say, of course. But I wouldn’t be altogether surprised
if-’ Parsons made the motion of aiming a rifle, and clicked his tongue for the
explosion.
’Good,’ said Syme abstractedly, without looking up from his strip of paper.
’Of course we can’t afford to take chances,’ agreed Winston dutifully.
’What I mean to say, there is a war on,’ said Parsons.
As though in confirmation of this, a trumpet call floated from the telescreen
just above their heads. However, it was not the proclamation of a military
victory this time, but merely an announcement from the Ministry of Plenty.
’Comrades!’ cried an eager youthful voice. ’Attention, comrades! We have
glorious news for you. We have won the battle for production! Returns now
completed of the output of all classes of consumption goods show that the
standard of living has risen by no less than 20 per cent over the past year. All
over Oceania this morning there were irrepressible spontaneous demonstrations
when workers marched out of factories and offices and paraded through the
streets with banners voicing their gratitude to Big Brother for the new, happy
life which his wise leadership has bestowed upon us. Here are some of the
completed figures. Foodstuffs-’
-
The phrase ’our new, happy life’ recurred several times. It had been a
favourite of late with the Ministry of Plenty. Parsons, his attention caught by
the trumpet call, sat listening with a sort of gaping solemnity, a sort of edified
boredom. He could not follow the figures, but he was aware that they were in
some way a cause for satisfaction. He had lugged out a huge and filthy pipe
which was already half full of charred tobacco. With the tobacco ration at
100 grammes a week it was seldom possible to fill a pipe to the top. Winston
was smoking a Victory Cigarette which he held carefully horizontal. The new
ration did not start till tomorrow and he had only four cigarettes left. For the
moment he had shut his ears to the remoter noises and was listening to the
stuff that streamed out of the telescreen. It appeared that there had even been
demonstrations to thank Big Brother for raising the chocolate ration to twenty
grammes a week. And only yesterday, he reflected, it had been announced that
the ration was to be reduced to twenty grammes a week. Was it possible that
they could swallow that, after only twenty-four hours? Yes, they swallowed it.
Parsons swallowed it easily, with the stupidity of an animal. The eyeless creature
at the other table swallowed it fanatically, passionately, with a furious desire
to track down, denounce, and vaporize anyone who should suggest that last
week the ration had been thirty grammes. Syme, too-in some more complex
way, involving doublethink, Syme swallowed it. Was he, then, alone in the
possession of a memory?
-
The fabulous statistics continued to pour out of the telescreen. As compared
with last year there was more food, more clothes, more houses, more furniture,
more cooking-pots, more fuel, more ships, more helicopters, more books, more
babies — more of everything except disease, crime, and insanity. Year by year
and minute by minute, everybody and everything was whizzing rapidly upwards.
As Syme had done earlier Winston had taken up his spoon and was dabbling
in the pale-coloured gravy that dribbled across the table, drawing a long streak
of it out into a pattern. He meditated resentfully on the physical texture of
life. Had it always been like this? Had food always tasted like this? He looked
round the canteen. A low-ceilinged, crowded room, its walls grimy from the
contact of innumerable bodies; battered metal tables and chairs, placed so close
together that you sat with elbows touching; bent spoons, dented trays, coarse
white mugs; all surfaces greasy, grime in every crack; and a sourish, composite
smell of bad gin and bad coffee and metallic stew and dirty clothes. Always in
your stomach and in your skin there was a sort of protest, a feeling that you
had been cheated of something that you had a right to. It was true that he had
no memories of anything greatly different. In any time that he could accurately
remember, there had never been quite enough to eat, one had never had socks
or underclothes that were not full of holes, furniture had always been battered
and rickety, rooms underheated, tube trains crowded, houses falling to pieces,
bread dark-coloured, tea a rarity, coffee filthy-tasting, cigarettes insufficient —
nothing cheap and plentiful except synthetic gin. And though, of course, it grew
worse as one’s body aged, was it not a sign that this was not the natural order
of things, if one’s heart sickened at the discomfort and dirt and scarcity, the
interminable winters, the stickiness of one’s socks, the lifts that never worked,
the cold water, the gritty soap, the cigarettes that came to pieces, the food with
its strange evil tastes? Why should one feel it to be intolerable unless one had
some kind of ancestral memory that things had once been different?
He looked round the canteen again. Nearly everyone was ugly, and would
still have been ugly even if dressed otherwise than in the uniform blue overalls.
On the far side of the room, sitting at a table alone, a small, curiously beetle-like
man was drinking a cup of coffee, his little eyes darting suspicious glances from
side to side. How easy it was, thought Winston, if you did not look about you,
to believe that the physical type set up by the Party as an ideal-tall muscular
youths and deep-bosomed maidens, blond-haired, vital, sunburnt, carefree —
existed and even predominated. Actually, so far as he could judge, the majority
of people in Airstrip One were small, dark, and ill-favoured. It was curious how
that beetle-like type proliferated in the Ministries: little dumpy men, growing
stout very early in life, with short legs, swift scuttling movements, and fat
inscrutable faces with very small eyes. It was the type that seemed to flourish
best under the dominion of the Party.
The announcement from the Ministry of Plenty ended on another trumpet
call and gave way to tinny music. Parsons, stirred to vague enthusiasm by the
bombardment of figures, took his pipe out of his mouth.
-
’The Ministry of Plenty’s certainly done a good job this year,’ he said with
a knowing shake of his head. ’By the way, Smith old boy, I suppose you haven’t
got any razor blades you can let me have?’
’Not one,’ said Winston. ’I’ve been using the same blade for six weeks
myself.’
’Ah, well — just thought I’d ask you, old boy.’
’Sorry,’ said Winston.
The quacking voice from the next table, temporarily silenced during the
Ministry’s announcement, had started up again, as loud as ever. For some reason
Winston suddenly found himself thinking of Mrs Parsons, with her wispy hair
and the dust in the creases of her face. Within two years those children would be
denouncing her to the Thought Police. Mrs Parsons would be vaporized. Syme
would be vaporized. Winston would be vaporized. O’Brien would be vaporized.
Parsons, on the other hand, would never be vaporized. The eyeless creature
with the quacking voice would never be vaporized. The little beetle-like men
who scuttle so nimbly through the labyrinthine corridors of Ministries they, too,
would never be vaporized. And the girl with dark hair, the girl from the Fiction
Department — she would never be vaporized either. It seemed to him that he
knew instinctively who would survive and who would perish: though just what
it was that made for survival, it was not easy to say.
At this moment he was dragged out of his reverie with a violent jerk. The
girl at the next table had turned partly round and was looking at him. It was
the girl with dark hair. She was looking at him in a sidelong way, but with
curious intensity. The instant she caught his eye she looked away again.
The sweat started out on Winston’s backbone. A horrible pang of terror
went through him. It was gone almost at once, but it left a sort of nagging
uneasiness behind. Why was she watching him? Why did she keep following
him about? Unfortunately he could not remember whether she had already been
at the table when he arrived, or had come there afterwards. But yesterday, at
any rate, during the Two Minutes Hate, she had sat immediately behind him
when there was no apparent need to do so. Quite likely her real object had been
to listen to him and make sure whether he was shouting loudly enough.
His earlier thought returned to him: probably she was not actually a member
of the Thought Police, but then it was precisely the amateur spy who was the
greatest danger of all. He did not know how long she had been looking at him,
but perhaps for as much as five minutes, and it was possible that his features had
not been perfectly under control. It was terribly dangerous to let your thoughts
wander when you were in any public place or within range of a telescreen.
The smallest thing could give you away. A nervous tic, an unconscious look of
anxiety, a habit of muttering to yourself — anything that carried with it the
suggestion of abnormality, of having something to hide. In any case, to wear
an improper expression on your face (to look incredulous when a victory was
announced, for example) was itself a punishable offence. There was even a word
for it in Newspeak: facecrime, it was called.
The girl had turned her back on him again. Perhaps after all she was not
really following him about, perhaps it was coincidence that she had sat so close
to him two days running. His cigarette had gone out, and he laid it carefully on
the edge of the table. He would finish smoking it after work, if he could keep the
tobacco in it. Quite likely the person at the next table was a spy of the Thought
Police, and quite likely he would be in the cellars of the Ministry of Love within
three days, but a cigarette end must not be wasted. Syme had folded up his
strip of paper and stowed it away in his pocket. Parsons had begun talking
again.
’Did I ever tell you, old boy,’ he said, chuckling round the stem of his pipe,
’about the time when those two nippers of mine set fire to the old market-
woman’s skirt because they saw her wrapping up sausages in a poster of B.B.?
Sneaked up behind her and set fire to it with a box of matches. Burned her
quite badly, I believe. Little beggars, eh? But keen as mustard! That’s a first-
rate training they give them in the Spies nowadays — better than in my day,
even. What d’you think’s the latest thing they’ve served them out with? Ear
trumpets for listening through keyholes! My little girl brought one home the
other night — tried it out on our sitting-room door, and reckoned she could
hear twice as much as with her ear to the hole. Of course it’s only a toy, mind
you. Still, gives ’em the right idea, eh?’
At this moment the telescreen let out a piercing whistle. It was the signal to
return to work. All three men sprang to their feet to join in the struggle round
the lifts, and the remaining tobacco fell out of Winston’s cigarette.
--------------------------------------------------------------
There you go. The first 5 chapters of 1984.
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11111121 ;D
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SPAMIT
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SPAM
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:o :o :o :o :oBJHJHL
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Hello and Happy July to you to my good friend.
I will be available to discuss in about 2 hours...
The western union transfer was fine and on time.. I appreciate and thank you for going out of way to make it happen...
Will msg you as soon as I am free to discuss/chat.
Thank you
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SPAM
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SPAM
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SPAM
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SPAM
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SPAM
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SPAM
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SPAM
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SPAM
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SPAM
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SPAM
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SPAM
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SPAM
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SPAM
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SPAM
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SPAM
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SPAM
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SPAM
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SPAM
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SPAM
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SPAM
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SPAM
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SPAM
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SPAM
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title says it all
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Red, white and Shrooms lol
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Red, white and Shrooms lol
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Red, white and Shrooms lol
mock
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Red, white and Shrooms lol
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What's the point of 50 posts?
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bleh i'm nub
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What's the point of 50 posts?
I may be completely wrong, but it seems like an easy way to keep bots to a minimum. Plus, I can see a situation where people would just talk up their storefront or trash another vendor by creating multiple accounts that are just really run by one ass. Again, could be wrong. This could all be some weird initiation or sociological experiment.
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50 50 50 50
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I eat spam with my yellow eggs n ham sometimes cheesy toast hmmm how i love SPAM!
I eat spam with my yellow eggs n ham sometimes cheesy toast hmmm how i love SPAM!
I eat spam with my yellow eggs n ham sometimes cheesy toast hmmm how i love SPAM!
I eat spam with my yellow eggs n ham sometimes cheesy toast hmmm how i love SPAM!
I eat spam with my yellow eggs n ham sometimes cheesy toast hmmm how i love SPAM!
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I eat spam with my yellow eggs n ham sometimes cheesy toast hmmm how i love SPAM!
I eat spam with my yellow eggs n ham sometimes cheesy toast hmmm how i love SPAM!
I eat spam with my yellow eggs n ham sometimes cheesy toast hmmm how i love SPAM!
I eat spam with my yellow eggs n ham sometimes cheesy toast hmmm how i love SPAM!
I eat spam with my yellow eggs n ham sometimes cheesy toast hmmm how i love SPAM!
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4
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7
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50 50 50 50
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❤❤❤ Please keep in mind customer service is our goal ❤❤❤
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BOOM!
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❤❤❤ Please keep in mind customer service is our goal ❤❤❤
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❤❤❤ Please keep in mind customer service is our goal ❤❤❤
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❤❤❤ Please keep in mind customer service is our goal ❤❤❤
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❤❤❤ Please keep in mind customer service is our goal ❤❤❤
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❤❤❤ Please keep in mind customer service is our goal ❤❤❤
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❤❤❤ Please keep in mind customer service is our goal ❤❤❤
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❤❤❤ Please keep in mind customer service is our goal ❤❤❤
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❤❤❤ Please keep in mind customer service is our goal ❤❤❤
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❤❤❤ Please keep in mind customer service is our goal ❤❤❤
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❤❤❤ Please keep in mind customer service is our goal ❤❤❤
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spam
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34
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35
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36
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37
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Free Sex Change
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38
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LED Lights
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39
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40
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long way to go yet
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41
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All fillers no killers
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42
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42
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43
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44
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my name is john smith
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I am trying to make an even balance of proper posts and 'bump' posts in order to reach 50. I desperately want to post in the Australian forum, which I am unable to do so until I get to 50.... hence the spam post.
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Don't mind me... just going to jump on the bandwagon =]
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5
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7
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8
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9
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11... yay double digits!
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12
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13 is apparently unlucky
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I'm bald
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Fuck
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this
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14
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43
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44
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45
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stupid
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46
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47
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48
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50
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Not scamming nobody
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::)
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Soam you say?
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d
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Spamming
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f
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f
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f
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hb
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:'(
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spamabambam
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asd
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asdf
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FSFS
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spam
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asd
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as
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asd
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g
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:-X
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:-\
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:-[
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:D
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asd
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lolol
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:'(
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8)
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asd
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8)
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:-)
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More
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spam111
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SPAM!
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spam48
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spam49!!!!!!!!!!!
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and done!
SPAM!
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bh
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50 posts huh? better get started I guess. :P
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kjòn
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1st post!!!!
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;D ;D ;D
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:D :D :D
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??? ???
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:) ;) :D 50!!!!!!!
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32r321r3
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Conceal your Intentions
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14
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So Much Depends on Reputation – Guard it with your Life
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17
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20
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21
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24
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27
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yey
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29
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32
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common
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33
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35
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37
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39
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this is stupid
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41
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43
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45
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haha
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47
-
47 again
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annoyyomg
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48
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BOOM 50 SUCK ME OFF
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8
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five
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six
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six
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eight
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nine
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ten
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closer with every post
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not sure what the point of this
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is it to discourage frivolous posting? sure, that's working.
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honestly, how much absolute shit has been produced as a direct result of the 50 post rule?
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it's actually quite hilarious...the anarchic black market must have rules about how many posts you have before you can actually say something meaningful. what?
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eleven
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I am literally trying to do nothing but post absolute nonsense, and I can't even bring myself to continue it. I must make some sort of point with my throw-away posts. Is that just human nature?
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if we are counting down, i can get with that....14
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...13
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...12
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...11
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...10
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...9
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blah
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burp
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10....
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long
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i lost count
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fart
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...5
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me too
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...4
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...2
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...wait...i fucked up...FUCKING ZERO!!! (confetti is falling from the ceiling...Ed McMahon just walked in with a giant certificate that says "50 Posts...Who Gives a Fuck!!!???") See ya, bitches!
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Time to start cleaning up these multiple spam threads.
For now there will be one spam thread left up, it can be found here:
http://dkn255hz262ypmii.onion/index.php?topic=180675.0
All other spam threads will be slowly phased out.