⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢀⢀⠍⠙⢿⡟⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠈⢀⡤⢲⣾⣗⠲⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⠻
⡀⢙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢀⠰⠁⢰⣾⣿⣿⡇⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄
⣇⢀⢀⠙⠷⣍⠛⠛⢀⢀⢀⢀⠙⠋⠉⢀⢀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷
⡙⠆⢀⣀⠤⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣷⣖⠋⠁⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⣀⣀⣄⢀⢀⢀⢀⢸⠏⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿
⣿⣷⡀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⡒⠉⠉⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢈⣴⣿⣿⡿⢀⡿
⣿⣿⣷⣄⢀⢀⢀⢀⠐⠄⢀⢀⢀⠈⢀⣀⣴⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⢀⣡
⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠢⣤⣄⢀⢀⣀⠠⢴⣾⣿⣿⡿⢋⠟⢡⣿⣿⣿
⢀⠘⠿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣹⣿⣀⣀⣀⣀⠘⠛⠋⠁⡀⣄⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿
⢀⢀⢀⠈⠛⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⢀⢀⢀⣡⣾⣿⣿⣿⡟⣹⣿
⢀⢀⢀⢀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣤⣶⣿⡿⢛⢿⡇⠟⠰⣿⣿
⢀⢀⢀⢀⣿⣿⣿⡿⢉⣭⢭⠏⣿⡿⢸⡏⣼⣿⢴⡇⢸⣿⣶⣿
⢀⢀⢀⢰⣿⣿⣿⢃⣶⣶⡏⠸⠟⣱⣿⣧⣛⣣⢾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⢀⢀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⠟⢻⡿⡉⣷⣬⡛⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⢀⢀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢰⠘⣰⣇⣿⣿⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⢀⢀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⢺⣿⠟⣩⣭⣽⣇⠲⠶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⢀⠐⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⢐⡈⣿⣷⣶⠎⣹⡟⠟⣛⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠠⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣼⣿⣷⣿⣷⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⣯⢿⣿⣷⣻⢯⣿⡽⣻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠸⣿⣿⣆⠹⣿⣿⢾⣟⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡌
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣽⡿⣿⣎⠙⣿⣞⣷⡌⢻⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠹⣿⣿⡆⠻⣿⣟⣯⡿⣽⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⡷⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣷⣿⣿⣿⡀⠹⣟⣾⣟⣆⠹⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢠⡘⣿⣿⡄⠉⢿⣿⣽⡷⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⡝⣷⣯⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⢿⣾⢿⣿⡄⢄⠘⢿⣞⡿⣧⡈⢷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣧⠘⣿⣷⠈⣦⠙⢿⣽⣷⣻⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣌⢿⣯⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣯⣿⢿⣿⡆⢸⡷⡈⢻⡽⣷⡷⡄⠻⣽⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⢰⣯⢷⠈⣿⡆⢹⢷⡌⠻⡾⢋⣱⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⢻⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡎⣿⢾⡿⣿⡆⢸⣽⢻⣄⠹⣷⣟⣿⣄⠹⣟⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣯⣟⣧⠘⣷⠈⡯⠛⢀⡐⢾⣟⣷⣻⣿⣿⣿⡿⡌⢿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⡌
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⢸⡿⣟⣿⡇⢸⣯⣟⣮⢧⡈⢿⣞⡿⣦⠘⠏⣹⣿⣽⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣾⡆⠹⢀⣠⣾⣟⣷⡈⢿⣞⣯⢿⣿⣿⣿⢷⠘⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡈⣿⢿⣽⡇⠘⠛⠛⠛⠓⠓⠈⠛⠛⠟⠇⢀⢿⣻⣿⣯⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⢿⣿⣿⠁⣾⣿⣿⣿⣧⡄⠇⣹⣿⣾⣯⣿⡄⠻⣽⣯⢿⣻⣿⣿⡇⢹⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢹⣿⡽⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣞⣆⠰⣶⣶⡄⢀⢻⡿⣯⣿⡽⣿⣿⣿⢯⣟⡿⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠐⣸⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣆⠹⣯⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⢀⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠘⣯⡿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡈⢿⣳⠘⡄⠻⣿⢾⣽⣟⡿⣿⢯⣿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⢾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠹⣾⣷⣻⣿⡿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢹⣿⠇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠻⡇⢹⣆⠹⣟⣾⣽⣻⣟⣿⣽⠁⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⣿⣿⠿⠛⠛⠉⠙⠋⢀⠁⢘⣯⣿⣿⣧⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡈⣿⡃⢼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡙⠌⣿⣆⠘⣿⣞⡿⣞⡿⡞⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠉⠁⢀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣶⣶⣶⡆⢻⣽⣞⡿⣷⠈⣿⣻⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠘⠁⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠙⠛⠛⢿⣄⢻⣿⣧⠘⢯⣟⡿⣽⠁⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡃⢀⢀⠘⠛⠿⢿⣻⣟⣯⣽⣻⣵⡀⢿⣯⣟⣿⢀⣿⣽⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⡆⢀⣿⣾⣿⣾⣷⣿⣶⠿⠚⠉⢀⢀⣤⣿⣷⣿⣿⣷⡈⢿⣻⢃⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⡶⣦⣤⣄⣀⡀⠉⠛⠛⠷⣯⣳⠈⣾⡽⣾⢀⣿⢾⣿⣿
⣿⢿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠐⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠋⠁⢀⢀⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣌⣥⣾⡿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⢿⣷⣿⣿⣟⣾⣽⣳⢯⣟⣶⣦⣤⡾⣟⣦⠘⣿⢾⡁⢺⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣻⣿⣿⡷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡗⣦⠸⡿⠋⠁⢀⢀⣠⣴⢿⣿⣽⣻⢽⣾⣟⣷⣿⣟⣿⣿⣿⣳⠿⣵⣧⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣳⣯⣿⣿⣿⣽⢀⢷⣻⠄⠘⣯⣿⣿
⣿⢷⣻⣿⣿⣷⣻⣿⣿⣿⡷⠛⣁⢀⣀⣤⣶⣿⣛⡿⣿⣮⣽⡻⣿⣮⣽⣻⢯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⢀⢸⣿⢀⡆⣿⣿⣿
⠸⣟⣯⣿⣿⣷⢿⣽⣿⣿⣷⣿⣷⣆⠹⣿⣶⣯⠿⣿⣶⣟⣻⢿⣷⣽⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢀⣯⣟⢀⡇⢼⣿⣿
⣇⠹⣟⣾⣻⣿⣿⢾⡽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⢹⣶⣿⣻⣷⣯⣟⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢀⡿⡇⢸⡇⢸⣿⡇
⣿⣆⠹⣷⡻⣽⣿⣯⢿⣽⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⢸⣿⠇⣼⡇⢸⡿⢠
⡙⠾⣆⠹⣿⣦⠛⣿⢯⣷⢿⡽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠎⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⢀⣿⣾⣣⡿⡇⢸⢃⣾
⣿⣷⡌⢦⠙⣿⣿⣌⠻⣽⢯⣿⣽⣻⣿⣿⣿⣧⠩⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⢰⢣⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⢀⢀⢿⣞⣷⢿⡇⠉⣼⣿
⣿⣽⣆⠹⣧⠘⣿⣿⡷⣌⠙⢷⣯⡷⣟⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⡹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣈⠃⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⢀⣴⡧⢀⠸⣿⡽⣿⢀⣾⣿⣿
⢻⣽⣿⡄⢻⣷⡈⢿⣿⣿⢧⢀⠙⢿⣻⡾⣽⣻⣿⣿⣄⠌⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⢁⣰⣾⣟⡿⢀⡄⢿⣟⣿⢀⣿⣿⣿
⡄⢿⣿⣷⢀⠹⣟⣆⠻⣿⣿⣆⢀⣀⠉⠻⣿⡽⣯⣿⣿⣷⣈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⢀⣠⠘⣯⣷⣿⡟⢀⢆⠸⣿⡟⢸⣿⣿⣿
⣷⡈⢿⣿⣇⢱⡘⢿⣷⣬⣙⠿⣧⠘⣆⢀⠈⠻⣷⣟⣾⢿⣿⣆⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⣠⡞⢡⣿⢀⣿⣿⣿⠇⡄⢸⡄⢻⡇⣼⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣷⡈⢿⣿⡆⢣⡀⠙⢾⣟⣿⣿⣷⡈⠂⠘⣦⡈⠿⣯⣿⢾⣿⣆⠙⠻⠿⠿⠿⠿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⢋⣠⣾⡟⢠⣿⣿⢀⣿⣿⡟⢠⣿⢈⣧⠘⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣄⠻⣿⡄⢳⡄⢆⡙⠾⣽⣿⣿⣆⡀⢹⡷⣄⠙⢿⣿⡾⣿⣆⢀⡀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⣀⣠⣴⡿⣯⠏⣠⣿⣿⡏⢸⣿⡿⢁⣿⣿⢀⣿⠆⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡙⣿⣆⢻⡌⢿⣶⢤⣉⣙⣿⣷⡀⠙⠽⠷⠄⠹⣿⣟⣿⣆⢙⣋⣤⣤⣤⣄⣀⢀⢀⢀⢀⣾⣿⣟⡷⣯⡿⢃⣼⣿⣿⣿⠇⣼⡟⣡⣿⣿⣿⢀⡿⢠⠈⣿⣿⣿⡟
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣮⣿⣿⣿⡌⠁⢤⣤⣤⣤⣬⣭⣴⣶⣶⣶⣆⠈⢻⣿⣿⣆⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣤⣌⣉⡘⠛⠻⠶⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣰⣫⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⠄⣷⣿⠆⢻⣿⣿⡇

Dwayne (((((((The ((((((Dwayne (((((The ((((Dwayne (((The ((Dwayne (The Rock) Johnson)) Rock))) Johnson)))) Rock))))) Johnson)))))) Rock))))))) Johnson

In 1945, a crack commando unit was sent to prison by a military court for a holocaust they didn't commit. These men promptly escaped from a maximum-security stockade to the Munich underground. Today, still wanted by Mossad, they survive as soldiers of fortune. If you have a jewish problem... if no one else can help... and if you can find them... maybe you can hire... The SS-Team.

@Officer Schweizer That from Serpent’s Walk?

@Ave ad Dominum idk, i found it in another server

Sounds straight out of a book I read

accompanied by this glorious image

https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/388053892950130720/527619092866269228/image0.png

Nice

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Dan Jarvis?

Yeah I know him by that name. Hell, I worked with him in Afghan. Back then we called him 'Paki Pulveriser' Jarvis because he never came out of a tunnel without a scalp, an ear, or covered with blood.

Most would call him insane, but that is why the Paras trained him. They saw potential. It wasn't until they learned his methods that they truly realised what a monster they created.

You see, most guys that go tunnel clearing take guns. Not Dan. No, he took knives, clubs, hatchets, sometimes nothing but his bare hands. After a few missions I got a chance to talk to him in the mess. He was wearing his blood stained hat, sunglasses, and combat fatigues, smoking a cigarette and drinking Johnny Walker Black Label. It was contraband, but you NEVER told Dan what he could and couldn't do.

I asked him why he never took guns with him. He lowered his head and took a long slow draw from his hand rolled cig, pulled off his sunglasses and looked me right in the eyes, piercing my soul.

"I do it out of respect. Respect for the white race. These goat fucker scum bags don't deserve the mercy of a British made bullet, but the slow torturous death at the hands of a British man!"

In a flash he pulled out his weathered, but razor sharp knife and stopped just short of sticking my gut.

"The look in their eyes when I slip this baby into their swollen, curry filled bellies is reason enough. To see the last lights flick off in their heads as they see a real killer work."

https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/521546183529857025/521551062491070465/1.gif https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/521546183529857025/521551066295304193/2.gif https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/521546183529857025/521551069004824576/3.gif https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/521546183529857025/521551072494616580/4.gif https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/521546183529857025/521551074830843904/5.gif

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⣿⠄⣸⣿⠟⠉⠄⠄⠄⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣁⡀⠄⠄⠄⠈⣿⣠⡀⢸
⣿⠄⡟⢀⡆⠄⠄⠄⠄⣀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠱⠿⠿⡷⣾⣿⢏⡄⢸
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⠄ ⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠈⠙⠛⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣛⣥⣶⣿⣏⣠⣴⠄⠄⠄

I like porn. I don't love porn; that sort of feeling is reserved for women and baseball players. That said, every so often I get a peculiar craving. It's not something I'm proud of, but it's out of my control. I'll be sitting on the computer and it will suddenly come over me:

"I need to see donkey cock."

Not just the cock itself, mind you; I need to see a woman riding a donkey, preferably while another donkey is riding her, and maybe another few people are scattered around punching themselves in the crotch... it doesn't matter too much. I just need to see a cat's cradle of hooves and tits and semen, slapping and spraying wildly across the monitor. And if it could all take place aboard the Starship Enterprise, so much the better.

So I'll head to Google and I'll type in "veritable cat's cradle of yadda yadda yadda" and I'll get a dozen different sites advertising the latest and greatest in ass-on-ass action. So I'll click one, and wouldn't you know it, they want my fucking credit card number.

Scheming sons of bitches. Donkey porn used to be free, you know. How dare they deprive me of such a basic need.

Now, no man is going to admit to knowing as much as I'm about to tell you, but the fact is that every one of us has been down this same road before. Many a Kleenex has met its fate at the end of a journey similar to the one I will now describe. Girls, don't look on your husband or boyfriend with disgust; this is just as much a part of him as his obsession with Foreigner. (They're fucking awesome, so just leave them alone.)

They offer a few subscription options over at "tumbleweed-of-donkey-cocks.com". Their basic options are, naturally, exorbitant; 1 month for $30, 3 months for $60, and so on. Nobody in their right mind is going to pay for this; after all, the urge to spank it to donkey porn is infrequent and fleeting. I don't need to look at this stuff for a whole month straight; I might start to like it.

However, they do offer another option, which every guy you know has clicked on: the one-day trial for a mere five dollars. It is, of course, a trick; after your "trial" is up, you'll automatically be signed up for a one-month subscription and your credit card will be charged accordingly. Realizing this, we hatch a plan. If we sign up for the trial, we can inundate ourselves with donkey-related pornography. We can drown ourselves in our perversion, not daring to look away lest a single moment of our 24 hour liberty pass to Burro Ball Boulevard be forgotten in the weeks to come. And for fuck's sake, we can't save any of it to the computer, because we know that one day our daughters will get on and discover our more-than-casual interest in equine biology, and God only knows what that would do to them.

And just before the 24-hour deadline, we will cancel our subscription to "mules-gone-bugfuck.com" and narrowly avoid being charged. This particular hurdle, however, is more treacherous than it first appears. They won't let you simply click on an "Unsubscribe" link, oh no. The process is far more shameful than that.

Now, you must realize, they do understand our dilemma. We don't want anybody to know what we've been looking at on the internet. When they charge your credit card, they don't bill you under "GRAMMA'S SLINGSHOT LABIA PARADISE," they bill you under something innocuous, like "QBill GSLP." That's if you're a loyal, paying customer. However, once you want to get out from under their thumbs, you're going to have to swallow your pride... because you're going to have to tell an actual human being exactly what you want.

In order to unsubscribe, you will have to call them on the telephone and say, to a live person, "I want to cancel my subscription to Mule Fisting Fiesta." They are counting on your burning shame to keep you from leaving.

Now, most of us don't really think about the fact that this is a person whose entire job is listening to people nervously cancel their porn subscriptions, but it doesn't matter. Someone out there knows your name and can associate it with at least one act of beastiality that you've spanked off to. Someone knows exactly how sick you are.

Once it's over, though, and you crawl back into bed, hands crusted with ejaculate, you can feel perfectly secure.

As long as you deleted your browser history.

You did, didn't you?

Mummy lifts me to the car,
To find me pizzas near and far.
Enjoy my tasty three-cheese treats,
in comfy big boy booster seats.
Domino's, Little Ceasar's, Happy's, Hungry Howie's,
But of my pizzas none remains.

She tries to make me take a nappy,
But sleeping doesn't make me happy.
Pizzas are the only food,
That puts me in the napping mood.
I'll scream and shout and make a fuss,
I'll scratch, I'll bite, I'll even cuss!
Pizzas are my heart's desire,
Fueled by raging, hungry fire.
Mummy sobs and wails and cries,
But tears aren't pizzas, breadsticks or thighs.

someone transcribe this

Anglo, anglo wherever he will go, every nation left and right will just say no, while every country sees him and REEEE, why can't the innocent anglo just be free?

Fucking hell
Just woke up from an Ethiopian religious service with massive projections giving sermons. ( Kind of like that guy from samurai Jack, but with loads of eyes). You had to pay a coin to get in( native currency). Then you had to walk on a walkway of peues to sit down. The sermon itself was resentful at the white man setting up property developments and hording wealth. Then it descended into racist chanting, pointing at people in the crowd and calling them a kike or a gypsy or something. At the end, you had to walk through the peueue system again and collect your coin (I don't know why) and the massive spectre, complete with a massive fed fog; split the screen into two horizontally. On the top section he revealed a line of eyes. On the bottom section he revealed what was a metronome or something. And he said "All you have to do when you collect your coin is to look at my eyes.". Then we had to tightrope through this peueue system without falling.
I woke up before I could collect my coin so I don't know about that element.
Woke up with sleep paralysis too
But at this stage I instantly know when I'm in sleep paralysis
So just tried to move about for a bit
Gonna have to go back to sleep in a bit and probably get part 2
I remember giving out a small giggle and the congregation looked at me like I'd just shat myself