This photo is floating around as of 1 hour ago.

Somebody please debunk this, Thats not the world I want to live in.

Somebody please debunk this, Thats not the world I want to live in.

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old 2015

I can not attest to the legitimacy of it, just sharing what I came across tho.

The difference between a FAKE PHOTO and a REAL PHOTO exposing Trump is a Trumptard who can't handle the truth without their head exploding lol


Toody Rudy Fruity with his hands down his pants in front of what he though was a 15 year old girl is true and verifiable unlike your fake news photoshop smear job.

But ya, explain to Jesus why you defended a pedophile caught in the act while fabricating false evidence to persecute an innocent man on your way to hell.

The left and right paradigm is an illusion!

I guess normal straight Trumpers adore this behavior. Perverts!

Yes, it is real.

The white slave trade is very real.

I nearly got abducted when I was 21, hitchhiking through Europe on my own. I got picked up by a guy in Switzerland. We drove for about a half-hour, chatting and laughing (he was very charming), and then he said he needed to pull into the airport at Geneva to make a call. This was before cell phones. He told me to stay in the car and he would be right back.

So I sat in the car, waiting for him. While I was sitting there, I decided to look in the glove compartment for a map so I could see where I was going. That's when I found the gun.

I knew something was very, very wrong when I saw the gun in the glove compartment. I decided in a flash that I didn't want to ride with this guy anymore. So I gathered my few belongings together and reached for the door handle. That's when I realized there was no door handle -- in fact, all of the door handles had been removed.

At that point, I started to major panic. The car was a station wagon with automatic windows which were rolled all the way up except for the window at the very back, which was open just enough for me to get my fingertips through. I crawled to the back of the car and hauled the window down with every ounce of strength I had, making just enough of an opening to squeeze myself and my knapsack through. Then I bolted for the front entrance of the airport.

Just as I reached the front door, the guy came out. Gone was the easy smile and European charm; in its place was an icy-cold glare. He stood in front of me, blocking my way into the airport, and said: "Where are you going?" I said: "I changed my mind; I'm going to fly," and before I could hear his response, I ducked under his arm and raced through the door and to the very back of the airport to the ladies room, where I sat in a stall on top of a toilet tank for the next 16 hours, waiting for morning. I didn't sleep a wink. Every time the door opened, I thought it was the guy coming to get me.

The next morning I cautiously left the airport and started hitchhiking again, but had decided only to get in with women. A woman picked me up on the ramp from the airport. When I told her what had happened to me the day before, she pulled the car over the side of the road, stared me full in the face, and said: "Do you know what that was?" I said "No", and that's when she told me that I had been in the process of being abducted into the white slave trade, which apparently was very active in Europe at that time (early 1980s). The woman told me I would have been sold and then disappeared, and that I was very lucky to have escaped when I did.

I stopped hitchhiking after that and started taking trains.

Yes, it is real.

The white slave trade is very real.

I nearly got abducted when I was 21, hitchhiking through Europe on my own. I got picked up by a guy in Switzerland. We drove for about a half-hour, chatting and laughing (he was very charming), and then he said he needed to pull into the airport at Geneva to make a call. This was before cell phones. He told me to stay in the car and he would be right back.

So I sat in the car, waiting for him. While I was sitting there, I decided to look in the glove compartment for a map so I could see where I was going. That's when I found the gun.

I knew something was very, very wrong when I saw the gun in the glove compartment. I decided in a flash that I didn't want to ride with this guy anymore. So I gathered my few belongings together and reached for the door handle. That's when I realized there was no door handle -- in fact, all of the door handles had been removed.

At that point, I started to major panic. The car was a station wagon with automatic windows which were rolled all the way up except for the window at the very back, which was open just enough for me to get my fingertips through. I crawled to the back of the car and hauled the window down with every ounce of strength I had, making just enough of an opening to squeeze myself and my knapsack through. Then I bolted for the front entrance of the airport.

Just as I reached the front door, the guy came out. Gone was the easy smile and European charm; in its place was an icy-cold glare. He stood in front of me, blocking my way into the airport, and said: "Where are you going?" I said: "I changed my mind; I'm going to fly," and before I could hear his response, I ducked under his arm and raced through the door and to the very back of the airport to the ladies room, where I sat in a stall on top of a toilet tank for the next 16 hours, waiting for morning. I didn't sleep a wink. Every time the door opened, I thought it was the guy coming to get me.

The next morning I cautiously left the airport and started hitchhiking again, but had decided only to get in with women. A woman picked me up on the ramp from the airport. When I told her what had happened to me the day before, she pulled the car over the side of the road, stared me full in the face, and said: "Do you know what that was?" I said "No", and that's when she told me that I had been in the process of being abducted into the white slave trade, which apparently was very active in Europe at that time (early 1980s). The woman told me I would have been sold and then disappeared, and that I was very lucky to have escaped when I did.

I stopped hitchhiking after that and started taking trains.

?

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