There used to be a bird. So glorious and so royal. This bird has lost its wings :(

[Cyrus]

bump for Slovenia

- Niggula

 

[Methylphenidate]

Oh how I miss this legend, the GOAT, the one who stood up against abuse of the moderators, the one who ran a script faster than Usain Bolt himself, the one who mass tagged half the forum, the light in the darkness, the saviour of the underprivileged, the hero of the Gods own Country Kerala, and finally, the leader of THE BIRDS.

I remember reading this esoteric brahmin manuscript about the man himself when I was 4 years old:

Definitely the greatest book of all time. All my descendants will read this. The legacy of the birds will live on, forever.

I have pasted this poster on every single palm tree in the beautiful state of kerala to spread awareness about the unjust ban against this legend:

 

[raduuh]

john.....baza......
chills

 

[Greypiller]

The Feathered Fall of Kaligula​

Once, in the lush embrace of Kerala’s green fields and sunlit backwaters there used to be a bird named Kaligula.


Kaligula, the once-majestic bird, was not like the others. A son of Kerala’s emerald skies, born under the wisdom of ancient palm trees and sharpened by the esoteric winds of intellect, he carried the heart of a Brahmin sage. His feathers shimmered like iridescent secrets, his thoughts too vast for the narrow confines of mortal understanding. He was a creature of philosophy, a dreamer of impossible dreams.

But the world was not kind to thinkers like Kaligula.
He soared too high, beyond the limits set by the unseen custodians of the heavens. He spoke truths too sharp, too raw, truths that left even the winds trembling. And it was there, at the peak of his flight, that they came for him: shadowy figures, faceless moderators of fate. Their judgments, though unseen, were ironclad. A committee of cruel stars conspired to clip his wings. These moderators—he thought them divine at first—turned out to be mere mortals wielding powers of erasure.
Jewish moderators, they whispered. An unstoppable force, wielding the gavel of deletion, rendered him a flightless relic of his former glory. He, the bird who had tasted the edges of the universe, now found himself grounded, his wings torn from his very soul. The skies he loved so deeply, the skies he owned, were barred to him forever.

Kaligula lost more than his wings that day—he lost his will to live. His joy, his purpose, drained like rainwater down an endless, uncaring gutter.
In this new and bleak existence, Kaligula turned to crutches. Not the philosophical tomes he once devoured, nor the sacred chants he once murmured to the setting sun, but to something darker, something sadder. Snus—the bitter pinch of tobacco tucked into the corner of his beak. It didn’t bring him joy; it didn’t bring him meaning. It just numbed the hollow ache in his chest, the void where his soaring dreams used to live.

The great bird of Kerala was no more. What remained was a shadow—a tragic echo of what could have been. His once-brilliant eyes, dulled by despair, now stared listlessly at horizons he could no longer reach. The winds he once mastered now mocked him, carrying whispers of his name to places he would never fly.
And so, Kaligula sits. Alone. A relic of unfulfilled potential, forgotten by the world that once celebrated him. Each pinch of snus is a reminder—not of pleasure, but of his defeat. The bird who dared to think, to dream, to fly too close to the sun, now finds solace in nothing but ash and bitterness.
Kaligula is a warning, a requiem for those who dare to rise too far, too fast. His wings were his freedom. And without them, he is nothing.

The skies will never feel the same again.

Im sorry but dnr+kaligula isnt gett8ng unbanned buddy he used his last chance when he went on gigells acc

 

[JohnBaza]

john.....baza......
chills

raduuh......
even more chillss

 

[JohnBaza]

Oh how I miss this legend, the GOAT, the one who stood up against abuse of the moderators, the one who ran a script faster than Usain Bolt himself, the one who mass tagged half the forum, the light in the darkness, the saviour of the underprivileged, the hero of the Gods own Country Kerala, and finally, the leader of THE BIRDS.

I remember reading this esoteric brahmin manuscript about the man himself when I was 4 years old:

View attachment 3458255

Definitely the greatest book of all time. All my descendants will read this. The legacy of the birds will live on, forever.

I have pasted this poster on every single palm tree in the beautiful state of kerala to spread awareness about the unjust ban against this legend:

View attachment 3458258

Great post bhai!

 

[2025cel]

@Alexanderr Unban skibid kaligula

 

[Fusionxz]

BUMPP

 

[shiezen]

The Feathered Fall of Kaligula​

Once, in the lush embrace of Kerala’s green fields and sunlit backwaters there used to be a bird named Kaligula.


Kaligula, the once-majestic bird, was not like the others. A son of Kerala’s emerald skies, born under the wisdom of ancient palm trees and sharpened by the esoteric winds of intellect, he carried the heart of a Brahmin sage. His feathers shimmered like iridescent secrets, his thoughts too vast for the narrow confines of mortal understanding. He was a creature of philosophy, a dreamer of impossible dreams.

But the world was not kind to thinkers like Kaligula.
He soared too high, beyond the limits set by the unseen custodians of the heavens. He spoke truths too sharp, too raw, truths that left even the winds trembling. And it was there, at the peak of his flight, that they came for him: shadowy figures, faceless moderators of fate. Their judgments, though unseen, were ironclad. A committee of cruel stars conspired to clip his wings. These moderators—he thought them divine at first—turned out to be mere mortals wielding powers of erasure.
Jewish moderators, they whispered. An unstoppable force, wielding the gavel of deletion, rendered him a flightless relic of his former glory. He, the bird who had tasted the edges of the universe, now found himself grounded, his wings torn from his very soul. The skies he loved so deeply, the skies he owned, were barred to him forever.

Kaligula lost more than his wings that day—he lost his will to live. His joy, his purpose, drained like rainwater down an endless, uncaring gutter.
In this new and bleak existence, Kaligula turned to crutches. Not the philosophical tomes he once devoured, nor the sacred chants he once murmured to the setting sun, but to something darker, something sadder. Snus—the bitter pinch of tobacco tucked into the corner of his beak. It didn’t bring him joy; it didn’t bring him meaning. It just numbed the hollow ache in his chest, the void where his soaring dreams used to live.

The great bird of Kerala was no more. What remained was a shadow—a tragic echo of what could have been. His once-brilliant eyes, dulled by despair, now stared listlessly at horizons he could no longer reach. The winds he once mastered now mocked him, carrying whispers of his name to places he would never fly.
And so, Kaligula sits. Alone. A relic of unfulfilled potential, forgotten by the world that once celebrated him. Each pinch of snus is a reminder—not of pleasure, but of his defeat. The bird who dared to think, to dream, to fly too close to the sun, now finds solace in nothing but ash and bitterness.
Kaligula is a warning, a requiem for those who dare to rise too far, too fast. His wings were his freedom. And without them, he is nothing.

The skies will never feel the same again.

 

[JohnBaza]

rlly bro?