Scrotecels...this is our life 
In a Facebook post, Ashraf said the deceased had worked in the Middle East for decades and had not gone home in the past five years. He died earlier this week and after the family was informed about his death, the wife and two children unanimously said they didn't need his body.
I heard about this Bangladeshi working in muttistan with a similar story, he wanted to go back home cause he had sent back tons and his family had become fairly affluent but literally everyone told him he can't go back and he should keep sending them dollars and stay where he is. He was an illegal migrant so going back would be a one way trip, this dude spent his whole life slaving for people to whom he's basically just a stranger who gives them a monthly cheque.
I saw this other case where the dead man's daughter arrived and she didn't even go to the body, first thing she asked was for the death certificate(necessary to get his pension). Imagine dying and your daughter only cares about how much money she can squeeze from the corpse.
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I want to frick the conservative out of you. I can't help myself. Every time you come into my office with your low cut shirt and cross necklace subtly splayed across your immaculate breasts I think about taking you, right there, as a man (with your consent, of course, r*pe culture is not okay). I want to pull off your panties and eat your kitty until your juices trickle down to the lower classes. I want you to moan so hard and so loud that you can't form coherent words, let alone talk about what Rush Limbaugh said about immigrants the other day. Each time 'those people' crosses your lips I think about your mouth wrapped around my prodigious peepee as my little people spill out of it. I want to make an anchor baby with you. I want to throw all the papers off my desk and ride you until gay marriage is legal in a majority of States or until you've come enough times to admit that maybe universal health care makes sense. And I mean all this respectfully, of course. I'm a feminist. Why do you do this to me. Why. Do you know what you're doing? Every time you come into my office and sit across from me and cross and recross your legs and talk about the weather and then (somehow) about how unemployment insurance is actually bad for poor people do you know that I'm wondering if your panties are equally as conservative? That I'm curious what you'd look like on top of me, my hands tweaking your nipples like doing so would be tweaking taxes on the top one percent? That I'm thinking about you looking back at me as I frick you from behind, your Jesus necklace swaying back and forth as you scream "Drill, baby, drill!" You're not crazy, just politically hypocritical. Social conservatism is selfish and untenable. Your adherence to laws written when people owned slaves and the largest city was 1/10th of what it is now is ruining this god darn country. And I want you so bad. I want you so so bad. Ugh. Be my Monica Lewinsky. I'll be your Bill Clinton. Let's reach across the aisle... and into each other's pants.
Snapshots:
archive.org
ghostarchive.org
archive.ph (click to archive)
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