Been pregnant, yes. Getting closer to that date, now, though. I'm going to get all the good parts of having a kid with absolutely none of the responsibilities.
Been pregnant, yes. Getting closer to that date, now, though. I'm going to get all the good parts of having a kid with absolutely none of the responsibilities.
Been pregnant, yes. Getting closer to that date, now, though. I'm going to get all the good parts of having a kid with absolutely none of the responsibilities.
is a white guy the father?
a white guy is the father isn't he?
Man, who knows.
you will have to introduce me to your sister, elks
i blame it on the fact that my sister in law doesn't like me and makes it difficult for me to be around her child
but mostly it's probably because i don't really get kids
Irond Will on
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HakkekageSpace Whore Academysumma cum laudeRegistered Userregular
edited March 2010
Elki is going to be the sort of uncle who sneaks 5 dollar bills to the kid and takes him on inspiring dance adventures, simultaneously teaching him the value of money and getting funky
i blame it on the fact that my sister in law doesn't like me and makes it difficult for me to be around her child
but mostly it's probably because i don't really get kids
I think thats part of it for me, I had to buy christmas gifts and I sucked at it. Also I get the feeling my brother feels I should do more and he's like 6 hours away in slow mutatnt territory.
Preacher on
I would like some money because these are artisanal nuggets of wisdom philistine.
But I don't really like my niece's mother, so we don't get to hang out often.
EDIT
Oooooo. Name changes. I don't think anyone even noticed mine. :P
I think my brothers wife is a victim of an incestful father and she never came to grips with that, because of that she's off in ways I can't exactly explain without going into personal details. Needless to say I worry one day I'll get a call about my brother and his family being dead to a murder suicide.
I feel ya man.
My brother's baby mama grew up an orphan with a father who is still in prison and a mother who, until recently, couldn't care. She spent many years in an acidic foster home with people she deemed her "family" who tended to be shysters and assholes who took advantage of any and every one.
So she gets with my brother and after about a year she gets pregnant and all that paranoia starts to bubble up to the top. She constantly accuses me of shit that didn't happen, we fight, and I leave the house that me and my brother resided in.
Then she has the baby and starts talking shit about my mother, publicly, through her MySpace/Facebook updates and then gets surprised when I call her up and tell her to stop being a bitch.
Though, honestly, I think its because she has never ever had a real family or support group or had people to actually care about her and respect her.
I tolerate her. I have to. And we get along fine and she's made a real effort to be friends with me and Samantha and she's been real good to my parents so I'm hopin everything keeps for the better.
Though I still suspect that she got pregnant on purpose.
But yeah. When you're an adult you gotta start shrugging shit off and start identifying people that you can trust, otherwise your life is gonna be a constant Springer episode.
I have a coworker who had shitty parents and all he does is mope about it and set himself up with people who are, in the end, shitty fucking people, and he wonders why I don't care to be his therapist.
Been pregnant, yes. Getting closer to that date, now, though. I'm going to get all the good parts of having a kid with absolutely none of the responsibilities.
is a white guy the father?
a white guy is the father isn't he?
Man, who knows.
As an experienced uncle, let me tell you, do not change a diaper.
Corvus on
:so_raven:
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KageraImitating the worst people. Since 2004Registered Userregular
I keep meaning to ask who the lady in your av is and what is it from because the sig looks interesting and not because I want to masturbate to images of her.
Kagera on
My neck, my back, my FUPA and my crack.
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DynagripBreak me a million heartsHoustonRegistered User, ClubPAregular
edited March 2010
hey, when's like the starcrafts happening and stuff
Been pregnant, yes. Getting closer to that date, now, though. I'm going to get all the good parts of having a kid with absolutely none of the responsibilities.
Yeah, you'll be able to teach him to dance, and cook, and how to appreciate good cheeses... hey, wait, are you sure you aren't his aunt?
Washington (CNN) -- An air traffic controller and his supervisor are under investigation because the controller allegedly brought his two small children into the control tower and allowed them to speak with pilots on an air traffic control frequency.
Feral on
every person who doesn't like an acquired taste always seems to think everyone who likes it is faking it. it should be an official fallacy.
There exists an insect men foster at their own expense. They owe it nothing yet they fear
it. This insect, which does not care for wine but prefers blood, would, were its lawful
needs not satisfied, be capable (by an occult power) of becoming big as an elephant and
trampling men like ears of corn. One must also note how they respect it, how they surround
it with canine veneration, how highly they esteem it above the animals of creation. They
give it the head for a throne and it hooks its claws into the roots of the hair, with
dignity. Later, when plump and well advanced in years, it is--to emulate the custom of
bygone peoples--killed, in order to be spared the onslaughts of old age. They give it, as
unto a hero, imposing obsequies, and the coffin conveying it straight to the cover of the
tomb is carried shoulder-high by the leading citizens. Upon the damp soil which with
skilled shovel the gravedigger turns over they turn multicolored phrases concerning the
immortality of the soul, the nothingness of life, the inexplicable will of Providence--and
the marble closes shut forever on this laboriously filled existence now no more than a
corpse. The crowd disperses and the shades of night quite soon cover the cemetary walls.
But console yourselves, humans, for this painful loss. Here, advancing, comes the
innumerable family it has bountifully bequeathed to you, that your despair might be less
bitter, and assuaged by the agreeable presence of these peevish little freaks which will
duly grow into splendid lice endowed with remarkable beauty, monsters with the look of the
sage. It brooded with maternal wing over several dozen cherished eggs, in your hair--dried
up by the eager suction of such formidable strangers. The time promptly came when the eggs
hatched. Be not alarmed, these youthful philosophers will not take long growing into this
ephemeral life. They will grow so much they'll make you feel it--with their claws and
suckers.
You others do not know why they don't devour your headbones but content themselves with
extracting with due pomp the quintessence of your blood. Wait a moment, I shall tell you:
it is because they lack the strength. Be assured that if their jaws were proportionate to
their infinite desires, your brains, retinas, spines, the whole body, would be consumed.
Like a drop of water. Take a microscope and observe a louse at work on the head of a
street-beggar: you will be amazed. Unfortunately, these raiders of the long-haired scalp
are small. Of no avail to conscript them: they are not of the necessary height required by
law. They belong to that Lilliputian world of the stunted, and the blind do not hesitate
to rank them among the infinitely tiny. Alas for the whale that fights a flea, it would be
devoured in the twinkling of an eye, despite its size. Not even the tail would be left to
tell the tail. The elephant lets itself be stroked. But not the tick. I don't advise you
to try out this perilous test. Beware if your hand be hairy--or simply made of flesh and
bone. Your fingers would be finished. They'd crack as if put to torture. The skin would
disappear as if by strange magic. Lice are incapable of wreaking as much ill as their
imaginations contemplate. If you find a louse in your way, be off and do not lick the
papillae of its tongue. You would meet with an accident. That has been known. No matter,
I am already content with the amount of harm the louse does to you, O human race; I only
wish it could do more.
For how long will you maintain the decrepit cult of this god who is impervious to your
prayers and the generous offerings you proffer him in expiatory holocaust? Look, this
horrible manitou is not beholden to you for the great bowls of blood and brains you spill
upon those piously bedecked, flower-wreathed altars of his. He is not grateful. . . for
earthquakes and tempests have continued to rage from the Beginning. And yet (spectacle
worth noting), the more indifferent he proves himself, the more you admire him. It's clear
that you mistrust his attributes--which he conceals; and your argument rests on the
assumption that only a deity of extreme power can display such contempt towards the
faithful who submit to his worship. For this reason, in every land diverse gods are
extant--here the crocodile, there the whore--but when it comes to the louse, that sacred
name, all peoples, universally kissing the chains of their slavery, together kneel down in
the majestic court before the pedestal of the misshapen, bloodthirsty idol. That nation not
obeying its own instincts for grovelling, and which made a show of revolt, would sooner or
later disappear from the earth like an autumn leaf annihilated by the vengeance of that
inexorable god.
O louse with shriveled eye--as long as rivers spill their shelving waters into the abysses
of the sea; as long as the stars gravitate along their orbits' paths; as long as the mute
void has no horizon; as long as humanity rends its own flanks in deadly wars; as long as
divine justice casts its vengeful bolts upon the selfish globe; as long as man disregards
his Creator and (not without reason) flouts him, so doing with some contempt--your reign
over the universe will be assured, and your dynasty extend from age to age. I salute you,
rising sun, celestial liberator, you invisible enemy of man. Continue telling Filth to
unite with man in tainted embraces and to swear to him by oaths not blown to dust that she
shall remain his faithful lover for eternity. From time to time, kiss this grand wanton's
robe, in memory of the important services she does not fail to render you. If she did not
seduce man with her lascivious teats, probably you could not exist--you, the product of
this rational and consistent coupling. O son of Filth! tell your mother that if she
abandons man's bed to wander alone and friendless along desolate ways she will see her
existence imperiled. May the bowels which bore you nine months in their perfumed maw stir
a moment at the thought of the dangers that their tender fruit (fruit so nice, tranquil,
but already cold and ferocious) would consequently encounter. Filth, might empress,
preserve for my hate's eyes the sight of your famished progeny and the imperceptible
increase of their muscles. To attain this end you know you need only glue yourself closer
to man's flanks. This you can do conveniently enough for decorum, since both of you have
long been married.
For myself, if I may be allowed to add a few words to this hymn of glorification, I shall
speak of the pit I have had dug, forty leagues square and correspondingly deep. Therein
lies in foul virginity a living mine of of lice. It fills the bottom layers of the pit,
and thence writhes in vast dense veins in every direction. Here's how I built this
artificial mine. I snatched a female louse from the hair of humanity. Three successive
nights I was seen to lie with her, and then I cast her into the pit. Human fertilization,
which would have been ineffective in other such cases, was this time accepted by fate, and
a few days afterward thousands of monsters swarming in a compact knot of matter saw the
light of day. This loathsome cluster became in time more and more immense, all the while
acquiring the liquid attribute of mercury, and spread out in several tributaries which now
feed upon themselves (the birthrate is higher than the mortality rate) whenever I do not
throw them for fodder a newborn bastard whose death its mother desired, or an arm that
during the night, thanks to chloroform, I am going to hack from some young girl. Every fifteen
years the generations of lice that feed on man appreciably decrease and themselves foretell
infallibly the impending era of their complete destruction. For man, more intelligent than his
enemy, manages to conquer him. Well then, with devilish shovel which increases my strength,
quarry lumps of lice big as mountains from this inexhaustible mine, break them up with axe
blows, and transport them at dead of night into the main thoroughfares of cities. There, on
contact with human temperature, they split up as in their first formative days in the tortuous
galleries of the subterranean mine, dig themselves beds in the gravel, and stream into human
dwellings like harmful spirits. The house guardian barks dully, for it seems to him that a
legion of unknown beings is piercing the pores of the walls and bringing terror to the sleepers'
bedsides. Perhaps, unwittingly, you have heard at least once in your life this sort of doleful,
drawn-out howl. He tries with helpless eyes to penetrate the darkness of the night, for his dog's
brain cannot understand it--this hum irritating him--and he feels betrayed. Millions of enemies
thus sweep down on every city like a cloud of locusts. Enough for fifteen years. They will combat
man, inflicting burning wounds upon him. After this space of time I shall send others. When I
am crushing the lumps of live matter, one fragment may happen to be denser than another.
Its atoms struggle furiously to detach their cluster in order to go about tormenting humanity;
but cohesion in its harness resists. By a supreme convulsion they generate such a stress that
the stone, unable to disperse its living constituents, hurls itself high into the skies as if blown up
by gunpowder and falls back, burying itself deep below the soil. Sometimes the musing peasant
perceives a meteorite cleave vertically through space, heading at its lowest point for a field of
maize. He does not know whence comes the stone. You now have a clear and succinct explanation
of the phenomenon.
Were the earth covered in lice like grains of sand on the seashore, the human race would be
annihilated, stricken with terrible grief. What a sight! And I, with angel's wings, motionless in
the air to view it!
Washington (CNN) -- An air traffic controller and his supervisor are under investigation because the controller allegedly brought his two small children into the control tower and allowed them to speak with pilots on an air traffic control frequency.
terrorists!
Look Out it's Sabs! on
NNID: Sabuiy
3DS: 2852-6809-9411
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Irond WillWARNING: NO HURTFUL COMMENTS, PLEASE!!!!!Cambridge. MAModeratormod
I keep meaning to ask who the lady in your av is and what is it from because the sig looks interesting and not because I want to masturbate to images of her.
Washington (CNN) -- An air traffic controller and his supervisor are under investigation because the controller allegedly brought his two small children into the control tower and allowed them to speak with pilots on an air traffic control frequency.
Been pregnant, yes. Getting closer to that date, now, though. I'm going to get all the good parts of having a kid with absolutely none of the responsibilities.
is a white guy the father?
a white guy is the father isn't he?
Man, who knows.
you will have to introduce me to your sister, elks
She's the much outgoingier Elk, but I guess her "party err'day-let's fly out to Caribbean for a long-weekend" days are over, now. Maybe.
Washington (CNN) -- An air traffic controller and his supervisor are under investigation because the controller allegedly brought his two small children into the control tower and allowed them to speak with pilots on an air traffic control frequency.
God I'm so sick of this story. It's the third time today it's been linked in chat and I heard it on the radio this morning.
The kids didn't do anything other than "Clear for take off, flight 141" and simple shit like that. It was very obvious dad was telling them what to say and let them say the simple stuff, not the complicated air direction. It was all ground.
Just, suspend the guy, tell him not to do it again and move on.
I keep meaning to ask who the lady in your av is and what is it from because the sig looks interesting and not because I want to masturbate to images of her.
Ugh. The state of arts education, these days.
Elki on
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Podlyyou unzipped me! it's all coming back! i don't like it!Registered Userregular
edited March 2010
Heading out, elendil, but I'll check it when I get back
Washington (CNN) -- An air traffic controller and his supervisor are under investigation because the controller allegedly brought his two small children into the control tower and allowed them to speak with pilots on an air traffic control frequency.
God I'm so sick of this story. It's the third time today it's been linked in chat and I heard it on the radio this morning.
The kids didn't do anything other than "Clear for take off, flight 141" and simple shit like that. It was very obvious dad was telling them what to say and let them say the simple stuff, not the complicated air direction. It was all ground.
Just, suspend the guy, tell him not to do it again and move on.
Oh, I didn't see it in [chat] earlier.
Feral on
every person who doesn't like an acquired taste always seems to think everyone who likes it is faking it. it should be an official fallacy.
the "no true scotch man" fallacy.
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KageraImitating the worst people. Since 2004Registered Userregular
Washington (CNN) -- An air traffic controller and his supervisor are under investigation because the controller allegedly brought his two small children into the control tower and allowed them to speak with pilots on an air traffic control frequency.
God I'm so sick of this story. It's the third time today it's been linked in chat and I heard it on the radio this morning.
The kids didn't do anything other than "Clear for take off, flight 141" and simple shit like that. It was very obvious dad was telling them what to say and let them say the simple stuff, not the complicated air direction. It was all ground.
Just, suspend the guy, tell him not to do it again and move on.
Oh, I didn't see it in [chat] earlier.
It's not your fault. No one wants to talk about it, despite the fact that yeah, it is kinda a weird story.
I keep meaning to ask who the lady in your av is and what is it from because the sig looks interesting and not because I want to masturbate to images of her.
Posts
He's miles ahead of me.
I'm terrible.
Man, who knows.
Allah
you will have to introduce me to your sister, elks
i am kind of a terrible uncle
i blame it on the fact that my sister in law doesn't like me and makes it difficult for me to be around her child
but mostly it's probably because i don't really get kids
NNID: Hakkekage
I think thats part of it for me, I had to buy christmas gifts and I sucked at it. Also I get the feeling my brother feels I should do more and he's like 6 hours away in slow mutatnt territory.
pleasepaypreacher.net
I feel ya man.
My brother's baby mama grew up an orphan with a father who is still in prison and a mother who, until recently, couldn't care. She spent many years in an acidic foster home with people she deemed her "family" who tended to be shysters and assholes who took advantage of any and every one.
So she gets with my brother and after about a year she gets pregnant and all that paranoia starts to bubble up to the top. She constantly accuses me of shit that didn't happen, we fight, and I leave the house that me and my brother resided in.
Then she has the baby and starts talking shit about my mother, publicly, through her MySpace/Facebook updates and then gets surprised when I call her up and tell her to stop being a bitch.
Though, honestly, I think its because she has never ever had a real family or support group or had people to actually care about her and respect her.
I tolerate her. I have to. And we get along fine and she's made a real effort to be friends with me and Samantha and she's been real good to my parents so I'm hopin everything keeps for the better.
Though I still suspect that she got pregnant on purpose.
But yeah. When you're an adult you gotta start shrugging shit off and start identifying people that you can trust, otherwise your life is gonna be a constant Springer episode.
I have a coworker who had shitty parents and all he does is mope about it and set himself up with people who are, in the end, shitty fucking people, and he wonders why I don't care to be his therapist.
As an experienced uncle, let me tell you, do not change a diaper.
i would like to play
Get on US east channel PA
I get really annoyed when someone says "Oh, I suck, you'll probably beat me." Then they fucking roll my face in shit.
So it's just not worth my time.
the "no true scotch man" fallacy.
Les Chants de Maldoror
it. This insect, which does not care for wine but prefers blood, would, were its lawful
needs not satisfied, be capable (by an occult power) of becoming big as an elephant and
trampling men like ears of corn. One must also note how they respect it, how they surround
it with canine veneration, how highly they esteem it above the animals of creation. They
give it the head for a throne and it hooks its claws into the roots of the hair, with
dignity. Later, when plump and well advanced in years, it is--to emulate the custom of
bygone peoples--killed, in order to be spared the onslaughts of old age. They give it, as
unto a hero, imposing obsequies, and the coffin conveying it straight to the cover of the
tomb is carried shoulder-high by the leading citizens. Upon the damp soil which with
skilled shovel the gravedigger turns over they turn multicolored phrases concerning the
immortality of the soul, the nothingness of life, the inexplicable will of Providence--and
the marble closes shut forever on this laboriously filled existence now no more than a
corpse. The crowd disperses and the shades of night quite soon cover the cemetary walls.
But console yourselves, humans, for this painful loss. Here, advancing, comes the
innumerable family it has bountifully bequeathed to you, that your despair might be less
bitter, and assuaged by the agreeable presence of these peevish little freaks which will
duly grow into splendid lice endowed with remarkable beauty, monsters with the look of the
sage. It brooded with maternal wing over several dozen cherished eggs, in your hair--dried
up by the eager suction of such formidable strangers. The time promptly came when the eggs
hatched. Be not alarmed, these youthful philosophers will not take long growing into this
ephemeral life. They will grow so much they'll make you feel it--with their claws and
suckers.
You others do not know why they don't devour your headbones but content themselves with
extracting with due pomp the quintessence of your blood. Wait a moment, I shall tell you:
it is because they lack the strength. Be assured that if their jaws were proportionate to
their infinite desires, your brains, retinas, spines, the whole body, would be consumed.
Like a drop of water. Take a microscope and observe a louse at work on the head of a
street-beggar: you will be amazed. Unfortunately, these raiders of the long-haired scalp
are small. Of no avail to conscript them: they are not of the necessary height required by
law. They belong to that Lilliputian world of the stunted, and the blind do not hesitate
to rank them among the infinitely tiny. Alas for the whale that fights a flea, it would be
devoured in the twinkling of an eye, despite its size. Not even the tail would be left to
tell the tail. The elephant lets itself be stroked. But not the tick. I don't advise you
to try out this perilous test. Beware if your hand be hairy--or simply made of flesh and
bone. Your fingers would be finished. They'd crack as if put to torture. The skin would
disappear as if by strange magic. Lice are incapable of wreaking as much ill as their
imaginations contemplate. If you find a louse in your way, be off and do not lick the
papillae of its tongue. You would meet with an accident. That has been known. No matter,
I am already content with the amount of harm the louse does to you, O human race; I only
wish it could do more.
For how long will you maintain the decrepit cult of this god who is impervious to your
prayers and the generous offerings you proffer him in expiatory holocaust? Look, this
horrible manitou is not beholden to you for the great bowls of blood and brains you spill
upon those piously bedecked, flower-wreathed altars of his. He is not grateful. . . for
earthquakes and tempests have continued to rage from the Beginning. And yet (spectacle
worth noting), the more indifferent he proves himself, the more you admire him. It's clear
that you mistrust his attributes--which he conceals; and your argument rests on the
assumption that only a deity of extreme power can display such contempt towards the
faithful who submit to his worship. For this reason, in every land diverse gods are
extant--here the crocodile, there the whore--but when it comes to the louse, that sacred
name, all peoples, universally kissing the chains of their slavery, together kneel down in
the majestic court before the pedestal of the misshapen, bloodthirsty idol. That nation not
obeying its own instincts for grovelling, and which made a show of revolt, would sooner or
later disappear from the earth like an autumn leaf annihilated by the vengeance of that
inexorable god.
O louse with shriveled eye--as long as rivers spill their shelving waters into the abysses
of the sea; as long as the stars gravitate along their orbits' paths; as long as the mute
void has no horizon; as long as humanity rends its own flanks in deadly wars; as long as
divine justice casts its vengeful bolts upon the selfish globe; as long as man disregards
his Creator and (not without reason) flouts him, so doing with some contempt--your reign
over the universe will be assured, and your dynasty extend from age to age. I salute you,
rising sun, celestial liberator, you invisible enemy of man. Continue telling Filth to
unite with man in tainted embraces and to swear to him by oaths not blown to dust that she
shall remain his faithful lover for eternity. From time to time, kiss this grand wanton's
robe, in memory of the important services she does not fail to render you. If she did not
seduce man with her lascivious teats, probably you could not exist--you, the product of
this rational and consistent coupling. O son of Filth! tell your mother that if she
abandons man's bed to wander alone and friendless along desolate ways she will see her
existence imperiled. May the bowels which bore you nine months in their perfumed maw stir
a moment at the thought of the dangers that their tender fruit (fruit so nice, tranquil,
but already cold and ferocious) would consequently encounter. Filth, might empress,
preserve for my hate's eyes the sight of your famished progeny and the imperceptible
increase of their muscles. To attain this end you know you need only glue yourself closer
to man's flanks. This you can do conveniently enough for decorum, since both of you have
long been married.
For myself, if I may be allowed to add a few words to this hymn of glorification, I shall
speak of the pit I have had dug, forty leagues square and correspondingly deep. Therein
lies in foul virginity a living mine of of lice. It fills the bottom layers of the pit,
and thence writhes in vast dense veins in every direction. Here's how I built this
artificial mine. I snatched a female louse from the hair of humanity. Three successive
nights I was seen to lie with her, and then I cast her into the pit. Human fertilization,
which would have been ineffective in other such cases, was this time accepted by fate, and
a few days afterward thousands of monsters swarming in a compact knot of matter saw the
light of day. This loathsome cluster became in time more and more immense, all the while
acquiring the liquid attribute of mercury, and spread out in several tributaries which now
feed upon themselves (the birthrate is higher than the mortality rate) whenever I do not
throw them for fodder a newborn bastard whose death its mother desired, or an arm that
during the night, thanks to chloroform, I am going to hack from some young girl. Every fifteen
years the generations of lice that feed on man appreciably decrease and themselves foretell
infallibly the impending era of their complete destruction. For man, more intelligent than his
enemy, manages to conquer him. Well then, with devilish shovel which increases my strength,
quarry lumps of lice big as mountains from this inexhaustible mine, break them up with axe
blows, and transport them at dead of night into the main thoroughfares of cities. There, on
contact with human temperature, they split up as in their first formative days in the tortuous
galleries of the subterranean mine, dig themselves beds in the gravel, and stream into human
dwellings like harmful spirits. The house guardian barks dully, for it seems to him that a
legion of unknown beings is piercing the pores of the walls and bringing terror to the sleepers'
bedsides. Perhaps, unwittingly, you have heard at least once in your life this sort of doleful,
drawn-out howl. He tries with helpless eyes to penetrate the darkness of the night, for his dog's
brain cannot understand it--this hum irritating him--and he feels betrayed. Millions of enemies
thus sweep down on every city like a cloud of locusts. Enough for fifteen years. They will combat
man, inflicting burning wounds upon him. After this space of time I shall send others. When I
am crushing the lumps of live matter, one fragment may happen to be denser than another.
Its atoms struggle furiously to detach their cluster in order to go about tormenting humanity;
but cohesion in its harness resists. By a supreme convulsion they generate such a stress that
the stone, unable to disperse its living constituents, hurls itself high into the skies as if blown up
by gunpowder and falls back, burying itself deep below the soil. Sometimes the musing peasant
perceives a meteorite cleave vertically through space, heading at its lowest point for a field of
maize. He does not know whence comes the stone. You now have a clear and succinct explanation
of the phenomenon.
Were the earth covered in lice like grains of sand on the seashore, the human race would be
annihilated, stricken with terrible grief. What a sight! And I, with angel's wings, motionless in
the air to view it!
pardon the formatting weirdness towards the end
shit is a pain in the ass
terrorists!
3DS: 2852-6809-9411
i think you meant to post this to hakks
"What are you in prison for?"
"Bring your child to work day."
who does that?
Women can wear skirts and heeled sandals but fuck you Quid no shorts and sandals you have to go buy pants.
She's the much outgoingier Elk, but I guess her "party err'day-let's fly out to Caribbean for a long-weekend" days are over, now. Maybe.
Excessive yiffiness. You know how Will gets about that sort of thing.
the "no true scotch man" fallacy.
God I'm so sick of this story. It's the third time today it's been linked in chat and I heard it on the radio this morning.
The kids didn't do anything other than "Clear for take off, flight 141" and simple shit like that. It was very obvious dad was telling them what to say and let them say the simple stuff, not the complicated air direction. It was all ground.
Just, suspend the guy, tell him not to do it again and move on.
Ugh. The state of arts education, these days.
Oh, I didn't see it in [chat] earlier.
the "no true scotch man" fallacy.
Elki I didn't have an Arts Education I went to a REAL COLLEGE.
It's not your fault. No one wants to talk about it, despite the fact that yeah, it is kinda a weird story.
La Pietà, you heathen.
the virgin mary?
NNID: Hakkekage
I now own three God damn pairs of jeans.
A fucking waste.
Or some dessert nachos.
uh what
I only have 4 pairs of jeans and that is too little
NNID: Hakkekage