marendone @marendone

Video completo total white! Buon weekend godereccio! 👠🍑🦋💦💦

@GingerDiego9 Super

- Non puoi vivere una vita felice se non hai mai conosciuto la storia de "La palude del caimano" accaduta in Rhodesia. - #Cinema #movie #cult #film

The world’s most powerful billionaire narco-terrorist stayed alive on the run for sixteen months by never speaking more than twenty seconds on a radio—until a desperate call to his son kept him on the line long enough for a surveillance van to pull outside his door. The reason might surprise you. By late 1993, the violent empire of Pablo Emilio Escobar Gaviria was in ruins. The man who once supplied 80% of the world's cocaine, amassed a $30 billion fortune, and held the entire nation of Colombia hostage had been reduced to a cornered fugitive. His army of sicarios had been eliminated by the elite police unit Bloque de Búsqueda (Search Bloc) alongside Los Pepes—a shadowy vigilante squad backed by rival cartels. Escobar had fled into the middle-class barrio of Los Olivos in Medellín, accompanied only by his lone surviving bodyguard, Álvaro de Jesús Agudelo, alias "El Limón." He had survived the most expensive manhunt in history by following a strict rule of operational security: never stay on a phone long enough for electronic surveillance to triangulate his coordinates. Then came the afternoon of December 2, 1993—one day after his 44th birthday. Isolated and panicked over the safety of his wife and children, who were sequestered under heavy guard at the Hotel Tequendama in Bogotá, Escobar picked up a cellular handset to talk to his son, Juan Pablo: He called repeatedly, asking his son about press interviews and asylum applications. The conversation stretched past the two-minute mark—an eternity in electronic counter-surveillance. Cruising through the quiet streets of Los Olivos, a tactical surveillance van equipped with French-supplied radio direction-finding gear and operated by Colombian electronic warfare specialists locked onto the high-frequency cellular pulse. A technician pointed to a two-story brick rowhouse: house number 45D-94. Search Bloc commandos, led by Major Hugo Aguilar, immediately cordoned off the block. When commandos breached the heavy front door, El Limón fired his pistol and attempted to vault over a rear courtyard wall, where he was gunned down in seconds. Upstairs, Escobar realized the net had closed. Barefoot, bearded, and wearing blue jeans and a striped shirt, the drug lord kicked open a back bedroom window and scrambled across the terracotta roof tiles, firing a Sig Sauer pistol blindly behind him in a desperate bid to reach a back alley. A deafening volley of automatic gunfire erupted from the rooftops and street below: Rounds tore through the ceramic tiles beneath his feet. Escobar was struck three times: in the leg, the back, and a fatal bullet that entered his right ear. He collapsed motionless against the red roof incline, his weapon dropping to the tiles. Moments later, Colombian commandos swarmed the roof, raising their rifles into the air and chanting over tactical radios: "¡Viva Colombia! Pablo está muerto." While his family long maintained that Escobar shot himself in the ear rather than be taken alive—echoing his legendary boast, "Better a grave in Colombia than a cell in the United States"—forensic trajectory reports confirmed the fatal round came from the encircling police unit.

In the late 19th century, as European colonial powers expanded their empires, opium became more than just a drug—it was a tool of control, a commodity of exploitation, and, for some, a fashionable indulgence. Among the wealthy elite of Paris, an unusual trend emerged: the French Opium Party. These gatherings were not the gritty, underground dens of later opium lore, but lavish soirées where artists, writers, and aristocrats reclined on silk cushions, smoked from ornate pipes, and drifted into hazy, dreamlike states. The French fascination with opium was partly fueled by colonial encounters in Indochina, where the drug was both a source of revenue and a means of subduing local populations. But back in Paris, it took on a different role—an exotic escape, a way to transcend the rigid boundaries of bourgeois society. Writers like Charles Baudelaire and Jean Cocteau romanticized its effects, weaving opium’s languid visions into their poetry and art. For women in these circles, opium offered a rare space of abandon, where societal expectations could dissolve along with their inhibitions. Yet beneath the velvet decadence lay a darker truth. While the elite played at intoxication, thousands in France’s colonies suffered under the very same drug’s grip, addicted by design to fill imperial coffers. The same opium that inspired poetic reverie in Parisian salons devastated lives abroad. The French Opium Party was a fleeting, contradictory moment—a blend of glamour and exploitation, creativity and complicity. It reminds us how easily pleasure for some is built upon the suffering of others, and how even the most refined indulgences can cast long, troubling shadows. 📷 : a staged scene from the 1920 French silent film Dandy-Pacha directed by Georges Rémond, depicting an orientalist or bohemian opium den. #drthehistories

Mes #gros nichons pour vous , vous aimez #milf

IL MACABRO SEGRETO DELLE ANCORETTE: La giustizia della Serenissima che non faceva sconti . Se camminate da Campo Santi Apostoli in direzione di San Canciano, a Venezia, c'è un piccolo passaggio coperto che nasconde una storia da brividi. Si chiama Sotoportego del Traghetto. Se alzate gli occhi verso il soffitto e le pareti di legno, noterete delle piccole ancore di ferro arrugginite dal tempo. A prima vista potrebbero sembrare semplici decorazioni nautiche o vecchi ganci da ormeggio. Ma la realtà è molto più cupa. E decisamente macabra. Quelle che state guardando sono le ancorette degli "Squartai" (gli squartati). Nella Venezia della Serenissima, la giustizia era spietata. Per i crimini più efferati — come il tradimento, il parricidio o i delitti più atroci — la pena di morte non bastava. Il corpo del condannato veniva diviso in quattro parti (i "quarti"). A cosa servivano quelle ancorette? L'ammonimento pubblico: I pezzi di corpo venivano appesi a quei ganci di ferro, nei punti più trafficati della città e nei canali d'accesso principali. Il messaggio ai naviganti: Chiunque arrivasse a Venezia in barca doveva vedere immediatamente quale fine faceva chi osava sfidare le leggi della Repubblica. Il terrore psicologico: I resti rimanevano esposti alle intemperie e ai volatili per giorni, finché il tempo non faceva il suo corso, come monito perenne per il popolo. Oggi quei ganci sono ancora lì, silenziosi testimoni di un'epoca in cui la Serenissima governava con il pugno di ferro e non esitava a trasformare i suoi angoli più suggestivi in un palcoscenico di terrore.

Try and loot the Italian mob at your own risk 😂😂😂😂

别再问战斗机为啥不用雨刮了，人家的除雨方式比你想象的硬核多了，看完直接涨知识！

On May 24, 1998, nearly 27,000 feet above sea level, two climbers discovered a woman lying motionless against the frozen slopes of Mount Everest. Her face was pale, her hands severely frostbitten, and her body barely responded to the bitter cold. At first, they thought she was dead. Then she moved. As British climber Ian Woodall approached, the woman opened her eyes and whispered words he would never forget. “Please, don’t leave me.” Her name was Francys Arsentiev. She was forty years old. And just two days earlier, she had achieved one of mountaineering’s most extraordinary accomplishments. She had become the first American woman to summit Everest without supplemental oxygen. But now, she was dying on the mountain she had dreamed of conquering. Francys was born in Hawaii in 1958 and grew up in Colorado. Her father introduced her to mountaineering when she was young, inspiring a fascination that would shape her life. She studied business, earned a master’s degree, and worked as an accountant. Then she met Sergei Arsentiev. Sergei was an accomplished Russian mountaineer known as the Snow Leopard, a title earned by climbing the highest peaks of the former Soviet Union. They shared an intense love of mountains. In 1992, they married. Together, they climbed challenging peaks, including Denali and Mount Elbrus. Francys became the first American woman to ski down Elbrus. But one ambition remained. Everest. She wanted to reach its summit without bottled oxygen. It was an extraordinarily dangerous goal. Above 26,000 feet lies the region climbers call the death zone. There, the atmosphere contains so little oxygen that the human body begins deteriorating. Thinking becomes difficult. Movement becomes exhausting. And even simple decisions can become fatal. In May 1998, Francys and Sergei began their final ascent from Everest’s northern side. They traveled without Sherpa assistance, a support team, or supplemental oxygen. After two unsuccessful summit attempts, they tried again on May 22. This time, they succeeded. Francys stood on the world’s highest mountain. Her dream had become reality. But reaching the summit was only half the journey. And they had arrived dangerously late. As darkness approached, the exhausted couple struggled to descend. They were forced to spend another night high on the mountain, exposed to temperatures around minus thirty degrees Celsius. Somewhere in the darkness, they became separated. Sergei eventually reached their high camp. Francys did not. He waited. But when she failed to appear, he made a desperate decision. He gathered oxygen and medicine and climbed back toward the summit to find his wife. He knew the danger. He went anyway. It was the last time anyone saw him alive. Meanwhile, an Uzbek climbing team discovered Francys struggling near 27,000 feet. She was barely able to stand. Her face and hands were frozen. She was exhausted, confused, and dangerously weak. The climbers tried to help. They gave her oxygen. Attempted to warm her limbs. And struggled to move her downhill. But carrying another person at that altitude requires strength the human body can barely produce. Their oxygen supplies were running low. Eventually, they faced an unbearable decision. Remain and risk dying beside her. Or descend while they still could. They left Francys secured to the climbing rope. On their descent, they encountered Sergei heading upward. He was searching for his wife. The following morning, Ian Woodall and Cathy O’Dowd found Francys still alive. Sergei’s equipment lay nearby. He had apparently reached her, but something had gone terribly wrong. Woodall and O’Dowd abandoned their summit attempt immediately. For more than an hour, they tried to save her. They offered oxygen. Spoke reassuringly. And attempted to lift her from the snow. But Francys was almost completely helpless. Her body seemed frozen into the mountain itself. She begged them not to leave. “Please, don’t leave me alone.” Those words pierced through the cold. They wanted desperately to rescue her. But their own oxygen was disappearing. They could not carry her. And remaining much longer would likely kill them too. Eventually, they had to walk away. Francys Arsentiev died on Everest, alone in the snow. She had reached the summit without oxygen. But she never returned home. In 1999, climber Jake Norton discovered Sergei’s body lower on the mountain. He had fallen while attempting to rescue his wife. Their eleven-year-old son, Paul, was left without either parent. For nine years, Francys remained visible beside Everest’s climbing route. The freezing temperatures preserved her body. Climbers passing through began calling her Sleeping Beauty. She became a haunting landmark. A reminder that reaching the summit means nothing if you cannot survive the descent. But Ian Woodall never forgot the woman who had begged him to stay. In 2007, he returned to Everest for a different mission. Not to reach the summit. But to restore her dignity. He located Francys’s remains, wrapped her in an American flag, and moved her away from the main climbing route. At last, she could rest beyond the gaze of passing climbers. Everest has claimed hundreds of lives. Many remain frozen where they fell. But Francys Arsentiev’s story carries a particularly heartbreaking lesson. She achieved her greatest dream. Her husband sacrificed his life trying to bring her home. And strangers risked their own survival attempting to save her. Yet none of it could overcome the brutal conditions of the death zone. The mountain offered no mercy. Not for ambition. Not for courage. Not even for love. And nearly three decades later, four simple words still capture the tragedy of the woman remembered as Sleeping Beauty. “Please, don’t leave me.” You should see this

El hombre que le cantó cara a cara a la muerte. 🕊️ No era una inauguración olímpica. Era el funeral en vida de Luciano Pavarotti. Salió a escena congelado a -10ºC, quebrado por dentro y sabiendo que jamás volvería a pisar un escenario. 👇🧵 #Pavarotti #NessunDorma

In the visitation rooms of federal prisons, Michael Douglas stopped being a movie star and became only a father. For years he drove hours from New York to see his eldest son, Cameron, sitting across a metal table or behind glass, offering the same quiet message: he was still loved. Cameron had grown up in the long shadow of Hollywood royalty—the son of an Oscar-winning actor and the grandson of Kirk Douglas. Identity was never simple. He began using drugs as a teenager; what started as experimentation hardened into a serious heroin addiction. In 2009 he was arrested in a federal drug investigation for dealing methamphetamine and cocaine and for possessing heroin. The following year he was sentenced to five years in prison. The sentence did not stay at five. After he was caught with drugs inside, additional time was added. He ultimately served roughly seven years, nearly two of them in solitary confinement. During that same period Michael received a stage-four throat-cancer diagnosis. Chemotherapy and radiation left him gaunt and exhausted, yet he continued the long trips to Lewisburg Federal Prison Camp in Pennsylvania as often as his health and prison rules allowed. Friends and his publicist confirmed that even at his weakest he still showed up. Cameron later said the family’s refusal to turn away kept him from being swallowed by the isolation. In solitary he began writing, reading, and training his body. The visits, when they were permitted, gave him something concrete to hold: his father was still there. Michael has spoken publicly about the heartbreak of watching his son’s addiction and about his frustration with a system that placed a non-violent offender in prolonged solitary confinement. Cameron has been equally direct that rebuilding trust after years of broken promises required patience and repeated presence, not sudden forgiveness. When Cameron was released in August 2016 and moved into a halfway house, the work continued. He published the memoir Long Way Home, has spoken openly about recovery, and became a father himself. Michael, who recovered from the cancer, has watched his son build a steadier life. Their relationship, Cameron has said, was among the slowest to repair; it took consistent reliability rather than grand gestures. What remains is quieter than the headlines that once surrounded them: a father who kept driving to the prison even when he was sick, and a son who used the time inside to start choosing differently.

🚨🔥🔺💥😁😂😎👇De Luca si scaglia come una IENA ! 💥🔺🔥👇😂

Immagina di beccarti l'ergastolo perché ti sei preso come avvocato la tua ex trombamica che frega le caramelle al PM mentre ti sta leggendo le accuse. Povero Sempio.

A farmer, tired of rats destroying his crops and stealing his grain, came up with a clever but cruel plan. He threw a dead pig into a deep, abandoned well. Attracted by the smell, nearly 80 rats rushed into the well to feast on the carcass. At first, everything seemed wonderful. There was more than enough food for everyone, and the rats ate until they were satisfied. But when the food was gone, they discovered something terrifying. The walls of the well were too steep to climb. They were trapped. Days passed, and hunger turned into desperation. Desperation turned into aggression. The rats that had once eaten peacefully beside one another began fighting for survival. Eventually, they began killing and eating each other. One by one, their numbers dwindled until only a single rat remained. Its eyes were bloodshot, and it had survived by consuming its own kind. Then the farmer returned, lowered a rope into the well, and rescued the last surviving rat. But he didn't save it out of kindness or compassion. The farmer knew the rat had learned to survive by hunting other rats. When he released it into his fields, it would continue killing its own kind instead of eating his grain. The farmer had turned his enemy into his greatest weapon. And that is the lesson of divide and conquer. Those who control the trap don't need to fight the battles themselves. They simply create the conditions in which others turn against one another. The rats believed their enemies were the other rats. They never realized that the true enemy was the farmer who had put them there. The greatest danger isn't always the enemy standing in front of you. Sometimes it's the one who created the conflict and stands quietly watching you destroy each other. Before you turn against your neighbor because of their political beliefs, ask yourself who benefits from keeping Americans divided. While we fight each other over Republican and Democrat, we may be overlooking those who profit from the conflict. Perhaps the real question isn't which side you're on, but who built the well—and why they want us fighting at the bottom of it.

Cuesta trabajo comerse un Sr. Qlo de esta dimensión, pero con su esposo le pusimos una tremenda cogida, terminé con las piernas temblando Tiene un clítoris delicioso Pocas parejas como ellos Buenísima onda

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In Naples, the rich and celebrities typically live in the "upper" part of the city. Those with less, reside in the "lower" part. 🗺️ Unlike other footballers, Dries Mertens chose the lower part, specifically in Posillipo. The Belgian took on a socially impactful role in the area where he lived. A neighbor's anecdote for Italian TV exemplifies what we want to share: "When we saw Dries returning late every night, we thought he had surrendered to the good life. Then we found out he was buying pizzas and driving around giving them to the homeless." Speaking with the UEFA official website, Mertens explained why he chose to live where he does: 🗣️ "In Naples, you breathe football. Not only the young people, it’s also a thing for the grandmothers and kids. It’s crazy! It’s something special: waking up, having coffee in the morning, and talking about football. I started to live like them, I love the food, the sea, all the islands here." 🇮🇹⚽ He was there for 9 seasons. Another example of loyalty to the team, the city, and the fans. And it's no coincidence that this happened in Serie A. Impressive. 👏

Italians do it better... #AmerigoVespucci

Miren el tamaño de esas Tetas y subele al volumen o ponte los audifonos porque lo que dice te va hacer correrte

Ciao Giorgio. Grazie per aver scritto l’inno delle nostre vite 💔