Hit your keyboard keys randomly

[Artois]

zdfjgh ;zd

 

[Glenn Hoddle]

vbnkewc fdf brtgsb you're fired cdvesbrd nm mhjadszx

 

[Hilton]

hFADIO fHP efhqUPFP

 

[CHAPPERS]

fjw;/\m av45
qVQ3V KE33 Q]#AVGKE

 

[Reading Posh]

i hate barry fry

spooky

 

[alan partridge]

fg is a total f***ing cunn

 

[Safeway]

SHDIOVWSHVK MARTINISACLOWN FPJHWEFD230

 

[Highfields Seagull]

ld;zfik
{}gogj;lkzdfg;'olikj]rdf'pdooij
oreP;

 

[Deano's Right Foot]

liguhe 48yuy uyiuweyw cx,; HEIHKJHFEHK jharlhdb bukakt ekkj hliuqhdlj hghgah\d jjshakh gjagsya jh aj

 

[Blue&WhiteSea]

cv cvuitrx kixcrtrxcxerer76l;980mj 98hy76vf 65sd8

 

[Glenn Hoddle]

ANTHONY
O mighty Caesar! dost thou lie so low?
Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils,
Shrunk to this little measure? Fare thee well.
I know not, gentlemen, what you intend,
Who else must be let blood, who else is rank:
If I myself, there is no hour so fit
As Caesar's death hour, nor no instrument
Of half that worth as those your swords, made rich
With the most noble blood of all this world.
I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard,
Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke,
Fulfil your pleasure. Live a thousand years,
I shall not find myself so apt to die:
No place will please me so, no mean of death,
As here by Caesar, and by you cut off,
The choice and master spirits of this age.

BRUTUS
O Antony, beg not your death of us.
Though now we must appear bloody and cruel,
As, by our hands and this our present act,
You see we do, yet see you but our hands
And this the bleeding business they have done:
Our hearts you see not; they are pitiful;
And pity to the general wrong of Rome--
As fire drives out fire, so pity pity--
Hath done this deed on Caesar. For your part,
To you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony:
Our arms, in strength of malice, and our hearts
Of brothers' temper, do receive you in
With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence

 

[tinx]

hthrszh

 

[The Wookiee]

we want falmer

 

[Deano's Right Foot]

ANTHONY
O mighty Caesar! dost thou lie so low?
Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils,
Shrunk to this little measure? Fare thee well.
I know not, gentlemen, what you intend,
Who else must be let blood, who else is rank:
If I myself, there is no hour so fit
As Caesar's death hour, nor no instrument
Of half that worth as those your swords, made rich
With the most noble blood of all this world.
I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard,
Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke,
Fulfil your pleasure. Live a thousand years,
I shall not find myself so apt to die:
No place will please me so, no mean of death,
As here by Caesar, and by you cut off,
The choice and master spirits of this age.

BRUTUS
O Antony, beg not your death of us.
Though now we must appear bloody and cruel,
As, by our hands and this our present act,
You see we do, yet see you but our hands
And this the bleeding business they have done:
Our hearts you see not; they are pitiful;
And pity to the general wrong of Rome--
As fire drives out fire, so pity pity--
Hath done this deed on Caesar. For your part,
To you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony:
Our arms, in strength of malice, and our hearts
Of brothers' temper, do receive you in
With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence

Shut it you MONKEY

 

[Theatre of Trees]

?

 

[Everest]

WE WANT FLAMER

 

[Trigger]

ehjofhoehfohoipeFUCKjfrhfohrhfuohr

 

[Marc]

iuy4cto7y34op9tyv30948yrcp934yr y84r98cy40983vyp39y p3y4cp93y4 p9384ytp9384yp938yp93 TEA s3iu4ytvo834yto87yvnpo3u4ytp9348ytp9vn8y tp9y34pnc8y

 

[On the Left Wing]

 

[bhafc4eva]

fdgjwojwosprescottmrl'jgropigjfpe