SoyBooru
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Because they're gemmy, seething raisinalian.
(he also made a cockroach woahjak but its unknown to explain why he larps himself as a mexican but he also upvoted in a old post where a idf greedy person burns himself or in a post about toonsoy in a book cover)
Sharia law and beheading for chud18
rye or whatever xe was called
nojakfan
warrior-z
some other snca nameflamboyant persons
Kernung
lowlight
blackskingemmy
plus i don't have any drawing skills so it's impossible for me to be fembooru
source?
BUT you do the rest of the things xhe does??
and wdym by doing the things fembooru does? you mean stirring up drama or what? either way, I can't draw like fembooru does
no like, maybe you larp as a foid using that fembooru account
Didn't deny the warrior-z claim btw
how the FUCK am I a Warrior-Z alt? I constantly raisin on islam and I've had speechbubbles with Warrior-noon multiple times, I'd have to be switching between accounts in seconds
We gather with heavy hearts to remember Junibooru-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, Junibooru 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. Junibooru did not pretend. He was who he was.
Tragically, Junibooru 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, Junibooru.
You were seen. You are missed. You are loved.
you're such a worthless flamboyant person all you can do is bootlick autistic raisinskins
I don't even bootlick him special
not even slightly funny award
spammed by degenerates award
hilarious award
spammed by normal people award
Thought You in particular could claim my art for Your Turkish Nationalism? Think again
You don't know raisin bro, go back.
Tvrk
EMOTIONAL DAMAGE
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.
We gather with heavy hearts to remember Antiswarthy-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, Antiswarthy 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. Antiswarthy did not pretend. He was who he was.
Tragically, Antiswarthy 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.
happy birthday to you
happy birthday to you
happy birthday
happy birthday to you