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Tragic Choking Incident Claims Life of Young Boy in Bangkok
5 year old and 50KG is unbelievable is it a misprint ? Yes stop kids eating to such obese levels. -
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Trump threatens China with additional 50% tariff if Beijing doesn’t scrap its retaliation
China ows the most of the US dept so Trump better be careful.He migth get more then he asking for -
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The Anglicisation of France: A Language Under Siege by Its Own People
The Royal Institute words for computer you quote is a definition of a computer, not an equivalent. -
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Tattoo Regret in Pattaya - Harley Ink and a 5,000 Baht Bill, Now What Lads?
You clearly don't know how to use AI very well. This is what I got back..... Bob had saved up every last quid he could scrape together from his dead-end factory job. The moment the plane touched down in Thailand, his head swirled with the promise of cheap pints, neon-lit streets, and no responsibilities—at least for a week. Pattaya greeted him like a reckless old mate: loud, reckless, and ready for fun. He figured he’d start small, just a couple of beers at a beachside bar. But “just a couple” in Pattaya turned into shots of potent Thai rum, chased by cocktails with neon straws. Bob lost track of time. He cheered with strangers, bumped fists with wide-eyed tourists, danced to pounding music till his sweat-soaked T-shirt clung to his back. By midnight, Bob’s accent was slurred beyond recognition. Someone bought him another round, and the friendly bartender gave him a sly wink. Somehow, the night blurred into a series of bright lights and incomprehensible promises—like a living collage of laughter and questionable choices. He remembered stumbling into a tattoo parlor he’d spied down a narrow alley, its signage flickering and half-burnt out. He never had a tattoo before, but the idea of one sounded brilliant at the time. When he woke the next day, a piercing headache roared in his skull, and the harsh sunlight sneaking through the thin curtains felt like white-hot daggers stabbing his eyes. He peeled himself off the bed. His arm stung and, looking down, he saw it: a cringeworthy tattoo of a cartoonish pink elephant, sporting a Westham football jersey, perched on his shoulder. The lines were shaky, the colors bled. It was definitely not the proud lion rampant he remembered babbling about wanting as he stumbled in. Gingerly, Bob prodded the throbbing design. “Oh, mate,” he groaned in horror. He had to check his phone to piece together what happened, but the phone battery was dead—likely from all the selfies he’d no doubt taken. He slouched into the bathroom, splashing water on his face, wincing at his reflection with that flaming pink eyesore leering back at him in the mirror. He cursed himself for being an idiot. But there was a grim sort of pride there as well, hidden behind the embarrassment. It was a chaotic souvenir, a hazy memory etched onto his skin. Later, maybe he’d have it covered up or removed, but for now, it was a story waiting to be told—one he hoped no one at the factory would ever discover unless he was too drunk to keep his mouth shut. Eager to flee the memory of the night before (and possibly the entire city), Bob packed his bag. Even though he dreaded the flight home, he knew he’d return to Blighty with more than just a sunburn: he’d carry a story of that one wild night in Pattaya, immortalized forever in the worst, pinkest tattoo imaginable. -
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Trump spend 1 trillion on military
I'll wager the military of the USA could dunk on Europe.
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