Things you have an irrational hatred of

[spike]

They are all over here and most of the little dicks that own them don’t use them for towing anything. Just for show. Almost got run off the road by one this morning.

These are even more amazing when hayseeds drive them into big cities like Chicago. Look the fuck out.

[bodysnatcher]

They are all over here and most of the little dicks that own them don’t use them for towing anything. Just for show. Almost got run off the road by one this morning.

Yep. At most 1 out of 10 of them are used for a necessary purpose

[washing machine]

I hate these big trucks too, but at least in Texas they make sense. Everyone hits up someone they know who owns one come hurricane recovery or moving day.

[wease]

They are all over here and most of the little dicks that own them don’t use them for towing anything. Just for show. Almost got run off the road by one this morning.

It’s mostly MAGA moms driving them here.

[Higgs]

The wanker tree beside my driveway.

[knee tunes]

Yes clearly they should design their site for the several dozen ppl who rely primarily on the tab button to navigate

tab is fab

[E.H. Ruddock]

The wanker tree beside my driveway.

How many times have you hit it?

[Bammer]

The wanker tree beside my driveway.

How many times have you hit it?

How many threads have you posted in about it in the last 24 hours?

[Higgs]

The wanker tree beside my driveway.

How many times have you hit it?

How many threads have you posted in about it in the last 24 hours?

That tree is fucking dead.

[Jorge]

The wanker tree

My favorite Nick Cave album

[E.H. Ruddock]

I just heard the snipped of a country song called "We Need More Beer" and now I hate my day.

[JuanHamm]

I just heard the snipped of a country song called "We Need More Beer" and now I hate my day.

Because you don't have enough beer?

[E.H. Ruddock]

I just heard the snipped of a country song called "We Need More Beer" and now I hate my day.

Because you don't have enough beer?

No because the song was awful

[epilogue]

The wanker tree

My favorite Nick Cave album

[Higgs]

The wanker tree

My favorite Nick Cave album

Yep, this was great.

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[B]

"You have clicked a link to an external site. You will now be taken to that site. If the page doesn't load within [10...9...8] seconds, please click the following link."

Hey, what if you've never heard of the internet before?

[tree_]

when ppl and ads be like, "2 pair"

cause like, there're two, and a pair is two, so they get confused

cause usually if they say 3, or 4, they will say appropriately "pairs"

[Bammer]

When people do that rating thing and use X/10 when they should use X/5.

Example: 2/10 would not bang

Should be: 1/5 would not bang

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.