First, I wanted to say something. There are some very congenial, fun and all around great people here and don't think I don't appreciate you. Not for a minute. I had a fight with my dad earlier today and was in a pretty bad mood. I was looking at another forum I belong to and saw a link to this video. It is a spoof of a commercial made by Dove (the skincare folks). So, I looked at it and it really seriously annoyed me. I made a sarcastic response about it, and shouldn't have bothered...either ...
One day I laid in bed, thinking of what to do with my free time, and I though to myself "I should really take up writing again. That was good times...I felt so stimulated and intelligent...I felt like I could do anything, be anyone and anywhere. It would be cool to get back into that." And yet, instead I picked up a book, to be somebody from somebody else's world. And it was still good, and still fun. Years have passed since that night, and I have yet to "get ...
Ok, I made it back to Wisconsin just fine. My car was in storage, so I go to pick it up. Two months in storage and I find my car with a flat tire and a dead battery. Ok, I drive a Nissan Xterra with friggin genius engineering (that was sarcasm folks). I have a full size spare which is under the rear of the vehicle. To lower this full size tire you just insert this long rod into the bumper, blindly fumble with it until you get it into location. Well you know me, leave the car in storage for ...
OK, I had been going to post about Burn's night but I see Logos has done that already so instead I thought I'd share a reworking of To a mouse which I wrote about a year ago now after seeing a story in the NEWS thread about a mouse that ended up burning down a man's home. To A Man, on the occassion of burning down his house in January 2006. Big, stompin', greetin', murd'rous beastie Oh whit panic's in thy breastie Ah laf tae see ye sat there cursin' ...
Ok it's Burns Night (really should be a public holiday) To A Haggis Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, Great Chieftan o' the Puddin-race! Aboon them a' ye tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm: Weel are ye wordy of a grace As lang's my arm. The groaning trencher there ye fill, Your hurdies like a distant hill, Your pin wad help to mend a mill In time o' need, While thro' your pores ...
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