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/tg/ - Traditional Games

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What's a good tragic backstory for a first-world middle schooler who's the smart guy/face of his group?
If you think you know who I am, please don't derail this thread.
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Make his parents DEEEEEEEEAD.
his mom grounded him
Long term sexual abuse from an alcoholic father.
I'm pretty sure I don't know who you are, can I derail this thread?

Anyway op, brain damage.
Nah, go with an uncle. His dad died when he was one and his mom ran off before he was born.
Congenital HIV
MR. RAGE is great.

Anyways, why do you want to give him a tragic backstory? Is it necessary?
>his mom ran off before he was born
nigga what. did you accidentally switch around the mom and dad things?
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>What's a good tragic backstory for a first-world middle schooler who's the smart guy/face of his group?

Just rip off Ciel Phantomhive if you want an emo shota party face.



Ciel was a regular child in the past who maintained a cheerful disposition. Although this is true, as a child, he suffered greatly from poor health. He was seen having an asthma attack in volume 7.[3] He would often smile and play with his family and Elizabeth. Elizabeth said that when his parents were alive, the Phantomhive manor was full of smiles.[4]
On his tenth birthday, he was running through the manor and came across his dead mother, father, and dog. He calls for help, and runs into Tanaka, who tries to get him to flee. Before he can say much, however, he is attacked from behind from an unseen assailant who then grabs Ciel.[5]
Ciel was then sold, and his kidnappers comment that he is "rare" and is worth more than two people. Someone buys him, and his new owners brand him, giving him the mark of a "noble beast". He cries, saying that he's hurt and dirty and he wants to go home. He is next seen chained in a cage while masked adults look on, remarking about what a splendid evening they will have. Ciel sadly wonders why no one is there to help him. One of the masked adults then places him on a table for his sacrifice and he is stabbed, while other adults look on gleefully, clapping.[6]

Lets keep it, kid now has two moms, one of whom ran of before he was born.

Sebastian is summoned to him, although how is not shown. He appears in his true demon form. He tells Ciel that what has been sacrificed will never return. He asks Ciel if he wants to make a contract and have his wishes granted or not. Ciel says that he wants power to take revenge on those who did this to him. The ones who tried to sacrifice him try to stop him from talking, but Ciel agrees to make a contract. Sebastian asks him where he wants his seal, saying that the more visible it is, the stronger the contract is. Ciel tells him that anywhere is fine and that he want's a power stronger that anyone else's. Sebastian calls him greedy and decides to put it on his right eye. Ciel screams, then commands him to kill his attackers. He then burns the building. Ciel orders Sebastian to protect and never betray him, to obey his orders no matter what, and to never lie.[7][8]

>No demons in your game? Tough luck.
No, I said exactly what I meant to say.

After that, the first place they go is to the Royal Hospital where his aunt worked. She arranges for a carriage to bring him back to his manor. He and Sebastian view the ruined manor, then go to his and his parents' graves. Sebastian leaves briefly and when Ciel returns, the manor is as good as new. Ciel later takes his place as the Earl of Phantomhive and the Watchdog of the Queen.[9]
Ciel was not always the apathetic child he is now. When Sebastian first started to serve him, Ciel was shown as little ten-year-old boy who was very picky until Sebastian told him off.[10] Later, it is shown that they learn to get along better and their relationship gets softer and slowly progresses to what they are today.
His aunt knew about it, but she never did anything about it because it was an abusive relationship and she was afraid of what her husband might do to her if she reported him, so the most she could do was console the poor child.
So she ran off to her brother's house?
He was home alone with his girlfriend. They were holding hands and he was about to get his first kiss when someone broke in and tied him up, then raped and killed his girlfriend.
How angsty and tragic do you want? Do you have a problem with rape or death, or want to avoid them just to see what you can get there? How do you feel about running a disfigured or disabled character?
As a small child he got lost during a trip to a foreign country, and got put into the foster care system of a country he was unfamiliar with that spoke a different language.
Failed to check his privilege hard enough when posting on tumblr, now the hipster chick at Starbucks is like so over him and his mom won't buy him an iPhone 5...
Amusement park ride malfunctioned and broke his spine, rendering him paraplegic.
He wanted an iPhone 4 for Christmas but all his parents got him was an iPhone 2
He went blind when he looked directly at a solar eclipse to sate his infinite curiosity.
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Maybe both his parents refused to come the day of his birth?
I don't even
Was born from the corpse of his dead mother, grew up among mercenaries until his foster father sold his ass to some humongous nigger.
Then he killed his crippled foster father and had to kill his way back civilisation through a pack of wolves while the mercs tried to hunt him down.
original background, do not steal
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This is what you should do OP. Pick a bunch of problems that are depressing and possibly life-changing but are subtle and sort of in the background enough that you're character can just push it to the back of his mind and never try to fix it, or even realize it's as big of a problem as it really is.
Basically, just make an amalgamation of the original Digidestined, without the life-changing adventure that would let them face up to the crappy aspects of their childhood.
Your character DOESN'T get over almost killing his sister. Your character DOESN'T figure out your mom loves you after all. Your character DOESN'T reconnect with his brother and divorced parents. Etc.
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Don't make me say it OP, don't make me say it.

Don't make me say those two words that can make half the thread weep and the other half complain about 'emotionally stunted manchildren'.

Don't. It's been two months and I don't think I'm over the emotional shell shock yet.

If the picture doesn't ring a bell, just don't ask... it's better that way for you if you never read it.

Reminds me of the thread yesterday where someone else brought it up.

I said in the thread:
I believe we have one thing each, one thing that whenever we think about it, it never cease to make us feel one emotion.

In my case it is sadness - and entirely unrelated to your pictures.

So let me ask /tg/:

Would you like to hear the story of the saddest thing I know?
Liebot, what is the saddest thing?
What is that, the thing with the freak girls?

Can't speak on your behalf, but they are no more freaky than I am.

But yeah, it is the thing with the freak girls.

For you then, let me type it up.

I'm Danish.

No, that isn't the saddest thing I know. Haha, don't be daft /tg/, to be aware of your country's culture and heritage isn't a sad thing... ...oh wait it is!

I remember, I remember what everyone else chose to forget, to ignore, to pretend never happened. It's funny isn't it? When you know something, that everyone else doesn't know, you expect an advantage. Right, eh? Well, I might have the advantage of having my personality soured, turned cynic and bitter 45 years ahead of time. I was only 15 back then.

But any story has a start, and I was about to come with the end at first. No, to get to the story we have to to wind back time, wind it back to the year 1864. The year of war and of defeat.

My family originates from Southern Jutland, a small rail-road town called Haderslev. Originally a mix between a farming town and a garrison city, back then I suppose they had a railroad and the old windmill, not much else. My family was there - I weren't born yet of course, I only arrived at this world by the turn of the millennium. Denmark was at war with Prussia and Austria. A few years earlier Denmark had just won another war and my Great Great Grandfather was a decorated war hero. We still have his medal lying around, awarded to him by the Krigsministerium in 1856. But it is not that relevant to the story yet.

As the year 1864 rolled around, the thunder of war came, despite promises of military support from Sweden and Norway - which never actually got around - Denmark faced Prussia and Austria. And lost. I can't blame them though, it became a significant war in the Danish mentality for years to come. The Provinces of Slesvig and Holsten became annexed by Germany. In the Northern Slesvig was Haderslev and in Haderslev was my family. They became Danish-minded Germans. By law and order they were German citizens, taught German in school and learned German history. But in their minds and hearts they were Danish, they taught themselves Danish like many others, kept up with their family further north in the old Fatherland and otherwise tried to make a living in the new Fatherland.

Of course to be sad that history takes its course would be silly, haha. No, we still have a long story ahead of us.

Now, as it is still morning in the US at the given moment, I don't doubt for a moment that most of the posters here right now are Europeans, and you surely are aware of the history of our little corner of the world. The bloody pointless history that came ahead of us. For the wheels of time turned, five decades passed and the world has changed. My family? Not so much, sure the elder generation's hair turned a little greyer and the once four youthful sons of the family grew up and became four young men with the enthusiasm and eager to experience the world. They was in their twenties by the time we reached 1914. Young, German citizens, but Danish at heart and mind.

That fateful year, on the 28th of July 1914 a Bosnian Serb assassinated the heir to the Austrian-Hungarian throne. The thunder of war once again roared in the distance, demands were made and war became inevitably. Old ancient alliances between states crisscrossed across the old world and set the world ablaze. Austria-Hungary declared war on Serbia. Russia - allied with Serbia - declared war on Austria-Hungary. Germany - allied with Austria-Hungary - declared war on Russia. France - allied with Russia - declared war on Germany. Great Britain saw the Germans march through Belgium and declared war on Germany.

So the summer of 1914 four young German citizens was drafted, conscripted into the Imperial German army like many others. And like many others the four young men, carried with them the thoughts of an old fatherland up north. 29.000 Danish-minded Germans was conscripted, yes they could have escaped to neutral Denmark and avoided the war. But few of those 29.000 did. They went to war, as eager as the rest of the world, to prove their worth and to see a bit of the world before it was too late.

Could you just get to the point already? Or at least tone down on the overwrought melodramatic bullshit?

When a man tells a story you shut the fuck up and listen. Besides, storytime always has a tradition of being slow as fuck.

Also, he is typing the SADDEST thing he knows, do you think he wants to rush that?

>When a man tells a story you shut the fuck up and listen.

You just sit down and listen to all the shit that people throw your way? You don't choose the good stories from the bad ones? Why the fuck should I listen to you, then, you braindead fuck?

I'm not the storyteller you twat.

And no one forces you to read it, you are free to leave if you want to arrogant slob.

Back then Germany had a policy to organize their soldiers into divisions, battalions and regiments based upon where they got conscripted from. Pure Danish regiments was formed and went to war. Their history is well documented through a morbid list of French and Belgian cities: Marne, Mons, Verdun, Somme, Arras, Ypres and Cambrai.

In my family's case? My Great Grandfather fought at Verdun from February 1916 to December 1916, some of you may have heard that it was the battle that took ten months to fight but ten years to clean up. I visited Verdun a few years ago, the area is still scarred from the battle, five surrounding towns had been wiped clean off the surface of the earth, not a single house remained - the French out of respect to the families, never rebuild there and the five cities are still on the map.

He luckily survived, well - he did get a shell fragment in his arm this one time. If that French canon had been placed any different my right to exist would have been voided.

Yes, but that doesn't give him the right to make OP's thread about himself and the unbearable heaviness of being a Dane.

Storyteller here.

Look, fuck you, that is seriously what I want to say every time I read your posts. Yes my style of writing is pretentious, I do my very best right now, maybe it is not good enough for you and you just want to get to the action straight away.

And maybe I am wallowing in my own sadness here, but OP asked for suggestions for tragic backstories and I offered to write the saddest thing I know.

So you dislike this story so much you want it to end?

Okay, you win, story ends here unless someone else who isn't a shit poster wants to hear more.


And for the record: You aren't much better, I appreciate it, but seriously guys, it's bothersome.

Anyway story ends here unless someone who isn't impatient and doesn't mind my prose wants more.
OP hasn't shown his face around here in hours
I posted at least three ideas in this thread. Keep going.
Keep going bro, I'm interested. And you're not being pretentious, you're using the proper language for a story instead of "uh there was, like, a guy who fucked some shit up or whatever".


Luckily I copy-pasted the entry I was about to write when I stopped.


Now, as someone rather - to put it lightly - boldly said it is indeed a long build up. If you find this hell to listen to, I don't blame you. I carry this hell in my heart every day. The tale of 29.000 Danes who went to war, fought the same battles as the French, saw the same horrors as the British and suffered the same loses as the Germans. The morbid list of battles they went through is a testament to the horrors of the war. I suppose you get the point. While they weren't exactly volunteers, they weren't exactly eager to escape.

But let me ask you, what could they benefit from fighting this war? The French and Germans was each defending their homeland, Britain was protecting her interests and the Danes? They had nothing other than each other.

Warhammer 40.000 players praise the Imperial Guard's loyalty to the God Emperor for their religion and their culture against hordes and hordes of savage beasts.
The Danes didn't have reason to be loyal to the German Kaiser, their church was not the German church and their culture was not the one endangered. And for some reason, few deserted. They remained fighting for no reason - I can not guess why, I don't think I can relate - perhaps they saw it as their duty to defend each other as brothers in arms?

But we are still not done, though we ARE far past the halfway mark now.

It's a bit of a paradox that during the First World War, more Danes died in German uniforms than in Danish uniformed during the 2nd war of Slesvig in 1864 and The Second World war - put together.

Which makes the next thing ever so more hurtful to me.

The First World War ended - as you know - in 1918, with a German defeat, nullifying the Danes' efforts even further. In 1920 in Slesvig-Holsten a plebiscite was held, the Danish-minded and the Germans could finally vote whenever they wanted to be part of Denmark or Germany. Somewhat ironically this was possible because Germany lost, so in a way the Danes was fighting against their own interests.

The results became clear: Northern Slesvig would become part of Denmark again, Southern Slesvig and Holsten remained German. Actually if my memory serves me right there was a Danish majority in Holsten, but neither the Danes, the Germans nor the people of Holsten was interested in an enclave, so Holsten remained German.

So now, Denmark had veterans who came home. Shattered, broken, beaten, defeated veterans of a war that was even more pointless to them than their German comrades or opposing enemies.

What was done? Nothing. Or rather. At worst you could say they was seen as traitors to their own country. At best? They were padded on their back and told: "Hush, hush, everything will be alright now, let's never speak of it again."

And they never did, my Great Grandfather passed on two pieces of information to my mother. One: The Christmas Truce was real, he would retell her that story every year at Christmas, when he and the other soldiers put down their rifles for a night, to embrace their enemies and celebrate the few things they had in common. The second story? Boiled sugar beet tastes terrible.

But by their own country? Their efforts were largely ignored.

In England they dedicated one day a year to remain silent for a few moments to remember their soldiers.
In France they buried an unknown soldier underneath the Arc de Triomphe with a flame that was to burn for eternity.
In Germany the war - and the defeat - had such an impact on the country that it still affects the country's politics and decision making this very day.

In Denmark, it didn't become "The Great War", "The Glorious War" or even "The Pointless War". It became "The Forgotten War". Denmark turned her back on her own children and ignored their suffering and their loses. As if they didn't bleed to death in no mans land like any other unfortunate soul in that war.

Many years ago my Grandfather and Grandmother discovered a while ago, on a road trip to France a small city called Braine. Braine was of interest to them because it turned out it to be a "twin city" to Haderslev, I can't explain what it means, but for smaller cities it is a big deal when someone from your twin city visits you. So while in Braine my Grandparents found that not only was it their hometown's twin city, Braine was also home for a very special cemetery. The only First World War cemetery only for Danish soldiers. 39 bodies was laid to rest there, 39 Danes who gave their lives for nothing.

In 2006 I visited Braine and the Danish war cemetery. Picture related.

I wish I never did that. I regret it to this very day.
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>picture related.

Sorry about that here is the picture while I write the final entry.

Braine was... Braine was something depressing to begin with. A small sleepy French village, where only change of fashion and improvements of technology witness the passing of time. Bulletholes from both the World Wars still adored the walls on the streets, they never bothered to clean up after the war.

The cemetery was the worst, I cried. I didn't cry out of respect, I didn't cry out of sadness, but for pity.
At the head stone of the cemetery laid wreaths from various private clubs, organizations, the French government, the city of Braine, I think one from South-Slesvig Holsten was there too, but I am not sure. Most of these was dated a year or two, understandable. No need to replenish them when the wreaths are made of plastic flowers. To the side a flowerless wreath with a white ribbon rested on the ground. As I took a closer look, I suddenly fund myself feeling the worst 'that feel' ever.

It is THE worst feel I have ever felt.
I wish sincerely in my heart that NO ONE - not even the most inhuman being ever - shall feel that feel.
I've had my share of lost loves, I have been ripped apart mentally thrice in my life by unfortunate circumstances.
I've lost friends, in fact an internet acquaintance of mine was found dead in Odense Harbour the other day.
Nothing compares to it.

I'm sorry these last entries take a while. I know it sounds pathetic, but I am in tears, my nose is running, I can hardly see the keyboard. This is it my friends, I have to end the journey soon. I delayed our arrival for my own sake, I knew it would come to this, for here it is... the saddest thing I know.

The saddest thing I know.

It was the official wreath from the Danish government.
It was many years back. The ribbon had originally been red, but the passage of time had bleached it white, the flowers had been ripped and teared from it by the wind blowing and scattered them across the French country side.

Eighty eight years had passed since the end of the First World War.
Denmark still didn't care for the fates of 29.000 country men.

Keep in mind this is Denmark, our Nationalism is not about imperialism about regaining lost territories, our nationalism is unique in the sense that we truly see ourselves as brothers and sisters. Yes we make occasional jokes about Swedes in good faith, but when Nazi Germany occupied our country, we collectively managed to save 99% of our jews and smuggle them into Sweden.
Every year a hundred books are published on the topics of the occupation during the Second World War. Books about the freedom fight, the Danes who worked for the Nazis, the Freikorps Danemark, Dansk National Socialistisk Arbejder Parti, the connection in London, the Liberation. The past 5 years two major Danish films has been made about freedom fighters: Flammen og Citronen and Hvidstens Gruppen. Recently two books about the war of 1864 was published, and there are talks about turning one of them into a film.

In the past twelve years - as long as I have noticed - only ONE book has been published about the Danes during the First World War, and no one is contemplating filming it.

That day, when I stood in Braine in France, I realized that our nationalism was bullshit, that we didn't care about each other more than what we can benefit from.
29.000 Danes went through hell, and I am the only one who still gives a shit.
In Braine in 2006, I stopped being a Dane. I am a Danish citizen, I live in Denmark, I speak Danish - yes. But I am not a Dane, I am not Danish-minded. I don't think I ever will be Danish-minded ever again. Not as long as the Danes won't remember and the Government won't recognize the sacrifice.


Your feels are powerful. I feel your feel only by the way you wrought it.

No feel will ever be felt like this one, I thought Canada's view on the Newfoundlanders in the Somme was bad...but this...this is heavy
That's... That's simultaneously beautiful and heartbreaking. I'm glad I read your story through, Danebro... But I also deeply regret it. That was CRUSHING. I knew of Denmark's humiliation and lost land in the 1860's, but I was unaware of pointless Danish sacrifice in World War I.

A tragic and unsung tale, it is. Even moreso than the horrors that the Balkan states went through that so many seem to forget in my home. America. Washington, to be specific. The state, not the cesspool. I am deeply sorry for what your country lost, I truly am. Have you considered writing a book yourself? If no one else will, I think you'd be the perfect author for the subject.

>Have you considered writing a book yourself? If no one else will, I think you'd be the perfect author for the subject.

Yes I have, but I am waiting. Somewhere along my parent's things is a box, they have no idea where, and in fact it might be locked up in storage. One day I'll be given that box.

In that box lies my Great Grandfather's things from the war, unfortunately no weapons (I'd die for a Luger or Mauser C96 to be honest), but before the box went missing, my mother and I sometimes rummaged through it. There are his dog tags, there are unique pieces of birch bark - unique because burned into them with Gothic letters is a message from my Great Grandfather to his mother in Danish, somehow it got through the German army's postal service whole.

His message was - and I am paraphrasing:
"Here comes, from the fields of France a Happy Birthday.
-H. Ohlsen
Easter, 1916"

His dogtags are of interest because he was transferred from one company to another during the war. We have no idea where he was during the war, other than Verdun in 1916.

Once I get that box, I'll open it, I'll film unpacking it make a live-stream on /k/ (a promise dating back to 2008), take pictures of the items and sort them out.

Then I'll pack it all together and call the German Ministery of Defence. My friend will have to make the call because my family moved from Haderslev, so my German is terrible.

I'll make an arrangement, I'll get permission to look through the German records, to find out where my great grandfather was during the entire duration of the war - when he got shelled, when his company lost men.

But it will be in vain, I know it will before hand. That day I will cry, that day I WILL curse the price of Freedom and Liberty.
I am sure that the records from the First World War was destroyed in the aftermath of the Second World War by allied bombers and Nazi-panic.
And that day I'll know for sure that I may never truly understand my Great Grandfather - and the 28.999 others - suffering because absent mindedness in 1945.

That is what the book will be about, my hunt for the truth, and the price we pay when we wage war isn't only measured in body bags and gravestones, but in the loss of our history.

I thank you for your interest, it's a story I tell every time I get a chance. This is the second time I tell it on /tg/, and about five times on /k/.

This is by far the longest version I have ever told.
By the way, I forgot to link it, but it is related to the Danish Cemetery:


As far as I could tell with poor Google-Fu, it is the only website that describe it in detail, others just make a passing remark - if mentioning it at all.

Oh god that link is equally heart wrecking:

>Here lie in the soil of France the remains of 79 young soldiers from Schleswig who fell on the field of battle during the Great War of 1914-1918

>Required to serve with thousands of their compatriots within the German Army they carried out their duty and sacrificed their lives for a cause which was not theirs.

>May God grant their souls peace.
>fought for wrong side
>wants a parade
>something rotten in denmark

Sounds like the way the Arabs who sided with Hitler feel.

>b-but, we weren't really on the losing side, we just hated the British imperialists!

Sad fact of history is that it is full of useful idiots - naive, childish people who let themselves get used by assholes and then complain that they shouldn't be seen as assholes-by-association.
You know what's childish?
Thinking there's any "good" side in a war.

He didn't say "good", he said "losing".
Someone needs to document it. I didn't even know about this until reading your walls of text.
And, looking outside, even the weather shares your feels here. Overcast, grey, raining, and depressing.

At least you'll know what your ancestors did. On my mother's side, my grandparents met in bletchley park during the war. Both signed the official secrets act, and have stuck to the 100-year clause on it. My grandfather took the memory of what he did to the grave, except for a bundle of maps and stories he told my mother. My grandmother is still keeping the secret, and I respect her enough to not ask, despite the curiosity.
From the stories I have heard, I'm not sure I WANT to know what he did.
Have the kid insist that it was his mom that ran off, have him be genuinely confused when told that can't happen.
Writer of 'The Saddest Thing I know'.

Sorry I'm bumping this thread many hours later. when tread was ready to die.

I appreciate the level of response, sorry that I threatened to prematurely end the story, and apparently it has been added to suptg while being described as 'The worst feel ever'. I'm not sure how to feel about that, pride?

Some of you make it sound like I am a whiny child for not just accepting what has happened. And you are right to do so, every time I think back on that wreath, I want to protest, to throw a tantrum, scream out about the unfairness of it. I won't deny it. I am a child in these stories, I try to behave as rational about it. So instead of reacting violently, I cry unmanly tears.
That is whiny and childish, but I still feel mature about it, as long as I don't behave irrationally violently.

Although some of you seem to imply that I am asking for a lot - like a parade.
I don't want any parades. Improvements are coming slowly, and only towards soldiers from the past few years and forth.

No, a parade would be too much. I think it would be much more appropriate if the wreath was changed once every year - maybe every second year.

However, when it comes to writing, you sometimes take certain liberties.
I'll admit that sometimes as I write this story, some details change, I think I in the past exaggerated how badly the cemetery in Braine was kept. I'm sure if someone dug up an older version of the story you'll find inconsistencies, but the essence should remain the same:

Is it that easier to wipe something off your collective memory than to think back and admit your faults with some dignity?

Der Untergang - The Downfall - the German film about Hitler's last days does the rather well. It's a film, where the German people face their past and acknowledge it existed. They looked at what happened to them and they said 'Yeah, we were the bad guys.'.

I'm getting tired and I feel like I constantly digress from a point I'm trying to make. I guess I have no further points to add. So once again, thanks for the appreciation of the story, while it might seem irrelevant to your interests it is a story that matters a lot to me.

I'll leave the thread once more. Take care /tg/.
Du har ret. Der er intet fokus på 1 verdens krig, siden Danmarks regering var så neutrale som de kunne være. Føler for dig jydebro
He's an adopted child from an multiracial muslim homosexual male couple who look down on him for not being gay and fabulous enough. They constantly make comments like "I'm so angry at you I could just explode!"
OP here. This thread was a failure for my purposes, but it's probably better this way.
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Screencapped. It saddens me greatly that this part of our history is so ignored, and I thank you deeply for sharing. This is a story that deserves to be told.

Fucking saved!

Now to wait for it to reach reddick, unfunnyJunk and 9fag.

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