TheRealChincel
Voidcel: Friendless Truecel
★★★★★
- Joined
- Jan 13, 2018
- Posts
- 12,146
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
Incels are studying/gaming while Chads and normies are partying. However, this dork is getting bent outta shape over Trump. Guess the MRSA spread to his brain... If you ever feel like you’re the biggest loser, remember that you’re NOT him.
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
Incels are studying/gaming while Chads and normies are partying. However, this dork is getting bent outta shape over Trump. Guess the MRSA spread to his brain... If you ever feel like you’re the biggest loser, remember that you’re NOT him.