witner

Spring (boioioioing) ft. Jesus Christ, Anubis and Jake Utler

Screwdriver ft. The Mona Lisa, Scott and Treevist

Fall ft. lil, uziv, ert

My semen is wet.My semen is wet.My semen is wet.My semen is wet.My semen is wet.My semen is wet.My semen is wet.My semen is wet.My semen is wet.My semen is wet.My semen is wet. i dont 

jailbird x lightning strike x not dre anymore x hoodtrap

In this


Once upon a time, in the cool, coastal city of Stavanger, there was a young boy named Max. Max wasn’t like other kids his age. He had a special way of seeing the world, and no matter what happened, he just couldn’t keep his thoughts to himself. Ever. And he was always on the move—especially when he was scooting through the streets on his trusty electric scooter.

Max’s day would always start the same: wake up, grab a quick breakfast, and race out the door with his helmet snugly on his head. But instead of heading to school like most kids, Max had one big goal—he was on his way to the gym to get stronger, faster, and maybe impress some of the older kids. The gym was only a 15-minute scoot from home, but to Max, it felt like a wild adventure.

“Okay, so I’m gonna get there, and then I’m gonna definitely do 50 push-ups, no question! But first, I need to pass the bakery, and, you know what? I should totally get a cinnamon bun after the gym, but I’m supposed to be on a diet, but diets are like… the worst, right? I mean, who decided we should eat less cake anyway?” Max mumbled as he zipped down the quiet Stavanger streets, weaving between cars and streetlights, like he was in some kind of action movie.

The best part about Max’s scooter was that it was silent. So, he could talk all the time without anyone being bothered by it. He'd talk to random pedestrians, to pigeons, to the trees. “Do you think the trees ever get tired of just standing there all day? Maybe they like being trees… but, man, I bet they wish they could run sometimes, you know? Maybe not as fast as me—no one scoots faster than me—but like, maybe they want to get a move on once in a while.”

Every bump in the road, every turn, sparked a new conversation in Max’s mind. “I’m not the best at riding on cobblestones,” he’d admit to no one in particular, bouncing slightly as his wheels hit a rough patch. “But hey, we all have our struggles, right? Like, even Batman had to work through some stuff. I mean, think about it: no superpowers, just gadgets and determination! So, that’s what I’m doing today. Training hard, like Batman!”

Max’s brain was like a river, always flowing with thoughts. And it was a good thing, too, because soon he reached the gym. He looked at the building, adjusting his helmet and feeling a little nervous. "Okay, okay, I’m gonna do this. I’ve been watching all these YouTube videos about how to get swole. You think the gym people are gonna be impressed with my scooter skills? Maybe I should tell them I’m secretly training for the Olympics… nah, too much. Keep it cool, Max."

The gym’s doors opened, and Max zipped inside, still talking, even though no one asked. "Oh, by the way, I totally saw this one cat on the way here. It was sitting on a fence, and it looked like it was judging me. Like, why do cats always look so judgmental? It’s like they know everything."

And so, Max spent the whole day in the gym, doing his best to work out, but the whole time, he was talking. Talking about workouts, about life, about how he’d been thinking about building a secret tunnel under his house (just in case), and how weird it was that he always thought about random stuff in the middle of push-ups.

At the end of the day, after he’d totally rocked his workout (he thought), he hopped back on his scooter, zooming through the streets, now talking about what he was going to eat for dinner. “I’m gonna have spaghetti, but maybe without meatballs tonight. Is that weird? Nah, it’s fine. I think I can pull it off. Like, who even decided spaghetti needs meatballs? Anyway, I’m gonna tell my mom I want spaghetti but only with cheese, and she’s gonna be like, ‘Max, you’re weird,’ but that’s fine because I am weird. And awesome.”

And so, Max scooted home, still jabbering about everything and nothing, ready to take on whatever adventure awaited him tomorrow.

jennnifers shoes

Quiet beat for studying/sleeping/jerking off/etc. ft. Elvis Presley

Calming Morning Call To Prayer (Ramadan Mubarak)

TJUSIG, ft. plaiboi carty, Pussy Riot, Ava Max, BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra

broster, ft. Nick Hustles

outro (half-time break)

Timefull

83.5 dream smp ribute, ft. Elizabeth III, lil, young, Bugs Bunny

Atheist, ft. Neil DeGrasse Tyson

I am in possession of a lamb that turns people into sand, ft. Ben Shapiro

MALDITA DANÇA FUNK // halal workout music

Birthstones have long been cherished not just for the

Read more at:

the haters something something

https://soundcloud.com/dj-nursing-home-playa x https://soundcloud.com/dj_butthole_mane_official

Patron Saint of Excess and Expression

O hail thee, DJ Butthole Mane, so bold,
Whose beats were filthy and heart pure gold,
A legend danced on every floor,
The gluttonous king we all adore.

With cheeks aglow and spirit free,
He sucked the marrow from life’s spree.
No buffet spared, no man unkissed—
He lived, he loved, he never missed.

From club to castle, lane to land,
He dropped the bass with jeweled hand.
Each drop, a gasp. Each synth, a scream.
He made indulgence feel like dream.

Oh glutton gay and glorious fiend,
With every snack, a soul redeemed.
Your hunger deep, your love still deeper—
A lusty life, no bounds, no keeper.

So raise your cups and twerk in awe
For Butthole Mane, who broke each law
Of shame, of silence, fear or pain—
And loved out loud through storm and stain.

ive been doing nothing but playing minecraft every day for a month straight

make a poem about a kid who cant speak and can only beatbox, and his mother who comunicates in riddles

100 street artists compete for a penny, ft. Ray William Johnson, Björk and Dude Perfect

The Gang Affiliatet gang of rapers have a fusion of raw energy, unique rhythms, and unapologetic expression, Anal Dreadlock Posse is a genre-blurring collective that channels the power of music to break boundaries. Hailing from diverse backgrounds, the group is known for its bold sound, combining elements of reggae, hip-hop, funk, and experimental beats with thought-provoking lyrics that challenge societal norms. The Posse’s style is all about authenticity, with an emphasis on creativity and unity in the face of adversity. Their performances are high-energy, immersive, and always push the limits of what’s expected in the world of live music.

A.N.A.L. DREADLOCK POSSE

Popular tracks