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Swiper, no swiping! (part 2)

"Part 1":/https://knowyourmeme.com/photos/565505-ruined-childhood/
"Part 1":/https://knowyourmeme.com/photos/565505-ruined-childhood/

Ruined Childhood
ruined childhood dora the explorer

Swiper, no swiping! (part 1)

"Part 2":/https://knowyourmeme.com/photos/565506-ruined-childhood/
"Part 2":/https://knowyourmeme.com/photos/565506-ruined-childhood/

Ruined Childhood
ruined childhood dora the explorer

NEW SUICIDE BARBIE: BLEEDS PINK BLOOD


Ruined Childhood


Ruined Childhood
police mcdonalds ronald mcdonald

TIME PARADOX

ebeen iealous of my good,looks sincethe fourth arade guiltyhipster: Wait a second. Wait a second. Did they meet in university or did they meet in grade school? I smell a continuity error
ebeen iealous of my good,looks sincethe fourth arade guiltyhipster: Wait a second. Wait a second. Did they meet in university or did they meet in grade school? I smell a continuity error

Ruined Childhood
continuity error monsters inc monsters university sully mike wasowski

indle Being the adventures of a young man whose principal interests are r---, ultra-violence and Beethoven. Winner of the Chritopher Award STANLEY KUBRICK'S LOCKWORC ANDREW CLEMENTS A Stanley Kutrick Prodatin"A CLOCKWORK ORANCE"Staring Matin McDowel·Patrick Mgne . A renne am and Miriam Karlin Sceenplay by Staniey Kubrick Based on the novel by Anthony Burgess Produced and
indle Being the adventures of a young man whose principal interests are r---, ultra-violence and Beethoven. Winner of the Chritopher Award STANLEY KUBRICK'S LOCKWORC ANDREW CLEMENTS A Stanley Kutrick Prodatin"A CLOCKWORK ORANCE"Staring Matin McDowel·Patrick Mgne . A renne am and Miriam Karlin Sceenplay by Staniey Kubrick Based on the novel by Anthony Burgess Produced and

Ruined Childhood
ruined childhood a clockwork orange frindle

huh, Whats uh-nothino got this Feeling Just like somene was watching US. 03 it's just your imagination Your Parents are pone all wgeksnd cikt
huh, Whats uh-nothino got this Feeling Just like somene was watching US. 03 it's just your imagination Your Parents are pone all wgeksnd cikt

Ruined Childhood
grownup calvin and hobbes suzy perkins stuffed tiger teenager makeout bae come over my parents aren't home imagination imaginary friend

三 SHOW LISI Sesame Street WXXIHD 1011 THU, 10:00- 11:00 am 22% Full 6:45 pm MORE INFORMATION Situation, Brief Nudity, Graphic Language, Graphic Violence, Language, Mild Violence, Nudity, R---, Strong Sexual, PAGE 2:3 Record length 1 hr Will delete in about 44 hr PRESS BACK TO LIST
三 SHOW LISI Sesame Street WXXIHD 1011 THU, 10:00- 11:00 am 22% Full 6:45 pm MORE INFORMATION Situation, Brief Nudity, Graphic Language, Graphic Violence, Language, Mild Violence, Nudity, R---, Strong Sexual, PAGE 2:3 Record length 1 hr Will delete in about 44 hr PRESS BACK TO LIST

Ruined Childhood
elmo sesame street fail

"Source.":http://www.harkavagrant.com/index.php?id=350
"Source.":http://www.harkavagrant.com/index.php?id=350

Ruined Childhood
kate beaton hark a vagrant secret garden

Charlie Brown...how ironic.

RACISM Sometimes it's subtle.
RACISM Sometimes it's subtle.

Ruined Childhood
racism thanks giving black people demotivational poster snoopy comic:peanuts

Disney Knows and Disney Doesn't Care

HERE COMES GOOFY! LET'S TR OUR VENTRILOQUISM GAG ON HIM! HE OUGHTA BE Hi MICKEY! HI, GOOFY! WORK IT ON 2 WELL, FER GOSH SAKES! SURPRISED? S PRISED? WHO? ME? NO! WHAT AT? HELLO GOOFY, PLUTO! OL' PAL How il SURE! wHAT OF COURSE I BUTUNDERSTAND PLUTOS A DOG! AN' HES MATTER AT PLUTO, YA BIG NINNY! DIDN'T YA HEAR HIM TALK? OF IT ? WHATS TH DON'T YA UNDERSTAND?WUNNERFUL OF YUH? WHATS ABOUT THAT?
HERE COMES GOOFY! LET'S TR OUR VENTRILOQUISM GAG ON HIM! HE OUGHTA BE Hi MICKEY! HI, GOOFY! WORK IT ON 2 WELL, FER GOSH SAKES! SURPRISED? S PRISED? WHO? ME? NO! WHAT AT? HELLO GOOFY, PLUTO! OL' PAL How il SURE! wHAT OF COURSE I BUTUNDERSTAND PLUTOS A DOG! AN' HES MATTER AT PLUTO, YA BIG NINNY! DIDN'T YA HEAR HIM TALK? OF IT ? WHATS TH DON'T YA UNDERSTAND?WUNNERFUL OF YUH? WHATS ABOUT THAT?

Ruined Childhood
disney ruined childhood

Mister Patches

My grandma gave me Mister Patches when I was just four years old and still afraid of the dark. "Just hold it close when the lights go out and make sure you don't let go" she'd whispered in my ear, as she handed me the disheveled teddy bear. Mister Patches was a veteran of two World Wars, and it showed: he had a button for an eye and a square of tricolette fabric on his belly. He had plaid armpits and the ends of his feet were clad in felt. His smile was crooked, the black thread that originally outlined his mouth long since torn, replaced halfway through by a bright blue thread. It made his mouth look funny, like he was smiling two different kinds of smiles "One" my grandma said, pointing at the black-thread half "is for children that have good-dreams. The other" she turned Mister Patches, showing the mad zig-zag of blue "is for bogeymen, which Mister Patches eats." Following her instructions to the letter, I did sleep with Mister Patches holding him close and never once leaving him out of my sight as I slept. And true to her promise, Mister Patches dispelled my fear of the dark and swept away the bogeymen, standing fiercely at my side. By the time I was six, I had known little else but peace and his comforting presence The bogeymen came back in full force on my seventh birthday, when I had thought myself to old to need Mister Patches' help It started as whispers beneath my bed and tiny sounds from the creaking hou he s it settled. It began with long shadows a ing cars, throwing odd shadows on the face Ig pa ng r features progressed, within a week, into moaning from behind the wall and odd tearing sounds coming from somewhere inside the ceiling Mister Patches was lying on my bed beside me, when l opened my eyes searched for him. Tiny bits of thread hung loosely from the ricolette square on his belly, the cotton stuffing slightly gutted couldn't put down exactly how I had known, but I could tell that his glass eye was transfixed on my bedroom wall: at the tiny crack, indistinguishable in the darkness. I couldn't exactly see it, but I could make out the tiny bit of thread that had been somehow sewn into the plaster, holding it together l daren't tell my parents, for fear of being scolded and I couldn't call my grandmother, for fear of not believing me, of hurting her feelings when she'd see the tear on Mister Patches, thinking it had been the result by my clumsiness For a month, I had slept fitfully, fearing the odd sounds in the darkness, with Mister Patches by my side, his threading growing all the more ragged, the felt on his right foot gutted. The crack on the wall had expanded, held in place tenuously by brightly-colored thread. But from the tiny opening, I could clearly hear the sound of something shuffling sily, its breathing ragged with anticipation. When I awoke to fin armpits, their tiny squares sewn into the wall where the crack had widened the most, I mustered the strength to tiptoe out of my room and into the e plaid armpit patches torn from below h ng room l grandma. I knew that she would prob be but I daren ce my parents the next da stand othe Ig f the strange whispers Halfway through dialing her number, there was a roar and a sound like something tearing (not like fabric or felt, but more like the sound of some impossibly powerful gust of air, tearing doors from their hinges) Something screamed upstairs, another thing cackled. There was the sound of threads popping and something that sounded very much like a bag full of sand, slamming against the floorboards. When my parents rushed into my room, they found me there, clutching at the gutted Mister Patches, my tiny hand struggling to stuff the cotton back inside the fabric. His glass eye had gone, im was Mister Pa elt ing hanging The crack on the plaster was no longer there, but I knew that s I gave him a proper funeral, the kind that storybooks said wa oldiers. My grandma was there to attend, as s ld her the my favorite ews. We bundled Mister Patches carefully i bedsheets and lowered him into the grave set in the garden. She died llowing da f a stroke eyes transfixed on the wall of her bedroom, where there had been a tiny, almost undistinguishable crack. I grew up since then, learned to overcome my fear on own. But sometimes, hear the sounds that the house makes in the dead of night and the whispers from beneath the floorboards. There's a crack on my wall, faintly outlined against the plaster that I can't plug no matter how hard I might try. Sometimes, something snarls at me from the tiny s and I find myself praying I still had Mister Patches
My grandma gave me Mister Patches when I was just four years old and still afraid of the dark. "Just hold it close when the lights go out and make sure you don't let go" she'd whispered in my ear, as she handed me the disheveled teddy bear. Mister Patches was a veteran of two World Wars, and it showed: he had a button for an eye and a square of tricolette fabric on his belly. He had plaid armpits and the ends of his feet were clad in felt. His smile was crooked, the black thread that originally outlined his mouth long since torn, replaced halfway through by a bright blue thread. It made his mouth look funny, like he was smiling two different kinds of smiles "One" my grandma said, pointing at the black-thread half "is for children that have good-dreams. The other" she turned Mister Patches, showing the mad zig-zag of blue "is for bogeymen, which Mister Patches eats." Following her instructions to the letter, I did sleep with Mister Patches holding him close and never once leaving him out of my sight as I slept. And true to her promise, Mister Patches dispelled my fear of the dark and swept away the bogeymen, standing fiercely at my side. By the time I was six, I had known little else but peace and his comforting presence The bogeymen came back in full force on my seventh birthday, when I had thought myself to old to need Mister Patches' help It started as whispers beneath my bed and tiny sounds from the creaking hou he s it settled. It began with long shadows a ing cars, throwing odd shadows on the face Ig pa ng r features progressed, within a week, into moaning from behind the wall and odd tearing sounds coming from somewhere inside the ceiling Mister Patches was lying on my bed beside me, when l opened my eyes searched for him. Tiny bits of thread hung loosely from the ricolette square on his belly, the cotton stuffing slightly gutted couldn't put down exactly how I had known, but I could tell that his glass eye was transfixed on my bedroom wall: at the tiny crack, indistinguishable in the darkness. I couldn't exactly see it, but I could make out the tiny bit of thread that had been somehow sewn into the plaster, holding it together l daren't tell my parents, for fear of being scolded and I couldn't call my grandmother, for fear of not believing me, of hurting her feelings when she'd see the tear on Mister Patches, thinking it had been the result by my clumsiness For a month, I had slept fitfully, fearing the odd sounds in the darkness, with Mister Patches by my side, his threading growing all the more ragged, the felt on his right foot gutted. The crack on the wall had expanded, held in place tenuously by brightly-colored thread. But from the tiny opening, I could clearly hear the sound of something shuffling sily, its breathing ragged with anticipation. When I awoke to fin armpits, their tiny squares sewn into the wall where the crack had widened the most, I mustered the strength to tiptoe out of my room and into the e plaid armpit patches torn from below h ng room l grandma. I knew that she would prob be but I daren ce my parents the next da stand othe Ig f the strange whispers Halfway through dialing her number, there was a roar and a sound like something tearing (not like fabric or felt, but more like the sound of some impossibly powerful gust of air, tearing doors from their hinges) Something screamed upstairs, another thing cackled. There was the sound of threads popping and something that sounded very much like a bag full of sand, slamming against the floorboards. When my parents rushed into my room, they found me there, clutching at the gutted Mister Patches, my tiny hand struggling to stuff the cotton back inside the fabric. His glass eye had gone, im was Mister Pa elt ing hanging The crack on the plaster was no longer there, but I knew that s I gave him a proper funeral, the kind that storybooks said wa oldiers. My grandma was there to attend, as s ld her the my favorite ews. We bundled Mister Patches carefully i bedsheets and lowered him into the grave set in the garden. She died llowing da f a stroke eyes transfixed on the wall of her bedroom, where there had been a tiny, almost undistinguishable crack. I grew up since then, learned to overcome my fear on own. But sometimes, hear the sounds that the house makes in the dead of night and the whispers from beneath the floorboards. There's a crack on my wall, faintly outlined against the plaster that I can't plug no matter how hard I might try. Sometimes, something snarls at me from the tiny s and I find myself praying I still had Mister Patches

Ruined Childhood
bear story ruined childhood

Archie's Girls Betty Veronica TAKE ME TO YOU駅 REEFER GOOD GRIEF BETTY COOPERI WHAT ON EARTH HAPPENED TO YOL? MAN, BROTHER REGGIE GAVE ME SOME FAR OHT BROWNIES, AND NOW I'M FEELIN GROOVY, MAN AND I SHARE SOME FREE LOVE FOXY MAMA? dannygayhealani betty cooper tried pot once and now she's gay
Archie's Girls Betty Veronica TAKE ME TO YOU駅 REEFER GOOD GRIEF BETTY COOPERI WHAT ON EARTH HAPPENED TO YOL? MAN, BROTHER REGGIE GAVE ME SOME FAR OHT BROWNIES, AND NOW I'M FEELIN GROOVY, MAN AND I SHARE SOME FREE LOVE FOXY MAMA? dannygayhealani betty cooper tried pot once and now she's gay

Ruined Childhood


Ruined Childhood

Superman the Dick.

GIRL FRIEND 12 COMICS DC LOIs LANE STEP-SISTER, AFTER YOU CLEAN THE FLOOR AND THE DISHES, GO TO SLEEP IN THE BARN WE'RE WHEN LOIS LANE BECAME CINDERELLA! GOING TO A GRAND BALL. I WAS A FOOL TO LET SUPERMAN TAKE ME HERE IN THE PAST TO RE-LIVE THE LIFE OF CINDERELLA! ALL THIS STUFF ABOUT Y GOING TO THE BALL AND MEETING PRINCE CHARMING IS BUNK
GIRL FRIEND 12 COMICS DC LOIs LANE STEP-SISTER, AFTER YOU CLEAN THE FLOOR AND THE DISHES, GO TO SLEEP IN THE BARN WE'RE WHEN LOIS LANE BECAME CINDERELLA! GOING TO A GRAND BALL. I WAS A FOOL TO LET SUPERMAN TAKE ME HERE IN THE PAST TO RE-LIVE THE LIFE OF CINDERELLA! ALL THIS STUFF ABOUT Y GOING TO THE BALL AND MEETING PRINCE CHARMING IS BUNK

Ruined Childhood

Think about it

hope this is not a repost
hope this is not a repost

Ruined Childhood
spongebob childhood ruined pineapple corners