Posted on 01/19/2005 9:51:40 AM PST by Mo1
Darks will have to start hunting me down with his troll transmogrifier.
And then Restie can force me to write paragraphs.
Bad Sharky! Bad sharky!
The temperature is almost high enough for Wicked Witch of the West style melting.........."We're melting! We're melting!"
.....Westy.....
Day 12: Still alone. The darn droning of the skull sized insects is annoying.
Can't sleep, the rest of the team is missing.
And there's drums, huge drums somewhere in the distance.
I hope I can get out of here alive.
Day 13: Found water, and some strange gourds.
They taste funny, but they are filling.
Strangely, they remind me of a heart ale from the tap halls of my youth.
Wow, starting to get a buzz.
Day 14: Hungover from the odd gourds I found.
The drums are in the forest AND my head.
And those insects are truly murder at the moment.
Oddly, eating the gourd relieves the headache some.
What was taht nopise?
Day ???: I don't know where I am, what day it is, or what has happened.
I have to find more of those gourds.
Gourds..
......
The journal ends here. Apparently, the subject went into inexplicable fits and rantings before clambering up a tree naked as a jaybird and flinging himself at a mass of those curiously droning butterflies.
If we'd been able to locate him sooner, we may have been able to prevent his death as well as the deaths of the stuntmen he landed upon in his fall.
Strange how he left his camp suddenly and ran off muttering like that.
Why did he run off like that?
These gourds he left at his camp are delicious.
Does this mean you've lost your gourd(s>?
Yes.
I was hoping someone could help me find the gourds.
First you have to find the ox.......
Yes, an gourd ox is quite the rage I hear.
Yes, the running of the gourds in Pamplona is an annual rage........
I hear many get gourd in Pampalona during that festival.
The sewing machine was laying in wait for it's prey, it's bobbins salivating multi-colored thread in anticipation. It's speed control pedal quivered nervously as it's needle moved impatiently. Suddenly it spotted an unsuspecting shirt laying peacefully on the 'mending' pile.
*It sprung!*
The shirt was caught! It struggled mightily, but was overpowered by the 'active grip' dogs on the sewing machine's plate. The needle hummed to life and the shirt was done for. The thread stitched viciously in and out of the shirt as it twitched it's death throes!
Victorious, the sewing machine hummed over it's gruesome booty. Then waited for it's next victim....
*Singing*...."Ride my see-saw"........
Raiders of the Lost Gourds.
Thanks for this link to the site about outhouses...my dad just loved outhouses...in fact, I have a big picture, that hangs in my main bathroom...its an original oil painting, that my dad did of an outhouse....the path to the outhouse, is lined with giant sunflowers and giant bugs...he just had a thing for outhouses....if I have time, in a little while, I will tell you what he used to do to outhouses, when I was a kid....
They're that team from Oakland, right?
I still remember them for my grandparent took time before they got indoor pluming!
It is a lingering of days gone by when life was a little slower......
Isnt that the truth...the outhouse of slower, sweeter times...many of my dads relatives lived in a little tiny town, called Frenchtown New Jersey...a little bitty town of about 2000 people...when I was a kid, we used to make the trek from Chicago to Frenchtown, about every 3 years...
Now all my relatives had indoor plumbing...but almost every house in that town, even tho they had indoor plumbing, still had the outhouse out back...some of my relatives actually preferred the trusty outhouse...more privacy, rather than in the house with the whole family present...
I remember as a kid, walking down the back lanes there, at the back of every yard was an outhouse...
Today, Frenchtown has become a Yuppie Haven, almost a suburb of New York City.....my aunt tells me, all those old homes we used to run around in when we were kids, are now worth a fortune...most of my older relatives from that time have died, and their children and grandchildren have moved on...
I have not been back to Frenchtown in almost 40yrs now, and actually I dont want to go back even to visit...I know it will be so different...and all the quaint outhouses will be gone....I prefer to remember the Frenchtown of my childhood,.....outhouses and all...
I think so.
Cousin of theirs over in Oakley has thermonuclear protection layers.
Sounds serious.
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