MiracleWhale posted:

tried but the clit kept getting in the way

TheWeepingHorse posted:

Dreddout posted:

I'd poach that ebony, if you know what I mean!

Cthulu Carl posted:

Those are some tastefully arranged pyres.

I'm glad that Kenyans take such pride in their work.

DOWN JACKET FETISH posted:

why go to all that effort when they can just be made to read your posts

eric posted:

Here's a picture of a Kenyan with a big rear end:

Testikles posted:

This thread is now about fine African women.

gently caress the ROW posted:

I saw this article a while ago and it seems extremely stupid . Cuz aren't the Kenyans already overrun with poachers? And you're going to burn like 100 tons of ivory that you already have instead of buying more helicopters?

max4me posted:

what ever happened to that dentist that killed that lion?

MiracleWhale posted:

http://www.radiolab.org/story/rhino-hunter/

TheWeepingHorse posted:

A friend of mine is a federal LEO. He said that a funny thing about the world is how suspects often "cowboy up" in face of a gun - however, they're much more cautious and cooperative when you threaten them with a baton. It's easy to risk your life for something. Some people are actually quite excited by it. However, the idea of persisting, non-fatal, non-romantic physical pain is actually far more repulsive to people.

So, in that vein, I suggest that people who knowingly purchase ivory should be mutilated and forced to live as beggars far away from home. No excitement of danger, no lawyers getting you out of prison. Just hot Calcutta air wheezing in and out of what used to be a nose, heavy septic breeze searing lipless, toothless gums. He holds out a tin can, mewling incoherently for change, or water, but the passersby have been severely told beforehand to not give him any money at all, nor to even acknowledge his presence. He waves his misshapen arms - broken, then "healed" all wrong - in a pleading motion, but it is as if he is invisible, as if there is only a thin glass pane separating him from a pre-torture life.

Children pass him by. One reaches out an innocent hand, to see what is the matter with the poor man, but the child's mother shoos him way. He tries to wail, but his vocal cords have been torn. Instead, only a wet fumbling mutter.

After two long days, at long last, he sees that the game is up. He tears his tin can in half, even with smashed hands. But just as he is about to slash his throat with the jagged metal, something happens. Something grabs his shoulders and pins him to the ground.

He wakes up in what seems like a hospital. He has no arms. One foreleg is gone. He is in a haze of drugs. Masked nurses force-feed him.

He is drugged again. He wakes up in massive empty room. Perhaps it had once been a warehouse, or a hangar. The walls are padded, and he cannot see any doors. There is nowhere to go and nothing to do and it hurts to move. The lights are bright, brighter than is normal for even a bright room. There is no shade. He cannot hear, either. Pink noise blasts from unseen speakers.

He cannot remember how long the body can last without water.

He will spend the rest of his short life guessing.

He will never notice the small divots in the walls' padding.

He will never see the eyes through these peepholes.

The eyes of, literally, the cartoon character Dumbo.

eric posted:

Here's a picture of a Kenyan with a big rear end:

TheWeepingHorse posted:

A friend of mine is a federal LEO. He said that a funny thing about the world is how suspects often "cowboy up" in face of a gun - however, they're much more cautious and cooperative when you threaten them with a baton. It's easy to risk your life for something. Some people are actually quite excited by it. However, the idea of persisting, non-fatal, non-romantic physical pain is actually far more repulsive to people.

So, in that vein, I suggest that people who knowingly purchase ivory should be mutilated and forced to live as beggars far away from home. No excitement of danger, no lawyers getting you out of prison. Just hot Calcutta air wheezing in and out of what used to be a nose, heavy septic breeze searing lipless, toothless gums. He holds out a tin can, mewling incoherently for change, or water, but the passersby have been severely told beforehand to not give him any money at all, nor to even acknowledge his presence. He waves his misshapen arms - broken, then "healed" all wrong - in a pleading motion, but it is as if he is invisible, as if there is only a thin glass pane separating him from a pre-torture life.

Children pass him by. One reaches out an innocent hand, to see what is the matter with the poor man, but the child's mother shoos him way. He tries to wail, but his vocal cords have been torn. Instead, only a wet fumbling mutter.

After two long days, at long last, he sees that the game is up. He tears his tin can in half, even with smashed hands. But just as he is about to slash his throat with the jagged metal, something happens. Something grabs his shoulders and pins him to the ground.

He wakes up in what seems like a hospital. He has no arms. One foreleg is gone. He is in a haze of drugs. Masked nurses force-feed him.

He is drugged again. He wakes up in massive empty room. Perhaps it had once been a warehouse, or a hangar. The walls are padded, and he cannot see any doors. There is nowhere to go and nothing to do and it hurts to move. The lights are bright, brighter than is normal for even a bright room. There is no shade. He cannot hear, either. Pink noise blasts from unseen speakers.

He cannot remember how long the body can last without water.

He will spend the rest of his short life guessing.

He will never notice the small divots in the walls' padding.

He will never see the eyes through these peepholes.

The eyes of, literally, the cartoon character Dumbo.

TheWeepingHorse posted:

A friend of mine is a federal LEO. He said that a funny thing about the world is how suspects often "cowboy up" in face of a gun - however, they're much more cautious and cooperative when you threaten them with a baton. It's easy to risk your life for something. Some people are actually quite excited by it. However, the idea of persisting, non-fatal, non-romantic physical pain is actually far more repulsive to people.

So, in that vein, I suggest that people who knowingly purchase ivory should be mutilated and forced to live as beggars far away from home. No excitement of danger, no lawyers getting you out of prison. Just hot Calcutta air wheezing in and out of what used to be a nose, heavy septic breeze searing lipless, toothless gums. He holds out a tin can, mewling incoherently for change, or water, but the passersby have been severely told beforehand to not give him any money at all, nor to even acknowledge his presence. He waves his misshapen arms - broken, then "healed" all wrong - in a pleading motion, but it is as if he is invisible, as if there is only a thin glass pane separating him from a pre-torture life.

Children pass him by. One reaches out an innocent hand, to see what is the matter with the poor man, but the child's mother shoos him way. He tries to wail, but his vocal cords have been torn. Instead, only a wet fumbling mutter.

After two long days, at long last, he sees that the game is up. He tears his tin can in half, even with smashed hands. But just as he is about to slash his throat with the jagged metal, something happens. Something grabs his shoulders and pins him to the ground.

He wakes up in what seems like a hospital. He has no arms. One foreleg is gone. He is in a haze of drugs. Masked nurses force-feed him.

He is drugged again. He wakes up in massive empty room. Perhaps it had once been a warehouse, or a hangar. The walls are padded, and he cannot see any doors. There is nowhere to go and nothing to do and it hurts to move. The lights are bright, brighter than is normal for even a bright room. There is no shade. He cannot hear, either. Pink noise blasts from unseen speakers.

He cannot remember how long the body can last without water.

He will spend the rest of his short life guessing.

He will never notice the small divots in the walls' padding.

He will never see the eyes through these peepholes.

The eyes of, literally, the cartoon character Dumbo.

Cowman posted:

I listened to that story and apparently when those rhinos get old they get really cranky and start killing the younger males for some reason so Nambia isolates the old fuckers and sells the rights to hunt them to make some money to preserve the rest of them. Makes sense and sounds like a good thing to me

Cowman posted:

I listened to that story and apparently when those rhinos get old they get really cranky and start killing the younger males for some reason so Nambia isolates the old fuckers and sells the rights to hunt them to make some money to preserve the rest of them. Makes sense and sounds like a good thing to me

8 track betamax posted:

Here's a real funny thing to think about......elephants serve no purpose and who cares if their all dead

eric posted:

Here's a picture of a Kenyan with a big rear end:

TheWeepingHorse posted:

A friend of mine is a federal LEO. He said that a funny thing about the world is how suspects often "cowboy up" in face of a gun - however, they're much more cautious and cooperative when you threaten them with a baton. It's easy to risk your life for something. Some people are actually quite excited by it. However, the idea of persisting, non-fatal, non-romantic physical pain is actually far more repulsive to people.

So, in that vein, I suggest that people who knowingly purchase ivory should be mutilated and forced to live as beggars far away from home. No excitement of danger, no lawyers getting you out of prison. Just hot Calcutta air wheezing in and out of what used to be a nose, heavy septic breeze searing lipless, toothless gums. He holds out a tin can, mewling incoherently for change, or water, but the passersby have been severely told beforehand to not give him any money at all, nor to even acknowledge his presence. He waves his misshapen arms - broken, then "healed" all wrong - in a pleading motion, but it is as if he is invisible, as if there is only a thin glass pane separating him from a pre-torture life.

Children pass him by. One reaches out an innocent hand, to see what is the matter with the poor man, but the child's mother shoos him way. He tries to wail, but his vocal cords have been torn. Instead, only a wet fumbling mutter.

After two long days, at long last, he sees that the game is up. He tears his tin can in half, even with smashed hands. But just as he is about to slash his throat with the jagged metal, something happens. Something grabs his shoulders and pins him to the ground.

He wakes up in what seems like a hospital. He has no arms. One foreleg is gone. He is in a haze of drugs. Masked nurses force-feed him.

He is drugged again. He wakes up in massive empty room. Perhaps it had once been a warehouse, or a hangar. The walls are padded, and he cannot see any doors. There is nowhere to go and nothing to do and it hurts to move. The lights are bright, brighter than is normal for even a bright room. There is no shade. He cannot hear, either. Pink noise blasts from unseen speakers.

He cannot remember how long the body can last without water.

He will spend the rest of his short life guessing.

He will never notice the small divots in the walls' padding.

He will never see the eyes through these peepholes.

The eyes of, literally, the cartoon character Dumbo.

Illavick posted:

Just wanna say that the OP contains some Beksinksi level poo poo.

Ahundredbux posted:

What has an elephant done for you lately think about it