How to Draw Red Angry Birds in Pencil

It is my blog link   http://vedio12344567.blogspot.com

My name is muhammad umer and I am study in class 2^nd year  in bahria collage karsaz  my father was a writter he wrote many books he was a peot of nature .

I am telling to my dears fllowers

A very best thing of amazing vedio .the man who perfome a very defficult   thing in this world he   My father, described as "a didactic man with a kind heart," was the first member of our family to fall victim to the trigger finger of Officer John "The Cowboy" McClane. He would not, however, be the last.

Nobody took Dad's death harder than my brother, Vilhelm, who at sixteen felt it was now his responsibility—as the man of the house—to shoulder the brunt of the financial void left by my father's passing. Smart and resourceful, my brother recognized he wasn't old enough to earn the kind of money our family would need to survive, so in early 1989, he contacted a man who he knew could help.

Unlike the relationship I shared with Vilhelm, Simon Gruber never cared much for his cocksure younger brother, Hans. Split apart in their native country by the upraising of the Berlin Wall, Simon and Hans Gruber's rivalry came about early on in their youth. Vilhelm utilized this detail masterfully, guising his redemptive proposition to Simon in the form of a game: "Defeat John McClane," my brother said, "And you'll accomplish something Hans could never do." Six years later, in the Spring of 1995, the "Simon Says" ploy was set in motion at the Federal Reserve Bank in New York City.

I remember exactly where I was when I learned that my big brother had been killed. A sweet rhythm oozed through our stereo speakers, as the girls from TLC recommended that we "stick to the rivers and lakes we're used to" in lieu of chasing waterfalls. Vilhelm, along with his mentor, Simon, were both incinerated in a helicopter explosion. An NYPD officer serving a substance abuse violation fired the shot that took the chopper down. Once again, John McClane had blown a hole right through the center of our lives, acting as judge, jury, and executioner for a second consecutive time.

Three years later, as our wounds were beginning to heal, my mother died from a massive heart attack while she and Nadia were together watching a film. "There was something about that actor in Armageddon that didn't quite rub Mom the right way," my sister said. In her final breath, all my mother could manage to eke out was, "McClane..."

My intention for writing this was never to shame Officer McClane. In fact, in the years since my father, brother and mother's death, I've learned to forgive the "cowboy cop" altogether. Dad knew the risks when he got involved with the Nakatomi heist, just as Vilhelm did when he dipped his hands into the Federal Reserve fortune. Yet these two men laid down their lives in order to support something that John McClane never quite had: a family that loved him unconditionally.

My mother always claimed that I was more like her, affectionate and observant, whereas Vilhelm and Dad shared that same stubborn tenacity. There was, however, never a doubt who the toughest of us was. I still see my big sister Nadia regularly, visiting her Brooklyn apartment a couple times each month. Every time I'm there, she badgers me about why I haven't got a wife, teasing that I'm still holding out for my boyhood crush, Demi Moore. "Now there's a dame I'd kill for," I always say, and we both laugh.

You know not all heroes wear a badge and tote a pistol. You don't need to prevent a plane hijacking or stop a cyber-terrorist to be idolized. Sometimes, all it takes is waking up each morning, even when long ago a doctor said the previous day would be your last. That's where my hero's moniker came from, a name given to her years ago by my Dad. Now, all this time later, I must agree, "Die Hard" is the perfect nickname for my sister.