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Another month, another bag. Do I actually like this person, or do I just feel like I need them?
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The best track on this album is Mr Brightside, for no other reason than the kill count for miserable white guys who are getting cucked, friendzoned or are wrapped up in some delusional shit in their head is INSANE
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I came across a DARE shirt the other day in my size and almost got it, but the hardcore scene out here is hilariously straight edge and it might fall flat so I didn't :(
Feeling geriatric with this tweet 😭
I DIDNT EVEN REALIZE HER SHRIT SAID
“to resist drugs and violence”
until i saw some guy wear a t shirt with the same thing today
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Tranny Jackass but @realjknoxville shows up, hits a syringe of estrogen, and cries over a cat for 3h in the middle of the show before a hard cut to some girl taking a skateboard to the face
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What in the hell is a non gendered fucking bag I can use. A mf been carrying around a purse for years and like, binding and a purse doesn't make any sense
Help
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What are you and the gang doing on the 8th??
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I can't find that fuckass photo from the militia t-girl meetup where one girl was getting choked out with a rifle.
Dear god someone point me towards it 😭
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Fuck it, I need some camo pants from the surplus, my PAL and to go find some goobers to get an Okanagan brigade going. This shit looks fun 😭
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I tend to run around town looking like a gothed out tranny mess in a fucking vintage lip service trench coat, chains and a fuckload of black
I have a poppy on there lol
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POV: you added more shit to the BS thread
I'm giving up, this trans shit just isn't fucking worth it. I look in a fucking mirror and try to express myself in an authentic way, and just see a fucking freak. I dress how I want to and get read like a whole ass man.
I wish being trans and butch wasn't a fucking cope -
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I was in three separate chiors, and loved my voice. When the first cracks came I was distressed but tried to push past it thinking of if I tried hard enough it wouldn't happen.
A year later all that was left was a horrid falsetto and I ran away from it.
Baritone was death
I remember when I told my parents I didn't want my voice to go ugly.
I remember screaming as high as I could around every day, to check how much was gone.
Until one day, no sound came out.
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