The Magnificat Advent Companion

[Katydid]

RothTown.com
MY DAILY BREAD Part Two The Way of Imitation

By: CONFRATERNITY OF THE PRECIOUS BLOOD COPYRIGHT 1954

VIRTUES LEADING DIRECTLY TO GOD

CHAPTER 37

Interior transformation

CHRIST:

MY CHILD, as you learn to share my daily life through meditation and prayer, you will become more like Me in your own daily life. Your thinking will slowly be transformed into My way of thinking. My outlook on life will replace yours. So too with your manner of talking and acting. your self worth will gradually vanish and a new self will take its place. All this will you do, with the help of My grace, in order to become a loyal friend of Mine, living in constant union with me.

2. One of the most wonderful effects of this transformation will be that you will also share My desires, My intentions, My dignity and power. In a true sense your earthly life will be a continuation of Mine. you will have power to petition My heavenly Father in My name, and He will grant your petitions for My sake.

3. Both for yourself and for others you will be able to obtain many extra favors and graces, which might oherwise not have been granted. Thus your daily life will help release to the world a large share of the help and mercy which I merited by My earthly life and sufferings.

4. This is the biggest reason for Satan's opposition to you. He will never tire of tempting you. If he cannot gain your soul, at least he may prevent you from helping others over whom he has more influence. Your life of friendship with Me will weaken many of his temptations against others for whom you can obtain extra actual graces.

5. Remembert this when you feel no desire to do more for Me through prayer, good works, and self control. I have given you the privilege of helping Me in the work of saving the world. Though you are not necessary in this divine task, I have given you the privilege of being useful in it.

6. In this daily battle for the souls of men, you can be a very effective soldier of Mine. Satan never abandons his attempts to make men fall into mortal sin. So, too you must never allow yourself to grow weary of interceding for souls in danger of sin. Do it by prayer, self control, self-sacrifice, and by your general intention in whatever you are doing at the moment.

THINK:

There is no other Redeemer of men than Jeuss. He alone is necessary. All others are merely useful in helping His work. Jesus did enlist the aid of His apostles and His Church. These were commissioned to go forth and make disciples of the whole world. I have a share in that divine commission, since I am a member of His Church. In a true sense Jesus made me a part of Himself. Through His Church, His sacraments, and His actual graces, He offers me more and more of His thoughts, desires, intentions, outlook, purpose, and power. As Jesus earned light and strength for all men to know God's truth and fight against their tempatitons, so can I help epople gain a larger number of the actual graces which Christ gained for them. As His daily life was the source of all salvations, so can my daily life be a channel of grace for people in need of greater graces. The more I devote myself to the imitation of Christ in my daily life, the more actual graces can I obtain for people throughhout the world. This Christ-likeness is my greatest possible achievement of earth.

PRAY:

My Jesus, let me always see the deeper, eternal importance of my daily life. Let my thoughts, desires, and intentions center around You every moment of the day. I can truly make a lasting impression on the world. I can obtain extra actual graces for people in all conditions of life, graces which may make the difference between their eternal salvation and their eternal loss. Lord, though You do not need me nor anyone else, You have granted me the privilege of helping you in this glorious task of helping people gain Heaven. Do not let me fail you in this all-important work. I shall no longer measure my day's work by my visible activities. I hope to keep before my eyes the grand, worldwide mission which You have laid before me--the mission of gaining actual graces for people in need. Amen.

[ALinChainz]

Please drop dead.

Please.

[Nickdfresh]

Satanic Christmas Ritual

By Mauri


When I was home with my parents I remember mostly running around outside in just a pair of shorts and a sleeveless blouse - no shoes. I think I was cold so much of the time that I no longer felt it. If I went to visit non-cult relatives I was given new clothes. I was very proud of the thick calluses on the bottom of my feet that allowed me to walk almost anywhere barefooted.



With my new hair style, which I now do myself, I practice the feminine art of the dance. This is no cheesey coven, our rituals are polished, rehearsed and very refined. After all, we are civilized human beings who just happen to worship the devil. The little shadow next to me is one of the few children I know in the group. Mostly I work alone. For many of the rituals I am partnered with my mother or my father. I get to know them. My parents are strict atheists - of the fundamentalist kind. The family that preys together stays together.

Christmas in the cult

Unlike most children, I have a hard time remembering childhood toys. But whenever people asked me about my childhood, I would always say the same thing, "I had all the toys I wanted." I view that as a true statement since I feel fear about, balloons, clowns, marbles, and most other toys. Toys are associated with Christmas, my most feared holiday. My second Christmas in California, when I was five, I remember seeing my parents trying to force me into the dinning room. I viewed the scene from the ceiling; my fear probably having forced me out of my body. On the floor was a fancy box wrapped with ribbon. They wanted me to open it. I refused, so they opened it for me. It was full of live snakes. When I was six, they opened the box for me. I guess that was to reassure me there wasn’t a snake inside. It was a gold heart shaped necklace with a tiny blue sapphire stone. There was a matching bracelet. I still have it. Then they gave me a box to open. I did. It was full of feces. In my memory, I felt someone rubbing my face in it. When I was seven, I got roller skates. I remember skating back and forth between home and the local public school. It would soon be necessary for me to walk to school alone as I was to stop living at Mrs. Hildebrand's house during the week, and the skates made it fun to learn the route. When I was eight, everyone joyously opened a present but me. Then I remembered the words, "Oh, we forgot to get a present for you." When I was nine, I got a Tony Doll, which is a precursor to the Barbie Doll (excellent tool for Beta Programming.) The object was to fix her hair so she looks sexy, not to learn to mother. Mattel was located in the Redondo Beach area, just down the street from TRW. When I was ten I got a blue bicycle, mostly as payment for the paper route that I worked on foot three times a week before dawn. I was only to keep the bike barely long enough to learn how to ride it, when I crossed Mrs. Hildebrand's friend and it was promptly removed along with the rest of my possessions and my newspaper delivery job. Every year after that I seemed to get some small gift, most of which soon disappeared. It wasn’t difficult to keep tract of my possessions because I had so few.

As an adult, I still suffer from the effects of their satanic Christmas. I’m afraid of wrapped gifts. I remember as a young adult I always looked for the gift before Christmas, then I unwrapped it to see what it was, then I re-wrapped it. I think I was making sure it didn’t smell or bite. I don’t like to receive surprises or give them. I have a great deal of trouble thanking people for gifts, because I don’t feel thankful. If there is something I want, I like to buy it unwrapped for myself. My main concern in my childhood was if I would get a present at all, let alone one I might like. Every year when the Christmas tree went up, I would begin to feel stress. I always thought the tree was totally ugly, and I couldn’t wait until it came down again. It was such a stress as a child, as an adult I don’t even want a gift. It wasn’t the gift that mattered. It was the secret. When people asked what I got for Christmas, I had to say something. I was no good at lying. I was desperate for the outside world to think my parents loved me, which in reality they didn’t. It was necessary to keep the abuse a secret because I felt strongly that if people found out that my parents, who were supposed to love and protect me, abused me instead, they would think it was all right to abuse me too. I remember I felt I had to maintain some semblance of respectability in the outside world, for my own safety. It was all a big game. Those with status made it. Those without didn’t. That was the way our society was.

California Desert

I have few memories of Halloween, their biggest holiday next to Walspurgisnacht, until my late teenage. But I was able to recover one ceremony. Halloween evening, we all went to bed. Suddenly I was awoken in the middle of the night, and I quietly got dressed. We got in the car and drove to the desert. A gathering was there. At the center of the ceremony was a soft fuzzy white rabbit with long pointed ears. A sharp razor was used to slit each of its eyes. The throat was slit open, then the front. We were told to put our hands inside and wipe blood on our naked bodies. The bunny was still warm and felt almost alive. If this was typical, and it may have been, many of these rituals took place in the dead of night. I remember the many times I put my head down on my desk at school and just fell asleep. No wonder, with little sleep, I was probably still tired. As an adult when I would go to sleep at night, I would often have the flashback of two knocks on wood, which would awaken me. When I looked up I would feel people just outside my window looking in. This may have been a trigger used to get me up in the middle of the night for rituals as a child.

I have other desert memories. In another I remember myself at the bottom of a cliff with a big bag of rocks held by a rope over me. I see the rocks crashing toward me, then felt myself rolled under the cliff just in time. On top of the cliff is a group of children. Can you imagine how they must have felt when they went home that night, thinking they had just murdered a child? Yes, they just couldn't give up on having other children murder me. The cult had a name for this game. It was called "The Game of Three Children" The object of the game was that one child would watch, one would die, and one would kill the other. Of course, as with all games, much was hoaxed behind the scenes, but not in the eyes of the participants, except the one that was "murdered". That child frequently lived to be murdered yet again.

The California witches liked the desert, and I continued to be the center of their attention under the full moon. My mother and I often worked together. In another memory, I felt myself nude lying flat on my back, propped up on some kind of altar. I saw my mother, the light from a torch shown yellow across her face. Her eyes were like saucers. She looked evil. She passed the burning torch back and forth in front of my eyes. The fire singed my hair. I smelled it burning. I felt myself holding a branch in both hands above my head. A large branch protruded between my legs. She lit all three branches with the torch, and then warned me that she was in control if I burned. I held breathlessly still. My mother seemed angry, but probably what she really was was afraid. Suddenly I felt very cold and wet as the buckets of water almost drowned me. The circle of witches let the branches burn until just the right moment, then in unison they extinguished the fire with water. I don’t have scares on my body. I think they were careful to only scare my mind. I remember these witches with slightly more fondness than that evil bunch in the barn in Utah. I am suspicious that my mother and I worked with fire a lot. Neither of us is afraid of fire and I think I may have done fire walking on hot coals. For this I made sure I had thick calluses on the bottom of my feet.

I remember when these memories began to surface, one day I woke up with the thought, "The rocks are watching you." The rocks were apparently my surveillance implant. I remember in a desert ritual, they put rocks in my vagina and told me the rocks were Satan and that now Satan controlled my body and my mind. To this day, I like rocks as a part of nature. But one thing is surely true, no rock collections are allowed in my house. Some of their programming definitely got through. The rocks will simply have to "watch me" outside.

Ritual Rape of the Child

Rape is a devastating crime to the psyche; the body that God gave just to you is taken over by some one else without your permission. Your sense of self is violated; and you feel fear that your life maybe the next thing to go. Rape causes panic and when the memories began to surface in my case it caused panic attacks. These attacks were accompanied by a rhythm of loss of bodily control, where my bowls ran a liquid that covered and stained my legs brown, while I shook and hyperventilated.

The first California rape memory to surface was of my satanic wedding. As my past began to unfold, I found myself nude, sitting on top of my father in intercourse. The candles that flickered around us were white and in individual cups, like those found in a Catholic church. They lined the pentagram mosaic on the floor. Around the perimeter of the circle, I felt the presence of a black robe wearing audience watching. The candlelight flickered and the image was gone. But I knew it was real, some moment from my past reincarnated in a vision. I wondered what it meant? If I got pregnant, would the baby be taken from me and then murdered, just as I had almost been?

The location of my satanic wedding was known to me. I had recently visited it with a friend and her realtor. The realtor wanted to see the "witches house" while it was for sale, but nobody went there alone, so she asked us to join her. It was located in Redondo Beach near the ocean. We all met at the location, then went up the walk of an aging white rambling structure with symbols in brick dominating one corner, making it look like a fraternity house for witches. In front was a large fenced garden of unkempt roses and other dying plants. At the time it looked and felt familiar to me, like a place from long ago. We knocked on the screen door and waited. A small, aging, gray-haired lady greeted us. I thought she looked harmless enough, a little like my own mother. We entered the house through an enclosed front patio, which reminded me of the train station in “Alice Through the Looking Glass”; again my childhood worked its way into my mind. We followed the lady into the main house. The air became heavy and the light dim. Dust and the smell of someone else’s lifestyle permeated the atmosphere. The walls were lined in a drab paneling which appeared old but not quite finished, giving rise to the possibility of moving a panel to expose a hidden room. The wood floors creaked as we walked around in circles, each area more dusty and drab than the last. I wondered where she had hidden the sunshine. She told us about the house as we walked. Her husband, who had founded a society and was a very important man, had built the house himself. I believed her. He was no longer alive as he had died in a car accident many years before. We all continued to follow as our tour suddenly took a sharp turn into a narrow staircase. Up we went following the steps that rambled around like a maze. At the top we were dumped out on the roof. I breathed in the fresh air, which was in stark contrast to the funny odors of the house. To me the house smelled and felt much older than its actual age of about fifty years, judging by its architecture. Again we all turned and entered the stairwell. I was both fascinated to stay and anxious to leave as we all went through the kitchen and out the back door into the sunlight again. Houses were like living things to me; they came in a continuum of good to evil. This house was definitely at the evil end of the spectrum. We then followed the gray-haired lady to a separate house on the back of the property. She unlocked the door and we all filed into another world, a secret place of magic, illusion and superstition. I found myself standing on a floor made of tiny tiles arranged with a huge pentagram mosaic dominating the center. To the one side was a table covered by a cloth with white candles on it. At the other end of the room was a dressing area, the large visible display of make-up, wigs, and costumes giving it a theatrical appearance. Behind this was the sleeping area complete with bed. The gray-haired lady looked on proudly, as this space obviously reflected what she was really all about, her passion. Everyone else appeared subdued. The realtor soon turned to go. She appeared nervous as she herded us all down the drive. She couldn't get out of there fast enough.

When the memories of ritual rape began, they just kept on coming. Whenever I closed my eyes I was back on a ritual alter, nude, my legs spread. With my mother at my head, I watched as every male in the room was allowed to penetrate me with his penis, including my father. I kept feeling them raping me, one by one, as they filed silently by. I kept seeing their faces, deadly serious. The pain wouldn’t go away. As the faces in my memory continued to roll by in my mind, I recognized some of them. Many of them were young men. Was I the main attraction to bring in new members to their dirty little coven? Was the ceremony a means for the cult to control everyone’s sex life? It did seem unfair, somehow, one little girl and a room full of men. I recognized one face in particular. He had been an older impotent member in the line. The impotent part I could well understand. He and his wife had been friends with my parents. They lived in a beautiful house, the interior of which was decorated entirely in white. Their living room, which had a large window with an ocean view, was where many of my memories took place. When I visited the gray and white house as an adult after my memories began, I noticed the front garage door had a large wooden S on it, apparently marking the house as the place of Satan.

Again I felt myself lying flat with my legs folded up. The altar on which I lay was the height of a man’s pelvis. Again the silent figures filled by, each penetrating me and then moving on. I felt my mother at my head holding me down and watching. I was frozen with terror by each figure, and the thought that death awaited me at the end of the line. The image faded and was replaced by another. The line of male figures continued in front of me, but this time I was performing oral sex. As the procession wound round each penis climaxed and I felt covered in sticky semen. My mother was there, standing next to me, watching. I felt desperate when she left my side. I looked anxiously around the room for my parents. I wanted them close by, as I was petrified of the strangers. I got to know no one. I didn’t talk. I was barely alive.

Back in the living room at the S house once again, the lights are dim and I’m lying nude in the center. I’m being gang raped by a silent procession of men. My father dramatically bursts into the room wearing a large animal mask. He climaxes the ceremony by being the final rapist. Were they trying to get me pregnant, with my father as the father or the father unknown? I had no memories of being pregnant, and no blank spaces long enough to include a pregnancy. They undoubtedly didn’t succeed. I wasn’t a very good Satanist. First I refused to die when I was supposed to, then I wouldn’t get pregnant when I was supposed to.

But perhaps the lack of a baby for Satan was more my mother's fault than mine. For some reason she had been neglecting to feed me adequately. Always in our house, we had hot cereal for breakfast and everyone had lunch at school. We were thin, but in reasonable heath. For me that all ended when I went to junior high school. The school no longer saw to it that I had lunch and neither did my mother. So I was subsisting on a good breakfast, but little else in the way of good food, mostly candy. The cult was concerned at the lack of my conceiving so I was sent for a complete gynecological exam. It was discovered my basal metabolic rate was minus 23 percent. I was given thyroid pills. Unfortunately those damn pill didn't contain much protein, so my condition remained the same. I was put in special PE in high school because of developing a scoliosis in my back, and after having been a very athletic child, I was now unable to throw a ball. I simply was not getting enough good food and especially protein to make new bone and muscle as I was growing. I didn't look that thin, but I was tired and bent. I did later start to look emaciated, which kept me out of the sex industry. For every cloud there is a silver lining. Near the end of high school I got a job in a fast food place. The nutrition I needed was then available to me and lo and behold I got pregnant, with my boyfriend at the time.



July, 1956, Friday 13th

My last memory of gang rape at the S house was when I was 15. I knew the date was Friday the 13th. It was the dark of night. I found myself nude in the S house in a small room. The other occupants of the room were all wearing black robes. My parents stood next to me. I looked at myself then at them. I was big. They weren’t that much bigger. I felt myself thinking, “I’m almost grown. I’m too big to be taking this.” Suddenly I felt myself break free. I ran through the house, out the back door and into the small cement yard. I hid nude, the best I could, in the bushes. I shook as I hid. I saw my parents come toward me with a blanket. When they found me I went crazy with fear. They wrapped me in the blanket, and we all drove home. Had I run down the street naked, they would have all been exposed, I reasoned. I had a new power and I knew it. I was out! I never had to cooperate with them again. I’d be crazy or dead, but I was too big to control. They had threatened me with death so many times that they had nothing left to threaten me with. It simply didn’t matter. I was truly the product of over-kill. I remember the summer I turned fifteen. Something bad did happen that summer. But, I didn’t know what it was at the time, just that I suddenly became incapacitated and left my summer job. (Both times that I crossed the cult, at ten and at fifteen, a job was removed. Perhaps they had gotten me those jobs in the first place.) That was when I was sent to the first psychiatrist. If at fifteen my satanic parents could no longer control me, that would explain my being turned over to a satanic psychiatrist and what turned out to be MKULTRA. If he failed, I would be labeled crazy should I decide to talk. The larger society would side with them. Children had no rights. Psychiatric patients had no rights. It was a win-win for them and a lose-lose for me. Support your local satanic cult; don’t believe the children.

I love the holidays...**sigh**

[Hardrock69]

Originally posted by fuckhowardstern
LOL "growler".....hey flappo or hardrock, can anyone do a photoshop on that picture of the dog humping that chic using katy's face on the chic? I think Katy would like that alot!

Uhh...you are waaaaay behind the times.....that was done a week ago....

[Soul Reaper]

Thine shuteth the fuch upeth.....

The Book of Fuck 1:1

[Katydid]

Originally posted by Hardrock69
Uhh...you are waaaaay behind the times.....that was done a week ago....

Hardrock69...about the time I have you figured out...you go and do something noble. I'm at a loss??? But I like it. God bless you.

[Katydid]

Let You Light Shine
An Advent Examination of Conscience
Advent is a season both for contemplating and imitating the sharp-eyed men and women of Scripture. Not those whose eyesight would have tested 20/20, but all those ancestors in faith who kept their eyes open, looking for the coming of the Lord.

Some like the Old Testament prophets, scanned the horizon for signs of the Messiah who would reveal God's glory.
Others had the spiritual vision to recognize and receive that Messiah when he came as a vulnerable infant in a manger.

During Jesus' life the people around him caught glimpses of his glory as well.

To some--like the shepherds and, later, the apostles who saw Jesus transfigured--it came in a very dramatic way.
But most of the time, people saw Jesus' glory in everyday moments and encounters.
Think of Elizabeth recognizing his presence in Mary;
Of Simeon and Anna, who spotted him from among the many babies brought to the temple;
Or of Nicodemus and the woman at the well.
"Come and see," Jesus told Andrew in one of those everyday encounters (John 1:39).

And now he extends that invitation to each one of us. How should we respond?

One of the best ways is through the Sacrament of Reconciliation. For it is as we repent of our sins that we allow the Holy Spirit to remove the clouds from our eyes and show us the beautiful glory of the Lord.

The following examination of conscience is meant to help you prepare for Confession.
Take your time as you answer these questions.
Let the Spirit's still, small voice speak to you words of hope and mercy.
Believe that Jesus didn't come to condemn but to forgive.
So let him wash you clean. Then, you too will be able to say, "We have seen his glory" (John 1:14).

" ' Come, my heart says, 'seek his face!' Your face, LORD, do I seek." (Psalm 27:8)

Does god hold first place in my life, or have I become the servant of something or someone else?

Have I given priority to God on sundays and holy days by attending Mass and making a special effort to seek him?

Do I safeguard my time of prayer and Scripture reading so that I can open myself to God's love and direction every day?

"The glory that you have given me I have given them, so that they may be one, as we are one...so that the world may know that you have sent me." 9John 17:22-23)

Have I pursued unity in my relationships with others, or have I eroded it by my words, attitudes, and actions?

Have I lied or gossiped about other people in a way that tarnished their reputation?

Do I give appropriate honor and respect to my parents and all legitimate authority?

Is there anyone I need to forgive? Is there anyone whose forgiveness I need to ask?

Do I treat my body with respect, or have I abused it through the willful misuse of drugs, alcohol, or food?

Am I following Jesus' teachings on sexual morality? Do I indulge in lustful thoughts and sexual fantasies? Have I committed sins of impurity?

"Let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in Heaven." (Mattherw 5:16)

How have I shown compassion and concern for the poor, less fortunate, sick, and suffering?

Am I helping to build a culture of life? Have I resisted the Spirit's invitations to speak the truth or spread the gospel out of fear of what others might think?

What other areas of my life does the Holy Spirit want to cleanse so that I can be transformed into the image of Jesus, "from one degree of glory to another" (2 Corinthians 3: 18)?

Lord, let your glory be revealed--in the world, in your church, in me!


What is the greatest gift I can give the Lord Jesus on His Birthday? The gift of a clean and free heart! Our church will have 5 priests to hear confession 12/15 at 7:00. Find a church and talk to someone...

An Advent Prayer; Light of the World, enter the darkness of our hearts and renew us in faith, hope and love. As we prepare to celebrate the great mystery of the incarnation, help us to see your presence in our wold, especially in the needs of the poor. Strengthen us to become true peacemakers able to love our enemies and forgive those who have offended us. Lead us to acknowledge our own sinfulness, accept your mercy and extend your healing love to those around us. Amen (from "Living Faith" vol. 21 #3

[Nickdfresh]

You need a cock to keep you occupied KATYDUNCE....

Really? WHo starts a thread on Advent for fuck sake?

[Katydid]

A WORD FOR EVERY SEASON, A VERSE FOR EVERY REASON

Over the centuries, many Christian writers and students of Scripture have described the Bible as a library--a collection of inspired books of various types, including history, poetry, prayers, and personal letters. St. Basil, a fourth-century Church Father, used another striking image to describe the Bible. He called it a pharmacy.


The Holy Spirit composed the Scriptures so that in them, as in a pharmacy open to all souls, we might each of us be able to find the medicine suited to our own particular illness. Thus, the teachings of the Prophets is one thing, and that of the historical books is another. And again, the Law has one meaning, and the advice we read in the Book of Proverbs has a different one. But the Book of Psalms...gives directions for living, it suggests the right behavior to adopt.


Open your Bible often, and browse the aisles of this pharmacy for the spirit! is St. Basil's advice. It supplies "all the valid teachings in such a way that individuals find remedies just right for their cases."

The "cases" that Basil refers to are the real-life situations we encounter every day. If you're struggling about how to pray as you face surgery for breast cancer, wondering how to handle your finances in a godly way, or fighting a battle with lonliness, God's word can provide help. Do you want to write a note of sympathy to your neighbor who just lost his wife? The Bible contains the promise of comfort and words of hope you're looking for. Or perhaps you're trying to collect your scattered thoughts before you rush off to confession. The truths of Scripture will bring you peace and guide you in making a good examination of conscience.

The Bible speaks to all these situations and concerns, as well as to the millions of others that fill our days, occupy our thoughts, and move our hearts. Sometimes, though, it's difficult to find the right verse just at the moment you want it.

Choose Your Medicine. "Wouldn't it be wonderful if the Bible were arranged by subject, so that you could easily turn to a Scripture verse or prayer to use in every occasion?" This is the idea that motivated Lucy Scholand to compile: The Catholic Book of Scripture Passages: A Prayer Guide for Every Occasion.

The collection of Bible verses is especially designed for Catholics who want to shp4e their lives and prayers by the words of scripture. It is not a book to be read straight thru from cover to cover, but a resource--like a medicine cabinet or first aid kit--to be opened as needs and opportunities arise. Users can sort thorugh the contents without difficulty, sure to find an inspired word from God for whatever occupies or concerns them. Like the Bible itself, this convenient compilation contains a word for every season, a verse for every reason.

The Catholic Book of Scripture Passages: A Prayer guide for Every Occasion (paperback 176 pp.) is availabe from The Word Among us at www.wau.org

[fuckhowardstern]

Originally posted by Katydid
Hardrock69...about the time I have you figured out...you go and do something noble. I'm at a loss??? But I like it. God bless you.

Now might be a good time for a repost perhaps?

[Katydid]

Originally posted by Nickdfresh
You need a cock to keep you occupied KATYDUNCE....

Really? WHo starts a thread on Advent for fuck sake?

Now is that any way for a nice Catholic boy to be acting?

[Hardrock69]

Originally posted by fuckhowardstern
Now might be a good time for a repost perhaps?

Yeah....

I will go several further tho....

[Hardrock69]

[fuckhowardstern]

LMFAO! Katy - wise investment advice for ya babes: buy a fucking toothbrush - use it twice every day!

[Katydid]

Hardrock, That is just nasty. Not me at all. My teeth are not perfect, but they sure don't look like that.

And I have never used a dildo in my life.

I was married for 23 years to my first love.

I don't drink, smoke, nor do drugs.

And I have never watched porn movies, or been into porn books.

I have dated, though not since'97, which was my choice because I didn't want to remarry.

If you are repaying me for calling you sons of bitches in another thread, by posting the dog and woman with my face cut and chopped; well, I hope it makes you feel powerful.

Because you are ruining your own reputations by posting all the filth. Most women in these sites look on guys which do those things as losers and trashy. They would want nothing to do with you in real life.

In my opinion you guys who torment me are either kids who think it's funny, or someone who hates women and wants power over women. You could become a serial killer. Think about it...