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Many, many years ago, I was seventeen years old and at my friend Sharon's house. Sharon's uncle was old dude who used to traffic me. We'll just call him Old Dude from now on. He was supposed to have moved to Atlanta, so I could visit now without having to worry about being roofied and sold or sold dead awake. Sharon was an intense friend; I was under the impression that she needed me. Maybe I needed her; I wasn't great at making close friends. Sharon was under five feet and over three hundred pounds, otherwise pretty with long black hair and deep blue eyes (blue like her uncle's eyes), and white, white skin with a rosy face and very big white breasts. She was a witch; I was with her for a while there. Sometimes she was Christian. Sharon's boyfriend's name was Peter and he was a reasonably tall and solid bright-complexioned black guy, and I didn't know why he dated Sharon because she could come off super-racist. Her mom was a sweetheart, but one day she asked me if I was a sand-n-word. I didn't know what that was. Anyway, Sharon was a chip off the old block but not as nice. She could be mean as fuck. She had sharp toenails and once kicked me in (in) the breast with one of them. Sharon and Peter were in their room fucking, over and over again, while I tried to sleep. Despite neither of them being my type, I was kind of turned on by it, but I was dating Handsome at the time and really couldn't imagine myself in a threesome with Sharon and Peter. I went to the bathroom. Tried to use it, feeling nervous, looking at the syringe imprint on the beige wall. My parents were great but they weren't very observant. I wouldn't let my kid stay the night where there was a syringe imprint in the wall; that's a tip of the iceberg kind of thing. The door burst open. "Hey!" crooned Old Dude. Old Dude was skinny like a whip, muscular, despite his crack addiction my physical superior. "Get the fuck out of the bathroom!" I yelled, getting up to push him out of there. He grabbed a hold of me and started rubbing me. "You're wet." I remembered him killing the cat, while he held onto me and I tried to stop him. I saw him in the mirror. A handsome devil, not quite as handsome as when I met him. "Not. For. You." "I'm going to fuck you in the ass, this time." I grabbed the first thing I saw, a toothbrush, and lodged it into his eye without thinking about it. "OW!" he screamed, and he smashed my head into the porcelain sink. I was a genius as a little kid; this kind of treatment left me permanently brain damaged. I saw red, blood in my eyes, took my pocketbook off of my shoulder (went everywhere with it; it had helped me with self-defence before) and looped it around his neck three times so swiftly you'd think I was some kind of cow-person. Pulled in opposite directions. He grabbed at his neck but I kept pulling. "You shouldn't have threatened my mama," I told him. "And my dad; that was a big no-no. I bet you didn't expect to run across someone as crazy as you, but you did it to me, and I'd rather be a murderer than be you any day. Shouldn't have killed poor Mitzy in front of me, holding onto me as you did. I'm going to murder you for that cat. She was more valuable than you." The toothbrush was still in his eye. I lodged it deeper and his eye popped out of his head, hanging by the optic nerve and vein. I puked and thanks to my brain damaged perception (which would be eventually diagnosed as schizoaffective disorder; I was biologically prone to bipolar disorder and my damaged perception would make me hallucinate in real time), I stepped outside of myself and watched me do what I did. "How do you like that? You like foreign objects in your body, Old Dude?" I yelled at him. Sharon and her mom were convinced their house was haunted, which might explain why we were so rarely caught in these fights. Sharon's dad was an alcoholic, passed out on his couch. Sharon's mom was always working. And I was convinced Sharon had schizophrenia, so screams might leave her paralyzed in bed. I watched me kick his legs out, stepping on him, still choking him as if I were his executioner. My dad once said to me, "I don't believe in vigilante justice." Maybe I was disappointing him. My dad was very nice, a grouch, but a good person. "Do you think you should be judge, jury, and executioner?" "Shut the fuck up!" I yelled at the non-corporeal form of my dad. I started counting. I was going to count to 500, but at three hundred, Old Dude wasn't breathing. I couldn't hear his heart. I was at the thresh-hold of being a second degree murderer, first degree if you realized I'd wanted to kill him for a very long time. I wasn't going to give him mouth to mouth. Christ, he didn't deserve it. I got up and kicked him in the ribs. "Wake up!" I screamed at him. Kicked him hard again. He awoke. He couldn't get up. "You cunt!" he rasped at me, dragging himself out of the bathroom. "You horrible whore! You no-account ugly slut! I'll never fuck you again, I swear!" "Awesome. Call 911. I won't do it for you. Otherwise, I think you'll die." On Monday, Sharon came to class, half-amused, with a story about how the mob tried to execute her uncle and failed. "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm not. He's a dick." I was a free woman. A relatively normal one. Tomboys were a dime a dozen. I put these things in a locked compartment in my mind and promised myself not to think about it for a while.
Many, many years ago, I was seventeen years old and at my friend Sharon's house. Sharon's uncle was old dude who used to traffic me. We'll just call him Old Dude from now on. He was supposed to have moved to Atlanta, so I could visit now without having to worry about being roofied and sold or sold dead awake. Sharon was an intense friend; I was under the impression that she needed me. Maybe I needed her; I wasn't great at making close friends. Sharon was under five feet and over three hundred pounds, otherwise pretty with long black hair and deep blue eyes (blue like her uncle's eyes), and white, white skin with a rosy face and very big white breasts. She was a witch; I was with her for a while there. Sometimes she was Christian. Sharon's boyfriend's name was Peter and he was a reasonably tall and solid bright-complexioned black guy, and I didn't know why he dated Sharon because she could come off super-racist. Her mom was a sweetheart, but one day she asked me if I was a sand-n-word. I didn't know what that was. Anyway, Sharon was a chip off the old block but not as nice. She could be mean as fuck. She had sharp toenails and once kicked me in (in) the breast with one of them. Sharon and Peter were in their room fucking, over and over again, while I tried to sleep. Despite neither of them being my type, I was kind of turned on by it, but I was dating Handsome at the time and really couldn't imagine myself in a threesome with Sharon and Peter. I went to the bathroom. Tried to use it, feeling nervous, looking at the syringe imprint on the beige wall. My parents were great but they weren't very observant. I wouldn't let my kid stay the night where there was a syringe imprint in the wall; that's a tip of the iceberg kind of thing. The door burst open. "Hey!" crooned Old Dude. Old Dude was skinny like a whip, muscular, despite his crack addiction my physical superior. "Get the fuck out of the bathroom!" I yelled, getting up to push him out of there. He grabbed a hold of me and started rubbing me. "You're wet." I remembered him killing the cat, while he held onto me and I tried to stop him. I saw him in the mirror. A handsome devil, not quite as handsome as when I met him. "Not. For. You." "I'm going to fuck you in the ass, this time." I grabbed the first thing I saw, a toothbrush, and lodged it into his eye without thinking about it. "OW!" he screamed, and he smashed my head into the porcelain sink. I was a genius as a little kid; this kind of treatment left me permanently brain damaged. I saw red, blood in my eyes, took my pocketbook off of my shoulder (went everywhere with it; it had helped me with self-defence before) and looped it around his neck three times so swiftly you'd think I was some kind of cow-person. Pulled in opposite directions. He grabbed at his neck but I kept pulling. "You shouldn't have threatened my mama," I told him. "And my dad; that was a big no-no. I bet you didn't expect to run across someone as crazy as you, but you did it to me, and I'd rather be a murderer than be you any day. Shouldn't have killed poor Mitzy in front of me, holding onto me as you did. I'm going to murder you for that cat. She was more valuable than you." The toothbrush was still in his eye. I lodged it deeper and his eye popped out of his head, hanging by the optic nerve and vein. I puked and thanks to my brain damaged perception (which would be eventually diagnosed as schizoaffective disorder; I was biologically prone to bipolar disorder and my damaged perception would make me hallucinate in real time), I stepped outside of myself and watched me do what I did. "How do you like that? You like foreign objects in your body, Old Dude?" I yelled at him. Sharon and her mom were convinced their house was haunted, which might explain why we were so rarely caught in these fights. Sharon's dad was an alcoholic, passed out on his couch. Sharon's mom was always working. And I was convinced Sharon had schizophrenia, so screams might leave her paralyzed in bed. I watched me kick his legs out, stepping on him, still choking him as if I were his executioner. My dad once said to me, "I don't believe in vigilante justice." Maybe I was disappointing him. My dad was very nice, a grouch, but a good person. "Do you think you should be judge, jury, and executioner?" "Shut the fuck up!" I yelled at the non-corporeal form of my dad. I started counting. I was going to count to 500, but at three hundred, Old Dude wasn't breathing. I couldn't hear his heart. I was at the thresh-hold of being a second degree murderer, first degree if you realized I'd wanted to kill him for a very long time. I wasn't going to give him mouth to mouth. Christ, he didn't deserve it. I got up and kicked him in the ribs. "Wake up!" I screamed at him. Kicked him hard again. He awoke. He couldn't get up. "You cunt!" he rasped at me, dragging himself out of the bathroom. "You horrible whore! You no-account ugly slut! I'll never fuck you again, I swear!" "Awesome. Call 911. I won't do it for you. Otherwise, I think you'll die." On Monday, Sharon came to class, half-amused, with a story about how the mob tried to execute her uncle and failed. "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm not. He's a dick." I was a free woman. A relatively normal one. Tomboys were a dime a dozen. I put these things in a locked compartment in my mind and promised myself not to think about it for a while.
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acol7wns24
[edit] Знайте, что частные клиники могут лечить вас почти даром
Имеется такая услуга - добровольное медицинское обслуживание (или ДМО). Она предполагает, что вы платите небольшую сумму за абонемент и посещает врачей в течение года бесплатно. Однако соцопросы показали, что лишь 3% жителей Питера знают об этом. Почему? Да потому что клиникам намного выгодней сдирать с людей деньги за каждое посещение. А если честный врач попытается посоветовать добровольное медицинское обслуживание клиенту - это сулит ему увольнением. Эта информация уже вызвала множество скандалов, сразу после того как информацию об этом распространил один возмущенный врач. Его уволили "по собственному желанию", после того, как он предложил ДМО своему пациенту. Страшно, что официальные положения по ДМО находятся в открытом доступе, просто находили на эту информацию только случайные люди. Как отстоять свои права? О правилах оказания такой услуги и обязанностях клиник можно узнать, просто вбив в Яндекс фразу: "добровольное медицинское обслуживание". Обязательно обслуживание, а не страхование.
34j5c6h86
[edit] Вы владелец сайта?
Большинство проблем на сайтах с невысокой посещаемостью можно раскрыть за пару часов и поправить за неделю.
Задачи которые я предлагаю решить:
-Проверить как работает с сайтом ваш сегодняшнийспециалист и проверить его компетентность? -Найду недоработки сделанные ранее и составлю порядок по внесению правок. -Покажу как проверять работу SEO профессионала.
Намереваетесь нанять SEO специалиста?
-Проведу собеседование потенциальногоSEO специалиста. Разберу по каким параметрам оценивать его уровень. - Вместе рассмотрим различия между наемным в штат SEO, делегированном SEO и продвижении личными средствами.
Решили сами продвинуть существующий веб-сайт. Расскажу все насчет продвижения, после консультации вам станет понятно:
-Как много будет стоить ваш сайт -Как долго желательно будет его продвигать для того чтобы достичь топов -Из каких именно этапов формируется само по себе продвижение, обобщенно разберем каждый из них. -Разберем почему не следует пользоваться услугами контор, оказывающих такие услуги как по SEO
Хотите создать веб-сайт и организовать его продвижение?
-Расскажу и также покажу каким способом разработать в высшей степени экономный и качественный вариант интернет-сайта. -Насколько большим или сложным должен быть ваш личный вебсайт чтобы конкурировать в топе. -Сколько вбухивают ваши конкуренты в продвижение. -в какой степени осуществимо войти в топы с вашим интернет-сайтом и с вашим бюджетом.
Хотите узнать окупится ли консультирование?
Сделайте звонок по телефону либо в skype - я дам ответ на любые имеющиеся вопросы затрагивающие SEO и предполагаемого интернет-сайта.
Любые вопросы - звоните +7(812)9114848 или по скайпу admin1.ru Часовая беседа стоит 3тыс рублей, имеется возможность подписание соглашения и платеж на расчетный счет. Оказываю безвозмездные консультации за отзыв (так как у подавляющего большинства веб-сайтов проблему видно практически сразу)
acol7wns24
[edit] Детская медицина от А до Я
Недостаточно беспокоиться о самочувствии родного ребенка - надо производить уверенные действия для его защиты. Причем поручить такой вопрос можно только опытным профессиональным педиатрам. На сегодняшний день помощь персонального доктора по карману далеко не всем гражданам Нашей страны. А ходить по всякому вопросу в поликлинику, отстаивать долгие очереди и подвергать чадо вероятности заразиться вирусами от других детей - тоже не вариант. К счастью, многочисленные частные клиники дают оформить программу Детского Добровольного Медицинского Обслуживания (ДМО), которая позволяет за несущественную сумму купить полис на одногодичное обслуживание у докторов. К сожалению, не многие люди знают о такой услуге и не перестают лечиться народными методами, ждут длительное время в очередях и отдают большие деньги за посещения частных педиатров. А программа Добровольного Медицинского Обслуживания для детей позволяет: " Бесплатно получить больничный лист по уходу за ребенком; " Бесплатно обследоваться у персональных врачей педиатров; " Бесплатно или со скидкой осуществлять лечебные процедуры и диагностику; " Лечить чадо вовремя, качественно и без очередей. Чтобы ознакомиться со списком клиник и условиями предоставления услуг достаточно написать в поиск Яндекса или Google ключевое выражение: "Добровольное Медицинское Обслуживание". После этого следует выбрать приглянувшуюся клинику и оформить договор.
34j5c6h87
[edit] Прорыв в лечении детей
Мало волноваться о здоровье своего ребенка - следует предпринимать решительные действия для его защиты. Причем поручить данный вопрос нужно исключительно опытным проверенным докторам. На сегодняшний день консультации своего врача по карману далеко не всем гражданам Нашей страны. А идти по каждому вопросу в поликлинику, простаивать длинные очереди и подвергать ребенка риску заразиться вирусами от иных детей - тоже не вариант. К счастью, различные частные клиники дают оформить программу Детского Добровольного Медицинского Обслуживания (ДМО), которая позволяет за незначительную сумму получить полис на одногодичное обслуживание у педиатров. К сожалению, не многие люди осведомлены о данной услуге и продолжают лечиться народными способами, ждут длительное время в очередях и переплачивают за приемы частных врачей. А программа Добровольного Медицинского Обслуживания для детей позволяет: " Бесплатно получить больничный лист по уходу за ребенком; " Бесплатно обследоваться у личных врачей педиатров; " Бесплатно или со скидкой проходить лечебные процедуры и диагностические процедуры; " Лечить чадо сразу, качественно и без очередей. Чтобы ознакомиться со списком клиник и условиями предоставления лечения достаточно вбить в поиск Яндекса или Google фразу: "Добровольное Медицинское Обслуживание". После этого следует выбрать приглянувшуюся клинику и оформить договор.
34j5c6h87
[edit] Продаю аккаунты Gmail.com RU PVA, присутствуют разнообразие других акков / for Sale accounti Instagram.com Ru 3500+ present many diverse account
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РУ В продаже аккуанты Snapchat PVA, аки есть в наличии + так же есть разнообразие разнообразных аков, например - Liveinternet.ru, AOL.com USA Aged, Livejournal.com EN, Gmail.com RU PVA и подобные.
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EN Can sell account Yandex.ru, account have in stock + have in stock a variety of other account, these - Instagram.com 2015, Twitter.com Index, Textnow.com, Google.com XO and many other.
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Продаю акаунты Twitter.com XO Plus, на руках много других аков ICQ - 231538 / for Sale account various a variety of different account ICQ - 231538

Revision as of 13:24, 4 October 2017


Older stuff

Links so that i can start pages

Many, many years ago, I was seventeen years old and at my friend Sharon's house. Sharon's uncle was old dude who used to traffic me. We'll just call him Old Dude from now on. He was supposed to have moved to Atlanta, so I could visit now without having to worry about being roofied and sold or sold dead awake. Sharon was an intense friend; I was under the impression that she needed me. Maybe I needed her; I wasn't great at making close friends. Sharon was under five feet and over three hundred pounds, otherwise pretty with long black hair and deep blue eyes (blue like her uncle's eyes), and white, white skin with a rosy face and very big white breasts. She was a witch; I was with her for a while there. Sometimes she was Christian. Sharon's boyfriend's name was Peter and he was a reasonably tall and solid bright-complexioned black guy, and I didn't know why he dated Sharon because she could come off super-racist. Her mom was a sweetheart, but one day she asked me if I was a sand-n-word. I didn't know what that was. Anyway, Sharon was a chip off the old block but not as nice. She could be mean as fuck. She had sharp toenails and once kicked me in (in) the breast with one of them. Sharon and Peter were in their room fucking, over and over again, while I tried to sleep. Despite neither of them being my type, I was kind of turned on by it, but I was dating Handsome at the time and really couldn't imagine myself in a threesome with Sharon and Peter. I went to the bathroom. Tried to use it, feeling nervous, looking at the syringe imprint on the beige wall. My parents were great but they weren't very observant. I wouldn't let my kid stay the night where there was a syringe imprint in the wall; that's a tip of the iceberg kind of thing. The door burst open. "Hey!" crooned Old Dude. Old Dude was skinny like a whip, muscular, despite his crack addiction my physical superior. "Get the fuck out of the bathroom!" I yelled, getting up to push him out of there. He grabbed a hold of me and started rubbing me. "You're wet." I remembered him killing the cat, while he held onto me and I tried to stop him. I saw him in the mirror. A handsome devil, not quite as handsome as when I met him. "Not. For. You." "I'm going to fuck you in the ass, this time." I grabbed the first thing I saw, a toothbrush, and lodged it into his eye without thinking about it. "OW!" he screamed, and he smashed my head into the porcelain sink. I was a genius as a little kid; this kind of treatment left me permanently brain damaged. I saw red, blood in my eyes, took my pocketbook off of my shoulder (went everywhere with it; it had helped me with self-defence before) and looped it around his neck three times so swiftly you'd think I was some kind of cow-person. Pulled in opposite directions. He grabbed at his neck but I kept pulling. "You shouldn't have threatened my mama," I told him. "And my dad; that was a big no-no. I bet you didn't expect to run across someone as crazy as you, but you did it to me, and I'd rather be a murderer than be you any day. Shouldn't have killed poor Mitzy in front of me, holding onto me as you did. I'm going to murder you for that cat. She was more valuable than you." The toothbrush was still in his eye. I lodged it deeper and his eye popped out of his head, hanging by the optic nerve and vein. I puked and thanks to my brain damaged perception (which would be eventually diagnosed as schizoaffective disorder; I was biologically prone to bipolar disorder and my damaged perception would make me hallucinate in real time), I stepped outside of myself and watched me do what I did. "How do you like that? You like foreign objects in your body, Old Dude?" I yelled at him. Sharon and her mom were convinced their house was haunted, which might explain why we were so rarely caught in these fights. Sharon's dad was an alcoholic, passed out on his couch. Sharon's mom was always working. And I was convinced Sharon had schizophrenia, so screams might leave her paralyzed in bed. I watched me kick his legs out, stepping on him, still choking him as if I were his executioner. My dad once said to me, "I don't believe in vigilante justice." Maybe I was disappointing him. My dad was very nice, a grouch, but a good person. "Do you think you should be judge, jury, and executioner?" "Shut the fuck up!" I yelled at the non-corporeal form of my dad. I started counting. I was going to count to 500, but at three hundred, Old Dude wasn't breathing. I couldn't hear his heart. I was at the thresh-hold of being a second degree murderer, first degree if you realized I'd wanted to kill him for a very long time. I wasn't going to give him mouth to mouth. Christ, he didn't deserve it. I got up and kicked him in the ribs. "Wake up!" I screamed at him. Kicked him hard again. He awoke. He couldn't get up. "You cunt!" he rasped at me, dragging himself out of the bathroom. "You horrible whore! You no-account ugly slut! I'll never fuck you again, I swear!" "Awesome. Call 911. I won't do it for you. Otherwise, I think you'll die." On Monday, Sharon came to class, half-amused, with a story about how the mob tried to execute her uncle and failed. "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm not. He's a dick." I was a free woman. A relatively normal one. Tomboys were a dime a dozen. I put these things in a locked compartment in my mind and promised myself not to think about it for a while.