What's a grecian urn?
Posted on 01/23/2023 10:48:44 AM PST by Bon of Babble
The song by The Queen of Soul is being called 'offensive' by LGBTQ activists
(Excerpt) Read more at dailymail.co.uk ...
But, Aretha was White!
Nope...not by a long shot.
What's a grecian urn?
What’s a grecian urn?
Where one keeps their Grecian Formula 16.
I play a game: I try to guess if an article is from Babylon Bee or not.
My score is pitiful. I was so excited this weekend when I got on right.
I don’t give a damn what perverts cry about.
You know I love that organic cooking
I always ask for more
And they call me Mr. Natural
On down to the health food store
I only eat good sea salt
White sugar dont touch my lips
And my friends is always
Begging me to take them
On macrobiotic trips
Yes, they are
Oh, but at night I take out my strongbox
That I keep under lock and key
And I take it off to my closet
Where nobody else can see
I open that door so slowly
Take a peek up north and south
Then I pull out a Hostess Twinkie
And I pop it in my mouth
Yeah, in the daytime I'm Mr. Natural
Just as healthy as I can be
But at night I'm a junk food junkie
Good Lord have pity on me
Well, at lunchtime
You can always find me
At the Whole Earth Vitamin Bar
Just sucking on my plain white yogurt
From my hand thrown pottery jar
And sippin' a little hand pressed cider
With a carrot stick for dessert
And wiping my face in a natural way
On the sleeve of my peasant shirt
Oh, yeah
Ah, but when that clock strikes midnight
And I'm all by myself
I work that combination
On my secret hideaway shelf
And I pull out some Fritos corn chips
Dr. Pepper and an Ole Moon Pie
Then I sit back in glorious expectation
Of a genuine junk food high
Oh yeah, in the daytime I'm Mr. Natural
Just as healthy as I can be
But at night I'm a junk food junkie
Good Lord have pity on me
My friends down at the commune
They think I'm pretty neat
Oh, I don't know nothing about arts and crafts
But I give 'em all something to eat
I'm a friend to old Euell Gibbons
And I only eat homegrown spice
I got a John Keats autographed Grecian urn
Filled up with my brown rice
Yes, I do
Oh, but folks lately I have been spotted
With a Big Mac on my breath
Stumbling into a Colonel Sanders
With a face as white as death
I'm afraid someday theyll find me
Just stretched out on my bed
With a handful of Pringles Potato Chips
And a Ding Dong by my head
In the daytime I'm Mr. Natural
Just as healthy as I can be
But at night I'm a junk food junkie
Good Lord have pity on me
Ode on a Grecian Urn
BY JOHN KEATS
Thou still unravish’d bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fring’d legend haunts about thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear’d,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;
And, happy melodist, unwearied,
For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love! more happy, happy love!
For ever warm and still to be enjoy’d,
For ever panting, and for ever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy’d,
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.
Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead’st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or sea shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e’er return.
O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say’st,
“Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.”
Consider yourself culturally enriched.
You’re welcome.
More generally, if every chromosome is intact and working normally, Y matters:
Got no Y, no matter how many Xs, you're female.
Got 1 or more Y, no matter how many Xs, you're male.
The common 'intersex' varieties are hormonal:
In Androgen insensitivity, males' testosterone receptors don't work. Male bits under to nondeveloped.
In Congenital Adrenal Hyperplasia, females overproduce testosterone, making female bits masculinized
There are some extremely rare others where bits of sex chromosomes relocate onto others or other genes are mutated but the above two account for most of the confusing ones after birth inspection.
God created male and female. These antiGod people want to destroy everything that is good!
Trans freaks are offensive to people
These people need jobs.
And Jesus.
“There’s no such thing as a ‘natural woman’” is what tipped me off to thw trolliness in the first place.
Consider yourself culturally enriched. You’re welcome.
Correct answer:
About tree fitty an hour.
(consider yourself thoroughly enlightened. You're welcome)
Hah hah.
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