Those Venezuelan peasant fishermen don't stand a chance.
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2 days ago
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Mirrored from scored.co
A serious chief executive would invest in drones and electronic infrastructure. And get the country-shoppers out of our nation. And not assign the head of the CIA and FBI to hindus. He wouldn't make more stupid ships which will easily be killed by a drone that costs a fraction of the amount of one of these sea-hulks.
Not gonna lie, the name goes really hard. Lots of Aura.
.>I be me
.>It be the year of our Lord, 2077
.>I am a sailor on the U.S.S. Nicholas Fuentes
.>'Twas a normal witching hour on the flight deck as I did routine inspection of the tarmack
.>"Yar!" I think to myself as I see a rough patch of asphalt
.>"The F-14s and F-88s must have the smoothest of decks to fly off of to crush me racial enemies!"
.>All of a sudden, hear a thunderous roar in the distance.
.>Fire alarms blaring off me starboard side
.>But not those kinds of fire alarms
.>I watch, frozen in silence, forgetting my training for a moment, as one of our escort battleships, a Tump class, fires a singular round from one of its 14.83 inch cannons. My ears ring, but barely.
.>I begin counting
.>One. Two. Three. Fo-
.>KUHBUGHGHGHGHGHGGHGHFFFFÖÖÖÖÖM
.>Whatever jewish funded, ungodly creation of cardboard, polyurethane, C4 and Temu™ outboard motors which snuck up from beyond the horizon of the U S.S. Nicholas Fuentes is instantly annihilated in the blast.
.>I swear, my Viking nose could smell the somalian sickle-celled blood over the full 12 nautical miles.
.>"Yarrr...." I say to myself aloud, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. "Get Trumped, niggers."
.>I be me
.>It be the year of our Lord, 2077
.>I am a sailor on the U.S.S. Nicholas Fuentes
.>'Twas a normal witching hour on the flight deck as I did routine inspection of the tarmack
.>"Yar!" I think to myself as I see a rough patch of asphalt
.>"The F-14s and F-88s must have the smoothest of decks to fly off of to crush me racial enemies!"
.>All of a sudden, hear a thunderous roar in the distance.
.>Fire alarms blaring off me starboard side
.>But not those kinds of fire alarms
.>I watch, frozen in silence, forgetting my training for a moment, as one of our escort battleships, a Tump class, fires a singular round from one of its 14.83 inch cannons. My ears ring, but barely.
.>I begin counting
.>One. Two. Three. Fo-
.>KUHBUGHGHGHGHGHGGHGHFFFFÖÖÖÖÖM
.>Whatever jewish funded, ungodly creation of cardboard, polyurethane, C4 and Temu™ outboard motors which snuck up from beyond the horizon of the U S.S. Nicholas Fuentes is instantly annihilated in the blast.
.>I swear, my Viking nose could smell the somalian sickle-celled blood over the full 12 nautical miles.
.>"Yarrr...." I say to myself aloud, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. "Get Trumped, niggers."
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