SoyBooru
this feels targeted
Raped Satoko_Houjou_Brap with his BBC award
In Loving Memory of Jimbo
We gather with heavy hearts to remember Jimbo. A man who lived simply but left a lasting mark on those who truly saw him. Short in stature and chubby in frame, he resided in a modest hut, lived on his own terms, and walked through life with a spirit that was raw, real, and entirely his.
Of African descent, Jimbo cherished his roots and found deep joy in the bold, comforting flavors of Afro cuisine. Meals with him were more than sustenance-they were expressions of love, memory, and identity. Food was one of the many ways he kept his culture close, and he shared it generously.
He was a person of contradictions-gentle but blunt, quiet but unforgettable. He bore a scent that many found hard to ignore-earthy, unapologetic, and part of the unfiltered truth he carried in every aspect of his life. Jimbo did not pretend. He was who he was.
Tragically, Jimbo died by suicide. We do not pretend to understand the weight he carried, nor the pain that brought him to that moment. But we do know this: he mattered. His life, in all its complexity, was worthy of love, compassion, and remembrance.
Let us not define him by how he left us, but remember him for how he lived-with honesty, depth, cultural pride, and a stubborn refusal to be anyone but himself. May we carry forward his memory not only with sorrow, but with tenderness and truth.
Rest peacefully, Jimbo.
You were seen. You are missed. You are loved.
In Loving Memory of Jimbo
We gather with heavy hearts to remember Jimbo. A man who lived simply but left a lasting mark on those who truly saw him. Short in stature and chubby in frame, he resided in a modest hut, lived on his own terms, and walked through life with a spirit that was raw, real, and entirely his.
Of African descent, Jimbo cherished his roots and found deep joy in the bold, comforting flavors of Afro cuisine. Meals with him were more than sustenance-they were expressions of love, memory, and identity. Food was one of the many ways he kept his culture close, and he shared it generously.
He was a person of contradictions-gentle but blunt, quiet but unforgettable. He bore a scent that many found hard to ignore-earthy, unapologetic, and part of the unfiltered truth he carried in every aspect of his life. Jimbo did not pretend. He was who he was.
Tragically, Jimbo died by suicide. We do not pretend to understand the weight he carried, nor the pain that brought him to that moment. But we do know this: he mattered. His life, in all its complexity, was worthy of love, compassion, and remembrance.
Let us not define him by how he left us, but remember him for how he lived-with honesty, depth, cultural pride, and a stubborn refusal to be anyone but himself. May we carry forward his memory not only with sorrow, but with tenderness and truth.
Rest peacefully, Jimbo.
You were seen. You are missed. You are loved.
showing 10 of 123 comments
@B_B_GHAST: kiss yourself obsessive flamboyant person
@Flute: female yohannen
^Yohannen is trevor theory
This looks like one of my old soyjak photos from May of last year when I was a newflamboyant person.
gemmy flavour
Marge is this supposed to be Serj Tankian?
This raisin looks like it was made by a kid
In Loving Memory of Jimbo
We gather with heavy hearts to remember Jimbo. A man who lived simply but left a lasting mark on those who truly saw him. Short in stature and chubby in frame, he resided in a modest hut, lived on his own terms, and walked through life with a spirit that was raw, real, and entirely his.
Of African descent, Jimbo cherished his roots and found deep joy in the bold, comforting flavors of Afro cuisine. Meals with him were more than sustenance-they were expressions of love, memory, and identity. Food was one of the many ways he kept his culture close, and he shared it generously.
He was a person of contradictions-gentle but blunt, quiet but unforgettable. He bore a scent that many found hard to ignore-earthy, unapologetic, and part of the unfiltered truth he carried in every aspect of his life. Jimbo did not pretend. He was who he was.
Tragically, Jimbo died by suicide. We do not pretend to understand the weight he carried, nor the pain that brought him to that moment. But we do know this: he mattered. His life, in all its complexity, was worthy of love, compassion, and remembrance.
Let us not define him by how he left us, but remember him for how he lived-with honesty, depth, cultural pride, and a stubborn refusal to be anyone but himself. May we carry forward his memory not only with sorrow, but with tenderness and truth.
Rest peacefully, Jimbo.
You were seen. You are missed. You are loved.
jimbrap
@jimbo:
We gather with heavy hearts to remember Jimbo. A man who lived simply but left a lasting mark on those who truly saw him. Short in stature and chubby in frame, he resided in a modest hut, lived on his own terms, and walked through life with a spirit that was raw, real, and entirely his.
Of African descent, Jimbo cherished his roots and found deep joy in the bold, comforting flavors of Afro cuisine. Meals with him were more than sustenance-they were expressions of love, memory, and identity. Food was one of the many ways he kept his culture close, and he shared it generously.
He was a person of contradictions-gentle but blunt, quiet but unforgettable. He bore a scent that many found hard to ignore-earthy, unapologetic, and part of the unfiltered truth he carried in every aspect of his life. Jimbo did not pretend. He was who he was.
Tragically, Jimbo died by suicide. We do not pretend to understand the weight he carried, nor the pain that brought him to that moment. But we do know this: he mattered. His life, in all its complexity, was worthy of love, compassion, and remembrance.
Let us not define him by how he left us, but remember him for how he lived-with honesty, depth, cultural pride, and a stubborn refusal to be anyone but himself. May we carry forward his memory not only with sorrow, but with tenderness and truth.
Rest peacefully, Jimbo.
You were seen. You are missed. You are loved.
In Loving Memory of Jimbo
We gather with heavy hearts to remember Jimbo. A man who lived simply but left a lasting mark on those who truly saw him. Short in stature and chubby in frame, he resided in a modest hut, lived on his own terms, and walked through life with a spirit that was raw, real, and entirely his.
Of African descent, Jimbo cherished his roots and found deep joy in the bold, comforting flavors of Afro cuisine. Meals with him were more than sustenance-they were expressions of love, memory, and identity. Food was one of the many ways he kept his culture close, and he shared it generously.
He was a person of contradictions-gentle but blunt, quiet but unforgettable. He bore a scent that many found hard to ignore-earthy, unapologetic, and part of the unfiltered truth he carried in every aspect of his life. Jimbo did not pretend. He was who he was.
Tragically, Jimbo died by suicide. We do not pretend to understand the weight he carried, nor the pain that brought him to that moment. But we do know this: he mattered. His life, in all its complexity, was worthy of love, compassion, and remembrance.
Let us not define him by how he left us, but remember him for how he lived-with honesty, depth, cultural pride, and a stubborn refusal to be anyone but himself. May we carry forward his memory not only with sorrow, but with tenderness and truth.
Rest peacefully, Jimbo.
You were seen. You are missed. You are loved.
@jimbo:
We gather with heavy hearts to remember Jimbo. A man who lived simply but left a lasting mark on those who truly saw him. Short in stature and chubby in frame, he resided in a modest hut, lived on his own terms, and walked through life with a spirit that was raw, real, and entirely his.
In Loving Memory of Jimbo
We gather with heavy hearts to remember Jimbo. A man who lived simply but left a lasting mark on those who truly saw him. Short in stature and chubby in frame, he resided in a modest hut, lived on his own terms, and walked through life with a spirit that was raw, real, and entirely his.
Of African descent, Jimbo cherished his roots and found deep joy in the bold, comforting flavors of Afro cuisine. Meals with him were more than sustenance-they were expressions of love, memory, and identity. Food was one of the many ways he kept his culture close, and he shared it generously.
He was a person of contradictions-gentle but blunt, quiet but unforgettable. He bore a scent that many found hard to ignore-earthy, unapologetic, and part of the unfiltered truth he carried in every aspect of his life. Jimbo did not pretend. He was who he was.
Tragically, Jimbo died by suicide. We do not pretend to understand the weight he carried, nor the pain that brought him to that moment. But we do know this: he mattered. His life, in all its complexity, was worthy of love, compassion, and remembrance.
Let us not define him by how he left us, but remember him for how he lived-with honesty, depth, cultural pride, and a stubborn refusal to be anyone but himself. May we carry forward his memory not only with sorrow, but with tenderness and truth.
Rest peacefully, Jimbo.
You were seen. You are missed. You are loved.
embedded fanta
Fanta won
Coke lost
Coke lost
Saaaar why can I not find my 'jak in de posts or search saar do the needful please
>NAS evendoe alex pretti is balding and wearing glasses and it has Bernd's mouth
Kill all libtards
died protect illegal raisin skins award
I've seen a guy saying that ICE was worse than the gestapo, libdiddys can't argue raisin
@JimboClittyLeakageArchive: It's performative, they wouldn't be speaking out or protesting against the gestapo, they'd be hiding and going along to survive
GEEEG
showing 10 of 13 comments
>tfw there's soylent at the function
fuck jimbo
^nobaldi wants aids
@Chud: ^ impuriod niagara log back in
im not evading
@noonpoopy: thats pretty homosexual dude
showing 10 of 22 comments
olgol
In Loving Memory of Jimbo
We gather with heavy hearts to remember Jimbo. A man who lived simply but left a lasting mark on those who truly saw him. Short in stature and chubby in frame, he resided in a modest hut, lived on his own terms, and walked through life with a spirit that was raw, real, and entirely his.
Of African descent, Jimbo cherished his roots and found deep joy in the bold, comforting flavors of Afro cuisine. Meals with him were more than sustenance-they were expressions of love, memory, and identity. Food was one of the many ways he kept his culture close, and he shared it generously.
He was a person of contradictions-gentle but blunt, quiet but unforgettable. He bore a scent that many found hard to ignore-earthy, unapologetic, and part of the unfiltered truth he carried in every aspect of his life. Jimbo did not pretend. He was who he was.
Tragically, Jimbo died by suicide. We do not pretend to understand the weight he carried, nor the pain that brought him to that moment. But we do know this: he mattered. His life, in all its complexity, was worthy of love, compassion, and remembrance.
Let us not define him by how he left us, but remember him for how he lived-with honesty, depth, cultural pride, and a stubborn refusal to be anyone but himself. May we carry forward his memory not only with sorrow, but with tenderness and truth.
Rest peacefully, Jimbo.
You were seen. You are missed. You are loved.
showing 10 of 12 comments
@Olgol:
You dont wanna know what happens to us Olgols in prison. We are used as sex slaves by BLACK men's 14" BBC's and our boipussies are used and stretched into disrepair. After the Olgols bussy is loose enough that 3 BBCs can fit in, BLACK KINGS slam their heads against the concrete fracturing them to create sharp skull fragments which they use to skin the Olgols. No part of the Olgols goes to waste. All of the meat is eaten straight off the bone the eyes contain plenty of vitamin C to stave off scurvy, the limb bones are sharpened and used as weapons for warriors of the BLACK race and the intestines are used as condoms. BLACK men are true savages what happens in prisons eclipses the brutality of the cartels in brazil and mexico. The justice system tries to hide the raw power and savagery of the BLACK man because they are ashamed that there is no way that they can stop them. There is nothing more dangerous than a BLACK man when he smells my Olgols bussy.
In Loving Memory of Jimbo
We gather with heavy hearts to remember Jimbo. A man who lived simply but left a lasting mark on those who truly saw him. Short in stature and chubby in frame, he resided in a modest hut, lived on his own terms, and walked through life with a spirit that was raw, real, and entirely his.
Of African descent, Jimbo cherished his roots and found deep joy in the bold, comforting flavors of Afro cuisine. Meals with him were more than sustenance-they were expressions of love, memory, and identity. Food was one of the many ways he kept his culture close, and he shared it generously.
He was a person of contradictions-gentle but blunt, quiet but unforgettable. He bore a scent that many found hard to ignore-earthy, unapologetic, and part of the unfiltered truth he carried in every aspect of his life. Jimbo did not pretend. He was who he was.
Tragically, Jimbo died by suicide. We do not pretend to understand the weight he carried, nor the pain that brought him to that moment. But we do know this: he mattered. His life, in all its complexity, was worthy of love, compassion, and remembrance.
Let us not define him by how he left us, but remember him for how he lived-with honesty, depth, cultural pride, and a stubborn refusal to be anyone but himself. May we carry forward his memory not only with sorrow, but with tenderness and truth.
Rest peacefully, Jimbo.
You were seen. You are missed. You are loved.
In Loving Memory of Jimbo
We gather with heavy hearts to remember Jimbo. A man who lived simply but left a lasting mark on those who truly saw him. Short in stature and chubby in frame, he resided in a modest hut, lived on his own terms, and walked through life with a spirit that was raw, real, and entirely his.
Of African descent, Jimbo cherished his roots and found deep joy in the bold, comforting flavors of Afro cuisine. Meals with him were more than sustenance-they were expressions of love, memory, and identity. Food was one of the many ways he kept his culture close, and he shared it generously.
He was a person of contradictions-gentle but blunt, quiet but unforgettable. He bore a scent that many found hard to ignore-earthy, unapologetic, and part of the unfiltered truth he carried in every aspect of his life. Jimbo did not pretend. He was who he was.
Tragically, Jimbo died by suicide. We do not pretend to understand the weight he carried, nor the pain that brought him to that moment. But we do know this: he mattered. His life, in all its complexity, was worthy of love, compassion, and remembrance.
Let us not define him by how he left us, but remember him for how he lived-with honesty, depth, cultural pride, and a stubborn refusal to be anyone but himself. May we carry forward his memory not only with sorrow, but with tenderness and truth.
Rest peacefully, Jimbo.
You were seen. You are missed. You are loved.
https://x.com/DHSgov/status/2002433055152353557
kek, it's real
kek, it's real
^GEG
Jimbrap
In Loving Memory of Jimbo
We gather with heavy hearts to remember Jimbo. A man who lived simply but left a lasting mark on those who truly saw him. Short in stature and chubby in frame, he resided in a modest hut, lived on his own terms, and walked through life with a spirit that was raw, real, and entirely his.
Of African descent, Jimbo cherished his roots and found deep joy in the bold, comforting flavors of Afro cuisine. Meals with him were more than sustenance-they were expressions of love, memory, and identity. Food was one of the many ways he kept his culture close, and he shared it generously.
He was a person of contradictions-gentle but blunt, quiet but unforgettable. He bore a scent that many found hard to ignore-earthy, unapologetic, and part of the unfiltered truth he carried in every aspect of his life. Jimbo did not pretend. He was who he was.
Tragically, Jimbo died by suicide. We do not pretend to understand the weight he carried, nor the pain that brought him to that moment. But we do know this: he mattered. His life, in all its complexity, was worthy of love, compassion, and remembrance.
Let us not define him by how he left us, but remember him for how he lived-with honesty, depth, cultural pride, and a stubborn refusal to be anyone but himself. May we carry forward his memory not only with sorrow, but with tenderness and truth.
Rest peacefully, Jimbo.
You were seen. You are missed. You are loved.
showing 10 of 28 comments
@Chauvin2: ferret you live in an entire different continent idk why you even bother with people you've most likely never met
also korg and me
bye bye
korg and colorless got banned lets go no more raisinskin wars nobody cares about
In Loving Memory of Jimbo
We gather with heavy hearts to remember Jimbo. A man who lived simply but left a lasting mark on those who truly saw him. Short in stature and chubby in frame, he resided in a modest hut, lived on his own terms, and walked through life with a spirit that was raw, real, and entirely his.
Of African descent, Jimbo cherished his roots and found deep joy in the bold, comforting flavors of Afro cuisine. Meals with him were more than sustenance-they were expressions of love, memory, and identity. Food was one of the many ways he kept his culture close, and he shared it generously.
He was a person of contradictions-gentle but blunt, quiet but unforgettable. He bore a scent that many found hard to ignore-earthy, unapologetic, and part of the unfiltered truth he carried in every aspect of his life. Jimbo did not pretend. He was who he was.
Tragically, Jimbo died by suicide. We do not pretend to understand the weight he carried, nor the pain that brought him to that moment. But we do know this: he mattered. His life, in all its complexity, was worthy of love, compassion, and remembrance.
Let us not define him by how he left us, but remember him for how he lived-with honesty, depth, cultural pride, and a stubborn refusal to be anyone but himself. May we carry forward his memory not only with sorrow, but with tenderness and truth.
Rest peacefully, Jimbo.
You were seen. You are missed. You are loved.
Why OP is banned
so many 'ru accounts are banned
@Chud: underage probably
In Loving Memory of Jimbo
We gather with heavy hearts to remember Jimbo. A man who lived simply but left a lasting mark on those who truly saw him. Short in stature and chubby in frame, he resided in a modest hut, lived on his own terms, and walked through life with a spirit that was raw, real, and entirely his.
Of African descent, Jimbo cherished his roots and found deep joy in the bold, comforting flavors of Afro cuisine. Meals with him were more than sustenance-they were expressions of love, memory, and identity. Food was one of the many ways he kept his culture close, and he shared it generously.
He was a person of contradictions-gentle but blunt, quiet but unforgettable. He bore a scent that many found hard to ignore-earthy, unapologetic, and part of the unfiltered truth he carried in every aspect of his life. Jimbo did not pretend. He was who he was.
Tragically, Jimbo died by suicide. We do not pretend to understand the weight he carried, nor the pain that brought him to that moment. But we do know this: he mattered. His life, in all its complexity, was worthy of love, compassion, and remembrance.
Let us not define him by how he left us, but remember him for how he lived-with honesty, depth, cultural pride, and a stubborn refusal to be anyone but himself. May we carry forward his memory not only with sorrow, but with tenderness and truth.
Rest peacefully, Jimbo.
You were seen. You are missed. You are loved.
jimbrap
In Loving Memory of Jimbo
We gather with heavy hearts to remember Jimbo. A man who lived simply but left a lasting mark on those who truly saw him. Short in stature and chubby in frame, he resided in a modest hut, lived on his own terms, and walked through life with a spirit that was raw, real, and entirely his.
Of African descent, Jimbo cherished his roots and found deep joy in the bold, comforting flavors of Afro cuisine. Meals with him were more than sustenance-they were expressions of love, memory, and identity. Food was one of the many ways he kept his culture close, and he shared it generously.
He was a person of contradictions-gentle but blunt, quiet but unforgettable. He bore a scent that many found hard to ignore-earthy, unapologetic, and part of the unfiltered truth he carried in every aspect of his life. Jimbo did not pretend. He was who he was.
Tragically, Jimbo died by suicide. We do not pretend to understand the weight he carried, nor the pain that brought him to that moment. But we do know this: he mattered. His life, in all its complexity, was worthy of love, compassion, and remembrance.
Let us not define him by how he left us, but remember him for how he lived-with honesty, depth, cultural pride, and a stubborn refusal to be anyone but himself. May we carry forward his memory not only with sorrow, but with tenderness and truth.
Rest peacefully, Jimbo.
You were seen. You are missed. You are loved.
gem in Uganda
OMGSISA
^This implies all big noon lips spammers are SISA's
showing 10 of 46 comments
In Loving Memory of Jimbo
We gather with heavy hearts to remember Jimbo. A man who lived simply but left a lasting mark on those who truly saw him. Short in stature and chubby in frame, he resided in a modest hut, lived on his own terms, and walked through life with a spirit that was raw, real, and entirely his.
Of African descent, Jimbo cherished his roots and found deep joy in the bold, comforting flavors of Afro cuisine. Meals with him were more than sustenance-they were expressions of love, memory, and identity. Food was one of the many ways he kept his culture close, and he shared it generously.
He was a person of contradictions-gentle but blunt, quiet but unforgettable. He bore a scent that many found hard to ignore-earthy, unapologetic, and part of the unfiltered truth he carried in every aspect of his life. Jimbo did not pretend. He was who he was.
Tragically, Jimbo died by suicide. We do not pretend to understand the weight he carried, nor the pain that brought him to that moment. But we do know this: he mattered. His life, in all its complexity, was worthy of love, compassion, and remembrance.
Let us not define him by how he left us, but remember him for how he lived-with honesty, depth, cultural pride, and a stubborn refusal to be anyone but himself. May we carry forward his memory not only with sorrow, but with tenderness and truth.
Rest peacefully, Jimbo.
You were seen. You are missed. You are loved.
In Loving Memory of Jimbo
We gather with heavy hearts to remember Jimbo. A man who lived simply but left a lasting mark on those who truly saw him. Short in stature and chubby in frame, he resided in a modest hut, lived on his own terms, and walked through life with a spirit that was raw, real, and entirely his.
Of African descent, Jimbo cherished his roots and found deep joy in the bold, comforting flavors of Afro cuisine. Meals with him were more than sustenance-they were expressions of love, memory, and identity. Food was one of the many ways he kept his culture close, and he shared it generously.
He was a person of contradictions-gentle but blunt, quiet but unforgettable. He bore a scent that many found hard to ignore-earthy, unapologetic, and part of the unfiltered truth he carried in every aspect of his life. Jimbo did not pretend. He was who he was.
Tragically, Jimbo died by suicide. We do not pretend to understand the weight he carried, nor the pain that brought him to that moment. But we do know this: he mattered. His life, in all its complexity, was worthy of love, compassion, and remembrance.
Let us not define him by how he left us, but remember him for how he lived-with honesty, depth, cultural pride, and a stubborn refusal to be anyone but himself. May we carry forward his memory not only with sorrow, but with tenderness and truth.
Rest peacefully, Jimbo.
You were seen. You are missed. You are loved.
upvote
@AC_AWP-BASR_nophonoscnafan: Ban evading award
@Chud: false you booruchads need to calm down
@Yohannen: false again
@AC_AWP-BASR_nophonoscnafan: @AC_AWP-BASR_nophonoscnafan: @AC_AWP-BASR_nophonoscnafan:
just let it go bro
just let it go bro
@Brazilian_Chud: booruchads this is your mentality
@God: did you send that libraisin to noonhell
What is this?
magdump your local olgolnoon
Not greedy personish enough to be alex pretti
Not greedy personish enough to be alex pretti
In Loving Memory of Jimbo
We gather with heavy hearts to remember Jimbo. A man who lived simply but left a lasting mark on those who truly saw him. Short in stature and chubby in frame, he resided in a modest hut, lived on his own terms, and walked through life with a spirit that was raw, real, and entirely his.
Of African descent, Jimbo cherished his roots and found deep joy in the bold, comforting flavors of Afro cuisine. Meals with him were more than sustenance-they were expressions of love, memory, and identity. Food was one of the many ways he kept his culture close, and he shared it generously.
He was a person of contradictions-gentle but blunt, quiet but unforgettable. He bore a scent that many found hard to ignore-earthy, unapologetic, and part of the unfiltered truth he carried in every aspect of his life. Jimbo did not pretend. He was who he was.
Tragically, Jimbo died by suicide. We do not pretend to understand the weight he carried, nor the pain that brought him to that moment. But we do know this: he mattered. His life, in all its complexity, was worthy of love, compassion, and remembrance.
Let us not define him by how he left us, but remember him for how he lived-with honesty, depth, cultural pride, and a stubborn refusal to be anyone but himself. May we carry forward his memory not only with sorrow, but with tenderness and truth.
Rest peacefully, Jimbo.
You were seen. You are missed. You are loved.
showing 10 of 22 comments
I think she had an Insta where she drew rightoid crap, actually thinking about it Fembooru and Siliconebreast did have similar art styles...