WHERE TO SELL OLD TOYS. BEST TOYS FOR INFANTS 2011. 2010 HOTTEST TOYS FOR CHRISTMAS.
Where To Sell Old Toys
- Give or hand over (something) in exchange for money
- exchange or deliver for money or its equivalent; "He sold his house in January"; "She sells her body to survive and support her drug habit"
- (of a thing) Be purchased
- the activity of persuading someone to buy; "it was a hard sell"
- be sold at a certain price or in a certain way; "These books sell like hot cakes"
- Have a stock of (something) available for sale
- An object, esp. a gadget or machine, regarded as providing amusement for an adult
- (toy) plaything: an artifact designed to be played with
- (toy) a nonfunctional replica of something else (frequently used as a modifier); "a toy stove"
- An object for a child to play with, typically a model or miniature replica of something
- A person treated by another as a source of pleasure or amusement rather than with due seriousness
- (toy) dally: behave carelessly or indifferently; "Play about with a young girl's affection"
Where are we heading ?
I read the newspapers and the guy who owns the domain name of Indian Mujhaideen is proud that he be buys and sells domain names that have the most hit..
He is a Muslim and it made me puke..
Why dont you sell your mother and get it over with..
Selling your mother is akin to selling the values of the great country you live in..
I am really shocked and saddened by the Muslim youth today, destroying everything that the Muslim community stands for Peace and Brotherhood.
I blame the parents who take pride in christening their children as Osama Saddam..
I wont be surprised the next time I ask a boys name and he blurts out Indian Mujhaideen..
The Delhi blast killing a 9 year old boy who picked up a tiffin bomb blowing him to bits is heinous to say the least, and these are Muslims killing Muslims too in Ramzan.
The terrorist has no religion no caste or creed.
He is on a Mission..
His mission to destroy Humanity at all costs.
Because of him we suffer , I have a great respect for the Mumbai Police as can be seen by the pictures I take of them during religious feasts and processions , but I was saddened last night while coming from an Iftar party, my wife in a black burkha and my daughter were with me..
Our taxi was stopped for the nakabandi but the tone the constable used was not human either, I showed him my press card , I spoke in Marathi..but yet he asked me my name again..
And for the first time I was not wearing my jewellery or my normal attire.
My daughter added Dad is he doing this to us because we are Muslims..she meant his rudeness .
The Police are doing their duty in trying times and for them everyone dressed as a Muslim is a suspect unless proved innocent..
I also dont understand the Muslim psyche.. where have we gone wrong with our children.. why are they being waylaid, brilliant scholars succumbing to the Rogue Preacher .. forgetting all the human values and becoming masked killers..
And why call Azamgarh a hub of terrorists, Azamgarh is India too ..a few crinimals cant spoil the name of a city that was once a seat of learning and an integral part of Jaunpur...I am told scholars came here from all the Muslim world to learn Islamic studies and jurispdence.
Anyway these are stray early morning thoughts..
I shot this picture in a religious procession and I have shot the Bara Wafat too in Mumbai and guys with faces covered in chequered scarves , holding toy AK guns for bursting crackers is not what the Holy Prophets birthday is all about..
Imam Hussains Martyrdom was a single cry against Jehaddi Terrorism.. unleashed by Yazid on the bleeding sands of Karbala.
My first taste of Singapore was not of the megalopolitan buzz I was expecting from the comparisons I had heard made to Hong Kong, but of mellow and good-natured village life. At only eight stories tall, the hotel where I had been put up by the company I was working for was the tallest building in the neighbourhood. It hadn't occurred to me that it's called the Changi Village Hotel because it is in fact in a village.
After dropping off my things, I went out for a wander to explore the area: many of the sights, sounds and smells were familiar to me from the time I've spent in Hong Kong's less urban areas: indeed, it was on Hong Kong Street that I sat down to dinner, a plate of Hainanese chicken with rice. Around me were other lively roadside restaurants, two or three Western-themed bars (one called Gd O' Times made me smile) populated mostly by tourists from the hotel, a few shops selling beach paraphernalia, and a food court.
After dinner, I sat for a while at the edge of a park, watching on one side these children play on motorised toy vehicles, and on the other side a few men burning hell money on a bonfire. Later on, in my shorts and vest, sitting knees up on a bench with a can of beer and a packet of smokes, it would only have been the colour of my skin that set me apart from the locals. I sat there until most of the shops closed, listening to an old man sing along to old Chinese songs on his handheld radio, and watching families - often of three generations - leave the restaurants and walk contentedly home. After a distressing thirty hours in airport lounges and airplanes, and work early the next morning, it was the perfect way to spend the evening.
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