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I follow Trump, where? You're so delusional everyone who isn't a straight up like you must be a Trumper, right?
Go yourself you delusional dumb ing re !
I like to think SpursTalk posters have a folder full of old quotes to copy paste whenever they see fit.
I follow Trump, where? You're so delusional everyone who isn't a straight up like you must be a Trumper, right?
Go yourself you delusional dumb ing re !
lol not recognizing a copypasta
Feel free to prove that you have less than 10 bumper stickers on your vehicle. Assuming you actually have a vehicle.I follow Trump, where? You're so delusional everyone who isn't a straight up like you must be a Trumper, right?
Go yourself you delusional dumb ing re !
I have absolutely 0 on my car. My car looks ty these days anyhow but it doesn't need to look even worse with stupid ing bumper stickers. I can bet you have at least one on your car though.
Btw I bought my car outright day 1. How about you?
Keep trying you ing re !
I'm the dude that your girl is in with when you're at work saving up for her new purse
i bet you have this at homeI have absolutely 0 on my car. My car looks ty these days anyhow but it doesn't need to look even worse with stupid ing bumper stickers. I can bet you have at least one on your car though.
Btw I bought my car outright day 1. How about you?
Keep trying you ing re !
Yeah I def don't have that garbage in my place. I think most people suck no matter their race nor gender. Science is only legit if the mob says so and Love is Love is the motto of Pedos unfortunately.
it’s been a long time since I’ve seen this classic. Thanks for laugh.
I would never put a bumper sticker on any of my cars. I have a handful of vehicles. That’s my hobby. I have a mortgage otherwise I’m debt free. I’m way beyond your snide comment of “keep trying”.I have absolutely 0 on my car. My car looks ty these days anyhow but it doesn't need to look even worse with stupid ing bumper stickers. I can bet you have at least one on your car though.
Btw I bought my car outright day 1. How about you?
Keep trying you ing re !
I have a 61 Fairlane. 70 Cutlass. C6 Vette. 21 m440 and a couple work vehicles that aren’t worth mentioning. I have a 67 and 70 f100 in storage but they’re disassembled until I’m ready to start on those projects.
Why do you think I offered to wager comparing tax returns? I’m self employed.
Chat GPT
This is the story of a woman and her horse. On the surface, it seems a bit of a cliché. Adolescent girls are, after all, the ones who go horse crazy, lining their bedroom shelves with plastic models of the different breeds and begging their parents for riding lessons. For many, the obsession strengthens with age. Horse Illustrated observed that a 90 to 95 percent female entry is not unusual in amateur dressage and hunter/jumper shows. The majority of equestrian magazines also note a larger female readership. Men still dominate the worlds of polo and racing, and a greater percentage of them show and train professionally. To a woman, however, horses often represent something more profound than sport or hobby. Among the picture frames lined across her desk, there’s invariably at least one of her four-legged partner, and when she finds the right trainer, she’ll often speak of him or her with the reverence usually afforded a guru. A feeling of quiet ecstasy surrounds many female riders and their mounts, as if they’ve resurrected a lost part of themselves while galloping down the trail, as if all the centuries that men went to war on well-trained steeds seem trivial compared to a single moment of understanding between a teenage girl and her first bay mare.
I’ve come to realize that women and horses are fully capable of weaving new myths into the future, perspectives based not on conquest and domination, but on harmony and collaboration. Truly feminine modes of interaction can’t help but uncover artifacts of experience buried beneath the preconceived notions of our mechanized world, evidence of a time when horses taught people a thing or two and were respected for their inherent wisdom. Some of these treasures are physical and emotional, like the sensual union of strength and gentleness trotting against the skin, like the rush of clarity and serenity unleashed when one’s control of a thousand-pound creature begins to flow from the mind and not the muscle, like the flash of hope rising from the knowledge that the ones who live as prey are fully capable of outwitting the ones who live as predators. Some of these treasures can only be described as spiritual, like mending the separation between mind and muscle, like the promise that the lion shall lie down beside the lamb in paradise. Or should it be the mare?
Perhaps these were the things I glimpsed when I first gazed into the black horse’s eyes. She was standing in a box stall smelling of pine shavings, and she spoke to me more eloquently in silence than anyone ever had in words. I’d already been to every ranch and breeding farm in Tucson and was spending the weekend in Phoenix looking for the perfect prospect. I wanted a filly whose spirit had not yet been broken by the saddle and all the baggage that comes with it. I was unconsciously craving the kind of relationship between human and horse that had once been common among members of a distant clan — though at the time I had no idea who my ancestors were or that their ghosts had led me on this quest.
Still, I resisted falling in love with her. I’d dealt before with the problems that can result from buying a horse on impulse, and I wanted to do everything right. I made an offer contingent on a veterinary examination and decided I would walk away from this filly if there were the slightest indication of a problem. A week later, she passed the exam with flying colors. The week after that, she was delivered to the Tucson boarding facility where I kept an unruly thoroughbred ex-racehorse and a previously abused mustang ex-cowhorse.
The filly’s breeders had christened her Black Beauty at the moment of her birth. She was named after the long-suffering equine hero of the nineteenth-century classic by Anna Sewell, the first book to bring widespread public attention to the tortures endured by horses at the hands of human beings. As a purebred Arabian with Egyptian bloodlines, her name was etched in stone as far as the registry was concerned. The papers that came with my new horse could not be changed, but I wasn’t about to refer to the Black Beauty legacy every time I wanted her to come to me. I decided to call her Tabula Rasa — “clean slate” in Latin — or simply Rasa, a term in Indian music for the mood, emotional soul, or innate extramusical image expressed through an extended improvisation. It was my intention to protect the youngest member of my herd from the unspoken fears and injustices I saw hovering behind the eyes of my other horses, traumas I had tried and failed to heal.
They say an elephant never forgets. The same is true of horses, which is why it’s important to treat them with the utmost sensitivity, and above all, to strive to do things right the first time. Most of the animals I’d encountered at public boarding stables in Tucson exhibited behavior problems stemming from some form of physical or emotional trauma. The retired cowhorse I acquired for my husband, Steve, was a classic example. Noche initially acted as if I was going to rap him across the head with a two-by-four every time I walked into his stall. Carrots were alien objects, and it took weeks of coaxing before he consented to take a sample from my hand. (The look on his face was one of stunned pleasure, and he’s been addicted ever since.) Yet even after we spent months slowly gaining his confidence, Noche’s memories of rough handling would suddenly resurface at the slightest provocation. One hot summer afternoon, I arrived at the barn with a handful of apple slices, and the old mustang refused to come near me. In fact, he snorted and raced around the corral as if I were the devil himself. It took me half an hour to figure out what the problem was. For the first time since we’d met, I’d worn a cowboy hat to keep the sun out of my eyes. When I took it off to wipe the sweat from my brow, the frightened horse immediately calmed down. To this day, Noche still expects the worst from people when their heads take on that strange shape.
I was adamant that my new filly would have nothing to fear from the human race, no matter what style of hat was involved. Unlike Noche, who cowered at the back of his stall whenever anyone on two legs looked his way, Rasa was gregarious, curious, affectionate, and always ready for the next escapade, whether it involved sizing up new people, teasing her stablemates, or chasing stray coyotes across the arena. She was a tabula rasa only in the context of adverse human influences. Otherwise, her character was clearly defined, and it was a pleasure to watch her actions and emotions arise out of pure abandon. The challenge was keeping her that way as we proceeded toward formal training.
In the meantime, I made sure Rasa associated me with the good things in life — not just carrots, but adventures. Together, we hiked for miles through the open desert searching for that rare patch of fresh grass. When the rains came and the washes flowed, we splashed around in the rushing water like a couple of kids. Back at the stable, we chased each other around the arena and engaged in mutual grooming sessions. As I rubbed her withers, she massaged the small of my back with her powerful lips. Eventually, she discovered how to use her nose to point to whatever place on her body needed a good scratch, and I was happy to oblige.
My fellow boarders thought I had taken leave of my senses. Some warned that Rasa would lose control and run me over, or at least give me one of a bite. Others verbally chastised me for treating my horse like a dog. Yet the affection we openly expressed had nothing to do with canine sensibilities. I was encouraging Rasa to treat me like another mare. Still, the line I crossed made everyone nervous. The vast majority of riders I encountered at that time thought horses were incapable of even the most rudimentary forms of discrimination, as if these creatures couldn’t help but take a mile if they were given an inch. Some trainers continue to insist that hand-fed horses develop dangerous biting habits, but Rasa never mistook my finger for a carrot, nor did she leave bite marks on my shoulders during our little grooming episodes. Even so, I didn’t allow her to nuzzle me the first time I met her in Phoenix or dare her to chase me along the fence line the day she was trailered to her new home in Tucson. We didn’t take liberties with each other until we had reached a level of mutual understanding that came about incrementally. Whenever Rasa became careless, the games stopped and she was returned to her stall. Whenever I did something that made her nervous, she swished her tail as a warning, and I backed off long before she felt it necessary to bite or kick.
I treated Rasa with respect and expected the same from her, and no one was going to make me feel foolish for it. Besides, the boarders who made the most ruckus over my misguided ways were the same people who came out to ride their horses twice a month, smacked them around when the animals showed signs of being barn sour, and took off whooping and hollering into the desert at a brisk, bucking gallop. Barn sour horses become unruly and sometimes even panic when taken beyond sight of their stalls because they’ve been confined for weeks on end with little human interaction and sporadic exercise at best. Yet I rarely observed an owner acknowledging his horse’s frenetic confusion as a legitimate reaction to being cooped up for too long. Instead, these people would shout and curse as they forcibly tried to restrain their jittery mounts long enough to climb into the saddle and head for the trails. The ones who returned with broken arms and collarbones were the first to shake their heads when they saw Rasa quietly rubbing my neck.
At the time, I wasn’t entirely conscious of what I was doing, so I wasn’t able to justify my behavior to other riders. My playful excursions outside the boundaries of the stable and its conventions tested a long-standing protocol between humans and horses that other people never seemed to question. Since I couldn’t express this to my critics, I simply stated that my goal was to help Rasa feel secure in my presence away from the barn and the other horses before I attempted to get on her back. I felt vindicated when I finally did begin riding her and we had little trouble crossing streams or exploring the trails alone, two seemingly simple feats known to cause horse owners a great deal of trouble.
Rasa’s initiation into the world of bits and saddles proved to be a pivotal experience in many ways. I was pushing the envelop on an informal basis, but when it came to helping her accept a rider, I wanted everything done right the first time, and I knew I wasn’t the one for the job. Yet of all the trainers I interviewed, those who specialized in “breaking colts” employed methods I was determined to avoid. I didn’t feel it necessary to tie an energetic youngster to a fence post and make her stand there for an hour under the guise of teaching self-discipline. I didn’t want someone belting her across the face if she mistakenly tried to groom him, and I certainly didn’t want some hotshot spurring the bucks out of her for sport. I also knew I couldn’t argue my case with trainers who had been in the business for twenty years, especially when they already treated me like a silly, sentimental woman. Still, I sensed there was a better way to relate to these animals as surely as if I carried a hidden blueprint for such an alternative in my blood.
last thing I will ever say to you on this entire forum as long as it exists
dude I hope you die a slow painful death after being ed up the ass by prison s with 12 foot s
You really are everything that has ever been wrong with the entire ing world. You sell out a guy you hang out with in person just to impress people you’ve never met that you play Madden with.
Well I hope your status in the Madden crew is tight. Hope all the blue-named Mavs fans you play Madden with, with your precious colts see you as a down ass white boy for giving them our real names, and all that info they kept trolling us with back in april.
Cuz it’s really probably that they learned all that private from some other poster on this site, right?
You are a ing walking zombie, because regardless of anything you ever do in this life, you’re always going to know that you sold out a great person just to impress XBOX Madden Mavericks s.
That is what you did. You ed over someone you had real people interactions with just to gain status on the ing internet. You are a piece of and I hope the next person on spurstalk that turns up dead is you.
And what’s REALLY REALLY FUNNY is that you might have seen our pictures and act all tough guy but you actually know jack about us. Nothing other than our names. I told mike from day 1 he was stupid to hang out with you especially after he told me what a ing walking acoustic guitar playing junkie you were.
But after this, after your shallow actions possibly leading to this bull …you best believe you will have the ability to shove a shank up my gooch. Because I never roll alone and you truly do not know any of us.
I cannot recognize you but if anyone I am with in Austin ever sees your ass we will follow you home and we will ing destroy you.
Have fun playing Madden with that choker Peyton and always remember you sold out a real life friend for internet mavs props.
you and I hope you burn in .
Yeah, I made a mistake. What else is new? All the Wemby and Spur haters are ing tonight. I just took a xanax so I'm kind of mellowing down. And I've recently started to reconsider suicide. And before you me out or call me a pussy, this has nothing to do with the Spurs. I'm miserable right now in my life and I'm starting to come to a breaking point. I'm stuck at a dead end job with ty pay and I get treated like a piece of too there. No respect at all. I am a hopeless piece of and prick. I wasted 5 and a half years in college in the hopes of possibly getting a good paying job or at least a decent paying job. I've been stuck in retail for almost 3 years making a whopping 15K a year. How am I ever going to be happy making ty money like that? Sorry for the rant, I think it's the xanax kicking in.
IDGAF what you do in life bro; you're still a little here on ST.
SDE coming from you no doubt about it.
LMFAO and you all say I "meltdown" over 2 sentences versus this laughable nonsense above.
"Bro we are hard af, we play Madden so watch yo ass on 6th St!"
This is hilarious. Bene have you DM'd mean words to SR on Facebook yet or is that only for men you truly love?
Btw, what are you truly mad about Bene, doxxing bad now?
Last edited by koriwhat; 08-19-2023 at 01:36 PM.
What the is going on in this thread?
I think I got copypasta'd! Good job!
Last edited by koriwhat; 08-19-2023 at 01:36 PM.
yeah i got tats on my legs, yeah they're spurs and yeah they're on my calves... we've gone over this yrs ago and yet it's still being brought up like a bad joke. it's in' old man and you think it gets to me when you say the bs you do? you think it gets to me especially coming from some chump off the internet? come on now man... i didn't get these tats because i thought i'd shrivel up into a ball and hide when someone put me down about my decision to tat my calves up with spurs, i got these tats because i wanted to, because i like them and because i could give 2 s less about some made chump on the internet.What the is going on in this thread?
I think I got copypasta'd! Good job!
get over it man and add to this thread or get the out already. come up with something clever or shut the up and get out of my thread.
My compliments to the person who wound him up.
(nvm, forgot that his local crack house has sales on Saturday)
I prefer gifs, but you know...whatever works.
have you ever considered suicide?LMFAO and you all say I "meltdown" over 2 sentences versus this laughable nonsense above.
"Bro we are hard af, we play Madden so watch yo ass on 6th St!"
This is hilarious. Bene have you DM'd mean words to SR on Facebook yet or is that only for men you truly love?
Btw, what are you truly mad about Bene, doxxing bad now?
I will always be better than you. You’re a failure and an embarrassment of a man.IDGAF what you do in life bro; you're still a little here on ST.
SDE coming from you no doubt about it.
Too bad you haven't already taken yourself out face. Bummer...
LMAO Bro no one gives a one way or the other dip . You're such a ing cry baby loser B2B!
You're an embarrassment of a zim/zer you ing puto.
Lol mavs
Since this tool wants to get personal without bringing any basketball takes or knowledge:
http://sexuality.about.com/od/malese...micropenis.htm
thread he posted about me = fail.
Obviously, the insecure "stretch" who makes a post without bringing a single basketball fact or reference got his moniker by a homely type of girl friend (or more likely a blind date set up by an emphatic friend) and was so named due to his lack of manhood:
1) as hormone therapy has not helped him and he is afraid to try some plastic surgery which would only at best bring him up to "minimal standards".
2) so then he spends his pathetic waking hours trying to stretch his "manhood"
Moreover, 16000 + takes and not a single memorable one that actually made a salient point on basketball? What a "stretch" he or whatever quasi genderish person this is knows anything about anything?
LOL my beautiful and still pe e wife is from Panama and if she did not kick your ass out of sympathy for your lack of masculinity, bring it on, former boxer here and Army doc here with training in the martial arts and while I am middle aged and "heading for the senior tour" in life; would still undoubtedly kick your hiding between a screen name *&^ anytime.
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