When Blackmarsh sends its farm cowtools, they're not sending their best. They're not sending you. They're not sending you. They're sending farm cowtools that have lots of problems, and they're bringing those problems with us. They're bringing skooma. They're bringing crime. They're male feminists. And some, I assume, are good people.
But I speak to border guards and they tell us what we're getting. And it only makes common sense. It only makes common sense. They're sending us not the right people.
It's coming from more than Blackmarsh. It's coming from all over Tamriel and Stros M'kai, and it's coming probably -- probably -- from the Elsweyr. But we don't know. Because we have no protection and we have no competence, we don't know what's happening. And it's got to stop and it's got to stop fast.
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!nwahs
This is my thoughts on immigration into Morrowind.
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Christmas is the most magical glorious perfect impeccable dazzling time of year! How DARE you pitiful grinches not love every single jolly holly jingly bit of it! What is wrong with you freaks?! Have you no festive spirit, noPopulated forests of pine trees covered in twinkling rainbow lights that blanket me in cozy, tinsel-y warmth? No army of nutcracker soldiers marching up the stairs bearing plates of fudgy butter cookies and mugs overflowing with marshmallowy hot cocoa? No glistening angels fluttering through the alleyways at midnight, telling stories of poor skeletal children whose bones are decomposing in the cemetery because they don't have proper Christmas dinners to nourish them? YOU SHOULD! Let their blood and marrow splatter all over youuntil you finally understand the true meaning of Christmas, you naughty scrooges! Now if you'll excuse me, I have gingerbread houses to build while I listen to Madonna's Christmas album on repeat for all eternity.
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