About me:
This is what i believe
There is only one true God and Jesus Christ is his son
Affirmative Action is today's rascism. Equal opportunity based on skill not ethnicity.
Just because everyone is entitled to their opion doesn't make them right
God doesn't hate homosexuals...he just doesn't like what their doing.
People should say hi to each other on the street...and generally be nicer to each other
Whoever the judge that started the precedent for "emotional distress" lawsuits and " it didn't say I couldn't do that stupid thing I did" needs to be smacked.
Not everything is the government's fault...people are pretty idiotic too.
there's a time for diplomacy and a time for action.
Not everything needs medication...sometimes a good bitch-slap is necessary.
People really need to grow a backbone, take responsibility, and not blame others for their own faults.

Quotes:
"You Failed. Give-up on life."

"What is a little bite on the buttocks between friends? Go ahead, give me a nibble."

"Squeak!" --tony

"You're so ugly, you make baby chipmunks commit suicide."---tony

"People should not fear their government, its the government who should fear its people"-"V"

"Chemistry is the science of Hitler and Satan."-me

To be, or not to be--that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And by opposing end them. To die, to sleep--
No more--and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep--
To sleep--perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprise of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action. -- Soft you now,
The fair Ophelia! -- Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remembered.