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I've got this new kind of divination, it's a bit like tarot but it involves this simple deck of animal cards, dealt out in the eight directions going clockwise from down, plus one final one in the center. The meanings of the cards can change completely depending which position they're in. Let's give it a go for you. [deals out a card] Okay, so first we have down rat, that's a pretty good start, it means you're going to travel and have a good experience. [deals out another card] Down-left lion, something dangerous or scary will happen on your journey, but don't worry, you'll be okay. [deals out a third card] Left horse, that's awesome, something positive at work, like a promotion or some sort of valuable recognition. Lucky you! [deals the fourth card] Up-left monkey. Some rocky ground in your relationship life, I'm afraid. [deals the fifth card, surreptitiously from the bottom of the deck, places it in the next spot face up, it's the dog] Oh. Oh dear. Oh no, I'm so sorry, that's not good at all. roomforthetuna fucked around with this message at 00:12 on Sep 29, 2020 |
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Sep 29, 2020 00:04
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| # ? Apr 26, 2024 15:17 |
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My wife and I had tried for years to become pregnant, and after many consultations with fertility doctors we had finally found our success. I nearly cried at the news, that day had always seemed like an impossibility. We had had so many issues conceiving, that we had never really discussed anything beyond that step. For the first time we talked about our little one's life after birth. How would we decorate our baby's future room? What gender would it be? What name would we choose? When we learned that we were having a boy, I knew instantly that his name should be Richard. But my wife disagreed. She wanted to name him after her father, Horatio. She said that her father and her father's father and so on all had the same name for generations. This trend stretched back as far as the family tree recorded, every firth born son had the same name. For weeks we argued over the name, but I knew I had better name. It was the name of English kings, of an American President, of Family Feud hosts. My wife was adamant, though, she had promised her father long ago that she would continue with the family tradition. However, after a couple of months I won, she relented and agreed to name our son Richard. It was the first time I could breathe easily since before she was pregnant. When the day finally came for her to give birth, a great excitement overcame me. My moment had finally come, I had been planning this my entire life. I knew the perfect thing to say, my crowning achievement, my magnum opus, and I'd get a son out of the deal as well. After she told me the baby was coming, we rushed into the car and drove to the hospital. Throughout the entire drive, I was nervous, frantic, I couldn't miss this one golden opportunity. After we were whisked into the labor room, everything happened so quickly, almost all at once. Before I knew it, I was grasping tightly to her hand as her labor began. She was wailing in pain, her face red, as doctors and nurses rushed around the room, making sure everything was happening without incident. I could feel my pulse heighten, I would only have a small window during the birth to unfurl my plan. The doctors kept telling her to push, and she would scream in agony, trying her best. I waited almost impatiently, I knew I had to wait to see the head. Moments, seconds, minutes, all passed until finally wet hair and skin came from inside her. With glee I leapt up, pointing down between her legs. My moment had finally arrived. "Honey, that's Rich coming from you!" Gross Dude fucked around with this message at 16:22 on Oct 5, 2020 |
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Oct 5, 2020 16:18
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Thanks for keeping my post from dying alone! |
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Oct 6, 2020 01:55
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No thread left behind. 
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Oct 6, 2020 03:35
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Keats, when living in the country purchased an expensive chestnut gelding. The animal was very high-spirited and largely untrained and gave the novice owner a lot of trouble. First it was one thing, then another. But finally he was discovered one morning to have disappeared from his stable. Foul play was not suspected nor did the poet at this stage adopt the foolish expedient of locking the stable door. On the contrary he behaved very sensibly. He examined the stable to ascertain how the escape had been effected and then travelled all over the yard on his hands and knees looking for traces of the animal’s hooves. He was like a dog looking for a trail, except that he found a trail where many a good dog would have found nothing. Immediately the poet was off cross-country following the trail. It happened that Chapman was on a solitary walking-tour in the vicinity and he was agreeably surprised to encounter the poet in a remote mountainy place. Keats was walking quickly with his eyes on the ground and looking very preoccupied. He had evidently no intention of stopping to converse with Chapman. The latter, not understanding his friend’s odd behaviour, halted and cried: ‘What are you doing, old man?’ ‘Dogging a fled horse,’ Keats said as he passed by. |
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Oct 6, 2020 15:24
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