SoyBooru
@Chud:
COBBLESTONE'S A FUCKING MASTER, MOISTPEPPER'S A FUCKING AMATEUR. COBBLESTONE'S GOT THE SKILLS, MOISTPEPPER'S JUST A FUCKING TRYHARD. COBBLESTONE'S A FUCKING LEGEND, MOISTPEPPER'S A FUCKING MEME. COBBLESTONE'S A FUCKING GOD, MOISTPEPPER'S A FUCKING CHUD. COBBLESTONE'S GOT THE POON, MOISTPEPPER'S GOT THE FUCKING DUST. COBBLESTONE'S A FUCKING BEAST, MOISTPEPPER'S A FUCKING BITCH.
showing 10 of 131 comments
In Loving Memory of Emerald
We gather with heavy hearts to remember emerald-a man who lived simply but left a lasting mark on those who truly saw him. Short in stature and wide in frame, he resided in a modest cardboard box, lived on his own terms, and walked through life with a spirit that was raw, real, and entirely his.
Of South Sudanese descent, emerald 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. emerald did not pretend. He was who he was.
Tragically, emerald 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, emerald.
You were seen. You are missed. You are loved.
In Loving Memory of Emerald
We gather with heavy hearts to remember emerald-a man who lived simply but left a lasting mark on those who truly saw him. Short in stature and wide in frame, he resided in a modest cardboard box, lived on his own terms, and walked through life with a spirit that was raw, real, and entirely his.
Of South Sudanese descent, emerald 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. emerald did not pretend. He was who he was.
Tragically, emerald 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, emerald.
You were seen. You are missed. You are loved.
In Loving Memory of Emerald
We gather with heavy hearts to remember emerald-a man who lived simply but left a lasting mark on those who truly saw him. Short in stature and wide in frame, he resided in a modest cardboard box, lived on his own terms, and walked through life with a spirit that was raw, real, and entirely his.
Of South Sudanese descent, emerald 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. emerald did not pretend. He was who he was.
Tragically, emerald 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, emerald.
You were seen. You are missed. You are loved.
In Loving Memory of Emerald
We gather with heavy hearts to remember emerald-a man who lived simply but left a lasting mark on those who truly saw him. Short in stature and wide in frame, he resided in a modest cardboard box, lived on his own terms, and walked through life with a spirit that was raw, real, and entirely his.
Of South Sudanese descent, emerald 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. emerald did not pretend. He was who he was.
Tragically, emerald 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, emerald.
You were seen. You are missed. You are loved.
In Loving Memory of Emerald
We gather with heavy hearts to remember emerald-a man who lived simply but left a lasting mark on those who truly saw him. Short in stature and wide in frame, he resided in a modest cardboard box, lived on his own terms, and walked through life with a spirit that was raw, real, and entirely his.
Of South Sudanese descent, emerald 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. emerald did not pretend. He was who he was.
Tragically, emerald 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, emerald.
You were seen. You are missed. You are loved.
In Loving Memory of Emerald
We gather with heavy hearts to remember emerald-a man who lived simply but left a lasting mark on those who truly saw him. Short in stature and wide in frame, he resided in a modest cardboard box, lived on his own terms, and walked through life with a spirit that was raw, real, and entirely his.
Of South Sudanese descent, emerald 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. emerald did not pretend. He was who he was.
Tragically, emerald 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, emerald.
You were seen. You are missed. You are loved.
In Loving Memory of Emerald
We gather with heavy hearts to remember emerald-a man who lived simply but left a lasting mark on those who truly saw him. Short in stature and wide in frame, he resided in a modest cardboard box, lived on his own terms, and walked through life with a spirit that was raw, real, and entirely his.
Of South Sudanese descent, emerald 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. emerald did not pretend. He was who he was.
Tragically, emerald 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, emerald.
You were seen. You are missed. You are loved.
In Loving Memory of Emerald
We gather with heavy hearts to remember emerald-a man who lived simply but left a lasting mark on those who truly saw him. Short in stature and wide in frame, he resided in a modest cardboard box, lived on his own terms, and walked through life with a spirit that was raw, real, and entirely his.
Of South Sudanese descent, emerald 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. emerald did not pretend. He was who he was.
Tragically, emerald 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, emerald.
You were seen. You are missed. You are loved.
In Loving Memory of Emerald
We gather with heavy hearts to remember emerald-a man who lived simply but left a lasting mark on those who truly saw him. Short in stature and wide in frame, he resided in a modest cardboard box, lived on his own terms, and walked through life with a spirit that was raw, real, and entirely his.
Of South Sudanese descent, emerald 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. emerald did not pretend. He was who he was.
Tragically, emerald 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, emerald.
You were seen. You are missed. You are loved.
In Loving Memory of Emerald
We gather with heavy hearts to remember emerald-a man who lived simply but left a lasting mark on those who truly saw him. Short in stature and wide in frame, he resided in a modest cardboard box, lived on his own terms, and walked through life with a spirit that was raw, real, and entirely his.
Of South Sudanese descent, emerald 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. emerald did not pretend. He was who he was.
Tragically, emerald 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, emerald.
You were seen. You are missed. You are loved.
cobblestone is not an admin doe
fuvk i forgot broot
@ronnieson2: I'll feature if you remake it
@Broot: wait for real?
GEEEEMMMM HOLY raisin ITS GOOD
@Chud: She's the ki admin
antiswarthy
^rapes everything that moves
ACKception
^rapes air
ESL award
^rapes emerald
showing 10 of 20 comments
Warrior-Z
TRVTHNVKE
I thought the amerimutt was walking on his ears.
@antiswarthy: it's supposed to be impish soyak ears as a Mr Saturn, not sure how to make it less amerimutt-ey without making him white and i'd prefer to keep him flesh coloured
Earthbound 2 gem
mother 3 gem
veironn
Aztechicano
jimbrap
showing 10 of 32 comments
ml'pee brimstone that is extremely radioactive
do not let greg see this
Cartoon Horse Program (also known as My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic) is a big homosexual pink clusterfuck of a television show directed at little girls with the attention span of a dog with an arse full of crack. The show is also surrounded by various plastic crap in the shape of grinning flowery ponies, hand carved by the finest diseased Chinese orphans Hasbro can enslave. It was your average bullraisin children's show until it gained an unnaturally large following of fat greasy basement dwellers all desperate to gain some semblance of their childhood by desperately obsessing over a children's show about magical flamboyant person ponies. Self-labeled as the dreaded Brony and Pegasister, these mongoloid fucktards have created billions of unfunny image macros and a few half-arsed forced memes, vomiting it over every inch of the interbutts while they masturbate furiously to a small plastic figurine of Pinkie Pie.
@Warrior-Z: I agree with you
what banban character is this?
showing 10 of 13 comments
@trevor: z alliance chadas...is it over?
Its 'p
@weakspaget: its just getting started
@MenstrualCykill: geg
cobblechad add this to rhe wikis ratings
Gem
showing 10 of 16 comments
specialed newgod above me
@imissyoutuey: nusoi
Deportations are greedy personish and shiet mane! U needz one gorbillion raisinskins in your country to be based or something
@Dzagir: fuck speech bubbles all my ferrets use arrows
I look like this
Deportations? that's fucking greedy personish am i right fellow white people? 
@Chud: this so much this and let in a bunch of hb1 smelly people in thier place
Jimbo cosplaying as chudjak?
@MenstrualCykill: gigachad would not say this
@twojastara14: being antiwhite is giga doe
showing 10 of 174 comments