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Why are you creeping me?

I'm checking out your post history... 0.17021276595745 17.0% [ 8 ]
I followed you from the 'join me in the forums' link... 0.14893617021277 14.9% [ 7 ]
I'm checking out yo' pseudos... 0.19148936170213 19.1% [ 9 ]
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ZOMBIES, MAN ! fillerfillerfill


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              filler█▌ Cha ; the Alcoholic


                    fillerfillerfillerfillerfill Djamel Karim Chalthoum
                    fillerfillerfillerfillerfill Fifty-two
                    fillerfillerfillerfillerfill Male
                    fillerfillerfillerfillerfill Heterosexual
                    fillerfillerfillerfillerfill #009acd




                        There's a thousand and one uses for alcohol, you know. Or at least I'm sure there are, I try to keep track of them when I can but a paper and pen isn't always on hand. The main reason that alcohol should be used in any situation is to get completely tossed but since there are these ugly twats trying to kill me everywhere I go, using it to get tits over arse isn't quite the number one reason after all. I haven't had to give up my vice quiet yet, however. Some of my 'Djamel's 1,001 uses for alcohol (the incomplete edition)' are to fuel cars, clean wounds, make molotov cocktails, and as a mouthwash to fight infections. And to think my Egyptian and Algerian parents would tell me that 'alcohol was bad' and that I was a disgrace to Islam. I can tell you for sure, I'm pretty sure Allah is nowhere near here. Most likely too busy arguing with Jesus and Yahweh about how to completely end the world and who is the infidel and blah blah blah I can't stand that. They probably are just hitchhiking across the heavens and enjoying the drinks I can't get enough of. So while they're up there while the rest of us are fighting and I can't even get a decent drink. A disgrace, I tell you. The first time I went into a bar and found zombies (although I suppose I'm not supposed to say the 'zed' word. Bad juju and all) breaking all the fine Jack, it broke my heart. I knew it was serious. Maybe I should have paid more attention when I attended London City University. I'm afraid most of my memories involve hangovers and racing motorcycles and eventually getting kicked out. Can't say I regret it. Picking up my backpack and traveling across Europe and the Americas taught me more than any classroom. Despite complaints from my family, I made the world my playground. No reason to judge people when you've seen all the highs and lows of humanities. As long as they had some sort of fermented drink that produced a buzz, I was okay. But this world? ******** hell, it's a nuisance. The lowest of the lows. Having to drop my drinks, pick up a crowbar, and fight to drink another day.



walikeheke
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                                    "Every mind must make its choice between truth and repose. It cannot have both."
                                  Gabriel João Mendeiros Dias

                                  I see your d i r t y f a c e, high behind your collar / What is done in vain, t r u t h is hard to swallow
                                  So you p r a y to God justify the way you live a lie, live a lie, live a l i e


                                  A dirty 13-year-old face was twisted in concentration. He launched forward and kicked a ball, aiming for the old broken-down crate that served as his goal. As it shot straight in, he tossed his hands in the air. "Yeah!" he shouted, running in a circle before dancing. "And he wins the world cup for Brazil! Gabriel Mendeiros Dias is a heeeeroooo!" He imagined the stadium full of people, all loving him. The boy's face was completely lit up in a big grin, his curly hair sticking in every which way. All the pretty girls were looking at him ni his mind, wanting to kiss him and ask for his autograph. He'd wear clothes that weren't hand-me-downs. His own professional kit in dashing green and gold. He'd eat food other than rice and beans. "Ice cream! Chocolate! Fruit! Meat!" He once saw a mango so ripe the juice went everywhere when you bit on it.

                                  Gabe knew he was good. He could beat all the other kids in his village. So he begged his father to let him go to Sao Paolo so he could watch others play from afar and learn the rules of the game. He watched the way others practiced and copied it religiously, paying attention to every detail yelled by the coach and the players. Then he would go home and practice religiously himself.. No matter how difficult it was for his lanky small frame, every moment he wasn't doing his chores or sleeping, he'd play with a football older than him just to try and get it down to perfection. All sorts of tricks and turns that no one else around him could do, the images of the older, good players in his mind as he daydreamed.

                                  Football was his escape. He played in great stadiums all over the world. Portugal, Spain, the United States, Germany. And they all loved him. They didn't care that he didn't go to school or that he shared a room with four siblings.When he scored a goal they cheered and he was special. He was somebody. Nobody needed to know that he'd only seen a computer once in his life. It was insignificant. He'd scored a goal and in his mind he was adored, all eyes on him in anticipation and then excitement. Pride, glory, all for him. He had clean clothes and a room all to himself. The people in Sao Paolo didn't look at him with critical eyes anymore, at his dirty jeans and threadbare shirt, his hair forcibly brushed or cropped close to keep from getting everywhere. They wanted to get to know him. He was everything. But then reality would settle in and the stadium faded. The crowd's roar fell into nothing until all that was left was a dilapitated ball and his makeshift goal.

                                  Gabe knew that it was his life, and that he needed to go help his brothers patch up the window while there was still sunlight outside.
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Janani | Surya | Jayam | Ro

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Kajan | Siva (twin) | Ravi! | Adhi

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