Posted on 10/20/2009 5:57:42 PM PDT by Mo1
Nope, I’m not here. :P
I’m not here either.
*Needs correction*
I’m not all here.
Better.
:-)
Well, Caspar types can be difficult to find.........
True.
I wish somebody else had poked the blogpimp too.
There are only my proddings sitting there, all lonely.
I guess my charming ways made everyone flee DD.
*sniffle*
I love Andrew Breitbart. He certainly is fearless and he’s a potent weapon against this cabal. I heard some of Sarah Palins speech but not all. CO
It's in Traverse City.
*Will report back*
Good luck.
Watch out for disruptors.
And bring a ready sign that says “This guys is a plant” with an arrow on it just in case.
Heh....I’ll be spiking your tea with vodka.
Hey, I just want you to enjoy yourself. :P
Go git ‘em, Lame!
Full report due tomorrow night. :)
Did I miss your report?
For the sake of civility, and to guard against an uncomfortable sunburn, he placed his hat over his strategic parts.
A woman walks past, she snickers and says, "If you were a gentleman you'd lift your hat."
He raised an eyebrow and replied, "If you weren't so ugly it would lift itself."
O R’lyeh?
Cap’n, We’re Gonna Need A Raise Before We Go Any Further
Hunger is a thing irrepressible. A deep, deep beast that sleeps but never fully, always with one heavy-lidded eye a bit less than closed, watching to leap for that quick-moving opportunity which might indeed quench the unstoppable need which causes itself to be. And yet, such a hunger might itself be considered mild. For there exist hungers that transact on a level which no man born of woman should ever endure. Hungers that are only fit for heroes… or for monsters.
Call such thoughts mad? Perhaps. But know in your heart, such hunger of which we speak can drive the holy to the darkest fathoms of the most nameless hells. Even in rest it is an itch, a tickle, a small but urgent voice. there is still a thing remaining it says to the poor creature which must of course succumb to the living hunger’s iron will, there is still a thing that you must do for me now.
Is it a hunger to rid the world of beauty? Is it a hunger to prove that no person, no being, can truly become his conqueror? Is it a hunger to be reunited with something that was lost, or a hunger to seek some measure of distraction from a life that began elsewhere, far elsewhere, in a place that could no longer be called a home? Or is it something which he will never admit to himself, something that can only be called a hunger to find a creature more hungry, a creature that perhaps, this time perhaps, can provide a passage to that dreamless unending in which the hunger has no meaning or sway?
And, when all is done, who shall be called the true victor? He who remains among the living? Or he who has gone on ahead?
Wear this shirt: when you want to date an English major.
Don’t wear this shirt: to Dunwich, Innsmouth, Kingsport, or Miskatonic U. They’ve got some local laws about… well, they’re just a little sensitive about certain things.
This shirt tells the world: “Man, people in New England are freakin’ WEIRD.”
We call this color: A’pha’t
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