Check in mail, Cairn. My daughters won't throw me a bone.
Last time one laughed, she was describing someone in emotional pain... I said do you want me to suckle them, took out my man titty (a la Adam Sandler football fan).
She spit out her drink.
I always go for the Spitting out the drink applause, so if we have great meeting after cult fed to wild hogs, gators, etc... Watch for it
Yes, blaming the experts is just advertising that one is a fool.
& we usually grieve our dead, not with Covid, can’t interrupt the flow of fear.
Chestfeeding. It's all getting a bit much. I wanna go back to 60s, flipping baseball cards
It's supposedly the mandatory jargon now in Britain. The mother is not a mother, either, but a "birthing person"!
All the way here, it looked like it couldn't get any more insane, but it did and it probably will.
Priming for *birthing machine* and swapping out body parts. That *grow a spare headless body* Frankensteinism.
Where they hope to stitch their stupid heads onto a young clone.
Cairn, I'm gonna go screaming into the night.
Except I'm a badass.
You make me laugh until I cry John .
Check in mail, Cairn. My daughters won't throw me a bone.
Last time one laughed, she was describing someone in emotional pain... I said do you want me to suckle them, took out my man titty (a la Adam Sandler football fan).
She spit out her drink.
I always go for the Spitting out the drink applause, so if we have great meeting after cult fed to wild hogs, gators, etc... Watch for it
That one elicited a chuckle and lasting grin.
Ray, I'm a loudmouth. Incorrigible. Breastfeeding from mama, because women are tendrr. Men will teach baby how to kill and maim commies.
How's that for London bus? Picture it and it shall be😎
Dr. Coleman was there for me, from the beginning. God love him
Coleman and Rappoport influenced me the most.
I'll! read Rapp. More
"If your site is Paid at the time of your funeral,..." My mind tells me it should read NOT Paid. Am I missing something?
You can prepay only for 25 years for a coffin funeral.
Very thoughtful and I love the picture!
America. Let America Be America Again
BY LANGSTON HUGHES
Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.
(America never was America to me.)
Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed—
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.
(It never was America to me.)
O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.
(There's never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.")
Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?
I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek—
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.
I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one's own greed!
I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean—
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.
Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That's made America the land it has become.
O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home—
For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore,
And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa's strand I came
To build a "homeland of the free."
The free?
Who said the free? Not me?
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we've dreamed
And all the songs we've sung
And all the hopes we've held
And all the flags we've hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay—
Except the dream that's almost dead today.
O, let America be America again—
The land that never has been yet—
And yet must be—the land where every man is free.
The land that's mine—the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME—
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.
Sure, call me any ugly name you choose—
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people's lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!
O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath—
America will be!
Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain—
All, all the stretch of these great green states—
And make America again!
Or enough respect to have an actual funeral rather than the insipid denial of eternity celebrations of life.
Considering the corpses of the victims during the "covid" fraud, definitely...
Funerals are a big strain on the grieving.