grumpy ol' bastard

This is a W

Come my lady Come come my lady You’re my:

Hollywood woke mind virus strikes again. Actress and model Emma Dumont now known as Nick Dumont.

Nobody cares ma'am.

I have my father’s viewing today, and funeral tomorrow. Thank you all so much for the support. My presence here will be limited, but I’ll be around… The Solamnic Death Chant Return this man to Huma's breast: Let him be lost in sunlight, In the chorus of air where breath is translated; At the sky's border receive him. Beyond the wild, impartial skies Have you set your lodgings, In cantonments of stars, where the sword aspires In an arc of yearning, where we join in singing. Grant to him a warrior's rest. Above our singing, above song itself, May the ages of peace converge in a day, May he dwell in the heart of Paladine. And set the last spark of his eyes In a fixed and holy place Above words and the borrowed land too loved As we recount the ages. Free from the smothering clouds of war As he once rose in infancy, The long world possible and bright before him, Lord Huma, deliver him. Upon the torches of stars Was mapped the immaculate glory of childhood; From that wronged and nestling country, Lord Huma, deliver him. Let the last surge of his breath Perpetuate wine, attar of flowers; From the vanguard of love, the last to surrender, Lord Huma, deliver him. Take refuge in the cradling air From the heart of the sword descending, From the weight of battle on battle; Lord Huma, deliver him. Above the dreams of ravens where His dreams first tried a rest beyond changing, From the yearning for war and the war's ending, Lord Huma, deliver him. Only the hawk remembers death In a late country; from the dusk, From the fade of the senses, we are thankful that you, Lord Huma, deliver him. Then let his shade to Huma rise Out of the body of death, of the husk unraveling; From the lodging of the mind upon nothing, we are thankful to you, Lord Huma, deliver him. Beyond the wild, impartial skies Have you set your lodgings, In cantonments of stars, where the sword aspires In an arc of yearning, where we join in singing. Return this man to Huma's breast Beyond the wild, impartial skies; Grant to him a warrior's rest And set the last spark of his eyes Free from the smothering clouds of wars, Upon the torches of stars. Let the last surge of his breath Take refuge in the cradling air Above the dreams of ravens, where Only the hawk remembers death. Then let his shade to Huma rise, Beyond the wild, impartial skies.

Quit filming your ratchet asses at the gym. Male and female. We don’t want to see it.