Current Affairs Donald Trump POS: Judgement cometh and that right soon
- Thread starter kithnou
- Start date
- Status
summerisle
The rain, it raineth every day
Her name is just a Bart prank telephone call.
Tommy Chong
Player Valuation: £70m
The epitome of creepy.
Karaoke night on Epstein's island...
You can just see them singing a duet.
Haha...both fair points. Was finishing up a beer and just typing out a jet-stream of nonsense. I'm not planning on reading it this morning.
dylsexicbleu
Player Valuation: £8m
BuT nO ONe iS aBovE tHE lAw!!
Tommy Chong
Player Valuation: £70m
a WUM mate...
In a world before speed cameras, for some reason a black man at the wheel of a car in the 50's was arrested and jailed. And that applies to telling lies about defrauding your own campaign for a run for president by shuffling cash around to someone you paid for sex on the quiet how exactly?
Tommy Chong
Player Valuation: £70m
A symptom of a spoilt country, to used to their own way for to long. The winds of change have arrived, and no amount of pouting and crying foul will alter it.
The time you won your town the race
We chaired you through the market-place;
Man and boy stood cheering by,
And home we brought you shoulder-high.
Today, the road all runners come,
Shoulder-high we bring you home,
And set you at your threshold down,
Townsman of a stiller town.
Smart lad, to slip betimes away
From fields where glory does not stay,
And early though the laurel grows
It withers quicker than the rose.
Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers
After earth has stopped the ears.
Now you will not swell the rout
Of lads that wore their honours out,
Runners whom renown outran
And the name died before the man.
So set, before its echoes fade,
The fleet foot on the sill of shade,
And hold to the low lintel up
The still-defended challenge-cup.
And round that early-laurelled head
Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,
And find unwithered on its curls
The garland briefer than a girl’s.
The time you won your town the race
We chaired you through the market-place;
Man and boy stood cheering by,
And home we brought you shoulder-high.
Today, the road all runners come,
Shoulder-high we bring you home,
And set you at your threshold down,
Townsman of a stiller town.
Smart lad, to slip betimes away
From fields where glory does not stay,
And early though the laurel grows
It withers quicker than the rose.
Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers
After earth has stopped the ears.
Now you will not swell the rout
Of lads that wore their honours out,
Runners whom renown outran
And the name died before the man.
So set, before its echoes fade,
The fleet foot on the sill of shade,
And hold to the low lintel up
The still-defended challenge-cup.
And round that early-laurelled head
Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,
And find unwithered on its curls
The garland briefer than a girl’s.
Tommy Chong
Player Valuation: £70m
Like shooting fish in a barrel.
Kopites and Trump supporters are both cut from the same cloth.
You don't even have to make an effort and you'll make a killing.
summerisle
The rain, it raineth every day
- Status