I have unbannyed the fricking Gwiwwcast™️

Correct, it was @_Ghost_Poster that melted my icy heart

No need to thank me.

i wasn't going to?

I already sent a heartfelt apology when i was banned 2 weeks ago and it fell on deaf ears

I'm busy today but I'll make a state of the union post tomorrow and finally lay this saga to rest!

Were the upmarseys worth this v. funny idea that you should have sent privately?

God forbid women do anything (abuse their janny powers)

why do you wanna be here that bad lmao

I always tell the truth about myself because I have nothing to hide.

I'm actually a 37 year old black lesbian woman named Shamiliyah from Canada

I do this all the time.

It's also fun to watch dramatards have a heart attack arguing with you over how wrong you are or how you're lying. It's great fun. Even better -- when incels ragepost at you for the lies you told. lol

Some of the incels here hang on my every post to keep track and it gives me a chuckle.

You mean you don't belive I'm a half-caste IT professional?

But I even poasted butthole and face

‘So now get up.'

Felled, dazed, silent, he has fallen; knocked full length on the cobbles of the yard. His head turns sideways; his eyes are turned towards the gate, as if someone might arrive to help him out. One blow, properly placed, could kill him now.

Blood from the gash on his head – which was his father's first effort – is trickling across his face. Add to this, his left eye is blinded; but if he squints sideways, with his right eye he can see that the stitching of his father's boot is unravelling. The twine has sprung clear of the leather, and a hard knot in it has caught his eyebrow and opened another cut.

‘So now get up!' Walter is roaring down at him, working out where to kick him next. He lifts his head an inch or two, and moves forward, on his belly, trying to do it without exposing his hands, on which Walter enjoys stamping. ‘What are you, an eel?' his parent asks. He trots backwards, gathers pace, and aims another kick.

It knocks the last breath out of him; he thinks it may be his last. His forehead returns to the ground; he lies waiting, for Walter to jump on him. The dog, Bella, is barking, shut away in an outhouse. I'll miss my dog, he thinks. The yard smells of beer and blood. Someone is shouting, down on the riverbank. Nothing hurts, or perhaps it's that everything hurts, because there is no separate pain that he can pick out. But the cold strikes him, just in one place: just through his cheekbone as it rests on the cobbles.

‘Look now, look now,' Walter bellows. He hops on one foot, as if he's dancing. ‘Look what I've done. Burst my boot, kicking your head.'

Inch by inch. Inch by inch forward. Never mind if he calls you an eel or a worm or a snake. Head down, don't provoke him. His nose is clotted with blood and he has to open his mouth to breathe. His father's momentary distraction at the loss of his good boot allows him the leisure to vomit. ‘That's right,' Walter yells. ‘Spew everywhere.' Spew everywhere, on my good cobbles. ‘Come on, boy, get up. Let's see you get up. By the blood of creeping Christ, stand on your feet.'

Creeping Christ? he thinks. What does he mean? His head turns sideways, his hair rests in his own vomit, the dog barks, Walter roars, and bells peal out across the water. He feels a sensation of movement, as if the filthy ground has become the Thames. It gives and sways beneath him; he lets out his breath, one great final gasp. You've done it this time, a voice tells Walter. But he closes his ears, or God closes them for him. He is pulled downstream, on a deep black tide.