A place to talk about Los Angeles. Be nice.
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En la entrada, todos los dias, ahi pasaba...
Salia a asomarse mi camarada, el verga de ahi... "Adios amigo" un dia que ya me iba que no iba a regresar... "Deberias de venir, a darte al vuelta..." ok... muy bien...
La biblioteca... el Padre Enrico Rossini... que mamadas mas grandes, las cortinas... un fondo con unas culeradas naranjas bajaban... llego a Austorp, veo la historia de las cortinas.... aso putisisisisma madre.. que miseria mas impresionante... Los pollos de las tasas variables... chinguen a su madre... por el amor de dios...
Aqui tenian al pendejo ese del tal Miguel Zapot... "Que la princesa de Tlahuac..." cual princesa, cual tlahuac... pura gente parasita...
Ahi llegue... con mi mochila, las patas de pajaro... pues vamos...
El libro ese de Suecia... que el patio de mi casa, era el frente de mi casa... y la hoja de la planta de Ginko Biloba, parece algo mas... Chinkisitan... algo asi... es no...
Puros putos... ninos... dentistas...
El Padrino Jose Luis, en su comedor, tenia unas pastillas de Ginko Biloba... con la hoja.... y ya saben la puta historia...
Enrique tiene aqui parece una farmacia... de madre y media... le da a su papa... y el igual se toma...
Escribe el violador ese de Acapulco... "No bajen la Guardia" Se refiere a un vidrio para guardar polvos... que queria comprar ese dia en la subasta de Ampharma...
Erin hizo una bocina... muy bonita... parte de la comunicacion del anuncio decia "Orchestrate".
Estos es una orquestacion de sus mamadas... que estan y no en los lugares que y no deben de estar...
TODO SON PUTERIAS... CULERADAS... Todo...
"Era - I Believe in G" BULLSHIT! DREAMER!
MAS LA VIOLABAN... MAS VA A SER NUESTRO PENDEJO... LE VAMOS A VENDER PINTURA BLANCA.... ES MAS NOS VAN A PAGAR LAS POLLAS....
chinguen y rechinguen a su madre... hasta que la desmadren...
A CHINA...
ESE, ESE QUE VA ALLA... RAPIDO... QUE LE METAN UN PALO POR EL CULO! Y SE LO METEN... INMEDIATAMENTE... LLEGA KJU, EL OTRO CABRON IGUAL CON UNOS DOCUMENTOS... MAS QUE SE LO METEN...
SI NO... VAMONOS YA.... Asi como los entrenadores...
I completed the mano de Orula ceremony very recently. During, I was told that I would need to receive Ifa and that I would need to take part in a ceremony that involves cutting and will likely leave some light scar tissue. But Ifa is so prohibitevely expensive that I feel like I would be doing my family a disservice to spend just so, much, money. Especially with the dream of homeownership getting harder and harder, the need for a new car, and the general costs of ensuring a good education for my kids. I understand that money comes and goes and that this is important, but that is a LOT of money to go that will need years and years of savings to accumulate. Furthermore, I suffer from conditions that make it difficult to stem bleeding, heal from those injuries, and makes it incredibly easy for me to catch diseases and have a lot of trouble fighting them off.
My grandpa was a Babalao that acted as padrino for both my own padrino and every other Babalao in my ceremony. I feel like there is an expectation for me to go through Ifa and become a Babalao as well from lineage, but that kind of lifestyle is really not for me. Because of this lineage and general respect, I don't know how to bring up these concerns without appearing to contradict and ignore los consejos I received. Would appreciate any advice or input on how I should proceed. (If any of this should not be shared I'd be happy to take down immediately)
Judge rolled into work.
He’d heard on the drive in that Brixley had been brutally beaten to death by several women while stuck in the holding cell.
Judge lost that deadpool too.
The parking lot was full.
Different cars, different people.
Judge walked through the crowded lobby.
Judge sees a lot of windbreakers.
FBI, FISA, ATF, Border Patrol, Coast Guard.
Lots of players today.
Judge wonders what the fuck is going on.
The last time this many agencies were at LSPD headquarters the President was planning a road convoy to Juarez.
Judge’s biggest regret was that he never got to finish his chalupa in Mexico City.
Shame about the President though.
Anyway.
Captain shambles up to the podium.
He’s wearing his best uniform and accompanied by three other men who’re in far better shape and fancier uniforms.
“We’re doing a major assault on a trafficking ring in Port Hokan.”
Judge closes his eyes and sighs.
This is going to be a complete shitshow, no matter what he says.
Everyone is on different frequencies.
Everyone has a different uniform.
One dude shooting at the wrong time will turn this into a bloodbath.
Judge remembers the Boston Bombing.
“Every agency is going to a different part of the Port.”
Judge knows his team is going to end up taking the hardest to deal with area.
Knowing D-Team’s luck they’ll get cut apart by a fucking DSHKa five minutes into the operation.
“Be on the lookout for Spider markings on buses, crates and trucks.”
Judge sees Martinez, Martinez nods at Judge.
“We expect there to be unarmed civilians, drugged out trafficked women and children and a lot of security. Security will be trying to blend in with the civilians.”
Judge sees three Terminators sitting in the front row.
Judge feels a little bit of relief.
His target acquisition is good, but the Terminators is far superior.
Their escapades in the hospital live rent-free in his head.
The briefing concludes.
Judge walks over to the armoury and picks out an MP5/10.
Martinez takes his SLR-47.
“Just another day in paradise eh?” Martinez grins and slaps Judge on the back, before his phone rings.
Before Judge could respond he was already jabbering in Spanish.
Fucking Martinez.
ROLL SWAT!
It’s a shitty, bleak, dark night.
Judge wishes he’d brought his waterproof jacket.
The first crate they see as they creep into the Port has a luminescent Spider on it.
This level of blatant marking shows how corrupt the people here are.
Judge opens the crate and clears it.
Bowling balls.
Just bowling balls.
Not even coke-filled bowling balls.
Judge knows it’s a weird hill to die on but Judge despises when organised crime tries to do things legitimately.
Three guards are identified outside.
The Terminators silently approach them, nobody heard them going until it was too late.
They brutally took down the guards, silently.
Nobody had a chance to make a sound.
They were ziptied and dumped into the bowling ball container.
Creativity, Judge liked it.
The team moves forward.
Judge caught sight of another Spider-marked container.
The paint is so bright it must be visible from orbit.
Judge breaks into the crate.
There’s enough fentanyl here to supply Beverley Hills for a month.
Judge calls it in.
TOC acknowledges.
TOC sounds more alert today, no noise in the background.
Must be taking it seriously for a change.
Judge continues forward and takes stock of the firearms being used by the guards.
AKM’s and Saiga-12’s.
Judge feels relieved that none of these guys managed to get a shot off.
Saiga-12’s were monsters at close range.
Anyway.
Judge keeps moving into the open, he catches sight of a Spider-crate and more several guards.
The Terminators eliminate them with brutal efficiency.
Judge covers Martinez as they start to weave into the crates.
Another Spider-crate identified.
Judge cracks it open.
Guns, lots of guns.
Judge sees larger crates.
His heart stops.
Judge recognises the NSN on the crates.
Stingers.
Not the kind of shit you want in bad guy hands.
Judge knows a controlled detonation is going to happen here.
Judge calls it in, a safe distance away.
TOC acknowledges.
Judge hears another voice in the background confirming the ATF will be taking over soon.
Judge doesn’t care.
Judge is on 3.5x pay since it’s a public holiday and it’s midnight.
Judge’ll play security guard for $490 an hour.
Judge moves out of the crate.
The Terminators have secured several more guards.
They look like they took fashion advice from the Watch Dogs protagonists.
Pathetic.
Judge and Martinez keep clearing.
They find the port office for Blue Fuel.
Martinez opens the door.
A bald dude wearing a faded orange hi-vis vest yells at them in Russian.
Judge yells at him to get on the ground.
The guy yells in Russian before dramatically pulling out a pistol from his back pocket.
Judge has seen faster draws from a six year old.
Martinez shoots him thrice in the head.
Judge checks to make sure his tinnitus isn’t acting up and he isn’t actually shot.
Nope, the guy was just that slow a draw.
Sad.
They continue clearing, nobody else was in there.
Just a lot of propane and documents related to propane.
Judge prefers propane for his grilling, but now’s not the time.
Judge clears the white van in front of the building.
All that’s missing is a poorly painted ‘free candy’ sign and a stained mattress in the back and it’d be LS compliant.
Whatever.
They start moving toward Warehouse 13.
Judge opens the Spider-crate he saw earlier.
More drugs, more guns, some furniture that reminds him of a Napoleon documentary he saw a few years back.
Cool, no problem.
Judge calls it in.
TOC acknowledges.
Judge can hear the ATF guy whooping in the background.
The team proceeds to make entry into Warehouse 13.
This place is huge!
It’s well lit too.
Nothing like the dingy sex-dungeons he’s come to expect with his work days.
Judge orders the team to breach and clear.
Shotgun blasts erupt around them as they clear it.
The Terminators respond in kind.
Three more bad guys down.
The Terminators keep moving unprompted by Judge.
Clearing left.
Clearing right.
Gunfire from the Terminators doesn’t stop.
Judge and Martinez follow behind.
Judge wonders if some of these guys even got a chance to surrender.
Judge sees so many dead Russians he feels like he’s watching Red Dawn.
Judge resolves to go to the highest point of the Port and scream “WOLVERINES” before this mission is over.
The Russians are screaming in pain.
It’s loud.
Shakespeare wishes he could write deaths this dramatic.
Judge doesn’t mind.
Judge believes that drawing out the deaths of people associated with human trafficking is the moral obligation of any just society.
Judge continues moving.
Most of the guards in this warehouse are wearing ill-fitting balaclavas that look like they belong in a 2013 Vine skit.
One guy promises that he’ll find Judge and skin him alive.
Judge wonders if he’d be so lippy if he saw a bunch of near-sentient killbots rip apart his team.
Judge hopes he’ll never have to find out.
Judge catches sight of another Spider-crate.
It’s already open.
That’s fun.
Judge looks inside.
More server farms.
Judge wonders if there’s anybody in this city in organised crime who isn’t somehow related to the CSAM/Bitcoin farm operations going on.
Whatever.
The team keeps clearing.
Judge sees these guys have soft plates and sub machine guns.
Must be close to where they kept the people being trafficked.
They keep clearing.
Judge sees multiple Spider-crates.
They lead to the back of the warehouse.
Judge sees trucks full of clothes and mannequins.
Jackpot.
Judge orders the team to clear the crates.
It’s a fucking crate city.
The walls of the crates are adorned with 18th century mirrors, beautifully patterned with gold inlays.
Judge can see it’s real gold.
No expense spared for what looks like a weird sex dungeon.
Judge shoulders his rifle and catches sight of a prison cell at the end of the hallway.
Disgusting.
Judge clears into the next part, a hollow shell of eight containers covered in mattresses with a man in a bondage mask in the middle.
Judge snaps his gun up and shoots him.
This is the most frightening human being Judge has ever seen.
He’ll live, probably.
Nobody comments on Judge shooting him.
Judge catches sight of a pistol falling to the ground.
Well that’ll save him some time in the official report anyway.
They keep clearing.
They come to a room full of laptops and a woman.
The people on the laptop screens are wearing masks like they’re on Squid Game.
Identification will be near impossible.
Unless FISA decides to lend a hand.
Judge doesn’t mind, he’ll work with anyone if it means shooting these scumfucks.
They panic seeing Judge.
They rush to turn off their laptops and cameras.
Judge likes their fear.
Nonetheless.
Judge needs to keep moving.
He moves into the room and zip ties the woman.
She’s immaculately dressed.
She’s the auctioneer.
Judge feels hate radiate from his body as he fastens the cuffs.
A bullet hits his vest.
He transitions to his pistol and he pumps five rounds into the shooters chest and head.
“You killed him!” The auctioneer screams in disbelief.
Judge wonders if he could sell shooting her too.
Nah, she’s zip tied.
A shame.
Martinez might.
Plausible deniability is the best deniability.
Judge turns around and pats his chest.
He catches sight of a flogger called “The Hose”
Maybe she could enjoy that sometime.
The Terminators secure the shooter.
Martinez pats Judge and makes sure he’s alright.
“You better be there for the quinceanera so no more getting shot eh?”
Judge acknowledges.
Judge calls in the laptops and auction.
TOC acknowledges, he hears more cheering.
Somebody is going to get a medal for this, Judge can feel it.
It won’t be Judge though.
Judge looks up and nearly shoots.
There’s an entire fucking wall of mannequins staring at them.
“This place is just no fucking good.” Martniez muttered.
Judge agrees.
This place is a complete horror show. Exceptional wealth, exceptional grunge poverty and there’s a gimp involved.
It’s like Pulp Fiction except Judge hasn’t blown anyones head off today.
Judge catches sight of a wall with photographs, “Todays Menu”
Martinez sees it and turns away.
Judge hears a gunshot behind him.
He doesn’t need to turn around.
He knows it’s Martinez.
Auctioneer is dead.
Judge understands.
The little girl with the bear was reason enough.
They better find these people.
Judge continues through the crate city.
It’s just dark, with barbed wire interspersed everywhere.
There’s no reason for this.
It’s just weird.
If someone being trafficked can make it out of there they still have a fuckhuge warehouse to try and escape through, naked.
Then they need to get outside and be believed.
They come out into the main warehouse, the crate city is a loop.
Judge takes stock of the situation and breathes.
Judge sees a guard standing in front of what looks like the last Spider-crate.
He yells in Russian.
Judge yells in English.
He doesn’t comply.
Judge snaps up his rifle and shoots him in the head.
No patience for the traffickers.
Judge lets his rifle go slack as he prepares to open the Spider-crate.
Judge opens the door.
Women.
Naked women.
Not the fun kind of naked either.
Judge stares in disbelief.
Martinez does too.
Judge drops his main hand from his rifle.
“TOC… We’ve got a container full of women.” His voice is sombre.
He hasn't seen something like this since Karachi.
Judge catches sight that some of these women have been branded.
Others wear chokers.
One looks especially sickly and she’s in a blanket.
“We need TEMS and Border Patrol here right away.”
TOC seems unsettled, sickened even.
“Roger, we’ll send them up right away.”
No laughter, no cheering in the background.
Judge opens his mouth to acknowledge before another voice comes on the line.
“Negative, stand down, this is FISA, we’re going to secure that crate ourselves. Shut the door.”
Judge stares at the women.
No fucking way can they do that.
“Be advised these people need urgent medical attention.”
“Stand down, Judge. Close the fucking door. lock it behind you and forget you fucking saw it.”
Judge recognises the voice.
Judge knows who that is.
Judge shakes his head.
Martinez is looking at Judge.
Martinez knows what to do.
Judge reaches over and breaks off Martinez’ helmet camera.
“Understood.”
Judge orders the Terminators away, leaving Martinez there.
Judge sees Martinez take out his bolt cutters to break the chains and locks.
Judge feels something he hasn’t felt in Los Suenos in a long time.
Like he’s actually made a difference today.
“Roger, we’re going to talk later.”
Judge can hear the sneer of the spook through the line, “No, we won’t be.”
Judge walks out of the Warehouse.
Judge feels sick.
He walks past one of the corpses.
He sees a Glock that looks like it’s functional.
He picks it up and stuffs it behind his vest.
Judge sees Cowboy and his team coming in to help clean up the mess.
Judge acknowledges him.
Judge walks back to the Bearcat, the rest of the team filing behind him.
Auctioneer laptops identified and secured.
Human trafficking disrupted.
Trafficked humans helped to escape.
Multiple hostages saved.
Multiple Russians killed.
Server farms found.
Multiple rocket launchers also found.
Bowling balls secured.
Total mission success.
Dramatic section, entirely non-canon, just thought it’d be cool to write. Incorporates elements of the story from other levels.
Judge had recognised that voice.
Judge hadn’t remembered to forget it.
Judge knew the man.
Judge found himself outside an apartment in South Central Suenos
Judge wore a red pizza delivery hat.
The door opened.
Judge forced it open and slammed it shut behind him.
Judge clamped his hand onto the mans mouth.
The pizza fell to the floor.
Judge’s free hand caught the pistol coming up.
Judge’s thumb came between the hammer and the striker.
Dead gun.
Judge forced the man back onto the couch and wrenched the gun from his hand.
Tap-rack.
Weapon’s hot.
A finger drifted to Judge’s lips.
Shhh.
The hat came off.
A flicker of recognition passed the FISA agents face.
“You know who I am.”
It wasn’t a question.
Judge knew this guy.
An Amos Voll type on a government paycheck.
An Amos Voll type that relied on guys like Judge.
The condescending sneer Judge knew this man had worn when he was ordering a dozen women to their fates was gone.
Judge knew these types stylised themselves as spiders.
Judge felt these types were cockroaches.
Scurrying cowards who were hard to kill.
Judge waited.
Silence.
Some men screamed in their last moments.
Some men begged and wept.
Some prayed.
Some men reached for their killer, wanting company on their ride to the hereafter.
Some tried to convince their killer to let them live.
Some just wanted conversation.
The cockroach finally opened his mouth.
“Would it make a difference if I told you you weren’t meant to find out?”
Judge walked around the side of the couch.
The cockroach didn’t move.
“You sent Gerard after me.”
It wasn’t a question.
Pieces of the puzzle were falling into place.
“Was Elaine your second chance?”
The bark of laughter was a surprise.
“A happy accident.”
Judge tightens his hand around the pistol.
“Is there anyone else?”
The sneer was back.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
That’s a yes.
Judge sighs.
“Carcosa?”
The sneer fades.
Yup.
Judge walks behind him.
Judge jams the barrel of the gun into the side of his head.
Bang.
Judge leaves the gun in the cockroach's hand.
Judge walks away.
Judge knows the cockroach had a lot of secrets.
Judge doubts anyone will look too closely into this.
If only Judge knew what a shitstorm he’d be bringing down on Los Suenos he might’ve hesitated before killing him.
Nah.
Some bastards need killing.
Judge knows that better than most.
THE FAIRLY ODDPARENTS ARE RETURNING 🎬 #Nickelodeon makes OFFICIAL that a sequel series to #FairlyOddparents (#LosPadrinosMagicos) is in development. The production will consist of 20 new episodes and will bring back the original English voices of #Cosmo and #Wanda.
Bendiciones a todos! So I just wanted some advice from religious folk. So, I am an Aleyo, tengo recibido Mano de Orula, Guerreros, Teja. I’m a child of Babalu Aye, and MFF Eggun todos los días de mi vida. Mira, so in my Ile which is led my Padrino de Awofaka, I have been feeling strange for a while now. In the beginning everything was fine and all of a sudden I feel a huge discomfort. I have many experiences with muertos, and they have never failed me, and lately they have been saying leave, don’t say anything leave. Now my Padrino isn’t a sancocho, I had researched the lineage prior and he is a good religious folk. In the past have sought advice and help and felt like it wasn’t enough, it didn’t feel like a padrino, more like a stranger. I had initially been getting close to his wife who is crowned Oya and we began getting close, even had her in mind to approach her to crown me. Recently she has deleted me from Facebook and I messaged together about our next plante where I am to receive Olokun, they ignored my message. It sucks as I am very close to my God siblings. My sign mentions that I won’t receive blessings or begin to progress until I have separated from my family whether blood or religious, it also speaks about separation between Godfather and God child and the Godchild dethrones the Godfather. This feeling all started when he mentions the Ile doesn’t crown Babalu Aye direct they do Yemaya con oro, I don’t believe in that. I am Cuban and have family members that have been in this religion for over 70 years and more, they say direct in Arara or Lucumi. I have a muerto that is super fuerte y grosero that says leave, leave the group and dont say a thing. As i am baby in the religion i wanted to seek advice. Should I get a consulta with a Santero not in the ile? Should i stay. sorry for the epistle but i am desperate. I appreciate and welcome all advice.
I was at the grocery store today, in Los Angeles on Thursday 04/20/2023 and I heard a song, and I'm breaking my head looking for it.
I only remember a bit of 2 lines, that says something like
" When I 1st saw you " or " When I 1st laid my eyes on you"
or something like that.
And then it the following in the chorus and at the end, something along the lines of:
" You're the beautifulest thing I've seen" or " You're the Most beautiful thing in the world"
I think it was an African American male singer.
The song was beautiful and I wanted to cry how beautiful it was lol Slow tempo, maybe piano. I thought it would make a great Quinceanera song considering my daughter's Sweet 16 is coming up and maybe that's why it pulled at my heart strings cause it made me think of my daughter BUT I DONT KNOW WHAT SONG THIS IS LOL and this was my first and only time hearing it.
Please help 🙏 Thanks in advance!
Update: I'm thinking it might be a new song, probably why we can't figure it out
Every year we get together and have a mini culeco in my grand mothers house in Los Santos Panama.
Culeco is just music and getting splashed with water.
Also being a padrino when requested for baptism by family members. Pretty much I do it more as a person who gives a hand or helps incase parents of child ever go through hard times. Having stability and being one of the person who is better off in the family well I get chosen way more than I would like.
Perdón por mi terrible gramática, estoy usando un traductor.
Hola a todos. Espero que puedas ayudarme. Mi familia y yo somos de los Estados Unidos. La enfermera de mi abuela es una mujer colombiana maravillosa. En unas semanas la enfermera viajará de regreso a Colombia para visitar a su familia y celebrar la quinceañera de su nieta.
Sé que las quinceañeras son una gran fiesta y me gustaría hacerle un buen regalo a la cumpleañera. No estoy familiarizado con las costumbres o tradiciones, por lo que no estoy seguro de cuál sería un regalo apropiado. He intentado buscar en Google, pero todo lo que aparece son decoraciones y no realmente ejemplos de regalos. Quiero mostrar nuestro agradecimiento.
También espero que me puedan decir si hay alguna costumbre como regalar a los padres o a los hermanos de la quinceañera. No quiero ofender a nadie o dejar a alguien fuera si es costumbre.
Realmente aprecio la ayuda.
Pardon my terrible grammar, I am using a translator.
Hi everyone. I’m hoping you can help me. My family and I are from the US. My grandma’s nurse is a wonderful Colombian woman. In a few weeks the nurse will be traveling back to Colombia to visit her family and celebrate her granddaughter’s quinceanera.
I know quinceaneras are a big party and I would like to get the birthday girl a nice gift. I am unfamiliar with the customs or traditions, so I am not sure what an appropriate gift would be. I’ve tried googling, but everything that comes up is decorations and not really examples of gifts. I want to show our appreciation.
I am also hoping you can tell me if there are any customs like gifting the parents or the quinceanera’s siblings? I don’t want to offend anyone or leave someone out if it’s customary.
I really appreciate the help.