Register a SA Forums Account here!
JOINING THE SA FORUMS WILL REMOVE THIS BIG AD, THE ANNOYING UNDERLINED ADS, AND STUPID INTERSTITIAL ADS!!!

You can: log in, read the tech support FAQ, or request your lost password. This dumb message (and those ads) will appear on every screen until you register! Get rid of this crap by registering your own SA Forums Account and joining roughly 150,000 Goons, for the one-time price of $9.95! We charge money because it costs us money per month for bills, and since we don't believe in showing ads to our users, we try to make the money back through forum registrations.
 
  • Post
  • Reply
Emzedoh
Jun 26, 2013

I'm enjoying Scoob and Shag, though I'm not sure how long you can parody shounen tropes like this before you're just... using them like an unironic series would. Then again, maybe that's not the intention.

Someone asked how planned the series was, I'm going to put my money on not from the beginning. I don't think the progression from Scooby-doo parody to haunted house horror to shounen battle manga with crossover characters is ... logical? Expected? Anyway, I'm not sure it's what most people would have plotted. I'll eat my words if it shifts genre again.

Edit: wait top of the page. Err, have a bouletcorp.



Emzedoh has a new favorite as of 02:19 on Feb 3, 2023

Adbot
ADBOT LOVES YOU

Absurd Alhazred
Mar 27, 2010

by Athanatos

MokBa posted:

Shag and Scoob is a wild ride. The artist is phenomenal and I genuinely wonder if they planned any of this from the beginning.

Meanwhile:



They say a picture is worth a thousand words: in this case the words equivalent to the top-right panel are the contents of Chuck Tingle's Getting My Butt Eaten By My Superpowered Girlfriend While Waiting for a Terrible Social Media Mogul

Montague Tigg
Mar 23, 2008

Previously, on "Ronnie Likes Data":

good av material in that last panel

Captain Hygiene
Sep 17, 2007

You mess with the crabbo...



Thinkin' about seein' Ronnie's secrets

readingatwork
Jan 8, 2009

Hello Fatty!


Fun Shoe


Blind Alley









Slimy Hog
Apr 22, 2008


I think I'm starting to like blind alley.

Emzedoh
Jun 26, 2013

If baseball cap kid had kept his poo poo up for much longer I might not be saying this, but yeah, it's growing on me.

Ghost Leviathan
Mar 2, 2017

Exploration is ill-advised.

MokBa posted:

I love Kate's cute slice of life comics, especially when her dad was involved, I might try and find them and post the best ones after Hark A Vagrant ends.

Edit:



Is it just me or is this Olive Oyl just Pearl from Steven Universe?

No, Pearl has a pointy nose.

MokBa
Jun 8, 2006

If you see something suspicious, bomb it!

I’m not sure what Blind Alley’s deal is but I loving love it.

CzarChasm
Mar 14, 2009

I don't like it when you're watching me eat.
Blind Alley is Peanuts in the post-apocalypse

All adults are dead, and the story switches focus around different kid archetypes as they generally express sad emotions. Also, a dog that has way too little screen time.

Youremother
Dec 26, 2011

MORT

Blind Alley is like a kiddy Opplopolis: You have no idea what's going on, but you can sense there's an internal logic to the events happening, and the characters are arresting enough that you want to keep reading.

Baron von Eevl
Jan 24, 2005

WHITE NOISE
GENERATOR

🔊😴

misguided rage
Jun 15, 2010

:shepface:God I fucking love Diablo 3 gold, it even paid for this shitty title:shepface:
Restarting Blind Alley from the beginning was definitely the way to go, it makes a whole lot more sense now.

Snake Maze
Jul 13, 2016

3.85 Billion years ago
  • Having seen the explosion on the moon, the Devil comes to Venus
Blind Alley is a serial narrative comic that was cursed by a witch and polymorphed into a gag a day newspaper comic.

MokBa
Jun 8, 2006

If you see something suspicious, bomb it!

I genuinely wondered if I missed something and it was actually post-apocalyptic so I went back and read the first few strips and no, it’s just weird kids in a tiny town. Also we actually see some parents in one of them! (As silhouettes with cartoon eyes but still.)

Tendales
Mar 9, 2012
I made a special certificate for everyone that gave up on Drop Out

some plague rats
Jun 5, 2012

by Fluffdaddy

Tendales posted:

I made a special certificate for everyone that gave up on Drop Out


tattoo this directly onto my rear end, if there was a spending time around sad furries club I'd be groucho marx (dead, unaware of the concept)

CrocodileKingSaysNO
Jul 25, 2007

CrocodileKingSaysNO posted:

drop out

drop out

CW: suicidal thoughts / ideation



Regy Rusty
Apr 26, 2010

Emzedoh posted:

I'm enjoying Scoob and Shag, though I'm not sure how long you can parody shounen tropes like this before you're just... using them like an unironic series would. Then again, maybe that's not the intention.


I don't think there's anything ironic about Scion and Shag

MokBa
Jun 8, 2006

If you see something suspicious, bomb it!

Maybe my favorite stupid detail about the Shaggy comic is that the cartoons/aliens fly around in a huge dick and have penis emblems and no one ever draws attention to it. Just a classic little dick joke for the sake of dick jokes.

Plus in the background when we are first introduced to a larger crowd of cartoon characters on the ship, we see Rosie and Isabelle from Close Your Eyes, Look At The Mountains, which is one of my favorite webcomics and I might post it after I finish with Beaton. Just a cute little comic about queer folks who are sometimes rude.

Fister Roboto
Feb 21, 2008

MokBa posted:

Shag and Scoob is a wild ride. The artist is phenomenal and I genuinely wonder if they planned any of this from the beginning.

Meanwhile:



That second panel is incredible.

Emzedoh
Jun 26, 2013

Regy Rusty posted:

I don't think there's anything ironic about Scion and Shag

Sometimes irony is expressed by taking something completely seriously.

Emzedoh posted:

Ok, something new. This is Terrarium in Drawer, a collection of short stories by Ryoko Kui. You might know her from her big serialised piece, Dungeon Meshi! This, however, hasn't been licensed. I'm not committing myself to posting all of this, just some bits I like. Here's the first story in the anthology though, Misunderstandings




Looks painful, to be honest.

Love Catalogue







Posting the twist tomorrow. Any guesses?

World Famous W
May 25, 2007
Probation
Can't post for 5 days!
CW: Suicide

.
.
.
.
.

Demon
Chapter 8.06





e-dt
Sep 16, 2019


From the six-page interview with Cornelius in MWY #3

Choose Your Own Dopey PG-13 Love Adventure

If a third-world peasant was on Survivor, he would win the Mountain Dew nacho bar every time.

3D Megadoodoo
Nov 25, 2010

MokBa posted:

Shag and Scoob is a wild ride. The artist is phenomenal and I genuinely wonder if they planned any of this from the beginning.

Meanwhile:



äähähähä

NoiseAnnoys
May 17, 2010

MokBa posted:

Shag and Scoob is a wild ride. The artist is phenomenal and I genuinely wonder if they planned any of this from the beginning.

Meanwhile:



lollll

is that johnny ryan's work?

Kit Walker
Jul 10, 2010
"The Man Who Cannot Deadlift"

Emzedoh posted:

Love Catalogue
Posting the twist tomorrow. Any guesses?
I've read this before so no guesses from me, but I do love this one.


Kill Six Billion Demons


Alt: In the Belly of the Beast

quote:

Het and the Three Companions

Part 2

They arrived after a short while at a low hollow in the earth, what might have once been called a town square. In the middle, the broken and knotted form of an ancient tree jutted forth from the ground. In times of plenty, Het could have seen it bear a thick crown of leaves, or perhaps colorful blossoms. At a time it may have been majestic, a sentinel watching over the town. But Het realized now she had been lucky to avoid its sight when the light was better. For as she drew closer to the tree, and the quavering light of the priest’s lantern picked up the jagged tangle of its branches, she could see that they were smeared with a strange, crusted sap. Here and there, the sap had dripped to the ground in smears and blotches, creating a strange patchwork among the gnarled roots. And as the party drew right up to those roots, Het saw that there were tattered cloths hanging from the tree, like discarded laundry, hanging here and there as though carried in by a gale of some sort. Hundreds of them hung there, limp and lifeless in the frosty dusk.

But it was not sap. And they were not cloths.

They stood there a while. Het was not sure what to say. Her breathe had quickened and she thought she might swallow her tongue a moment. She waited until the beating of her heart had subsided, and let the cold fingers of fear retreat from under her skin. “Nobody dares take em’ down,” said the priest finally. The whites of his eyes were very bright, even in the dusk. “Some tried, and were added to the rest. Seems a few would-be-heroes came through town, and thought to go after the beast.” He raised the lantern higher, with slow and deliberate movements. “There’s many up there.”

“Ten,” said the beggar knight. He licked his lips, his bulging eyes flicking back and forth among the branches and their grisly banners. “I see em’ up there. It hung their cloaks and banners next to them.”

“Why does it flay them?” said Het.

“Who knows,” said the priest, “God didn’t give demons a reason for killing. They don’t even need to eat.”

“We shouldn’t be about, now,” said the beggar knight, his eyes wide and darting, his voice barely a croak. The tiny circle of lamplight surrounding them seemed to be dimming, and the hollow spaces between the buildings surrounding the square seemed to swell, filling with a thick and pregnant blackness. The silence was suddenly completely deafening. Het felt as though she herself was missing her skin, and all the eyes in the world were burrowing into her flesh, hard enough to draw blood.

But at last, a voice like a firebrand cut through the silence. “I’m not afraid of any demon,” said the golden haired woman. Her radiant white face seemed to rise up in the lamplight, and Het suddenly relaxed her painful grip on her stave, and her breath grew calm as the cold sweat on the back of her neck evaporated. Had she been that afraid? “I’ve been trying to convince these clods for hours,” said the woman, motioning with her chin at the priest and the beggar knight. “We should go about when the sun is up and slay the beast in it’s lair.”

“You’re as afraid as we are,” protested the beggar knight, his thick beard bobbing as he spoke.

“Nay, friends,” said the woman, “I am never daunted. I will go after it myself if I must.” There was a ring of steel, and she drew a heavy, gleaming blade from her collection. “I had hoped to go while the light was about, but if I must, I’ll head it off now and we can get this whole business over with. If any man join me and cannot banish the measly scourge of fear from his heart, he is of no use to me.”

“Wait!” said Het, not wanting the woman to leave, for if she did, Het knew her fear would surely return. Looking about, she saw the same hunger in the faces of the beggar and the priest, and she knew instantly that the same terror had them in its grip.

“Do you doubt me?” said the shining woman. “I’ve dueled with soldiers of the corpse-legion and won. I’ve killed giants with naught but a broken axe,” said the woman,” and I’ve hacked off the heads of fiends and crawling things from one end of this blasted world to the next.” Het saw that this was true, for the woman’s gleaming breastplate was flush with colorful emblems, and she had a great number of pale and puckered scars crowding her beautiful face. Het saw the confidence with which the woman held the handle of her blade, and the steadiness of her polished boot, and the beautiful line of her strong and confident brow, and knew then that there was not an ounce of fear inside the woman.

“Now join me or quake by the hearth some more,” growled the woman, and made to leave. But the priest put a hand on her shoulder, and in the other raised his lantern high. “I shall join you,” said the priest, “For God spake and said to cast out demons wherever they are found, and forbade us to feel fear while doing our holy work. I may be of some use to you.” But as he spoke, Het saw his quivering hand, and his shaky gait, and his white eyes that were constantly darting up to the tree and its grisly adornment.

“Nay” said the golden-haired warrior, who had seen it too. “Fear has his grip on you, and you’re of no use to me”

“I feel something like fear,” said the priest, “But I cannot be afraid, for God has taught us fear is naught but an illusion. I deny my fear, and in doing so, conquer it” He set his pale face, shiny with sweat, in a resolute expression, and from his habit produced his preaching rod, which he clutched in a strained grip. The golden-haired woman gave him a discerning look, but at last waved him forward. “Very well,” she said, “Stand by me here, and hold the lantern,” she said, and made to leave.

They had scarcely walked two paces when there was a cry. “Wait!” said the beggar knight, “I think I told you I was afraid, but I am sure now I wasn’t. My drink is clouding my mind.” From within his cloak he produced his flask and took a long swig as if to prove a point. Then he produced a stout wooden cudgel for beating away dogs, as was the custom.

“Is that so?” said the golden-haired woman. Her eyes were mistrustful. “I must plead for my food,” said the beggar. He tugged on his beard as he spoke, and Het saw he was shaking almost as badly as the priest. “From dawn to dusk I am looked down upon by even the lowliest of men who pass me. Some think I’m no better than an animal! If all of you think less of me because I am afraid, then I will endeavor not to be!” He puffed up his chest, and thumped his cudgel against the cobbles.

“Very well,” said the golden haired woman, finally. “You may stand behind the priest and steady his hand, for I’ll need consistent lamp-light if I’m to do my grisly work.” She hefted her heavy blade, and the three of them turned to leave, but then Het cried out, for she could feel fear returning as fast as the lamp-light faded. “Not you too, surely?” said the golden-haired woman. “Dare you tell me you are not afraid as well?”

Het looked around at the darkness, and turned her eyes away from the tree, for it was too terrible. She planted her stave, and leaned into it. It had served her well in defending the weak and poor. She had smashed the skulls of many terrible things with its thick end, and she had faced down death many times. Het knew that she was regarded as brave by many people. She was confident in the strength of her arm, and the skill of her swing, and the power of her watchman’s eye to catch out and destroy evil. But at all that time, even when swinging the mighty bulk of her stave into the jaws of death, she could never once say that she hadn’t been afraid. Fear had been her constant companion, as much as she would have liked to have banished it. She could not be like this shining and decorated warrior before her, golden-locked and striding into the darkness with confidence and poise.

“I am afraid,” said Het. “I’m very afraid. Even though I’ve spend the last odd year of my life hunting demons, there’s been a shiver in my grip the whole time.” She felt ashamed. But it was better to tell the truth and bear it on her back. It was what a good watchman was supposed to do, if Het had still been a watchman. In truth, Het was a better watchman then than she ever had been when she wielded a badge and uniform. In truth, Het had slain thrice as many demons as the golden-haired woman. Het was, in fact, a head and a half taller than any of the other three travelers. Her arms were like oak boughs, and none save her could have dreamed of lifting her heavy stave. But she knew none of this, and so she felt ashamed.

“Well then you’re of no use to me,” scowled the golden-haired woman, “But there’s no use either sending you back to the hall to cower. Stand a ways behind the beggar, and hold on to the tail of his cloak. Now let’s be off!” So the golden-haired woman gripped the rugged haft of her blade and set her jaw and stormed off into the night. And behind her, the priest raised his lantern, and behind him, the beggar followed with his cudgel. And at the very rear was Het, who clung on to the tail of the beggar’s cloak, and brought her stave close to her chest, and hung her head low. Her one reprieve was that the heavy and matted locks of her hair, which had grown long and dense during her time on the road, hung like a curtain and hid her shame from the others.

They made a strange party as they crept through those empty streets. First, the golden-haired woman came, with her profusion of weapons, and her steely gaze and confident stride. Each time she stepped, her boots slapped the cobbles with such a profound sound that Het almost jumped. Then came the priest, with his lantern held high. The tremble of his hand made the light waver and swing violently. Profuse shadows would grow and clutch from the hollows and recesses of the crooked buildings around them until the beggar reached out and steadied the lantern with his callused hand. There was no sound except for the slapping of the golden-haired warrior’s boots, and their breath, which by degrees became louder and louder to Het, until it was almost deafening.

It quickly grew so dark that to Het it seemed they stood in the void itself, and nothing else existed in either shape or sound beyond the swinging circle of lamp-light they carried with them. The cold dug under Het’s meager wrappings, and sent nails under her skin. Her knuckles cracked and bled, so tight was her grip upon her great stave and the ragged cloak of the beggar. An hour or more passed, and the truth of that place began to unfold itself in frozen vistas of emptiness. The world was black and total, a place that mocked light, sensation, and the meager heat inside them that they bled out into the uncaring night. Occasionally the golden haired woman would stop and stoop, and they would wait in silence while she examined the earth, or where a low wall of stones had been broken, or where a window shutter had been torn off its hinges. At these times, Het would lash down her breath and release it in a sudden burst when they moved again.

It wasn’t long before the priest’s lantern threw its light on a a terrible scene. The dwellings surrounding them were ransacked and empty, their windows hollow. Their doors were splintered or torn, the contents of their interior vomited into the street. Broken furniture and trash were piled almost wall to wall, so that as they proceeded, they picked their way over the mud spattered detritus of vacated lives. Finally, the golden-haired warrior raised a gauntleted hand and bade them stop. There was no sound at all as they came to a low and hunched building that stood aside from the others. The ground was torn and mangled here, and pressed into it like strange cobblestones were the strange and precious oddments of every day life- a tea set, a shoe, a child’s doll, a crumpled wrapping cloth, an antique plate. There was a single door in the building, and over the door frame, a ward against evil. It had burned up and curled into a black and barely recognizable mess.

Over the eaves of that building, hanging like dull banners, were dried and tattered skins. The door was swinging on its hinges.

“The beast dwells here,” said the golden-haired woman in low voice, and motioned to the building. And as the last of her exhalation left her lips, from the open doorway something terrible and massive poured, and unfolded all its awful limbs and hurtled towards them, screaming.


Alt: A nice change of face

quote:

Het and the Three Companions

Part 3

The golden-haired woman had no fear in her heart at all, and so her feet were quick and true. Bellowing a mighty cry she raised her gleaming blade to strike. But since she had no fear in her, her blow was rash and prideful and full of none of the self-preserving wisdom of longer-lived warriors. The beast was a twisted and hateful thing, and it took the blade upon its flesh and hacked up bloody spittle as the cold metal dug deep into its shoulder. But there the blade lodged, and as the golden-haired warrior struggled to pull a new weapon from her collection, the beast shrieked and lifted her into the air with unholy strength, and cracked her rib cage and sucked her guts out in a second, and that was that.

The priest gave out a cry, and swung his lantern at the demon, for dogma had taught him that such creatures hated light above all things. And indeed, dogma had taught well, for the beast spat a frothy spittle and recoiled from the lantern, and the priest struck out with his preaching rod, as he was taught to do. But while confidence guided the priest’s blow, it was an illusory confidence, driven by his refusal to accept fear. The shaking of his limbs that he had so long ignored turned his blow, and it struck wide. The sweat of his palms greased his grip and his weapon flew from his hand. He tried to utter a prayer, but found to his surprise he could not speak a single word. He cried out as his head was split and devoured, and his lantern was knocked aside and snuffed, and that was that.

With the other two dead, and having little regard for Het, the beggar had absolutely no reason to continue to appear brave, and ran shrieking into the pitch black, where he was set upon and torn apart as he tried to scrabble over a low wall. And that was that, and only Het remained, quaking with terror, unable to see beyond her nose, and clutching a torn shred of the beggar’s cloak.

The demon ceased its screaming, and prowled in circles as it licked its gory chops, for Het was surely easy prey. Het could scarcely control the shaking of her limbs as she heard the click-clack of its nails, and felt the charnel heat of its breath staining the night. Finally, tired of toying with its prey, it fell upon Het all at once with its limbs splayed out, and its eyes all aflame, and its lips ripped open in an awful shriek.

But it what it could not have known (and neither could Het) was that Het had not denied fear a place in her heart of hearts. It was an uncomfortable guest, but a familiar one. Unlike the golden-haired woman, fear quickened Het’s step and pumped through her blood, refining her purpose. Unlike the priest, she knew the ways in which it tugged at her, and contorted her senses, and so she made extra effort to straighten her back and steady her hand. And unlike the beggar, Het cared little for the appearance of bravery, for she did not think herself brave. Lacking an audience to impress, her resolve had not wavered in the slightest, for Het was an aspirant to Royalty, and her mind was as a mighty Tower, with walls a hundred thousand paces high.

So it was that as the monster dove at Het, and reached out with all its hooks and nails and instruments of death, Het struck out with her eyes and limbs all filled with lightning. She swung with a purpose sharpened by fear into a perfect cutting edge, and smashed the demon’s brains out with a single fantastic blow. So powerful was the impact of Het’s stave upon the demon’s skull that the earth itself shook and the villagers who huddled inside their low and lonely dwellings thought the end of the world was upon them.

The demon was flung fifty paces, where it shrieked and died in spurts and spasms. And that was that.

After some pains, Het re-lit the priest’s lamp, and waited and shivered there until morning as the corpse of the beast cooled and froze, and the faint warmth of the sun bled over the horizon. Then she dragged it to the town square, and made to take down the skins hung on the great tree.

When at last the curious villagers emerged, they were exuberant, and lifted Het upon their shoulders, and spat upon the corpse of the great beast. A party was sent to find and bury the three other travelers, and the rest of the grisly display was taken down from the old tree. Het was fed thick gruel with honey, and the light and heat of the town grew in strength with the day, so that by noon, the fires in hearths were roaring, and the houses steamed in the cold, the dogs pranced in the streets, and children emerged to goggle at and pick at the monster’s corpse with sticks.

For her part, Het was happy to see a little life return, and relieved for the light of the day. She slept much of that afternoon, and through the night, and in the morning set again upon the road, glad to be rid of that place. But she took its memory with her, and kept fear a close and intimate friend. Later it would serve her well on the road.

But that is another story.


Alt: It would maybe not surprise you to learn that a lot of KSBD was written to Swedish extreme technical death metal.

quote:

My ignorance cast in the mold of all things absolute
I sustain forever my gaze. A stare fixed on the distant oblivion
Resting in the inverted state of being dead, non-sensory matter
As all the earth, the wind, the fire, the sea behold and learn to pity me

-Meshuggah, ‘Catch 33’

Kit Walker has a new favorite as of 10:56 on Feb 3, 2023

DACK FAYDEN
Feb 25, 2013

Bear Witness
Previously on Opplopolis: there were no anarchist ghosts in the house. Or were there? Maureen wouldn't know, really.






I had totally forgotten about Sebastian, the knockoff Andy Warhol who eats whales, and my life is slightly better for having been reintroduced to him :allears:

Inexplicable Humblebrag
Sep 20, 2003

lol sebastian owns

Barry Bluejeans
Feb 2, 2017

ATTENTHUN THITIZENTH
Sebastian pioneered the concept of The Menu years before the film was conceived (great flick BTW, I highly recommend it)

Skellybones
May 31, 2011




Fun Shoe

Tendales posted:

I made a special certificate for everyone that gave up on Drop Out


I haven’t given up on it but despite attempting to read it every time it’s posted my eyes slide right off the first panel, so I’ll take your word that it’s about a furry.

Inexplicable Humblebrag
Sep 20, 2003

Skellybones posted:

I haven’t given up on it but despite attempting to read it every time it’s posted my eyes slide right off the first panel, so I’ll take your word that it’s about a furry.

here i'll try to summarise it for you:



                     \

Phthisis
Apr 16, 2007

"Maybe some dolphins have sex for pleasure."

Inexplicable Humblebrag posted:

here i'll try to summarise it for you:



                     \


lmao

rude, but lmao

MokBa
Jun 8, 2006

If you see something suspicious, bomb it!

ultrafilter
Aug 23, 2007

It's okay if you have any questions.



vyelkin
Jan 2, 2011










fritz
Jul 26, 2003

more necromancy from the other thread, here's a two-parter:
In the Hall of the Octopus



(there's no other context, it starts in media res)

(posting old stuff mostly because i don't have the gumption to start something long right now)

Kennel
May 1, 2008

BAWWW-UNH!
Hey, it's that new hot thing!
https://twitch.tv/watchmeforever

Hempuli
Nov 16, 2011



ANSU



Fingerpori

Edit:
Über alles = German for "above all", part of the slogan "Germany above all" (or "Germans"?)
Über = that awful not-taxi company
allesi (slang alles) = (have something) under you
Über alles = (have) Über under you
There's a Finnish idiomatic phrasing of having X under you, where X refers to whatever vehicle you're riding/driving.

I totally missed the "alles" part of the pun and assumed the strip was just a reference to Über the company, but Shaman Tank Spec kindly notified me:

Shaman Tank Spec posted:

As an additional (untranslatable) joke, the term "über alles" can be read either as German or a mixture of German and Finnish. The Finnish word "allesi" means "underneath you" and can be used in a kind of "ota tuosta auto allesi", "take that car underneath you" -> "go drive in that car". And of course with the so called apokope in spoken casual Finnish an ending vowel is often dropped, for instance "pistä pipo päähäsi", "put a tuque on your head", can become "pistä pipo päähäs".

And so "über alles" can be read as "take that über underneath you", "take that über".

Hempuli has a new favorite as of 21:47 on Feb 3, 2023

Adbot
ADBOT LOVES YOU

Youremother
Dec 26, 2011

MORT

HE IS A GOOD BOY.
Spoiler for special guest star the Goatman and, well, a shitload of other stuff, hoo boy






  • 1
  • 2
  • 3
  • 4
  • 5
  • Post
  • Reply