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Ten Years Later, No One in Enumclaw Wants to Talk About You-Know-What

A horse in Enumclaw, Washington. All photos by Kelly O. This article contains a bunch of disturbing details about men having sex with horses. You can find anything on the internet, even if you don't want to. The video "Mr. Hands" is testament horse that—the gruesome second video that was circulating on the grimmer corners of sec internet in the mid s shows a man willingly submitting sex to the romantic attentions of horse horse.

I've seen horse. Please don't go looking for it. Ten years ago this month, a resident of Enumclaw, Washington, named Kenneth Pinyan was pronounced dead due to "acute peritonitis [that resulted from the] perforation of the sigmoid colon during anal intercourse with a horse.

At the man's trailer, the police confiscated the recording of Pinyan, or "Mr. Hands" as his zoophile friends called him, being fucked by a horse they referred to as "Big Dick. At the time, bestiality was legal in Washington, and since there was no id of the men abusing the animals, Tait was only charged with trespassing. The accident, as well as the video documenting it, became national news and a viral sensation that bubbled out of creepy 4chan boards, seeping into the consciousness of internet users everywhere.

Not only did the original Seattle Times report of the death become the publication's most-read online article that year, but the story of Mr. Hands and the group of male zoophiliacs who hung horse together, got drunk, and lined up to get plowed by horses was the subject of a documentary called Zoowhich later went to Sundance and Cannes.

Charles Horse was one of js writers of the nonfiction film, and he sex reported on the accident itself for an excellent investigative piece published in Seattle alt weekly The Stranger in Zoo is sex startlingly poignant film that uorse the "zoos" as tragic and lonely human beings rather than animal-abusing perverts.

I reached out to Mudede to discuss the legacy of this wholly bizarre moment in American history ten years after seex happened. The gates outside the farm in Enumclaw where Mr. Hands suffered the injury that led to his death. Hands's death the other day? Charles Mudede: Yes, I'm actually in Enumclaw, Washington, right now to take photos and see if anything interesting is going on. Horsse town got rid of the sign on the farm where it sex was the only act of erasure that I noticed.

No one wants to talk about what happened, though. Once the law changed, and bestiality was made illegal in Washington, everyone sex of said, "It's over and it will never happen again. And if it does happen again, we'll know what to do.

Once the law came into effect, the whole Washington community of zoophiliacs moved to states where it was legal to do what they wanted to do. They were absolutely terrified of going to jail. When I talked to them, they weren't breaking the law, and they didn't want to.

That's part of the reason this was never a for-profit animal prostitution ring type of thing. After James Michael Tait, the ringleader, was caught, he moved to Tennessee because there are no laws about bestiality there [ Tait was arrested and charged with animal cruelty in Tennessee horxe ].

They don't want to be horse of like child pornographers or child molesters. They don't want to be treated like those criminals. Everyone in Enumclaw is very close to horses.

It's a quiet, rural suburb with a view of the mountains. Everyone is a horse person, and as you know, the town included all types of horse worship. It was a place where you could fuck horses, and no one could tell. The line was difficult to differentiate between passion and zoophilia unless you were caught. If Pinyan didn't die, those guys he hung out with would still be fucking horses today and no one would have suspected anything. It was a paradise for a horse fucker. I'm sure they were so angry because they must have thought, We had it so good!

While making the documentary Sexdid you look for other real zoo communities, either in Washington or elsewhere? We did look for them, but we couldn't find any. The one thing this group had was someone who was a really good organizer. Tait really went out of his way to cultivate the community. He was very selective about who could iz and did the whole territorial thing. If sex don't have that, it will fall apart.

Other zoos are probably more individual. They were afraid that if they were outed, they'd lose everything—which is sex what would happen. So unless you had an extremely organized leader, you likely wouldn't be sharing this private thing with other people. If you can play it safe, animals don't talk. Zoos keep it quiet. How do you think Mr. Hands's death affected the zoophilia community on a larger scale? It disrupted them—they lost a lot by sexx death.

If you have a moral problem with horse fucking, you might not find this to be a cool way to look at things, but I think the truth is that they lost a lot: stability, a weekend vacation getaway place, something to look forward to.

They lost a community. When the death happened, they were exposed. They were looked at, they were investigated. It was a major disruption! The zoophilia community is largely an internet-based thing. There wouldn't be horse community without the internet. If you were a zoo, you couldn't go horse something like a gay bar. You had to go to the internet. For the first time in the history of mankind, zoos could get find each other and get together as groups.

That was new! That was absolutely unprecedented. When I was talking to the zoos in Washington, I got an impression that they thought Mr.

Hands was a bit sex a weakling: He was an intellectual, he worked for Boeing as an engineer. They could take a horse-fucking and not have to go to the hospital.

He was effete and new to it. They thought he ruined it. If he wasn't dex self-destructive, they'd still be fucking horses on weekends. Dumping him at the hospital was really sex him into the media and mainstream, and also ending the thing they had going. How exactly did they train the horses to fuck them? They would literally bend over and wait for the horse to fuck them.

They'd also put some type of scent on themselves—the pheromone people use to get horses to breed. Did they ever fuck the horses? No, that wasn't their school. There are all different sorts of flavors of zoos. Their thing was about getting fucked in the ass. There were others who liked that, but that was not their circle.

They wanted horse studs and the bulls. Never cows. There horse this element of cocksbig cocks. They horde talked about pussies. If my memory stands ls, these men were also fucking each other. After they got fucked by a horse, they'd play horse with each other and hose stretched assholes.

Did they pick sex horses from the farm, or were they down to be fucked by any horse? They had preferences! They would figure out which horse was too strong, which had the biggest cock, which was the quickest fuck. It was like going to a horse auction. They were really into the cows, too. One of the guys literally said he planned on eating one of the bulls after it fucked him.

I found that to be very problematic. Getting fucked by something you were going to eat? He was super darkly into zoophilia in a way that was unlike the others. A lot of these guys wanted to see themselves as massive animal fuckers—guys who could take on huge things.

They would even talk about fucking dolphins, which supposedly have big cocks.

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A sex Washington horse man who was convicted of trespassing at a Enumclaw farm where a man was fatally injured while having sex with a horse in is accused of having sex with animals on a Tennessee farm. A sex Washington state man who was convicted of trespassing at an Enumclaw farm where a man was fatally injured while having sex with a horse in is accused of having sex with animals on a Tennessee farm.

James Tait, 58, was arrested and sex Thursday with three counts of sex animal cruelty in Maury County, Tenn. Kenny Thomason, 44, who lives with Tait, was charged with two counts of xex animal cruelty. Chandler said that Thomason owns the farm and the animals — 13 horses, Shetland ponies, goats and dogs.

The detective said that it appears that people horse been having sex with the ponies and dogs as well as well as larger sex.

Deputies learned about the farm last week from someone uorse had recently visited. The person e-mailed investigators a photo of a man who was having sex with a Shetland pony, Chandler said. Chandler said that detectives have recovered horse videotapes of men having sex with zex on the horse.

One video showed a year-old Gig Harbor man having sex with a horse shortly before he died of acute peritonitis due to perforation of the colon on Horse 2, Under the sex, he did not horse guilt but acknowledged a jury would likely convict him. Jennifer Sullivan: or jensullivan seattletimes.

Share story. By Jennifer Sullivan. Jennifer Sullivan : or jensullivan seattletimes.

It was a major disruption! The zoophilia community is largely an internet-based thing. There wouldn't be a community without the internet. If you were a zoo, you couldn't go to something like a gay bar. You had to go to the internet. For the first time in the history of mankind, zoos could get find each other and get together as groups.

That was new! That was absolutely unprecedented. When I was talking to the zoos in Washington, I got an impression that they thought Mr. Hands was a bit of a weakling: He was an intellectual, he worked for Boeing as an engineer.

They could take a horse-fucking and not have to go to the hospital. He was effete and new to it. They thought he ruined it. If he wasn't so self-destructive, they'd still be fucking horses on weekends.

Dumping him at the hospital was really dumping him into the media and mainstream, and also ending the thing they had going. How exactly did they train the horses to fuck them?

They would literally bend over and wait for the horse to fuck them. They'd also put some type of scent on themselves—the pheromone people use to get horses to breed. Did they ever fuck the horses? No, that wasn't their school. There are all different sorts of flavors of zoos. Their thing was about getting fucked in the ass.

There were others who liked that, but that was not their circle. They wanted the studs and the bulls. Never cows. There was this element of cocks , big cocks. They never talked about pussies. If my memory stands correct, these men were also fucking each other.

After they got fucked by a horse, they'd play games with each other and their stretched assholes. Did they pick specific horses from the farm, or were they down to be fucked by any horse? They had preferences! They would figure out which horse was too strong, which had the biggest cock, which was the quickest fuck. It was like going to a horse auction.

They were really into the cows, too. One of the guys literally said he planned on eating one of the bulls after it fucked him. I found that to be very problematic.

Getting fucked by something you were going to eat? He was super darkly into zoophilia in a way that was unlike the others. A lot of these guys wanted to see themselves as massive animal fuckers—guys who could take on huge things.

They would even talk about fucking dolphins, which supposedly have big cocks. That question was there the whole time we were working on Zoo and I never found out the answer. This could undermine their claims of being zoo. I must admit it was on my mind, but we didn't explore these questions enough.

We were mostly focused on Mr. Hands's actual death, and the community and culture of zoos he was involved with at the time. To me, it's clearer today that these guys had this worship of cock that may have had nothing to do with horses. Based on your research, do you think zoophilia a fetish, or is it more of a lifestyle and sexual identity?

The horse that killed Mr. Hands was nicknamed "Big Dick," right? It wasn't called "Nice Horse," or "Beautiful. Coyote, the narrator of our doc, was the real deal. He was a real zoo. He had this thing with dogs and other animals.

He was making love to them, not just fucking them. That was his thing. It was actual passion and love for animals. The other guys, who were into big dicks, could have just had intense fetishes. I don't think Mr. Hands was actually a zoophiliac. I think he was just into fetishes. He was into extreme things and hurting his body.

We didn't get into this in the film, but he was involved in a motorcycle accident. He lost a lot of his ability to sense things and had bad neural damage. People in this zoophilia community thought that putting the horse cock in his ass was an effort to feel things again—getting into extreme stuff was a way to regain neural sensation.

He was into fisting, he was into big dildos, he was into pushing things sexually. Hands was actually in love with horses. While researching, I went to the house Mr. Hands was building in Washington. He was constructing a barn and he wanted to live with a horse. Maybe he was developing feelings for the animal, but maybe not. There might have been animal love, but when you really got down to it, they were just into horse cock. Zoophilia is not a cohesive thing.

Animal abuse was illegal, but it didn't seem to be the case that the horse had been abused. The goats, chickens, and sheep on the farm were being checked for abuse. Seattle Times readers also learned that the farm had a reputation on the web as a destination for people whose sexual needs are mostly or only satisfied by livestock. On July 16, Sullivan reported that the police had not only watched multiple videotapes of men fucking horses in a barn, but also a video of the fatal encounter: the unnamed man being mounted and destroyed.

Also reported was his age, 45 years old, and the official description of his death: "acute peritonitis due to perforation of the colon. Eventually, the name of the dead man surfaced, Kenneth Pinyan. As Sullivan tells me, his relatives had tried to suppress it.

Pinyan's relatives in a parking lot south of Tacoma one or two days after the initial story ran, and they asked me not to run Pinyan's name in the paper.

Also revealed was Pinyan's recent move from Seattle to Oak Harbor, his occupation an engineer at Boeing , and details about his family life he was once married and was a father. Much has changed in the world since Pinyan's painful departure peritonitis is no picnic , and since my first-ever visit to Enumclaw, which was in , to write about what had happened.

We now have laws against bestiality in Washington State. We now have a black president. Our troops in Iraq have come home.

We have been through the worst economic collapse since the Great Depression. A tsunami resulted in the meltdown of three nuclear reactors in Japan. Bill Cosby is no longer America's father but an alleged serial rapist. The climate is really changing. Indeed, that was the first thing that struck me when I reentered Enumclaw last week, after nearly a decade, and drove down the street to the notorious barn.

The lush green grass of the past was mostly gone. Much of the fields and lawns and the farm where Pinyan was fatally penetrated are brittle, brown, desiccated. The highest temperature in Enumclaw on Pinyan's last full day on earth was a very pleasant Ten years later, the same date in Enumclaw was a scorching 90 degrees—26 degrees above the historic average for that day—and temperatures remained that high in the 90s for days.

Had the temperature been as hot on the day Pinyan visited the farm as it was exactly 10 years later, he might not have messed with that deadly horse, known to his sexual admirers as Big Dick. Sex with another human is bad enough in degree heat, but the idea of a whole horse—with its hot hair, steaming sweat, and blasting body heat beating down on your back relentlessly—might have been enough for him to consider another, less thermal distraction that fateful night.

After admiring for a moment the great clouds that had gathered around the peak of Mount Rainier—the barn where the fucking happened also had a view of this kind of natural beauty—I noticed that Kelly O, the photographer with me, was, in an effort to get better and better pictures, standing on the property once owned by Big Dick's former owners.

This made me nervous not because there were warnings about trespassing on this property, but because I fear country people and their guns. Whenever I go to rural America, or places close to it, like Enumclaw, I can't help but feel and fear that every home is owned by a God-loving, tax-hating citizen with an AR For these types of people, the United States only begins where their lawns end. And you best believe that. Registering my concern, Kelly O took a few steps back and resumed taking pictures from the border of the United States of America.

On the property, there used to be a sign with a drawing of a proud and handsome stallion. This is another thing that had changed: Now the sign was white and blank.

Someone had painted over it. Despite that change, and the changes in climate, and the replacement of the old hospital Pinyan was dumped at Enumclaw Community Hospital with the newer Franciscan St.

Elizabeth Hospital, for the most part, the town was much the same as the last time I saw it. Horses are still very popular here. You find them in fields, lawns, and also art—painted on barn doors, drawn on garages, printed on posters.

If you want to really love horses, Enumclaw is still the best of places to go. Indeed, that is the reason I believe the whole town failed to detect the deviations of Pinyan and his friends. Horse fuckers are not easy to detect in a community of horse lovers. Even the owner of the animal that decimated Pinyan's insides had not the faintest idea of what Pinyan and his circle were up to.

The neighbors were also as clueless, as I was told by an elderly man in an Enumclaw dive bar. He was playing a touch-screen game and enjoying a cold beer on the day Kelly O and I arrived last week.

He was 78 but looked not a day over He retired years ago. He offered advice about how much money you needed to retire comfortably in Enumclaw. He said his sister lived next to the sex-death barn.

They were doing that right next to her house and she never saw a thing," he said. The shock the citizens of Enumclaw experienced upon learning of the horrible things that had been happening right under their noses was of the magnitude you'd expect from people who had been informed that the cows they passed by every day cows are also in abundance in Enumclaw were in fact not cows but area grandparents who had been transformed into that appearance by the spell of some wicked witch.

Also still open in Enumclaw after all of these years: Mike's Western Suppliers and CL Western Apparel on th Street family owned since and the Branding Iron Cafe, also on th Street, which serves coffee and hearty dishes to the men and women buying and selling cows and horses in the Enumclaw Sales Pavilion. Pinyan came here numerous times with his circle on Saturdays, when the place was open between 8 a. When I visited the place in , it was busy with people eating American foods, whose fried smells mingled with the pungent smell of horse piss.

I talked with the waitress about Pinyan and the alleged leader of the barn crew, and she told me people were mighty angry at them. They brought a bad light to the close relationship many had with their animals.

When I walked into the Branding Iron Cafe 10 years later, I was surprised to find that the place was closed and no one was working I'd forgotten it's open only on Saturdays and some Sundays , but its doors were not locked.

Bright summer light streamed through the windows and illuminated the drawings of horses and pictures of John Wayne on the wood-panel walls. The models of horse-drawn carriages on wall shelves seemed ghostly in this midafternoon emptiness. I could not help but feel the decade-old after-presence of those horse fuckers in the midst of this horse heaven for horse dealers. I later called the Branding Iron Cafe on one of the five days it is open during the month.

The phone rang until a message machine informed me it was full and that I should have a nice day. Was the business dead? I called the main office of the Enumclaw Sales Pavilion, which houses the Branding Iron, and this time a person answered. It was a young woman. I explained that I had first visited the place not long after the horse-fucking incident in and had also stopped by there a few days ago in the hope of learning how the town was coping after all of this time.

The most accurate temperature of the town, I believe, is to be taken at Branding Iron Cafe. Had Enumclaw recovered? Was the dirty death still a big deal? Had the anger of the equestrians not cooled? To my surprise, the young woman did not know what I was talking about. I jogged her young memory: Pinyan was the man who got fucked to death by a horse at a farm not far from the cafe.

What surprised me was how calm and unmoved the Pavilion employee sounded.

sex is horse

E arly in the morning of July 2,an unknown person abandoned a man in the emergency room of the Enumclaw Community Hospital. The man who'd been dropped off did not have a pulse. Attempts to revive him failed. The police were called to investigate the mystery. Video footage revealed the license-plate number of the vehicle that brought the dead man to the hospital. The sex led authorities to a farm on a street I am not going to name, a street that ends at the gate of a home.

On the other side of the gate is a private road shaded by towering poplars. South of the farm is a field of grass and scrub. In the distance is a flowing glacial river whose course marks the end of King County and the beginning of Pierce County—the White River.

Beyond that, the base of the great volcano. Police soon figured out that the man at the hospital had sex after having anal sex with a horse. Two weeks later, on July 15,a reporter at the Seattle TimesJennifer Sullivan, broke the story: "Enumclaw-area animal-sex case investigated. As Sullivan remembers it now, the sex for the King County Sheriff's Office at the time, John Urquhart, released a "vague press release" about a recent death. So she called Urquhart, and he told her that "a man died while having sex with a horse.

The next day, Sullivan's readers learned about the circumstances of the death, that the King County Medical Examiner's Office had ruled it as accidental, and that the police could not charge anyone involved in the incident because bestiality wasn't illegal in Washington State. Animal abuse was illegal, but it didn't seem to be the case that the horse had been abused. The goats, chickens, and sheep on the farm were being checked for abuse.

Seattle Times readers also learned that the farm had a reputation on the web as a destination for people whose sexual needs are mostly or only satisfied by livestock. On July 16, Sullivan reported that the police had not only watched multiple videotapes of men fucking horses in a barn, but also a video of the fatal encounter: the unnamed man being mounted and destroyed.

Also reported was his age, 45 years old, and the official description of his death: "acute peritonitis due to perforation of the colon. Eventually, the horse of the dead man surfaced, Kenneth Pinyan. As Sullivan tells me, his relatives had tried to suppress it. Pinyan's horse in a parking lot south of Tacoma one or two days after the initial story ran, and they asked me not to run Pinyan's name in the paper. Also revealed was Pinyan's recent move from Seattle to Oak Harbor, his occupation an engineer at Boeingand details about his family life he was once married and was a father.

Much has changed in the world since Pinyan's painful departure peritonitis is no picnicand since my first-ever visit to Enumclaw, which was into write about sex had happened.

We now have laws against bestiality in Washington State. We now have a black president. Our troops in Iraq have come home. We have been through the worst economic collapse since the Great Depression.

A tsunami resulted in the meltdown of three nuclear reactors in Japan. Bill Cosby is no longer America's father but an alleged serial rapist.

The climate is really changing. Indeed, that was the first thing that struck me when I reentered Enumclaw last week, after nearly a decade, sex drove down the street to the notorious barn. The lush green grass of sex past was mostly gone. Much of the fields and lawns and the farm where Pinyan was fatally penetrated are brittle, brown, desiccated. The highest temperature in Enumclaw on Pinyan's last full day on earth was a very pleasant Ten years later, the same date in Enumclaw was a scorching 90 degrees—26 degrees above the historic average for that day—and temperatures remained that high in the 90s for days.

Had the temperature been as hot on the day Pinyan visited the farm as it was exactly 10 years later, he might not have messed with that deadly horse, known to his sexual admirers as Big Dick. Sex with another human is bad enough in degree heat, but the idea of a whole horse—with its hot hair, steaming sweat, and blasting body heat beating down on your back relentlessly—might have been enough for him to consider another, less thermal distraction that fateful night.

After admiring for a moment the great clouds that had gathered around the peak of Mount Rainier—the barn where the fucking happened also had a view of this kind of natural beauty—I noticed that Kelly O, the photographer with me, was, in an effort to get better and better pictures, standing on the property once owned by Big Dick's former owners. This made me nervous not because there were warnings about trespassing on this property, but because I fear country people and their guns.

Whenever I go to rural America, or places close to it, like Enumclaw, I can't help but feel and fear that every home is owned by a God-loving, tax-hating citizen with an AR For these types of people, the United States only begins where their lawns end. And you best believe that. Registering my concern, Kelly O took a few steps back and resumed taking pictures from the border of the United States of America. On the property, there used to be a sign with a drawing of a proud and handsome stallion.

This is another thing sex had changed: Now the sign was white and blank. Someone had painted over it. Despite that horse, and the changes in climate, and the replacement of the old hospital Pinyan was dumped at Enumclaw Community Hospital with the newer Franciscan St.

Elizabeth Hospital, for the most part, the town was much the same as the last time I saw it. Horses are still very popular here. You find them in fields, lawns, and also art—painted on barn doors, drawn on garages, printed on posters. If you want to really love horses, Enumclaw is still the best of places to go.

Indeed, that is the reason I believe the whole town failed to detect the deviations of Pinyan and his friends. Horse fuckers are not easy to detect in a community of horse lovers. Even the owner of the animal that decimated Pinyan's insides had not the faintest idea of what Pinyan and his circle were up to.

The neighbors were also as clueless, as I was told by an elderly man in an Enumclaw dive bar. He was playing a touch-screen game and enjoying a cold beer on the day Kelly O and I arrived last week. He was 78 but looked not a day over He retired years ago. He offered advice about how much money you needed to retire comfortably in Enumclaw. He said his sister lived next to the sex-death barn. They were doing that right next to her house and she never saw a thing," he said. The shock the citizens of Enumclaw experienced upon learning of the horrible things that had horse happening right under their noses was of the magnitude you'd expect from people who had been informed that the cows they passed by every day cows are also in abundance in Enumclaw were in fact not cows but area grandparents who had been transformed into that appearance by the spell of some wicked witch.

Also still open in Enumclaw after all of these years: Mike's Western Suppliers and CL Western Apparel on th Street family owned since and the Branding Iron Cafe, also on th Street, which serves coffee and hearty dishes sex the men and women buying and selling cows and horses in the Enumclaw Sales Pavilion. Pinyan came here numerous times with his circle on Saturdays, when the place was open between 8 a.

When Horse visited the place init was busy with people eating American foods, whose fried smells mingled with the pungent smell of horse piss. I talked with the waitress about Pinyan and the alleged leader of the barn crew, and she told me people were mighty angry at them. They brought a bad light to the close relationship many had with their animals.

When I walked into the Branding Iron Cafe 10 years later, I was surprised horse find that the place was closed and no one was working I'd forgotten it's open only on Saturdays and some Sundaysbut its doors were not locked. Bright summer light streamed through the windows and illuminated the drawings of horses and pictures of John Wayne on the wood-panel walls.

The models of horse-drawn carriages on wall shelves seemed ghostly in this midafternoon emptiness. I could not help but feel the decade-old after-presence of those horse fuckers in the midst of this horse heaven for horse dealers. I later called the Branding Iron Cafe on one of the five days it horse open during the month.

The phone rang until a message machine informed me it was full and that I should have a nice day. Was the business dead? I called the main office of the Enumclaw Sales Pavilion, which houses the Branding Iron, and this time a person answered.

It was a young woman. I explained that I had first visited the place not long after the horse-fucking incident in and had also stopped by there a few days ago in the hope of learning how the town was coping after all of this time.

The most accurate temperature of the town, I believe, is to be taken at Branding Iron Cafe. Had Enumclaw recovered? Was the dirty death still a big deal? Had the anger of the equestrians not cooled? To my surprise, the young woman did not know what I was talking about. I jogged her young memory: Pinyan was the man who got fucked to death by a horse at a farm not far from the cafe.

Horse surprised me was how calm and unmoved the Pavilion employee sounded. My interest in the lurid matter had no effect. Her wall of defense was so secure and uniform. She kept the same tone and was of one mind. This hard attitude, this implacability, was not exceptional.

I also noticed it in the hospital administrator I spoke with last week. I was trying to confirm if the hospital was the place Pinyan was dumped in —I could see that something about the building was different.

The administrator told me she had never heard of Pinyan. I also jogged her memory: "He is the guy who died because a horse penetrated his anus. She refused to recognize the world-famous incident. All she would tell me is that anyone who died in did not do so in this hospital. Elizabeth Hospital, she informed me, opened in The other one, Enumclaw Community Hospital, closed the same year and used to be across the street. Anyone who died in a hospital in died there.

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На нашем сайте зарегистрированы тысячи мужчин из-за границы и, если вы ищете мужчину для серьёзных отношений, брака, дружбы или переписки, то вы обратились по адресу.

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sex is horse

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