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Cogito ergo doleo - jeg tenker ergo er jeg deprimert

 

Catapultam habeo. Nisi pecuniam omnem mihi dabis, ad caput tuum saxum immane mittam - Jeg har en katapult. Gi meg alle pengene, eller slynger jeg en gigantisk stein mot ditt hode

 

og for alle nerder

 

Se auderis delere orbem rigidum meum! - våg ikke slette min harddisk!

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  • 5 uker senere...

Fuck me? Fuck you! Fuck you and this whole city and everyone in it. Fuck the panhandlers, grubbing for money, and smiling at me behind my back. Fuck squeegee men dirtying up the clean windshield of my car. Get a fucking job! Fuck the Sikhs and the Pakistanis bombing down the avenues in decrepit cabs, curry steaming out their pores and stinking up my day. Terrorists in fucking training. Slow the fuck down! Fuck the Chelsea boys with their waxed chests and pumped up biceps. Going down on each other in my parks and on my piers, jingling their dicks on my Channel 35. Fuck the Korean grocers with their pyramids of overpriced fruit and their tulips and roses wrapped in plastic. Ten years in the country, still no speaky English? Fuck the Russians in Brighton Beach. Mobster thugs sitting in cafés, sipping tea in little glasses, sugar cubes between their teeth. Wheelin' and dealin' and schemin'. Go back where you fucking came from! Fuck the black-hatted Chassidim, strolling up and down 47th street in their dirty gabardine with their dandruff. Selling South African apartheid diamonds! Fuck the Wall Street brokers. Self-styled masters of the universe. Michael Douglas, Gordon Gecko wannabe mother fuckers, figuring out new ways to rob hard working people blind. Send those Enron assholes to jail for fucking life! You think Bush and Cheney didn't know about that shit? Give me a fucking break! Tyco! Inclone! Adelphia! Worldcom! Fuck the Puerto Ricans. 20 to a car, swelling up the welfare rolls, worst fuckin' parade in the city. And don't even get me started on the Dom-in-i-cans, because they make the Puerto Ricans look good. Fuck the Bensonhurst Italians with their palmaded hair, their nylon warm-up suits, and their St. Anthony medallions. Swinging their, Jason Giambi, Louisville slugger, baseball bats, trying to audition for the Sopranos. Fuck the Upper East Side wives with their Armani scarves and their fifty-dollar Balducci artichokes. Overfed faces getting pulled and lifted and stretched, all taut and shiny. You're not fooling anybody, sweetheart! Fuck the uptown brothers. They never pass the ball, they don't want to play defense, they take fives steps on every lay-up to the hoop. And then they want to turn around and blame everything on the white man. Slavery ended one hundred and thirty seven years ago. Move the fuck on! Fuck the corrupt cops with their anus violating plungers and their 41 shots, standing behind a blue wall of silence. You betray our trust! Fuck the priests who put their hands down some innocent child's pants. Fuck the church that protects them, delivering us into evil. And while you're at it, fuck JC! He got off easy! A day on the cross, a weekend in hell, and all the hallelujahs of the legioned angels for eternity! Try seven years in fuckin' Otisville, Jay! Fuck Osama Bin Laden, Alqueda, and backward-ass, cave-dwelling, fundamentalist assholes everywhere. On the names of innocent thousands murdered, I pray you spend the rest of eternity with your seventy-two whores roasting in a jet-fueled fire in hell. You towel headed camel jockeys can kiss my royal, Irish ass!

*grin* *grin* *grin* *grin* *grin* *grin* *grin* *grin*

Endret av Kebab GUD
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Through me the way is to the city dolent;

Through me the way is to eternal dole;

Through me the way among the people lost.

 

Justice incited my sublime Creator;

Created me divine Omnipotence,

The highest Wisdom and the primal Love.

 

Before me there were no created things,

Only eterne, and I eternal last.

All hope abandon, ye who enter in!

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En Pesimist er en optimist med erfaring

 

I find thy form ape-like and misshapen. Furthermore, the beard that doth cover your face looks like something that should cover the back end of a scaborous mongrel. Pray, tell, didst thine mother, in some wild fit of lechery, did dally with a randy goat

 

Hvor har du, Kebab Gud, hentet det du skrev rett over her fra? Det var noe veldig kjent ved det, men nett nå har spekulatoren gått i vranglås, og jo mer jeg funderer, jo lengre kommer jeg fra svaret. :roll:

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Kom nettop på et sitat/spørsmål som jeg så på en signatur på et annet forum:

 

Kor mang divisjona har Paven?? HÆ??? - Sint Josef Stalin etter et stabsmøte i 1939

 

:lol:

Artig den der ;) Det var vel slik at Stalin ble spurt om han ville alliere seg med Paven, og uttalte følgende:

 

The Pope! how many divisions has he got?

 

Og når Paven mange år senere hørte hva Stalin hadde sagt svarte han:

 

Tell my son Josef that he will meet my divisions in eternity.
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