there is an autocratic dictator who lurks over the scene to censor words to his/her liking here. only the messages that agree with their views may be discussed here. they should grow up and be able to debate like an ADULT!!!
Fun fact: for every person that is born, 15 dogs and 45 cats are born according to some pro-PETA website.
Thanks. To paraphrase Jimi - see you in the next incarnation - and don't be late!
If you were getting this amount of scrutiny, wouldn't you be a little gunshy?
Only if I had something to hide. :)
Figured you to have a new screenname by now .. Class act to leave your homeboy hanging out here in public . Never leave your brother out in the bush . never .
No one has a right to a microphone, but I have posted more intemperate thoughts here that have been published as comments than anything that would survive the editors of the local newspaper. Hard to believe that whatever mischief got this guy/gal the boot was innocent. Maybe it was the narcisstism of a post-modern nihilist?
If you are the same moderator who took care of a Dim thread awhile back by replacing it with Folger's Crystals, I admire your sense of humor. If not, the lightning photo shows we have TWO clever moderators on FR!
The sailors all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay if they'd put fifteen more miles behind herrrrrrrrrr.
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
of the big lake they called "Gitche Gumee."
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
when the skies of November turn gloomy.
With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more
than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty,
that good ship and true was a bone to be chewed
when the "Gales of November" came early.
The ship was the pride of the American side
coming back from some mill in Wisconsin.
As the big freighters go, it was bigger than most
with a crew and good captain well seasoned,
concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms
when they left fully loaded for Cleveland.
And later that night when the ship's bell rang,
could it be the north wind they'd been feelin'?
The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale sound
and a wave broke over the railing.
And ev'ry man knew, as the captain did too
'twas the witch of November come stealin'.
The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait
when the Gales of November came slashin'.
When afternoon came it was freezin' rain
in the face of a hurricane west wind.
When suppertime came the old cook came on deck sayin'.
"Fellas, it's too rough t'feed ya."
At seven P.M. a main hatchway caved in; he said,
"Fellas, it's bin good t'know ya!"
The captain wired in he had water comin' in
and the good ship and crew was in peril.
And later that night when 'is lights went outta sight
came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.
Does any one know where the love of God goes
when the waves turn the minutes to hours?
The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay
if they'd put fifteen more miles behind 'er.
They might have split up or they might have capsized;
they may have broke deep and took water.
And all that remains is the faces and the names
of the wives and the sons and the daughters.
Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings
in the rooms of her ice-water mansion.
Old Michigan steams like a young man's dreams;
the islands and bays are for sportsmen.
And farther below Lake Ontario
takes in what Lake Erie can send her,
And the iron boats go as the mariners all know
with the Gales of November remembered.
In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed,
in the "Maritime Sailors' Cathedral."
The church bell chimed 'til it rang twenty-nine times
for each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald.
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
of the big lake they call "Gitche Gumee."
"Superior," they said, "never gives up her dead
when the gales of November come early!"
GREAT SONG
(for more:
http://home.pacbell.net/chabpyne/ )
