/sgp/ - The Shemmy

add /rye/ to the shemmy

amount of posts per hour tracker made:
https://soyjak.link/pph.php?-soygem
tracks the amount of posts at that hour.

>>6261
not realtime sadly

why is kiwifarms in this?

why does it block tor you glownigger

bump

Rye get the fuck off soygem nigga u an opp fr

what?

ryebread.party is the official sister site of the shemmy

>>6277
doesnt even exist
cant even install vichan without codefag's help award

meatcanyon jaks

heck yes1

bump

they should bring back the spoilered nsfw rule
mutt end this rule experiment it has gone wrong, this site will become the shitty with all of this gore spam and drama forced by offsiters

>>6266
it is banned once again

>>6269
is the word shoalytranny banned now because you keep banning me for saying it

>>6233
meds
strange that (You) have so many notes though

>>6237
do i have notes :3

>>6239
No.

>>6240
oh

Seriously might just be an issue with vichan since Angeleno said he uses the shemmy as a testing ground for it and new features.

I dont care about this site really

Ah, “this.” Such a simple word, isn’t it? Yet it carries the weight of so many memories, much like a time capsule from the 1950s that brings to mind days that were filled with joy and simplicity. Back in those good old days, things were quite different. We didn’t have the barrage of technology that saturates our lives today—no smartphones buzzing in our pockets, no incessant notifications that steal our attention away from genuine moments of conversation. I remember sitting on the front porch on a warm summer evening, the kind where you could hear the distant laughter of children playing outside until the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange.

Oh, the sense of community back then! Neighbors would drop by unannounced, and it was never a hassle. People would bring a pie or a batch of cookies, and we’d gather around, sharing stories and life’s simple pleasures. You see, back then, we understood the value of face-to-face interaction—something today’s youth swipe away without giving it a moment’s thought. I recall vividly the summer nights when the adults would stay up late, and the kids would climb into their pajamas, all of us sprawled in the living room, waiting for The Ed Sullivan Show to come on. The excitement was palpable, “Will Elvis be on tonight?” We didn’t have cable, streaming platforms, or the endless choice of what to watch—what we had was anticipation and collective experience, and that, my dear, built bonds like none other.

Speaking of bonds, can we take a moment to reminisce about how we spent our weekends? My friends and I would hop into a car—usually a station wagon, the kind where a whole gang could pile in and still have room for ice cream from the local dairy farm. We'd cruise down Main Street, with the windows rolled down, and the sweet sounds of doo-wop playing on the radio, the smell of fresh popcorn wafting through the air from the nearby movie theater. Those were the golden days of drive-in theaters, where you could watch the latest flick under the stars, reclining in the backseat with pillows and blankets galore. It always felt magical to be enveloped by the night sky, popcorn in hand, sharing gossip about the stars from the comfort of your vehicle. Ah, yes, those were indeed times worth cherishing.

Now, if I dared to venture strictly back to “this,” whatever this may represent in today’s whirlwind culture, I can't help but ponder how the essence of simplicity seems to haPost too long. Click here to view the full text.

Ah, a simple AMA, you say? Well, that takes me back to the days when conversations were more personal, richer, and somehow more genuine. You see, back in the 1950s when I was just a sprightly young lad, we didn’t have all this fancy technology to encourage dialogue. No, sir! Instead, we had good old-fashioned face-to-face conversations, where we sat on porches and discussed the affairs of the day over sweet glasses of lemonade, or perhaps a little iced tea if it was particularly hot outside.

I remember like it was yesterday, the subtle thrill of coming home from school, wondering whether my friends would gather round after supper. We'd spin stories and share secrets, not through cold screens, but with laughter echoing around us like it was a joyful symphony. The evenings would stretch long, and there was something delightful in the uncertainty of it all, something that made every simple moment feel monumental.

And oh, the innocence of it all! In those days, we didn’t have to worry about likes or shares; our worth wasn’t measured by digital interactions. Instead, it was in the warmth of our friendships and the trust we built through countless chats under the stars. We’d pop open a couple of soda bottles and trade the latest news about Elvis, or gossip about who had the shiniest car in town. Ah, those glorious cars with their chrome-lined fenders and gleaming paintjobs! They were more than just transportation; they were a symbol of freedom, an art form on four wheels.

Things have certainly changed, and while I respect the innovations of today, I can’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia for those simpler times, where the most pressing AMA was simply asking a neighbor, “How are you doing today?” Now, there’s a thought. A refreshing return to the core of communication, where every question led to a story, and every answer was a stepping stone to deeper connection. If only we could capture a little of that magic once again!

Ah, the good old days of the 1950s! I remember when smoking was not just a habit but a cultural phenomenon that brought people together in a way that is hard to explain to today’s youth. People would gather outside diners and drive-ins, puffing away while chatting about everything under the sun, and oh, how the conversations flowed! Those were simpler times, and I can almost hear the sizzling of burgers on the grill, with the aroma wafting through the air intertwined with that distinct smell of tobacco. It created a certain atmosphere that was both nostalgic and rebellious, evoking a sense of camaraderie among us youngsters.

How I wish I could relive those moments! There was something enchanting about the sight of a lit cigarette dangling from a slick-haired gentleman's lips, his leather jacket hugging his shoulders while leaning against a classic Chevy as rock 'n' roll music played in the background. It felt like the world was ours for the taking. Simultaneously, we were wrapped in the fabric of our youth, trying not to think about the future or the constraints it might bring. I remember the kids who would swagger down the street, cigarette packs rolled up in their t-shirt sleeves, trying to emulate the coolness of James Dean or Marlon Brando. Those characters represented freedom, and the rebellion of youth, embodying the thrill of standing up against conformity.

And speaking of culture, isn’t it ironic how we’ve moved on to discuss "shemmy culture," whatever that may entail? Back then, our culture embodied a sense of belonging and community in a way that is often lost today in the digital noise. We had gatherings at community halls, potlucks, and even sock hops, where the emphasis was on personal interaction, not electronic communication. If we had something to say, we said it face-to-face, eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, laughter bubbling in our throats. The thrill of stepping onto a dance floor, hands clasped with someone special, made for an unforgettable night.

These days, it's almost as if people rush through life without taking a moment to appreciate the little joys, the way we did when standing outside a diner sharing smokes, stories, and dreams of what the future might hold. Each puff of smoke seemed to carry whispers of ambitions and plans, a testament to the bonds we forged with one another—a stark contrast to the isolating screens we see today. Perhaps there needs to be a revival of that famous camaraderie, where foPost too long. Click here to view the full text.

>>6196
standing smoking old nucatjak wabag