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1. playing with poopy
@finocide: 2. eating poopy
Pooping is for dweebs.
@Olgol: snca
@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.
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.
@Olgol: 183 Auburn Glen Dr SE, Calgary AB T3M 1P2, Canada
@korg: ts tuff boii
@Olgol: *pro-olgol activities
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.
[h1]In Loving Memory of Jimbo[/h1]
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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