An Algerian fish monger, preparing to marry his 14 year old bride, smiles for the camera. National Geographic, Sept. 1998.

86  2018-08-26 by ProfessorChipperson

24 comments

Fuck an Algerian, he looks like Satan

John McCain spent five tears as a POW, Anthony spent twenty trying and failing to be a 70's/80's pop star.

It's that Serj??

ant looking like his dinosaur statue

How do we even get these photos?

When you think you've actually improved, you let your past out. He thinks he's better than this.

I’m seriously perplexed. Did someone hack his computer? How did he ever let this become public knowledge? If that was. Picture of me it would be burned the second it was developed.

He has never really had a period he could point to as being "in his prime" as far as looks go at least.

This is an astute observation

The bloated guy is from a parasite infection

It's fascinating how he looks so different in every picture of him, but never like a normal human being.

This is a white man?

Look at this North African abomination

This guy is not white.

He looks like the Babadook

Abu Antoine al-Qu'miya of Oran.

What a fucking monster.

He looks like a walking Arab caricature.

Butthole eyes.

Ol' batarang chest hair havin motherfucker

Send that in to the cursed images reddit

What is smarmy looking immigrant :)

This picture is horrifying, yet I can't stop staring at it.

As the mortally wounded Tunisian knife fighter struggles to inhale a ragged breath into his partially collapsed lung, he slumps against the wall on one knee as a coughing fit overtakes him. The coppery taste of blood fills his mouth as crimson flecks spatter the concrete digging painfully into his arm and side. His dagger slips from numb fingers, clattering on the pavement. Wheezing, his vision closing in on him, he fumbles in his front pocket for the small object.

His fingers close on his prize and withdraw. Summoning his last remaining strength, he spins as quickly as he can towards his assailant, his hands extending the disposable camera as a momentary flash illuminates and freezes a moment for all time: His murderer, poised to finish the job, a maniacal grin of bloodlust on his face, a glint of razor-honed murder instinct tinged with scarcely suppressed homosexuality in his puffy, sideways vagina eyes. An open white button down shirt frames a sloppy, meandering line of chest hair which, in the dim light, looks like a fanciful scribble of a retard's turd crayon.

The wounded man falls to the ground, his last vestiges of energy leaving his inert form. His vision fades out, then goes black. He hears the scrape of shoe on asphalt next to him, and the subtle sound of cloth moving as his murderer crouches next to him. A hand wraps around the back of his neck, and he hears the gentle *squelch* of his flesh parting under the victor's blade even as an explosion of pain envelops his throat. As he chokes and gargles through a throat filling with blood, he feels an exhalation of breath, hot against his ear. And then, as his soul frees itself from its mortal prison, the last sounds he will ever hear and comprehend reach his ears. His killer speaks.

​

"Sleep well, funny man."