You cried and pleaded for extensive welfare programs for niggers, spicks and other terrorists. The money had to come from somewhere!
Venturing into Space is the most important task for humanity. How else are we going to escape the escalating tide of subhuman negroid filth that threatens to engulf our planet?
First they came for the menial jobs. I never spoke out because I didn't have a menial job. Then they came for the unskilled laborer jobs. I never spoke out because I wasn't an unskilled laborer. Then they came for the skilled labor jobs. I never spoke out because I wasn't a skilled laborer. Then they came for the call center jobs. I never spoke out because I didn't work in a call center. Then they came for the middle management / clerical jobs. I never spoke out because that wasn't my job either. Then they came for the programmer's jobs. And there was no-one left in employment who wanted to help me.
FACT: This country is being hollowed out from the inside by filthy subhuman animals. An invasion of scum, often illegally entering the country, who are crawling their way into good jobs. Why? Because they are wanting to take everything over. We all know to what effect that 'positive discrimination' has altered employment practises. Now, instead of the most valuable person for the job, companies are obliged to employ rancid, workshy immigrants.
Of course, the animals want to get into good companies, so they in turn can influence management decisions to outsource further jobs to their cousins overseas. Thus destroying an entire nation.
From the lowliest Janitor to the highest executive, foreigners MUST be eliminated from our corporations.
THEY BREED FASTER THAN OURSELVES BECAUSE THEIR LIVES ARE WORTH LESS.
First they came for the menial jobs. I never spoke out because I didn't have a menial job.
Then they came for the unskilled laborer jobs. I never spoke out because I wasn't an unskilled laborer.
Then they came for the skilled labor jobs. I never spoke out because I wasn't a skilled laborer.
Then they came for the call center jobs. I never spoke out because I didn't work in a call center.
Then they came for the middle management / clerical jobs. I never spoke out because that wasn't my job either.
Then they came for the programmer's jobs. And there was no-one left in employment who wanted to help me.
FACT: This country is being hollowed out from the inside by filthy subhuman animals. An invasion of scum, often illegally entering the country, who are crawling their way into good jobs. Why? Because they are wanting to take everything over. We all know to what effect that 'positive discrimination' has altered employment practises. Now, instead of the most valuable person for the job, companies are obliged to employ rancid, workshy immigrants.
Of course, the animals want to get into good companies, so they in turn can influence management decisions to outsource further jobs to their cousins overseas. Thus destroying an entire nation.
From the lowliest Janitor to the highest executive, foreigners MUST be eliminated from our corporations.
THEY BREED FASTER THAN OURSELVES BECAUSE THEIR LIVES ARE WORTH LESS.
How much does this fag-hag whore get paid? I wonder if the money she lost from her wasted half-day couldn't have been better invested in a copy of Windows XP?
Given the amount of filthy pakis and other subhuman islamics that infest the once capital-of-the-civilized-world, it wouldn't be surprising to learn that they would leave little Al Qaeda communications around popular landmarks. Would definitely boost Terrorism.
Shutters click as cameras capture the publicity stills, the pictures that will be on the cover of every magazine this week. This is how the world will remember the Olsen twins: matching tight pink blouses highlighting firm, buoyant adolescent breasts, tight black jeans suggesting a level of sexual experience which the twins do not, in fact, possess.
When the pictures are complete, the twins are turned so that they stand facing one another. Their arms are held behind their backs. The bailiffs bring a pair of cuffs for each girl. The cuffs have no keyholes; they are not designed to be removed. This fact is not lost on the girls, who begin to sob helplessly as they feel sharp steel close around their slender wrists.
Twin winches hum to life, pulling the girls up onto the balls of their naked feet. They begin to strangle almost immediately. They emit tormented gurgling sounds as boiled hemp digs into their tender throats. Quivering lips strip a couple more years off their apparent age. Their increasingly desperate facial expressions confirm that the Olsen girls are in no way prepared for the sudden pain. They have led lives of comfort and pampered privilege. They have never known suffering, until now.
The winches fall quiet, their cruel work done. This is where the girls will remain: in that place where the pain is psychologically overwhelming but not physically dangerous, in that horrible place where they could, perhaps, remain forever.
Still, this is an execution. And so the girls must not remain on their toes forever. They listen carefully as the announcer explains the rules of the game. He makes it sound erotic and exciting, and that is surely how the audience sees it. But it does not sound erotic and exciting to Ashley or Mary-Kate. Indeed, it fills their hearts with an almost limitless dread.
If nothing else happens, then in one hour's time, twin trapdoors will open beneath the girls' feet. Because they are already on their toes, there's no chance that their necks will snap. They will have to dance themselves to death--a process which, the announcer explains, could take up to an hour, because the twins don't weigh very much, and because their nooses have been tied loose.
If, on the other hand, one of the girls chooses to take action, she can buy herself a quick, easy death. As the announcer speaks, bailiffs slip small cylindrical remote control units into Ashley's right hand and Mary-Kate's left. If either girl pushes her button, then her winch will lower her down onto the gallows platform, while the trapdoor drops out from under her sister's feet. She may watch in comfort, her breathing perfectly unrestricted, while her sister endures a terminal slow hang. The girl who pushed her button will then have earned a neck-snapping long drop.
The moment the announcer finishes his introduction, the twins begin to negotiate through their tears. At first they are selfless, altruistic:
"You have to drop me, Mary-Kate," Ashley whimpers. Her voice is thick and rough. The noose is tight, and it hurts to speak. "You're my baby sister. I have to take care of you. I can't bear to watch you hang!"
"Baby sister? You're two minutes older than me, Ashley! And how do you think I'd feel, if I had to watch you spend an hour strangling to death? No way! We'll die together!"
"Don't be stupid, Mary." A little anger surfaces now, through the pain, through the laborious breathing which is required to get even a few words out. "Do you know how much that'll hurt?
"Hurts now," Mary-Kate replies. She is being economical with her words, for each one costs her dearly.
"Yes. And we're still on our toes. Airdance...much worse."
"Scared," says Mary-Kate.
"Then push the button."
The girls perspire as they suffer. The thin pink cotton of their tight tops sticks to their skin; the wet fabric is slightly translucent. Naturally, they wear no bras. Their taut, pouting young breasts press up through their blouses, yearning towards the heaven th
Shutters click as cameras capture the publicity stills, the pictures that will be on the cover of every magazine this week. This is how the world will remember the Olsen twins: matching tight pink blouses highlighting firm, buoyant adolescent breasts, tight black jeans suggesting a level of sexual experience which the twins do not, in fact, possess.
When the pictures are complete, the twins are turned so that they stand facing one another. Their arms are held behind their backs. The bailiffs bring a pair of cuffs for each girl. The cuffs have no keyholes; they are not designed to be removed. This fact is not lost on the girls, who begin to sob helplessly as they feel sharp steel close around their slender wrists.
Twin winches hum to life, pulling the girls up onto the balls of their naked feet. They begin to strangle almost immediately. They emit tormented gurgling sounds as boiled hemp digs into their tender throats. Quivering lips strip a couple more years off their apparent age. Their increasingly desperate facial expressions confirm that the Olsen girls are in no way prepared for the sudden pain. They have led lives of comfort and pampered privilege. They have never known suffering, until now.
The winches fall quiet, their cruel work done. This is where the girls will remain: in that place where the pain is psychologically overwhelming but not physically dangerous, in that horrible place where they could, perhaps, remain forever.
Still, this is an execution. And so the girls must not remain on their toes forever. They listen carefully as the announcer explains the rules of the game. He makes it sound erotic and exciting, and that is surely how the audience sees it. But it does not sound erotic and exciting to Ashley or Mary-Kate. Indeed, it fills their hearts with an almost limitless dread.
If nothing else happens, then in one hour's time, twin trapdoors will open beneath the girls' feet. Because they are already on their toes, there's no chance that their necks will snap. They will have to dance themselves to death--a process which, the announcer explains, could take up to an hour, because the twins don't weigh very much, and because their nooses have been tied loose.
If, on the other hand, one of the girls chooses to take action, she can buy herself a quick, easy death. As the announcer speaks, bailiffs slip small cylindrical remote control units into Ashley's right hand and Mary-Kate's left. If either girl pushes her button, then her winch will lower her down onto the gallows platform, while the trapdoor drops out from under her sister's feet. She may watch in comfort, her breathing perfectly unrestricted, while her sister endures a terminal slow hang. The girl who pushed her button will then have earned a neck-snapping long drop.
The moment the announcer finishes his introduction, the twins begin to negotiate through their tears. At first they are selfless, altruistic:
"You have to drop me, Mary-Kate," Ashley whimpers. Her voice is thick and rough. The noose is tight, and it hurts to speak. "You're my baby sister. I have to take care of you. I can't bear to watch you hang!"
"Baby sister? You're two minutes older than me, Ashley! And how do you think I'd feel, if I had to watch you spend an hour strangling to death? No way! We'll die together!"
"Don't be stupid, Mary." A little anger surfaces now, through the pain, through the laborious breathing which is required to get even a few words out. "Do you know how much that'll hurt?
"Hurts now," Mary-Kate replies. She is being economical with her words, for each one costs her dearly.
"Yes. And we're still on our toes. Airdance...much worse."
"Scared," says Mary-Kate.
"Then push the button."
The girls perspire as they suffer. The thin pink cotton of their tight tops sticks to their skin; the wet fabric is slightly translucent. Naturally, they wear no bras. Their taut, pouting young breasts press up through their blouses, yearning towards the heaven the
It is official; Netcraft confirms: Warhammer Online is dying
One more crippling bombshell hit the already beleaguered Warhammer Online community when IDC confirmed that Warhammer Online market share has dropped yet again, now down to less than a fraction of 1 percent of all servers. Coming on the heels of a recent Netcraft survey which plainly states that Warhammer Online has lost more market share, this news serves to reinforce what we've known all along. Warhammer Online is collapsing in complete disarray, as fittingly exemplified by failing dead last in the recent MMORPG Usage Audit.
You don't need to be Emperor Sigmar to predict Warhammer Online's future. The runes are on the wall: Warhammer Online faces a bleak future. In fact there won't be any future at all for Warhammer Online because Warhammer Online is dying. Things are looking very bad for Warhammer Online. As many of us are already aware, Warhammer Online continues to lose market share. Red ink flows like a river of blood.
Warhammer Online is the most endangered of them all, having lost 93% of its core developers. The sudden and unpleasant departures of long time Warhammer Online developers Jervis Johnson and Redd Harvest only serve to underscore the point more clearly. There can no longer be any doubt: Warhammer Online is dying.
Let's keep to the facts and look at the numbers.
Warhammer Online leader Jotrik states that there are 7000 users of Warhammer Online. How many users of Everquest are there? Let's see. The number of Warhammer Online versus Everquest posts on Usenet is roughly in ratio of 5 to 1. Therefore there are about 7000/5 = 1400 Everquest users. Warhammer Online++ posts on Usenet are about half of the volume of Everquest posts. Therefore there are about 700 users of Warhammer Online++. A recent article put Everquest at about 80 percent of the MMORPG market. Therefore there are (7000+1400+700)*4 = 36400 Warhammer Online users. This is consistent with the number of Warhammer Online Usenet posts.
Due to the troubles of Nottingham, abysmal sales and so on, Warhammer Online went out of business and was taken over by SoE who sell another troubled MMORPG. Now Everquest is also dead, its corpse turned over to yet another charnel house.
All major surveys show that Warhammer Online has steadily declined in market share. Warhammer Online is very sick and its long term survival prospects are very dim. If Warhammer Online is to survive at all it will be among language dilettante dabblers. Warhammer Online continues to decay. Nothing short of a miracle could save it at this point in time. For all practical purposes, Warhammer Online is dead.
Islamics are "vermin". Give this terrorist wannabe a few more posts and he'll claim it's all YOUR fault for making him communicate using a real language, instead of all that hollering backwards crap.
Re:Prediction: Passive/Agressive Canadian Response
on
Spammer Apologizes
·
· Score: -1
Conclusive proof that islamics deserve to be minced into dogfood.
In my haste to obtain the coveted 'First Post' of a non-frontpage article, I neglected to clarify the most salient point of my prior posting.
Ergo, let it be known that 'ANAL WEAR' refers to the natural attrition caused to the rectum of a regular practitioner of anal sex (q.v. Slashbot), and NOT to the possibility of clothing directly related to, or draped around, the anus.
Slashdot Mirror
You.
1. Rename hello.jpg to MVC-630F.jpg
2. Place in Kazaa folder
3. ????
4. Profit
You realise that animation's got more acting ability in it than the real Episode III, don't you?
You cried and pleaded for extensive welfare programs for niggers, spicks and other terrorists. The money had to come from somewhere!
Venturing into Space is the most important task for humanity. How else are we going to escape the escalating tide of subhuman negroid filth that threatens to engulf our planet?
First they came for the menial jobs. I never spoke out because I didn't have a menial job.
Then they came for the unskilled laborer jobs. I never spoke out because I wasn't an unskilled laborer.
Then they came for the skilled labor jobs. I never spoke out because I wasn't a skilled laborer.
Then they came for the call center jobs. I never spoke out because I didn't work in a call center.
Then they came for the middle management / clerical jobs. I never spoke out because that wasn't my job either.
Then they came for the programmer's jobs. And there was no-one left in employment who wanted to help me.
FACT: This country is being hollowed out from the inside by filthy subhuman animals. An invasion of scum, often illegally entering the country, who are crawling their way into good jobs. Why? Because they are wanting to take everything over. We all know to what effect that 'positive discrimination' has altered employment practises. Now, instead of the most valuable person for the job, companies are obliged to employ rancid, workshy immigrants.
Of course, the animals want to get into good companies, so they in turn can influence management decisions to outsource further jobs to their cousins overseas. Thus destroying an entire nation.
From the lowliest Janitor to the highest executive, foreigners MUST be eliminated from our corporations.
THEY BREED FASTER THAN OURSELVES BECAUSE THEIR LIVES ARE WORTH LESS.
First they came for the menial jobs. I never spoke out because I didn't have a menial job. Then they came for the unskilled laborer jobs. I never spoke out because I wasn't an unskilled laborer. Then they came for the skilled labor jobs. I never spoke out because I wasn't a skilled laborer. Then they came for the call center jobs. I never spoke out because I didn't work in a call center. Then they came for the middle management / clerical jobs. I never spoke out because that wasn't my job either. Then they came for the programmer's jobs. And there was no-one left in employment who wanted to help me. FACT: This country is being hollowed out from the inside by filthy subhuman animals. An invasion of scum, often illegally entering the country, who are crawling their way into good jobs. Why? Because they are wanting to take everything over. We all know to what effect that 'positive discrimination' has altered employment practises. Now, instead of the most valuable person for the job, companies are obliged to employ rancid, workshy immigrants. Of course, the animals want to get into good companies, so they in turn can influence management decisions to outsource further jobs to their cousins overseas. Thus destroying an entire nation. From the lowliest Janitor to the highest executive, foreigners MUST be eliminated from our corporations. THEY BREED FASTER THAN OURSELVES BECAUSE THEIR LIVES ARE WORTH LESS.
Joke time:
Q. What's better than having a bluetooth enabled hearing aid?
A. Not being deaf!
Many people wish they could.
How much does this fag-hag whore get paid? I wonder if the money she lost from her wasted half-day couldn't have been better invested in a copy of Windows XP?
Given the amount of filthy pakis and other subhuman islamics that infest the once capital-of-the-civilized-world, it wouldn't be surprising to learn that they would leave little Al Qaeda communications around popular landmarks. Would definitely boost Terrorism.
Shutters click as cameras capture the publicity stills, the pictures that will be on the cover of every magazine this week. This is how the world will remember the Olsen twins: matching tight pink blouses highlighting firm, buoyant adolescent breasts, tight black jeans suggesting a level of sexual experience which the twins do not, in fact, possess.
When the pictures are complete, the twins are turned so that they stand facing one another. Their arms are held behind their backs. The bailiffs bring a pair of cuffs for each girl. The cuffs have no keyholes; they are not designed to be removed. This fact is not lost on the girls, who begin to sob helplessly as they feel sharp steel close around their slender wrists.
Twin winches hum to life, pulling the girls up onto the balls of their naked feet. They begin to strangle almost immediately. They emit tormented gurgling sounds as boiled hemp digs into their tender throats. Quivering lips strip a couple more years off their apparent age. Their increasingly desperate facial expressions confirm that the Olsen girls are in no way prepared for the sudden pain. They have led lives of comfort and pampered privilege. They have never known suffering, until now.
The winches fall quiet, their cruel work done. This is where the girls will remain: in that place where the pain is psychologically overwhelming but not physically dangerous, in that horrible place where they could, perhaps, remain forever.
Still, this is an execution. And so the girls must not remain on their toes forever. They listen carefully as the announcer explains the rules of the game. He makes it sound erotic and exciting, and that is surely how the audience sees it. But it does not sound erotic and exciting to Ashley or Mary-Kate. Indeed, it fills their hearts with an almost limitless dread.
If nothing else happens, then in one hour's time, twin trapdoors will open beneath the girls' feet. Because they are already on their toes, there's no chance that their necks will snap. They will have to dance themselves to death--a process which, the announcer explains, could take up to an hour, because the twins don't weigh very much, and because their nooses have been tied loose.
If, on the other hand, one of the girls chooses to take action, she can buy herself a quick, easy death. As the announcer speaks, bailiffs slip small cylindrical remote control units into Ashley's right hand and Mary-Kate's left. If either girl pushes her button, then her winch will lower her down onto the gallows platform, while the trapdoor drops out from under her sister's feet. She may watch in comfort, her breathing perfectly unrestricted, while her sister endures a terminal slow hang. The girl who pushed her button will then have earned a neck-snapping long drop.
The moment the announcer finishes his introduction, the twins begin to negotiate through their tears. At first they are selfless, altruistic:
"You have to drop me, Mary-Kate," Ashley whimpers. Her voice is thick and rough. The noose is tight, and it hurts to speak. "You're my baby sister. I have to take care of you. I can't bear to watch you hang!"
"Baby sister? You're two minutes older than me, Ashley! And how do you think I'd feel, if I had to watch you spend an hour strangling to death? No way! We'll die together!"
"Don't be stupid, Mary." A little anger surfaces now, through the pain, through the laborious breathing which is required to get even a few words out. "Do you know how much that'll hurt?
"Hurts now," Mary-Kate replies. She is being economical with her words, for each one costs her dearly.
"Yes. And we're still on our toes. Airdance...much worse."
"Scared," says Mary-Kate.
"Then push the button."
The girls perspire as they suffer. The thin pink cotton of their tight tops sticks to their skin; the wet fabric is slightly translucent. Naturally, they wear no bras. Their taut, pouting young breasts press up through their blouses, yearning towards the heaven th
You fail to note that all the French who died were shot in the back.
Shutters click as cameras capture the publicity stills, the pictures that will be on the cover of every magazine this week. This is how the world will remember the Olsen twins: matching tight pink blouses highlighting firm, buoyant adolescent breasts, tight black jeans suggesting a level of sexual experience which the twins do not, in fact, possess.
When the pictures are complete, the twins are turned so that they stand facing one another. Their arms are held behind their backs. The bailiffs bring a pair of cuffs for each girl. The cuffs have no keyholes; they are not designed to be removed. This fact is not lost on the girls, who begin to sob helplessly as they feel sharp steel close around their slender wrists.
Twin winches hum to life, pulling the girls up onto the balls of their naked feet. They begin to strangle almost immediately. They emit tormented gurgling sounds as boiled hemp digs into their tender throats. Quivering lips strip a couple more years off their apparent age. Their increasingly desperate facial expressions confirm that the Olsen girls are in no way prepared for the sudden pain. They have led lives of comfort and pampered privilege. They have never known suffering, until now.
The winches fall quiet, their cruel work done. This is where the girls will remain: in that place where the pain is psychologically overwhelming but not physically dangerous, in that horrible place where they could, perhaps, remain forever.
Still, this is an execution. And so the girls must not remain on their toes forever. They listen carefully as the announcer explains the rules of the game. He makes it sound erotic and exciting, and that is surely how the audience sees it. But it does not sound erotic and exciting to Ashley or Mary-Kate. Indeed, it fills their hearts with an almost limitless dread.
If nothing else happens, then in one hour's time, twin trapdoors will open beneath the girls' feet. Because they are already on their toes, there's no chance that their necks will snap. They will have to dance themselves to death--a process which, the announcer explains, could take up to an hour, because the twins don't weigh very much, and because their nooses have been tied loose.
If, on the other hand, one of the girls chooses to take action, she can buy herself a quick, easy death. As the announcer speaks, bailiffs slip small cylindrical remote control units into Ashley's right hand and Mary-Kate's left. If either girl pushes her button, then her winch will lower her down onto the gallows platform, while the trapdoor drops out from under her sister's feet. She may watch in comfort, her breathing perfectly unrestricted, while her sister endures a terminal slow hang. The girl who pushed her button will then have earned a neck-snapping long drop.
The moment the announcer finishes his introduction, the twins begin to negotiate through their tears. At first they are selfless, altruistic:
"You have to drop me, Mary-Kate," Ashley whimpers. Her voice is thick and rough. The noose is tight, and it hurts to speak. "You're my baby sister. I have to take care of you. I can't bear to watch you hang!"
"Baby sister? You're two minutes older than me, Ashley! And how do you think I'd feel, if I had to watch you spend an hour strangling to death? No way! We'll die together!"
"Don't be stupid, Mary." A little anger surfaces now, through the pain, through the laborious breathing which is required to get even a few words out. "Do you know how much that'll hurt?
"Hurts now," Mary-Kate replies. She is being economical with her words, for each one costs her dearly.
"Yes. And we're still on our toes. Airdance...much worse."
"Scared," says Mary-Kate.
"Then push the button."
The girls perspire as they suffer. The thin pink cotton of their tight tops sticks to their skin; the wet fabric is slightly translucent. Naturally, they wear no bras. Their taut, pouting young breasts press up through their blouses, yearning towards the heaven the
Imagine a beowulf cluster of these...
UP MY ASS!
Give this man some positive mods!
You've gotta FIGHT!
For your RIGHT!
To Ppprrrroooo-fit!
Aren't you only allowed to install Linux over there if it's on a Headless Server?
It is official; Netcraft confirms: Warhammer Online is dying
One more crippling bombshell hit the already beleaguered Warhammer Online community when IDC confirmed that Warhammer Online market share has dropped yet again, now down to less than a fraction of 1 percent of all servers. Coming on the heels of a recent Netcraft survey which plainly states that Warhammer Online has lost more market share, this news serves to reinforce what we've known all along. Warhammer Online is collapsing in complete disarray, as fittingly exemplified by failing dead last in the recent MMORPG Usage Audit.
You don't need to be Emperor Sigmar to predict Warhammer Online's future. The runes are on the wall: Warhammer Online faces a bleak future. In fact there won't be any future at all for Warhammer Online because Warhammer Online is dying. Things are looking very bad for Warhammer Online. As many of us are already aware, Warhammer Online continues to lose market share. Red ink flows like a river of blood.
Warhammer Online is the most endangered of them all, having lost 93% of its core developers. The sudden and unpleasant departures of long time Warhammer Online developers Jervis Johnson and Redd Harvest only serve to underscore the point more clearly. There can no longer be any doubt: Warhammer Online is dying.
Let's keep to the facts and look at the numbers.
Warhammer Online leader Jotrik states that there are 7000 users of Warhammer Online. How many users of Everquest are there? Let's see. The number of Warhammer Online versus Everquest posts on Usenet is roughly in ratio of 5 to 1. Therefore there are about 7000/5 = 1400 Everquest users. Warhammer Online++ posts on Usenet are about half of the volume of Everquest posts. Therefore there are about 700 users of Warhammer Online++. A recent article put Everquest at about 80 percent of the MMORPG market. Therefore there are (7000+1400+700)*4 = 36400 Warhammer Online users. This is consistent with the number of Warhammer Online Usenet posts.
Due to the troubles of Nottingham, abysmal sales and so on, Warhammer Online went out of business and was taken over by SoE who sell another troubled MMORPG. Now Everquest is also dead, its corpse turned over to yet another charnel house.
All major surveys show that Warhammer Online has steadily declined in market share. Warhammer Online is very sick and its long term survival prospects are very dim. If Warhammer Online is to survive at all it will be among language dilettante dabblers. Warhammer Online continues to decay. Nothing short of a miracle could save it at this point in time. For all practical purposes, Warhammer Online is dead.
Fact: Warhammer Online is dying
This one's for all the innocents murdered in the name of islam!
(And before the naysayers make comment on the inverse, rest assured there's no such thing as an innocent islamic.)
I agree with this post!
You really are a callous, pathetic little shit, aren't you?
Ask Paul Johnson's family if they'd have preferred him to have the 'void of death'. No, wait, he didn't have the fucking choice, did he?
Stop playing at being an angst ridden loser and look out at the real world for once.
You're a disgrace to humanity.
Islamics are "vermin". Give this terrorist wannabe a few more posts and he'll claim it's all YOUR fault for making him communicate using a real language, instead of all that hollering backwards crap.
Conclusive proof that islamics deserve to be minced into dogfood.
In my haste to obtain the coveted 'First Post' of a non-frontpage article, I neglected to clarify the most salient point of my prior posting.
Ergo, let it be known that 'ANAL WEAR' refers to the natural attrition caused to the rectum of a regular practitioner of anal sex (q.v. Slashbot), and NOT to the possibility of clothing directly related to, or draped around, the anus.
Thank you.
ANAL WEAR more like!
Fist Sport!