SoyBooru
- 10/31/25 - Post pools are live.
- 10/31/25 -
Parent/child relationships for posts now work, this may prove useful if you upload a child post that has slight variations from the parent post.
- 10/18/25 -
Simple Notice Ticker ⚠️ Uploads with fewer than 5 (five) tags and a variant tag WILL be denied ⚠️ - 09/15/25 - Flagspam, countrywars, and namefag posts must now be tagged meta:flagspam meta:countrywars or meta:namefags respectively. These tags may be blacklisted by users at will. Flagspam will be blocked by default.
- 07/07/25 - Questions, complaints, or suggestions? Send them to soysneed@soyjak.st or post in the complaint thread
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@Chud: not me but thanks
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Whats happening?
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Believing whatever the Paul wrote about sex being evil or things that Jesus never said is stupid doe
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Marge... why these two verses in particular? Is there something I'm missing?
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geeeeeeeeg
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.
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We gather with heavy hearts to remember Garf-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, Garf 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. Garf did not pretend. He was who he was.
Tragically, Garf 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, Garf.
You were seen. You are missed. You are loved.
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