That man you see there, he is a 92 year old veteran from Norway, who was tortured by the nazis during world war II.
The upper picture is the picture of the “BOY London” logo, that’s so popular now days.
Then, on the picture under, is a known symbol that were used under by the nazis in World War II.
Now you can all think of what you’re really wearing.
finally someone made a post about it, everyone’s running around with the Third Reich Eagle on their chests
think about it
yes make it known. nobody ever talks about it.
this retailer sells a halal nail polish. this allows for oxygen and water to go through the nail, which makes it acceptable to wear during prayer. spread the word.
“Being a relatively modern creation, nail polish remains obviously unaddressed by early Islamic sources. But the general consensus in the Islamic community is that praying with nail polish is impermissible because of the waterproof barrier it creates on nails, which prevents the wudu ritual from being completed five times a day.” (source)
For any Muslim followers.
DON’T ACTUALLY USE THIS FOR THE SAKE OF WATER PERMEABILITY. IT’S NOT VERY EFFECTIVE.
It’s only water vapor permeable, and it’s not at all water permeable when you apply multiple coats, a top coat, or a base coat.
You should use the Tuesday In Love water-permeable brands instead! They’re completely water permeable and come in a whole ton of colors!
Here’s a test that a sister did comparing the Inglot brand and the Tuesday In Love brand on a paper towel so you can see for yourself.
please please please spread this around, I would hate for a lot of sisters to have their prayers invalidated because of something like this.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back she was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.
It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do."