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>It’s 6:30PM when you enter the supermarket.

>You’re dressed in thongs and rugby shorts, an old white t-shirt with “Taree Surfing Club” on the front, pressed in faded letters. You haven’t been to Taree since you were a kid, and you can’t remember where you got the shirt, or why you still have it, but now you wear it for occasions like these – ordinary ones, like doing the shopping or visiting your parents; occasions that don’t really require you to dress up. This one t-shirt does have a pretty noticeable barbecue sauce stain down the front, and it makes you a little self conscious, but hey it’s the shopping centre – and who’s judging you? You’re dressed to be comfortable, not land a date. Who’s even looking, you convince yourself.

>“This is water,” you say, as you pass the Mount Franklins.

>You have your shopping list written on your phone in the notes app, and every so often you get a notification from a Facebook group chat you’re a part of with some friends from high school. You start thinking about that time earlier today when you searched for that girl in your economics tutorial you spoke to last week and considered adding on Facebook but didn’t. You still haven’t added her and now you worry that it’s been too long, and if you do it now it’ll be obvious that you were thinking about her – and that might come across as creepy.

>Your list reads like this:

>– Pasta
>– Pasta sauce
>– Eggs
>– Milk
>– Ice Cream
>– Capsicum
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It was a bright cold day in April, and a disheveled man lay dead on the floor of an empty courtroom. The court had been adjourned just an hour ago and the deceased man was all that remained in the aftermath of what had been a quick and decisive trial.

The trial began early in the morning. The Prosecutor, drawing from decades of legal experience, arrived before the courthouse had even opened. In his hands he carried a grande Starbucks dairy-free latte and a synthetic patent leather briefcase. Inside the briefcase was a meticulously crafted legal case, the rhetorical equivalent of a high-caliber rifle. His arguments had been honed to perfection the night before. His evidence was foolproof. His dry-cleaned suit was immaculate and his silk tie shimmered with a confidence found only in the most seasoned of legal professionals.

The court convened and the jury filed into to their ranks. The Judge seated himself at the head of the courtroom. The Prosecutor strode into place and neatly arranged his notes on the oak podium. Silence befell the courtroom. The Prosecutor produced his case, a two thousand page opus of remarkable logic and insight. Every line had been personally written by The Prosecutor, every image, chart, and graph hand-selected.

His case was a masterwork of legal knowledge and expertise. A graduate of the esteemed Harvard Law School, The Prosecutor was a formidable opponent in the courtroom. In thirty years of criminal investigations The Prosecutor had yet to lose a case. He excelled at debate. For every argument, he had several counter-arguments. For every counter-argument, he had several more counter-arguments. He was a master of both logic and emotional appeal. Juries were said to have regularly been brought to tears from his heart-rending soliloquies.

The trial began and The Defendant was nowhere to be found. The jury grew restless with boredom. The Prosecutor remained collected and determined. Attempts were made to call The Defendant, each attempt resulting in the call going straight to voicemail. After forty-five minutes had passed, the doors of the courtroom swung open and The Defendant shuffled to his podium.

The Judge was furious. Hushed, nervous whispers could be heard from the jury. Banging his gavel, The Judge called for order and the courtroom fell silent once again. The Defendant carried with him no briefcase, no folder containing a legal defense. The Defendant, in an unprecedented decision fPost too long. Click here to view the full text.


Moral of the story is don't take pictures of women you don't know and then share them on the internet or else you'll end up looking like a stalker. that could've been shortened to about a paragraph or two


That's not the focus. It's precisely about what >>2441 mentioned.

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Are any of you familiar with Quino's work, or more specifically, Mafalda?

His peculiar brand of humor is cynical about humanity, but not completely hopeless.
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I would rate it very high. Definitely reminds me of Calvin and Hobbes or The Far Side. Both of them were quite popular in burgerstan, but I don't know if they had a large international audience.


I have several Calvin books and can confirm he's excellent, too, capturing the essence of childhood while still being thoughtful in a way Mafalda never could with its unrealistically eloquent and political characters (though that's a fundamental part of Mafalda's premise).

What I also admire is Bill Watterson's handling of his work ever since he stopped drawing, refusing to whore out the intellectual property or becoming a celebrity. His behavior has been much unlike what one would expect of any normalfag in his position.

All I've seen from The Far Side was a single booklet; it's great, but I can't say much without further reading.


btw, "gringo" includes all foreigners; I want to hear everyone's opinion.

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I just woke up from a long and very stressfull dream about feelings of guilt.
It was about friends that thought I'm a loser and attacked me with knifes, and a female I know who just wanted to destroy my life by creating a website which told very bad stuff about me.
In addition the dream consisted of three parts one long story though.
I can't remember much about the second part, only that I got drunk and took heroin which I've never done in real life.
In the last part my family and me somehow managed to visit new york for a short time and we wandered through endless streets and I was drunk and high as fuck and couldn't walk properly for a few minutes but then got my shit together and continued walking until we got into a building in which we met relatives and took stuff from their fridge, they also had a kot.
However I feel much better now then I felt yesterday, nightmares can have positive endings.
Also I want to travel the USA now even more I have a weird obsession about it but I don't have monies and wouldn't know who I'd want to come with me.
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A couple of weeks ago i had a dream about going to some east asian country and eating their food which for some reason gave me botulism.

I have weird dreams ;_;


Last night I had a complicated and somewhat emotionally distressing dream, but my memories are too hazy to describe it. All I can clearly remember is that, at the very end, I entered my bedroom to discover that North Koreans had completely messed it up, even by disassembling my desk for some reason about "increasing literacy". I assume my bedroom appeared because of my alarm clock ringing, and literacy, because of my Victoria II addiction


Does anyone else have dreams involving "reading" fictional site pages on the internet?

I have them sometimes, and they're certainly the most boring and unimaginative kind of dream anyone could ever have. Instead of scenic landscapes and highly emotional movements that peak as one wakes up, it's just a dull, narcotic experience that gradually fades away until you're conscious and in a poor mood.

Whenever this happens to me, I'm reading either Wikipedia articles or unidentified news sites; in either case, that's a bit problematic, as my memory preserves small pieces of each dream's imaginary content and they merge into my knowledge.

One such dream, the most recent I can remember, involved reading about the pro-Russian rebels in the Donbas, including a lengthy article about how they were losing -"losing to obesity" (kek) or something of the kind. My imagination then drifted to some narrow desert canyon where pro-Russian militiamen fired their AKs at an unseen enemy while peeking in and out of cover. Interestingly enough, there were more of them entering and leaving, like ants, what seemed to be a deep tunnel/cave system through the rocks, but the dream didn't last long enough to explore it.

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Tourists are like insects that crawl all over beautiful buildings and make them ugly and they are loud and annoying and these buildings get ruined to accommodate for tourists, one church I went to in Europe had an elevator running through it, a gift shop and cafe in it and a car park around it. And they are traitors, they are taking money for their own economies and giving it to other countries. And they are terrible people themselves too, all they care about is drinking and parting and their social lives and posting pictures on social media to make them look better.
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I find it a awkward to go to places that don't get a lot of tourists. At least if you go to the popular destinations, the people there know how to deal with you. Going to other places feels like you're intruding on peoples lives in a way that they don't want.


So what's a good way to visit other places and learn about/experience their cultures without being disrespectful or disruptive to their way of life?

t. burger who is planning a trip to Puerto Rico


I've never left my home country and thus can't say anything from experience, but a few things are obvious:

>Read about your destination before leaving and ask for tips on international origami forums

>Be quiet and try not to draw any attention to yourself
>Be clean and leave places as you found them

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This place looks kinda comfy to be quite honest. Thanks for invitation.
Why is anon Saved? That's like the antithesis of a board with depression in its name.


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Welcome! This place's a bit dead since the mood is (as one would expect for a board with this name) weak and the Canadian shitposter that made most threads is now gone.

>Why is anon Saved?

It's a little glimmer of hope in this dreadful setting.


>Why is anon Saved?
Either it has to do with the theme of the board or the fact that BO is orthodox


ITT we try our best to translate quality poetry from out language to English. I'll start with a couple from Alphonsus de Guimaraens' Pastoral to the faithful of love and death:

XXIX - Japanese Carmine

Beside a crystalline streamlet
A lily blossoms chastely.
Across the rill, another lily, in front
Opens skyward the divine goblet.

Lucent, contemplating each other with sorrow…
But, alas! the murmurous creek,
Sliding in silvery course,
Divides the budding lovers.

It's the silence of hills and valleys.
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disregard my flag I'm Slovene

Ekstaza smrti (Ecstasy of Death), by Srečko Kosovel, a poet that died young and thus did not live to see his works get appropriated by the commies. It's mostly filled with regrets for destroying Europe with WW1, commies of course wanted to make it look like it's calling for le internationale revolution. I'm pretty sure commies of today would make it look like it's about white guilt and imperialism but lmao Austria-Hungary was only empire over other Europeans.

the original, just for reference

Vse je ekstaza, ekstaza smrti!
Zlati stolpovi zapadne Evrope,
kupole bele — (vse je ekstaza!) —
vse tone v žgočem, rdečem morju;
sonce zahaja in v njem se opaja
tisočkrat mrtvi evropski človek.
— Vse je ekstaza, ekstaza smrti. —

Lepa, o lepa bo smrt Evrope;
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>she lies down the crypt of dark centuries,
>no water left for man to extinguish
>his yearning for bliss of peaceful green dawn.
If anything, this has a Spenglerian death of the West vibe rather than revolutionary iconoclasm.


Something I have at the bottom of my Alphonsus de Guimaraens translation .txt but hadn't posted yet because I couldn't get any of the formal factors right:

Escada de Jacó
XVII - To a Poet
If you could die in the peace of a convent
Tranquil soul, eyes kissing starlight,
No bleat, no sorrow of a lament,
Faithful lamb that expects all from traces…

If you could die amid high masts
Of a battleship, in bloody combat
In alabaster's pallor and beacon's shine,
Guarding the fatherland, your holy shrine…

If you could die casting blessings and hymns
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Webm thread? Webm thread.
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I love VR.


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do you have more like that?


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>Western world: Working hard to afford good house, decent car, etc.
>Russia, post-USSR: Working very hard, to eat 3 times a day.
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>Even if you get a high paying job you don't do much better, the government taxes heavily here.
Didn't Russia have a flat tax? In other words, a tax system where percentage does not rise in accordance with income like with progressive taxation. Or do they make up for it with heavy licensing fees?


bullshit, it's just a little bit better


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Hey, at least you've got Korwin.

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t. Greek
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they aren't incorrect though


All of greek people are gays?


Yes but it implies that real communism is impossible to implement

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Which country has the worst cuisine?
I say - British.
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Well Finnish cuisine IS pretty shitty TBH

>inb4 some other Finn comes in whining about the typical Finnish self-hating tendency


No it's not. Finnish food is good. Also do you know what is the best spice of food? hunger
Ruuan paras mauste on nälkä.


Probably somewhere like Tanzania, Bangladesh or the Aboriginals.

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