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My eyes are fully open, unblinking. Absorbing every last ascii morsel of poo poo.
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# ? Feb 7, 2025 22:11 |
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ahem; In the last 500 years, the Fourth Stimpire has dominated four systems, which it has united into one starzone, Stimsis. The Fourth Stimpire has origins from the Ten Empire War in which 10 of the United Stimpires revolted against each rules. All empires except for the fourth swore freedom upon their citizens. There is no free speech in the Fourth Stimpire, and all self-controlled transportation has been made illegal without undergoing painful medical verification methods, in which arteries are severed without pain resistant, operated entirely by machines. The way they work claim to be the most hygenic and healthy way possible, but these machines often rub against pain points, causing great deals of pain to patients. The heart is then extracted from the body and placed into a glass grinding machine. Various energy centers are also dissected and replaced with dangerous transplants. After the painful, 52 hour surgical procedure, patients will then have to use a fused guidance tool, which pumps painful resistors into the body every 2 hours. The pain they have caused is so bad, the victim would freeze in a tense position. They would then collapse afterwards. Sexual stimulation in any way within the grounds of the Fourth Stimpire is strictly prohibited, and anyone detected even touching their sexual organs will be subjected to a penectomy or if the offender was a female, they would then have a razor inserted into their ovaries. They would pump a blue solution into the womb until the stitchings burst. Offenders would also be forced to show their operated areas in public, and they would always harass and punch them to a pulp, against their will. Otherwise, offenders would be tazed with the worst type of electricity in the systematic district, causing so much pain, the victim would scream and flail in madness. The pain would also triple every second, but no death would be incurred. This is also used in combat against enemy units, which is why all UEE forces must wear the upgraded suit to block this effect. However, enertainment is also questionable in UEE grounds. Sporting events end with the losing team being rounded into a grinder and shredded on live television, boxing matches end with the loser having their hands removed without anasthesia, flight races would end with the losers having their arms and legs removed, then being injected with insanity, for entertainment. People are also forced into these events, by undergoing a painful 127 hour procedure which involves tweaking the muscles so they will not listen to brain commands, and then having a painful drug injected which also causes madness if the player is not sporting. This is all for entertainment, and anyone not watching any of it during sporting times and cheering for the winning team, they will be imprisoned into galactic camps. Snuff films are also broadcast, and actors are actually murdered just for entertainment. Stealth droids also guide these forced actors into behaving exactly as the director dreams, otherwise they will be punished by being placed into a macerator and having their execution written into the film. Any film that does not feature someone being murdered will be burned and the entire crew behind it will be executed in the most grotesque way possible - vivisection. All executions are broadcast, and anyone who misses even a millisecond, even by blinking, will be executed. All citizens must boo to the person being executed, and the family is gathered to be injected with eternators, which cause pain forever, making them immoral but feeling the pain tenfold every millisecond. They cannot pass out, but they will feel like it forever. Conquests by this Stimpire end in the planet being razed, and all the citizens being executed in the same way as their citizens are. The planet is then destroyed and all remnants of it are removed, and any memories of it will be erased instantly from civil minds. People who are also killed are also erased from memories, and all memories of them, including toys and pictures, are destroyed. Prisoners undergo 40,000 years of relentless and endless labor, and anyone not complying is sentenced to the eternator injection. All prisoners injected with eternators are placed into capsules and launched into far space, then the room is closed tight to ensure maximum insanity. Some prisoners are also subjected to the removal of blood, the lungs, the liver, the genitals, the skeleton, the muscles, the eyes, and even the injection of pressure. Prisoners sentenced to pressure chambers are locked in until they are inflated to a high level. The decompression is then stopped to make sure they are inflated and uncomfortable. Children born on the 14th of July are subjected to the removal of their skeleton and an implant of a silver liquid to replace it. The nervous sysem is also injected in various parts to ensure it is five times more sensitive than the average. Restaurants also are ordered to serve civil meat, and anyone attending must give themself up to be cooked into a grotesque meal. They are cooked alive, undergoing extreme pain, and are then subjected to industrial grinders and blenders. The Stimpire orders at least 1 million citizens to be dispatched every day, as they are afraid the population may overthrow them. But only one planet is cared for, and the rest are banned from eating, drinking, talking, using technology, touching anyone, wearing unauthorized clothes, touching buildings, or walking a centimeter out of designated routes. Civil enforcers are on every planet, and they are engineered so that they are 40 times larger than the 300 quadrillion population. At least 7 billion die every 12 hours under this rule. Thoughts are also surveyed, and anyone who does not think anything to loving the Stimpire with more than their capabilities will be sentenced to a prison. Prisoners who are punished for this violation will meet their greatest fear, only to have it amplified so they will turn insane as they imagine it exactly as they fear it. They then undergo a painful extraction of all fluids, to be replaced by a toxin which causes permanent irritation. The unknown substance keeps the subject aging normally, except they will never die. Prisoners punished in this way are unable to be reverted, despite many efforts, and they will never be able to be disposed. The sickening truths have been revealed only today, and invigilation teams are still investigating the truths without setting foot in the galactic space of this sickening empire. now, here it is in German In den letzten 500 Jahren hat der Vierte Stimpire vier Systeme beherrscht, die er zu einer Sternenzone, Stimsis, vereint hat. Der Vierte Stimpire hat seinen Ursprung im Krieg der Zehn Reiche, in dem 10 der Vereinigten Stimpire gegen die jeweiligen Regeln revoltierten. Alle Reiche außer dem Vierten schworen ihren Bürgern Freiheit. Im Vierten Stimpire gibt es keine freie Meinungsäußerung, und alle selbstgesteuerten Fortbewegungsmittel wurden ohne schmerzhafte medizinische Überprüfungsmethoden illegal gemacht, bei denen Arterien ohne Schmerzresistenz durchtrennt werden, die ausschließlich von Maschinen betrieben werden. Ihre Arbeitsweise soll die hygienischste und gesündeste sein, die es gibt, aber diese Maschinen reiben oft an Schmerzpunkten, was den Patienten große Schmerzen bereitet. Das Herz wird dann aus dem Körper entnommen und in eine Glasschleifmaschine gelegt. Verschiedene Energiezentren werden ebenfalls seziert und durch gefährliche Transplantate ersetzt. Nach dem schmerzhaften, 52-stündigen chirurgischen Eingriff müssen die Patienten dann ein verschmolzenes Führungsinstrument verwenden, das alle 2 Stunden schmerzhafte Widerstände in den Körper pumpt. Die Schmerzen, die sie verursacht haben, sind so schlimm, dass das Opfer in einer angespannten Position erstarren würde. Danach würde es zusammenbrechen. Sexuelle Stimulation in jeglicher Form ist auf dem Gelände des Vierten Stimpire streng verboten, und jeder, der dabei erwischt wird, die Geschlechtsorgane auch nur zu berühren, wird einer Penektomie unterzogen oder, wenn der Täter eine Frau war, wird ihm ein Rasiermesser in die Eierstöcke eingeführt. Sie pumpen eine blaue Lösung in die Gebärmutter, bis die Nähte platzen. Täter werden auch gezwungen, ihre operierten Stellen öffentlich zu zeigen, und sie werden sie immer gegen ihren Willen belästigen und zu Brei schlagen. Andernfalls werden Täter mit der schlimmsten Art von Elektrizität im systematischen Bezirk betäubt, was so starke Schmerzen verursacht, dass das Opfer schreien und vor Wahnsinn um sich schlagen würde. Der Schmerz wird außerdem jede Sekunde verdreifacht, aber es tritt kein Tod ein. Dies wird auch im Kampf gegen feindliche Einheiten eingesetzt, weshalb alle UEE-Streitkräfte den verbesserten Anzug tragen müssen, um diesen Effekt zu blockieren. Unterhaltung ist auf dem Gelände der UEE jedoch auch fragwürdig. Sportveranstaltungen enden damit, dass die Verlierermannschaft in einen Fleischwolf gesteckt und live im Fernsehen zerfetzt wird, Boxkämpfe enden damit, dass dem Verlierer die Hände ohne Betäubung entfernt werden, Flugrennen enden damit, dass den Verlierern Arme und Beine entfernt werden und ihnen dann zur Unterhaltung Wahnsinn injiziert wird. Menschen werden auch zu diesen Veranstaltungen gezwungen, indem sie sich einer schmerzhaften 127-stündigen Prozedur unterziehen, bei der die Muskeln so gezwickt werden, dass sie nicht auf die Befehle des Gehirns hören, und ihnen dann ein schmerzhaftes Medikament injiziert wird, das ebenfalls Wahnsinn verursacht, wenn der Spieler nicht sportlich ist. Das alles dient der Unterhaltung, und jeder, der während der Sportzeiten nichts davon sieht und die Gewinnermannschaft anfeuert, wird in galaktische Lager gesperrt. Snuff-Filme werden auch ausgestrahlt, und Schauspieler werden tatsächlich nur zur Unterhaltung ermordet. Stealth-Droiden bringen diese gezwungenen Schauspieler auch dazu, sich genau so zu verhalten, wie es sich der Regisseur erträumt, andernfalls werden sie bestraft, indem sie in einen Zerkleinerer gesteckt werden und ihre Hinrichtung in den Film geschrieben wird. Jeder Film, in dem nicht jemand ermordet wird, wird verbrannt und die gesamte Crew dahinter wird auf die groteskeste Art und Weise hingerichtet – durch Vivisektion. Alle Hinrichtungen werden übertragen und jeder, der auch nur eine Millisekunde verpasst, selbst wenn er blinzelt, wird hingerichtet. Alle Bürger müssen die hingerichtete Person ausbuhen und die Familie wird zusammengerufen, um mit Eternatoren gespritzt zu werden, die ihnen ewige Schmerzen zufügen und sie unmoralisch machen, aber den Schmerz jede Millisekunde verzehnfachen. Sie können nicht ohnmächtig werden, aber sie werden sich ewig so fühlen. Eroberungen durch diesen Stimpire enden damit, dass der Planet dem Erdboden gleichgemacht und alle Bürger auf dieselbe Art hingerichtet werden wie ihre Bürger. Der Planet wird dann zerstört und alle Überreste davon werden entfernt und alle Erinnerungen daran werden sofort aus den Köpfen der Zivilbevölkerung gelöscht. Menschen, die ebenfalls getötet werden, werden ebenfalls aus den Erinnerungen gelöscht und alle Erinnerungen an sie, einschließlich Spielzeug und Bilder, werden zerstört. Gefangene müssen 40.000 Jahre unerbittlicher und endloser Arbeit ausgesetzt werden, und jeder, der sich nicht daran hält, wird zur Injektion eines Eternators verurteilt. Alle Gefangenen, denen Eternatoren injiziert wurden, werden in Kapseln gesteckt und in den Weltraum geschossen. Anschließend wird der Raum fest verschlossen, um maximale Geisteskrankheit zu gewährleisten. Einigen Gefangenen wird auch Blut entnommen, die Lunge, die Leber, die Genitalien, das Skelett, die Muskeln, die Augen und sogar Druckinjektionen unterzogen. Gefangene, die in Druckkammern eingesperrt werden, werden so lange eingesperrt, bis sie auf ein hohes Niveau aufgepumpt sind. Die Dekompression wird dann gestoppt, um sicherzustellen, dass sie aufgepumpt und unbequem sind. Kindern, die am 14. Juli geboren wurden, wird das Skelett entfernt und durch ein Implantat aus einer silbernen Flüssigkeit ersetzt. Das Nervensystem wird auch an verschiedenen Stellen injiziert, um sicherzustellen, dass es fünfmal empfindlicher ist als der Durchschnitt. Restaurants werden auch angewiesen, Fleisch aus zivilem Fleisch zu servieren, und jeder, der …
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Rad-daddio posted:ahem; tl;dr, but that's okay because I'm not OP
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Four-thirty. Just the right time to take a break from the office, taking refuge in the bathroom. I was ready to poop - hard. Clutching the seat on both sides, I opened the sluice gates to my colon. It was the kind of poop you could smell before you stand up. For fifteen minutes I endured, all while holding back hemorrhoid-creating pressures. Unfortunately for me, this mistress was not through with me yet. Dry heaves of the butt persisted long after the throughput, and I struggled. I awoke on the bathroom floor, pants down and sweaty. It would not be the last time.
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Boner
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fart
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Every single word you post in this thread
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here's the forth stimpire again, but translated from English, to Yiddish, then to Arabic and back to English. Funny how "the worst kind of electricity" survived all that: For the last 500 years, the Fourth Stimpyre has ruled over four systems, which it has united into a single star region, Stimsys. The origins of the Fourth Stimpyre date back to the War of the Ten Worlds, where 10 united Stimpires revolted against their rulers. All kingdoms except the Fourth have sworn freedom to their citizens. In the Fourth Stimpyre, there is no freedom of speech, and all self-directed movements are illegal without painful medical examination methods that involve severing arteries without pain resistance, powered only by machines. Their method of operation is supposed to be the most hygienic and healthy possible, but the machines often rub against pain points, causing patients extreme pain. The heart is then removed from the body and placed in a glass grinding machine. The various energy centers are also dissected and replaced with dangerous implants. After the painful 52-hour surgery, the patients are forced to use a fusion lead device that pumps painful resistance into the body every two hours. The pain they inflicted was so bad that the victim would freeze in a tense position. Afterward, they would collapse. Sexual stimulation of any kind is strictly prohibited on the basis of the Fourth Stimpyre, and anyone caught even touching the genitals will have their penis removed, or, if the perpetrator is a woman, a razor inserted into their ovaries. They pump a blue solution into their uterus until the stitches burst. Criminals are also forced to show their work areas in public, and will constantly harass and beat them against their will. Otherwise, the criminal will be electrocuted with the worst kind of electricity in the regular area, causing such intense pain that the victim may scream and attack in a frenzy. The pain also triples every second, but death does not occur. This is also used in combat against enemy units, which is why all UEE troops must wear an enhanced suit to prevent this effect. However, entertainment is also questionable on UEE property. Sporting events end with the losing team being put through a meat grinder and chopped up live on air, boxing matches end with the loser's hands being removed without anesthesia, and air races end with the losers' arms and legs being removed and then injected with madness for entertainment. People are also forced into these events by undergoing a painful 127-hour procedure where muscles are modified so that they don't listen to the brain's commands and are then injected with a painful drug that also causes insanity if the player is not an athlete. All for entertainment, and anyone who doesn't watch during sports time and cheers for the winning team is locked up in galactic camps. Smack movies are also broadcast, and the actors are actually killed just for entertainment. Hidden robots also make the forced actors act exactly as the director dreams, otherwise they are punished by being put in a shredder and their execution is written into the movie. Any movie that doesn't involve someone being killed is burned and the entire crew behind it is executed in the most gruesome way possible - by dissection. All executions are broadcast, and anyone who misses even a millisecond is executed, even if they blink. All citizens are forced to boo the person being executed and the family is gathered to be injected with immortality, causing them eternal pain and making them immoral, but the pain increases tenfold every millisecond. They may not lose consciousness, but they will feel that way forever. The conquests via Stimpyre end with the planet being razed to the ground and all citizens being executed in the same manner as their fellow citizens. The planet is then destroyed, all remains removed, and all memories of it are instantly erased from the minds of the civilian population. The people killed are also erased from memory and all memories of them, including games and photos, are destroyed. The prisoners are subjected to 40,000 years of endless labor, and anyone who does not comply is sentenced to an eternity of injected energy. All prisoners injected with the generators are placed in capsules and shot into space.
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poop
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So, there's a man crawling through the desert. He'd decided to try his SUV in a little bit of cross-country travel, had great fun zooming over the badlands and through the sand, got lost, hit a big rock, and then he couldn't get it started again. There were no cell phone towers anywhere near, so his cell phone was useless. He had no family, his parents had died a few years before in an auto accident, and his few friends had no idea he was out here. He stayed with the car for a day or so, but his one bottle of water ran out and he was getting thirsty. He thought maybe he knew the direction back, now that he'd paid attention to the sun and thought he'd figured out which way was north, so he decided to start walking. He figured he only had to go about 30 miles or so and he'd be back to the small town he'd gotten gas in last. He thinks about walking at night to avoid the heat and sun, but based upon how dark it actually was the night before, and given that he has no flashlight, he's afraid that he'll break a leg or step on a rattlesnake. So, he puts on some sun block, puts the rest in his pocket for reapplication later, brings an umbrella he'd had in the back of the SUV with him to give him a little shade, pours the windshield wiper fluid into his water bottle in case he gets that desperate, brings his pocket knife in case he finds a cactus that looks like it might have water in it, and heads out in the direction he thinks is right. He walks for the entire day. By the end of the day he's really thirsty. He's been sweating all day, and his lips are starting to crack. He's reapplied the sunblock twice, and tried to stay under the umbrella, but he still feels sunburned. The windshield wiper fluid sloshing in the bottle in his pocket is really getting tempting now. He knows that it's mainly water and some ethanol and coloring, but he also knows that they add some kind of poison to it to keep people from drinking it. He wonders what the poison is, and whether the poison would be worse than dying of thirst. He pushes on, trying to get to that small town before dark. By the end of the day he starts getting worried. He figures he's been walking at least 3 miles an hour, according to his watch for over 10 hours. That means that if his estimate was right that he should be close to the town. But he doesn't recognize any of this. He had to cross a dry creek bed a mile or two back, and he doesn't remember coming through it in the SUV. He figures that maybe he got his direction off just a little and that the dry creek bed was just off to one side of his path. He tells himself that he's close, and that after dark he'll start seeing the town lights over one of these hills, and that'll be all he needs. As it gets dim enough that he starts stumbling over small rocks and things, he finds a spot and sits down to wait for full dark and the town lights. Full dark comes before he knows it. He must have dozed off. He stands back up and turns all the way around. He sees nothing but stars. He wakes up the next morning feeling absolutely lousy. His eyes are gummy and his mouth and nose feel like they're full of sand. He so thirsty that he can't even swallow. He barely got any sleep because it was so cold. He'd forgotten how cold it got at night in the desert and hadn't noticed it the night before because he'd been in his car. He knows the Rule of Threes - three minutes without air, three days without water, three weeks without food - then you die. Some people can make it a little longer, in the best situations. But the desert heat and having to walk and sweat isn't the best situation to be without water. He figures, unless he finds water, this is his last day. He rinses his mouth out with a little of the windshield wiper fluid. He waits a while after spitting that little bit out, to see if his mouth goes numb, or he feels dizzy or something. Has his mouth gone numb? Is it just in his mind? He's not sure. He'll go a little farther, and if he still doesn't find water, he'll try drinking some of the fluid. Then he has to face his next, harder question - which way does he go from here? Does he keep walking the same way he was yesterday (assuming that he still knows which way that is), or does he try a new direction? He has no idea what to do. Looking at the hills and dunes around him, he thinks he knows the direction he was heading before. Just going by a feeling, he points himself somewhat to the left of that, and starts walking. As he walks, the day starts heating up. The desert, too cold just a couple of hours before, soon becomes an oven again. He sweats a little at first, and then stops. He starts getting worried at that - when you stop sweating he knows that means you're in trouble - usually right before heat stroke. He decides that it's time to try the windshield wiper fluid. He can't wait any longer - if he passes out, he's dead. He stops in the shade of a large rock, takes the bottle out, opens it, and takes a mouthful. He slowly swallows it, making it last as long as he can. It feels so good in his dry and cracked throat that he doesn't even care about the nasty taste. He takes another mouthful, and makes it last too. Slowly, he drinks half the bottle. He figures that since he's drinking it, he might as well drink enough to make some difference and keep himself from passing out. He's quit worrying about the denaturing of the wiper fluid. If it kills him, it kills him - if he didn't drink it, he'd die anyway. Besides, he's pretty sure that whatever substance they denature the fluid with is just designed to make you sick - their way of keeping winos from buying cheap wiper fluid for the ethanol content. He can handle throwing up, if it comes to that. He walks. He walks in the hot, dry, windless desert. Sand, rocks, hills, dunes, the occasional scrawny cactus or dried bush. No sign of water. Sometimes he'll see a little movement to one side or the other, but whatever moved is usually gone before he can focus his eyes on it. Probably birds, lizards, or mice. Maybe snakes, though they usually move more at night. He's careful to stay away from the movements. After a while, he begins to stagger. He's not sure if it's fatigue, heat stroke finally catching him, or maybe he was wrong and the denaturing of the wiper fluid was worse than he thought. He tries to steady himself, and keep going. After more walking, he comes to a large stretch of sand. This is good! He knows he passed over a stretch of sand in the SUV - he remembers doing donuts in it. Or at least he thinks he remembers it - he's getting woozy enough and tired enough that he's not sure what he remembers any more or if he's hallucinating. But he thinks he remembers it. So he heads off into it, trying to get to the other side, hoping that it gets him closer to the town. He was heading for a town, wasn't he? He thinks he was. He isn't sure any more. He's not even sure how long he's been walking any more. Is it still morning? Or has it moved into afternoon and the sun is going down again? It must be afternoon - it seems like it's been too long since he started out. He walks through the sand. After a while, he comes to a big dune in the sand. This is bad. He doesn't remember any dunes when driving over the sand in his SUV. Or at least he doesn't think he remembers any. This is bad. But, he has no other direction to go. Too late to turn back now. He figures that he'll get to the top of the dune and see if he can see anything from there that helps him find the town. He keeps going up the dune. Halfway up, he slips in the bad footing of the sand for the second or third time, and falls to his knees. He doesn't feel like getting back up - he'll just fall down again. So, he keeps going up the dune on his hand and knees. While crawling, if his throat weren't so dry, he'd laugh. He's finally gotten to the hackneyed image of a man lost in the desert - crawling through the sand on his hands and knees. If would be the perfect image, he imagines, if only his clothes were more ragged. The people crawling through the desert in the cartoons always had ragged clothes. But his have lasted without any rips so far. Somebody will probably find his dessicated corpse half buried in the sand years from now, and his clothes will still be in fine shape - shake the sand out, and a good wash, and they'd be wearable again. He wishes his throat were wet enough to laugh. He coughs a little instead, and it hurts. He finally makes it to the top of the sand dune. Now that he's at the top, he struggles a little, but manages to stand up and look around. All he sees is sand. Sand, and more sand. Behind him, about a mile away, he thinks he sees the rocky ground he left to head into this sand. Ahead of him, more dunes, more sand. This isn't where he drove his SUV. This is Hell. Or close enough. Again, he doesn't know what to do. He decides to drink the rest of the wiper fluid while figuring it out. He takes out the bottle, and is removing the cap, when he glances to the side and sees something. Something in the sand. At the bottom of the dune, off to the side, he sees something strange. It's a flat area, in the sand. He stops taking the cap of the bottle off, and tries to look closer. The area seems to be circular. And it's dark - darker than the sand. And, there seems to be something in the middle of it, but he can't tell what it is. He looks as hard as he can, and still can tell from here. He's going to have to go down there and look. He puts the bottle back in his pocket, and starts to stumble down the dune. After a few steps, he realizes that he's in trouble - he's not going to be able to keep his balance. After a couple of more sliding, tottering steps, he falls and starts to roll down the dune. The sand it so hot when his body hits it that for a minute he thinks he's caught fire on the way down - like a movie car wreck flashing into flames as it goes over the cliff, before it ever even hits the ground. He closes his eyes and mouth, covers his face with his hands, and waits to stop rolling. He stops, at the bottom of the dune. After a minute or two, he finds enough energy to try to sit up and get the sand out of his face and clothes. When he clears his eyes enough, he looks around to make sure that the dark spot in the sand it still there and he hadn't just imagined it. So, seeing the large, flat, dark spot on the sand is still there, he begins to crawl towards it. He'd get up and walk towards it, but he doesn't seem to have the energy to get up and walk right now. He must be in the final stages of dehydration he figures, as he crawls. If this place in the sand doesn't have water, he'll likely never make it anywhere else. This is his last chance. He gets closer and closer, but still can't see what's in the middle of the dark area. His eyes won't quite focus any more for some reason. And lifting his head up to look takes so much effort that he gives up trying. He just keeps crawling. Finally, he reaches the area he'd seen from the dune. It takes him a minute of crawling on it before he realizes that he's no longer on sand - he's now crawling on some kind of dark stone. Stone with some kind of marking on it - a pattern cut into the stone. He's too tired to stand up and try to see what the pattern is - so he just keeps crawling. He crawls towards the center, where his blurry eyes still see something in the middle of the dark stone area. His mind, detached in a strange way, notes that either his hands and knees are so burnt by the sand that they no longer feel pain, or that this dark stone, in the middle of a burning desert with a pounding, punishing sun overhead, doesn't seem to be hot. It almost feels cool. He considers lying down on the nice cool surface. Cool, dark stone. Not a good sign. He must be hallucinating this. He's probably in the middle of a patch of sand, already lying face down and dying, and just imagining this whole thing. A desert mirage. Soon the beautiful women carrying pitchers of water will come up and start giving him a drink. Then he'll know he's gone. He decides against laying down on the cool stone. If he's going to die here in the middle of this hallucination, he at least wants to see what's in the center before he goes. He keeps crawling. It's the third time that he hears the voice before he realizes what he's hearing. He would swear that someone just said, "Greetings, traveler. You do not look well. Do you hear me?" He stops crawling. He tries to look up from where he is on his hands and knees, but it's too much effort to lift his head. So he tries something different - he leans back and tries to sit up on the stone. After a few seconds, he catches his balance, avoids falling on his face, sits up, and tries to focus his eyes. Blurry. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hands and tries again. Better this time. Yep. He can see. He's sitting in the middle of a large, flat, dark expanse of stone. Directly next to him, about three feet away, is a white post or pole about two inches in diameter and sticking up about four or five feet out of the stone, at an angle. And wrapped around this white rod, tail with rattle on it hovering and seeming to be ready to start rattling, is what must be a fifteen foot long desert diamondback rattlesnake, looking directly at him. He stares at the snake in shock. He doesn't have the energy to get up and run away. He doesn't even have the energy to crawl away. This is it, his final resting place. No matter what happens, he's not going to be able to move from this spot. Well, at least dying of a bite from this monster should be quicker than dying of thirst. He'll face his end like a man. He struggles to sit up a little straighter. The snake keeps watching him. He lifts one hand and waves it in the snake's direction, feebly. The snake watches the hand for a moment, then goes back to watching the man, looking into his eyes. Hmmm. Maybe the snake had no interest in biting him? It hadn't rattled yet - that was a good sign. Maybe he wasn't going to die of snake bite after all. He then remembers that he'd looked up when he'd reached the center here because he thought he'd heard a voice. He was still very woozy - he was likely to pass out soon, the sun still beat down on him even though he was now on cool stone. He still didn't have anything to drink. But maybe he had actually heard a voice. This stone didn't look natural. Nor did that white post sticking up out of the stone. Someone had to have built this. Maybe they were still nearby. Maybe that was who talked to him. Maybe this snake was even their pet, and that's why it wasn't biting. He tries to clear his throat to say, "Hello," but his throat is too dry. All that comes out is a coughing or wheezing sound. There is no way he's going to be able to talk without something to drink. He feels his pocket, and the bottle with the wiper fluid is still there. He shakily pulls the bottle out, almost losing his balance and falling on his back in the process. This isn't good. He doesn't have much time left, by his reckoning, before he passes out. He gets the lid off of the bottle, manages to get the bottle to his lips, and pours some of the fluid into his mouth. He sloshes it around, and then swallows it. He coughs a little. His throat feels better. Maybe he can talk now. He tries again. Ignoring the snake, he turns to look around him, hoping to spot the owner of this place, and croaks out, "Hello? Is there anyone here?" He hears, from his side, "Greetings. What is it that you want?" He turns his head, back towards the snake. That's where the sound had seemed to come from. The only thing he can think of is that there must be a speaker, hidden under the snake, or maybe built into that post. He decides to try asking for help. "Please," he croaks again, suddenly feeling dizzy, "I'd love to not be thirsty any more. I've been a long time without water. Can you help me?" Looking in the direction of the snake, hoping to see where the voice was coming from this time, he is shocked to see the snake rear back, open its mouth, and speak. He hears it say, as the dizziness overtakes him and he falls forward, face first on the stone, "Very well. Coming up." A piercing pain shoots through his shoulder. Suddenly he is awake. He sits up and grabs his shoulder, wincing at the throbbing pain. He's momentarily disoriented as he looks around, and then he remembers - the crawl across the sand, the dark area of stone, the snake. He sees the snake, still wrapped around the tilted white post, still looking at him. He reaches up and feels his shoulder, where it hurts. It feels slightly wet. He pulls his fingers away and looks at them - blood. He feels his shoulder again - his shirt has what feels like two holes in it - two puncture holes - they match up with the two aching spots of pain on his shoulder. He had been bitten. By the snake. "It'll feel better in a minute." He looks up - it's the snake talking. He hadn't dreamed it. Suddenly he notices - he's not dizzy any more. And more importantly, he's not thirsty any more - at all! "Have I died? Is this the afterlife? Why are you biting me in the afterlife?" "Sorry about that, but I had to bite you," says the snake. "That's the way I work. It all comes through the bite. Think of it as natural medicine." "You bit me to help me? Why aren't I thirsty any more? Did you give me a drink before you bit me? How did I drink enough while unconscious to not be thirsty any more? I haven't had a drink for over two days. Well, except for the windshield wiper fluid... hold it, how in the world does a snake talk? Are you real? Are you some sort of Disney animation?" "No," says the snake, "I'm real. As real as you or anyone is, anyway. I didn't give you a drink. I bit you. That's how it works - it's what I do. I bite. I don't have hands to give you a drink, even if I had water just sitting around here." The man sat stunned for a minute. Here he was, sitting in the middle of the desert on some strange stone that should be hot but wasn't, talking to a snake that could talk back and had just bitten him. And he felt better. Not great - he was still starving and exhausted, but much better - he was no longer thirsty. He had started to sweat again, but only slightly. He felt hot, in this sun, but it was starting to get lower in the sky, and the cool stone beneath him was a relief he could notice now that he was no longer dying of thirst. "I might suggest that we take care of that methanol you now have in your system with the next request," continued the snake. "I can guess why you drank it, but I'm not sure how much you drank, or how much methanol was left in the wiper fluid. That stuff is nasty. It'll make you go blind in a day or two, if you drank enough of it." "Ummm, n-next request?" said the man. He put his hand back on his hurting shoulder and backed away from the snake a little. "That's the way it works. If you like, that is," explained the snake. "You get three requests. Call them wishes, if you wish." The snake grinned at his own joke, and the man drew back a little further from the show of fangs. "But there are rules," the snake continued. "The first request is free. The second requires an agreement of secrecy. The third requires the binding of responsibility." The snake looks at the man seriously. "By the way," the snake says suddenly, "my name is Nathan. Old Nathan, Samuel used to call me. He gave me the name. Before that, most of the Bound used to just call me 'Snake'. But that got old, and Samuel wouldn't stand for it. He said that anything that could talk needed a name. He was big into names. You can call me Nate, if you wish." Again, the snake grinned. "Sorry if I don't offer to shake, but I think you can understand - my shake sounds somewhat threatening." The snake give his rattle a little shake. "Umm, my name is Jack," said the man, trying to absorb all of this. "Jack Samson. "Can I ask you a question?" Jack says suddenly. "What happened to the poison...umm, in your bite. Why aren't I dying now? How did you do that? What do you mean by that's how you work?" "That's more than one question," grins Nate. "But I'll still try to answer all of them. First, yes, you can ask me a question." The snake's grin gets wider. "Second, the poison is in you. It changed you. You now no longer need to drink. That's what you asked for. Or, well, technically, you asked to not be thirsty any more - but 'any more' is such a vague term. I decided to make it permanent - now, as long as you live, you shouldn't need to drink much at all. Your body will conserve water very efficiently. You should be able to get enough just from the food you eat - much like a creature of the desert. You've been changed. "For the third question," Nate continues, "you are still dying. Besides the effects of that methanol in your system, you're a man - and men are mortal. In your current state, I give you no more than about another 50 years. Assuming you get out of this desert, alive, that is." Nate seemed vastly amused at his own humor, and continued his wide grin. "As for the fourth question," Nate said, looking more serious as far as Jack could tell, as Jack was just now working on his ability to read talking-snake emotions from snake facial features, "first you have to agree to make a second request and become bound by the secrecy, or I can't tell you." "Wait," joked Jack, "isn't this where you say you could tell me, but you'd have to kill me?" "I thought that was implied." Nate continued to look serious. "Ummm...yeah." Jack leaned back a little as he remembered again that he was talking to a fifteen foot poisonous reptile with a reputation for having a nasty temper. "So, what is this 'Bound by Secrecy' stuff, and can you really stop the effects of the methanol?" Jack thought for a second. "And, what do you mean methanol, anyway? I thought these days they use ethanol in wiper fluid, and just denature it?" "They may, I don't really know," said Nate. "I haven't gotten out in a while. Maybe they do. All I know is that I smell methanol on your breath and on that bottle in your pocket. And the blue color of the liquid when you pulled it out to drink some let me guess that it was wiper fluid. I assume that they still color wiper fluid blue?" "Yeah, they do," said Jack. "I figured," replied Nate. "As for being bound by secrecy - with the fulfillment of your next request, you will be bound to say nothing about me, this place, or any of the information I will tell you after that, when you decide to go back out to your kind. You won't be allowed to talk about me, write about me, use sign language, charades, or even act in a way that will lead someone to guess correctly about me. You'll be bound to secrecy. Of course, I'll also ask you to promise not to give me away, and as I'm guessing that you're a man of your word, you'll never test the binding anyway, so you won't notice." Nate said the last part with utter confidence. Jack, who had always prided himself on being a man of his word, felt a little nervous at this. "Ummm, hey, Nate, who are you? How did you know that? Are you, umm, omniscient, or something?" Well, Jack," said Nate sadly, "I can't tell you that, unless you make the second request." Nate looked away for a minute, then looked back. "Umm, well, ok," said Jack, "what is this about a second request? What can I ask for? Are you allowed to tell me that?" "Sure!" said Nate, brightening. "You're allowed to ask for changes. Changes to yourself. They're like wishes, but they can only affect you. Oh, and before you ask, I can't give you immortality. Or omniscience. Or omnipresence, for that matter. Though I might be able to make you gaseous and yet remain alive, and then you could spread through the atmosphere and sort of be omnipresent. But what good would that be - you still wouldn't be omniscient and thus still could only focus on one thing at a time. Not very useful, at least in my opinion." Nate stopped when he realized that Jack was staring at him. "Well, anyway," continued Nate, "I'd probably suggest giving you permanent good health. It would negate the methanol now in your system, you'd be immune to most poisons and diseases, and you'd tend to live a very long time, barring accident, of course. And you'll even have a tendency to recover from accidents well. It always seemed like a good choice for a request to me." "Cure the methanol poisoning, huh?" said Jack. "And keep me healthy for a long time? Hmmm. It doesn't sound bad at that. And it has to be a request about a change to me? I can't ask to be rich, right? Because that's not really a change to me?" "Right," nodded Nate. "Could I ask to be a genius and permanently healthy?" Jack asked, hopefully. "That takes two requests, Jack." "Yeah, I figured so," said Jack. "But I could ask to be a genius? I could become the smartest scientist in the world? Or the best athlete?" "Well, I could make you very smart," admitted Nate, "but that wouldn't necessarily make you the best scientist in the world. Or, I could make you very athletic, but it wouldn't necessarily make you the best athlete either. You've heard the saying that 99% of genius is hard work? Well, there's some truth to that. I can give you the talent, but I can't make you work hard. It all depends on what you decide to do with it." "Hmmm," said Jack. "Ok, I think I understand. And I get a third request, after this one?" "Maybe," said Nate, "it depends on what you decide then. There are more rules for the third request that I can only tell you about after the second request. You know how it goes." Nate looked like he'd shrug, if he had shoulders. "Ok, well, since I'd rather not be blind in a day or two, and permanent health doesn't sound bad, then consider that my second request. Officially. Do I need to sign in blood or something?" "No," said Nate. "Just hold out your hand. Or heel." Nate grinned. "Or whatever part you want me to bite. I have to bite you again. Like I said, that's how it works - the poison, you know," Nate said apologetically. Jack winced a little and felt his shoulder, where the last bite was. Hey, it didn't hurt any more. Just like Nate had said. That made Jack feel better about the biting business. But still, standing still while a fifteen foot snake sunk it's fangs into you. Jack stood up. Ignoring how good it felt to be able to stand again, and the hunger starting to gnaw at his stomach, Jack tried to decide where he wanted to get bitten. Despite knowing that it wouldn't hurt for long, Jack knew that this wasn't going to be easy. "Hey, Jack," Nate suddenly said, looking past Jack towards the dunes behind him, "is that someone else coming up over there?" Jack spun around and looked. Who else could be out here in the middle of nowhere? And did they bring food? Wait a minute, there was nobody over there. What was Nate... Jack let out a bellow as he felt two fangs sink into his rear end, through his jeans... Jack sat down carefully, favoring his more tender buttock. "I would have decided, eventually, Nate. I was just thinking about it. You didn't have to hoodwink me like that." "I've been doing this a long time, Jack," said Nate, confidently. "You humans have a hard time sitting still and letting a snake bite you - especially one my size. And besides, admit it - it's only been a couple of minutes and it already doesn't hurt any more, does it? That's because of the health benefit with this one. I told you that you'd heal quickly now." "Yeah, well, still," said Jack, "it's the principle of the thing. And nobody likes being bitten in the butt! Couldn't you have gotten my calf or something instead?" "More meat in the typical human butt," replied Nate. "And less chance you accidentally kick me or move at the last second." "Yeah, right. So, tell me all of these wonderful secrets that I now qualify to hear," answered Jack. "Ok," said Nate. "Do you want to ask questions first, or do you want me to just start talking?" "Just talk," said Jack. "I'll sit here and try to not think about food." "We could go try to rustle up some food for you first, if you like," answered Nate. "Hey! You didn't tell me you had food around here, Nate!" Jack jumped up. "What do we have? Am I in walking distance to town? Or can you magically whip up food along with your other powers?" Jack was almost shouting with excitement. His stomach had been growling for hours. "I was thinking more like I could flush something out of its hole and bite it for you, and you could skin it and eat it. Assuming you have a knife, that is," replied Nate, with the grin that Jack was starting to get used to. "Ugh," said Jack, sitting back down. "I think I'll pass. I can last a little longer before I get desperate enough to eat desert rat, or whatever else it is you find out here. And there's nothing to burn - I'd have to eat it raw. No thanks. Just talk." "Ok," replied Nate, still grinning. "But I'd better hurry, before you start looking at me as food. Nate reared back a little, looked around for a second, and then continued. "You, Jack, are sitting in the middle of the Garden of Eden." Jack looked around at the sand and dunes and then looked back at Nate sceptically. "Well, that's the best I can figure it, anyway, Jack," said Nate. "Stand up and look at the symbol on the rock here." Nate gestured around the dark stone they were both sitting on with his nose. Jack stood up and looked. Carved into the stone in a bas-relief was a representation of a large tree. The angled-pole that Nate was wrapped around was coming out of the trunk of the tree, right below where the main branches left the truck to reach out across the stone. It was very well done - it looked more like a tree had been reduced to almost two dimensions and embedded in the stone than it did like a carving. Jack walked around and looked at the details in the fading light of the setting sun. He wished he'd looked at it while the sun was higher in the sky. Wait! The sun was setting! That meant he was going to have to spend another night out here! Arrrgh! Jack looked out across the desert for a little bit, and then came back and stood next to Nate. "In all the excitement, I almost forgot, Nate," said Jack. "Which way is it back to town? And how far? I'm eventually going to have to head back - I'm not sure I'll be able to survive by eating raw desert critters for long. And even if I can, I'm not sure I'll want to." "It's about 30 miles that way." Nate pointed, with the rattle on his tail this time. As far as Jack could tell, it was a direction at right angles to the way he'd been going when he was crawling here. "But that's 30 miles by the way the crow flies. It's about 40 by the way a man walks. You should be able to do it in about half a day with your improved endurance, if you head out early tomorrow, Jack." Jack looked out the way the snake had pointed for a few seconds more, and then sat back down. It was getting dark. Not much he could do about heading out right now. And besides, Nate was just about to get to the interesting stuff. "Garden of Eden? As best as you can figure it?" "Well, yeah, as best as I and Samuel could figure it anyway," said Nate. "He figured that the story just got a little mixed up. You know, snake, in a 'tree', offering 'temptations', making bargains. That kind stuff. But he could never quite figure out how the Hebrews found out about this spot from across the ocean. He worried about that for a while." "Garden of Eden, hunh?" said Jack. "How long have you been here, Nate?" "No idea, really," replied Nate. "A long time. It never occurred to me to count years, until recently, and by then, of course, it was too late. But I do remember when this whole place was green, so I figure it's been thousands of years, at least." "So, are you the snake that tempted Eve?" said Jack. "Beats me," said Nate. "Maybe. I can't remember if the first one of your kind that I talked to was female or not, and I never got a name, but it could have been. And I suppose she could have considered my offer to grant requests a 'temptation', though I've rarely had refusals." "Well, umm, how did you get here then? And why is that white pole stuck out of the stone there?" asked Jack. "Dad left me here. Or, I assume it was my dad. It was another snake - much bigger than I was back then. I remember talking to him, but I don't remember if it was in a language, or just kind of understanding what he wanted. But one day, he brought me to this stone, told me about it, and asked me to do something for him. I talked it over with him for a while, then agreed. I've been here ever since. "What is this place?" said Jack. "And what did he ask you to do?" "Well, you see this pole here, sticking out of the stone?" Nate loosened his coils around the tilted white pole and showed Jack where it descended into the stone. The pole was tilted at about a 45 degree angle and seemed to enter the stone in an eighteen inch slot cut into the stone. Jack leaned over and looked. The slot was dark and the pole went down into it as far as Jack could see in the dim light. Jack reached out to touch the pole, but Nate was suddenly there in the way. "You can't touch that yet, Jack," said Nate. "Why not?" asked Jack. "I haven't explained it to you yet," replied Nate. "Well, it kinda looks like a lever or something," said Jack. "You'd push it that way, and it would move in the slot." "Yep, that's what it is," replied Nate. "What does it do?" asked Jack. "End the world?" "Oh, no," said Nate. "Nothing that drastic. It just ends humanity. I call it 'The Lever of Doom'." For the last few words Nate had used a deeper, ringing voice. He tried to look serious for a few seconds, and then gave up and grinned. Jack was initially startled by Nate's pronouncement, but when Nate grinned Jack laughed. "Ha! You almost had me fooled for a second there. What does it really do?" "Oh, it really ends humanity, like I said," smirked Nate. "I just thought the voice I used was funny, didn't you?" Nate continued to grin. "A lever to end humanity?" asked Jack. "What in the world is that for? Why would anyone need to end humanity?" "Well," replied Nate, "I get the idea that maybe humanity was an experiment. Or maybe the Big Guy just thought, that if humanity started going really bad, there should be a way to end it. I'm not really sure. All I know are the rules, and the guesses that Samuel and I had about why it's here. I didn't think to ask back when I started here." "Rules? What rules?" asked Jack. "The rules are that I can't tell anybody about it or let them touch it unless they agree to be bound to secrecy by a bite. And that only one human can be bound in that way at a time. That's it." explained Nate. Jack looked somewhat shocked. "You mean that I could pull the lever now? You'd let me end humanity?" "Yep," replied Nate, "if you want to." Nate looked at Jack carefully. "Do you want to, Jack?" "Umm, no." said Jack, stepping a little further back from the lever. "Why in the world would anyone want to end humanity? It'd take a psychotic to want that! Or worse, a suicidal psychotic, because it would kill him too, wouldn't it?" "Yep," replied Nate, "being as he'd be human too." "Has anyone ever seriously considered it?" asked Nate. "Any of those bound to secrecy, that is?" "Well, of course, I think they've all seriously considered it at one time or another. Being given that kind of responsibility makes you sit down and think, or so I'm told. Samuel considered it several times. He'd often get disgusted with humanity, come out here, and just hold the lever for a while. But he never pulled it. Or you wouldn't be here." Nate grinned some more. Jack sat down, well back from the lever. He looked thoughtful and puzzled at the same time. After a bit, he said, "So this makes me the Judge of humanity? I get to decide whether they keep going or just end? Me?" "That seems to be it," agreed Nate. "What kind of criteria do I use to decide?" said Jack. "How do I make this decision? Am I supposed to decide if they're good? Or too many of them are bad? Or that they're going the wrong way? Is there a set of rules for that?" "Nope," replied Nate. "You pretty much just have to decide on your own. It's up to you, however you want to decide it. I guess that you're just supposed to know." "But what if I get mad at someone? Or some girl dumps me and I feel horrible? Couldn't I make a mistake? How do I know that I won't screw up?" protested Jack. Nate gave his kind of snake-like shrug again. "You don't. You just have to try your best, Jack." Jack sat there for a while, staring off into the desert that was rapidly getting dark, chewing on a fingernail. Suddenly, Jack turned around and looked at the snake. "Nate, was Samuel the one bound to this before me?" "Yep," replied Nate. "He was a good guy. Talked to me a lot. Taught me to read and brought me books. I think I still have a good pile of them buried in the sand around here somewhere. I still miss him. He died a few months ago." "Sounds like a good guy," agreed Jack. "How did he handle this, when you first told him. What did he do?" "Well," said Nate, "he sat down for a while, thought about it for a bit, and then asked me some questions, much like you're doing." "What did he ask you, if you're allowed to tell me?" asked Jack. "He asked me about the third request," replied Nate. "Aha!" It was Jack's turn to grin. "And what did you tell him?" "I told him the rules for the third request. That to get the third request you have to agree to this whole thing. That if it ever comes to the point that you really think that humanity should be ended, that you'll come here and end it. You won't avoid it, and you won't wimp out." Nate looked serious again. "And you'll be bound to do it too, Jack." "Hmmm." Jack looked back out into the darkness for a while. Nate watched him, waiting. "Nate," continued Jack, quietly, eventually. "What did Samuel ask for with his third request?" Nate sounded like he was grinning again as he replied, also quietly, "Wisdom, Jack. He asked for wisdom. As much as I could give him." "Ok," said Jack, suddenly, standing up and facing away from Nate, "give it to me. Nate looked at Jack's backside. "Give you what, Jack?" "Give me that wisdom. The same stuff that Samuel asked for. If it helped him, maybe it'll help me too." Jack turned his head to look back over his shoulder at Nate. "It did help him, right?" "He said it did," replied Nate. "But he seemed a little quieter afterward. Like he had a lot to think about." "Well, yeah, I can see that," said Jack. "So, give it to me." Jack turned to face away from Nate again, bent over slightly and tensed up. Nate watched Jack tense up with a little exasperation. If he bit Jack now, Jack would likely jump out of his skin and maybe hurt them both. "You remember that you'll be bound to destroy humanity if it ever looks like it needs it, right Jack?" asked Nate, shifting position. "Yeah, yeah, I got that," replied Jack, eyes squeezed tightly shut and body tense, not noticing the change in direction of Nate's voice. "And," continued Nate, from his new position, "do you remember that you'll turn bright purple, and grow big horns and extra eyes?" "Yeah, yeah...Hey, wait a minute!" said Jack, opening his eyes, straightening up and turning around. "Purple?!" He didn't see Nate there. With the moonlight Jack could see that the lever extended up from its slot in the rock without the snake wrapped around it. Jack heard, from behind him, Nate's "Just Kidding!" right before he felt the now familiar piercing pain, this time in the other buttock. Jack sat on the edge of the dark stone in the rapidly cooling air, his feet extending out into the sand. He stared out into the darkness, listening to the wind stir the sand, occasionally rubbing his butt where he'd been recently bitten. Nate had left for a little while, had come back with a desert-rodent-shaped bulge somewhere in his middle, and was now wrapped back around the lever, his tongue flicking out into the desert night's air the only sign that he was still awake. Occasionally Jack, with his toes absentmindedly digging in the sand while he thought, would ask Nate a question without turning around. "Nate, do accidents count?" Nate lifted his head a little bit. "What do you mean, Jack?" Jack tilted his head back like he was looking at the stars. "You know, accidents. If I accidentally fall on the lever, without meaning to, does that still wipe out humanity?" "Yeah, I'm pretty sure it does, Jack. I'd suggest you be careful about that if you start feeling wobbly," said Nate with some amusement. A little later - "Does it have to be me that pulls the lever?" asked Jack. "That's the rule, Jack. Nobody else can pull it," answered Nate. "No," Jack shook his head, "I meant does it have to be my hand? Could I pull the lever with a rope tied around it? Or push it with a stick? Or throw a rock?" "Yes, those should work," replied Nate. "Though I'm not sure how complicated you could get. Samuel thought about trying to build some kind of remote control for it once, but gave it up. Everything he'd build would be gone by the next sunrise, if it was touching the stone, or over it. I told him that in the past others that had been bound had tried to bury the lever so they wouldn't be tempted to pull it, but every time the stones or sand or whatever had disappeared." "Wow," said Jack, "Cool." Jack leaned back until only his elbows kept him off of the stone and looked up into the sky. "Nate, how long did Samuel live? One of his wishes was for health too, right?" asked Jack. "Yes," replied Nate, "it was. He lived 167 years, Jack." "Wow, 167 years. That's almost 140 more years I'll live if I live as long. Do you know what he died of, Nate?" "He died of getting tired of living, Jack," Nate said, sounding somewhat sad. Jack turned his head to look at Nate in the starlight. Nate looked back. "Samuel knew he wasn't going to be able to stay in society. He figured that they'd eventually see him still alive and start questioning it, so he decided that he'd have to disappear after a while. He faked his death once, but changed his mind - he decided it was too early and he could stay for a little longer. He wasn't very fond of mankind, but he liked the attention. Most of the time, anyway. "His daughter and then his wife dying almost did him in though. He didn't stay in society much longer after that. He eventually came out here to spend time talking to me and thinking about pulling the lever. A few months ago he told me he'd had enough. It was his time." "And then he just died?" asked Jack. Nate shook his head a little. "He made his forth request, Jack. There's only one thing you can ask for the fourth request. The last bite. After a bit Nate continued, "He told me that he was tired, that it was his time. He reassured me that someone new would show up soon, like they always had. After another pause, Nate finished, "Samuel's body disappeared off the stone with the sunrise." Jack lay back down and looked at the sky, leaving Nate alone with his memories. It was a long time until Jack's breathing evened out into sleep. Jack woke with the sunrise the next morning. He was a little chilled with the morning desert air, but overall was feeling pretty good. Well, except that his stomach was grumbling and he wasn't willing to eat raw desert rat. So, after getting directions to town from Nate, making sure he knew how to get back, and reassuring Nate that he'd be back soon, Jack started the long walk back to town. With his new health and Nate's good directions, he made it back easily. Jack caught a bus back to the city, and showed up for work the next day, little worse for the wear and with a story about getting lost in the desert and walking back out. Within a couple of days Jack had talked a friend with a tow truck into going back out into the desert with him to fetch the SUV. They found it after a couple of hours of searching and towed it back without incident. Jack was careful not to even look in the direction of Nate's lever, though their path back didn't come within sight of it. Before the next weekend, Jack had gone to a couple of stores, including a book store, and had gotten his SUV back from the mechanic, with a warning to avoid any more joyriding in the desert. On Saturday, Jack headed back to see Nate.
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Jack parked a little way out of the small town near Nate, loaded up his new backpack with camping gear and the things he was bringing for Nate, and then started walking. He figured that walking would leave the least trail, and he knew that while not many people camped in the desert, it wasn't unheard of, and shouldn't really raise suspicions. Jack had brought more books for Nate - recent books, magazines, newspapers. Some things that would catch Nate up with what was happening in the world, others that were just good books to read. He spent the weekend with Nate, and then headed out again, telling Nate that he'd be back again soon, but that he had things to do first. Over four months later Jack was back to see Nate again. This time he brought a laptop with him - a specially modified laptop. It had a solar recharger, special filters and seals to keep out the sand, a satellite link-up, and a special keyboard and joystick that Jack hoped that a fifteen-foot rattlesnake would be able to use. And, it had been hacked to not give out its location to the satellite. After that Jack could e-mail Nate to keep in touch, but still visited him fairly regularly - at least once or twice a year. After the first year, Jack quit his job. For some reason, with the wisdom he 'd been given, and the knowledge that he could live for over 150 years, working in a nine to five job for someone else didn't seem that worthwhile any more. Jack went back to school. Eventually, Jack started writing. Perhaps because of the wisdom, or perhaps because of his new perspective, he wrote well. People liked what he wrote, and he became well known for it. After a time, Jack bought an RV and started traveling around the country for book signings and readings. But, he still remembered to drop by and visit Nate occasionally. On one of the visits Nate seemed quieter than usual. Not that Nate had been a fountain of joy lately. Jack's best guess was that Nate was still missing Samuel, and though Jack had tried, he still hadn't been able to replace Samuel in Nate's eyes. Nate had been getting quieter each visit. But on this visit Nate didn't even speak when Jack walked up to the lever. He nodded at Jack, and then went back to staring into the desert. Jack, respecting Nate's silence, sat down and waited. After a few minutes, Nate spoke. "Jack, I have someone to introduce you to." Jack looked surprised. "Someone to introduce me to?" Jack looked around, and then looked carefully back at Nate. "This something to do with the Big Guy? "No, no," replied Nate. "This is more personal. I want you to meet my son." Nate looked over at the nearest sand dune. "Sammy!" Jack watched as a four foot long desert rattlesnake crawled from behind the dune and up to the stone base of the lever. "Yo, Jack," said the new, much smaller snake. "Yo, Sammy" replied Jack. Jack looked at Nate. "Named after Samuel, I assume?" Nate nodded. "Jack, I've got a favor to ask you. Could you show Sammy around for me?" Nate unwrapped himself from the lever and slithered over to the edge of the stone and looked across the sands. "When Samuel first told me about the world, and brought me books and pictures, I wished that I could go see it. I wanted to see the great forests, the canyons, the cities, even the other deserts, to see if they felt and smelled the same. I want my son to have that chance - to see the world. Before he becomes bound here like I have been. "He's seen it in pictures, over the computer that you brought me. But I hear that it's not the same. That being there is different. I want him to have that. Think you can do that for me, Jack?" Jack nodded. This was obviously very important to Nate, so Jack didn't even joke about taking a talking rattlesnake out to see the world. "Yeah, I can do that for you, Nate. Is that all you need?" Jack could sense that was something more. Nate looked at Sammy. Sammy looked back at Nate for a second and then said, "Oh, yeah. Ummm, I've gotta go pack. Back in a little bit Jack. Nice to meet ya!" Sammy slithered back over the dune and out of sight. Nate watched Sammy disappear and then looked back at Jack. "Jack, this is my first son. My first offspring through all the years. You don't even want to know what it took for me to find a mate." Nate grinned to himself. "But anyway, I had a son for a reason. I'm tired. I'm ready for it to be over. I needed a replacement." Jack considered this for a minute. "So, you're ready to come see the world, and you wanted him to watch the lever while you were gone?" Nate shook his head. "No, Jack - you're a better guesser than that. You've already figured out - I'm bound here - there's only one way for me to leave here. And I'm ready. It's my time to die." Jack looked more closely at Nate. He could tell Nate had thought about this - probably for quite a while. Jack had trouble imagining what it would be like to be as old as Nate, but Jack could already tell that in another hundred or two hundred years, he might be getting tired of life himself. Jack could understand Samuel's decision, and now Nate's. So, all Jack said was, "What do you want me to do?" Nate nodded. "Thanks, Jack. I only want two things. One - show Sammy around the world - let him get his fill of it, until he's ready to come back here and take over. Two - give me the fourth request. "I can't just decide to die, not any more than you can. I won't even die of old age like you eventually will, even though it'll be a long time from now. I need to be killed. Once Sammy is back here, ready to take over, I'll be able to die. And I need you to kill me. "I've even thought about how. Poisons and other drugs won't work on me. And I've seen pictures of snakes that were shot - some of them live for days, so that's out too. So, I want you to bring back a sword. Nate turned away to look back to the dune that Sammy had gone behind. "I'd say an axe, but that's somewhat undignified - putting my head on the ground or a chopping block like that. No, I like a sword. A time-honored way of going out. A dignified way to die. And, most importantly, it should work, even on me. "You willing to do that for me, Jack?" Nate turned back to look at Jack. "Yeah, Nate," replied Jack solemnly, "I think I can handle that." Nate nodded. "Good!" He turned back toward the dune and shouted, "Sammy! Jack's about ready to leave!" Then quietly, "Thanks, Jack." Jack didn't have anything to say to that, so he waited for Sammy to make it back to the lever, nodded to him, nodded a final time to Nate, and then headed into the desert with Sammy following. Over the next several years Sammy and Jack kept in touch with Nate through e-mail as they went about their adventures. They made a goal of visiting every country in the world, and did a respectable job of it. Sammy had a natural gift for languages, as Jack expected he would, and even ended up acting as a translator for Jack in a few of the countries. Jack managed to keep the talking rattlesnake hidden, even so, and by the time they were nearing the end of their tour of countries, Sammy had only been spotted a few times. While there were several people that had seen enough to startle them greatly, nobody had enough evidence to prove anything, and while a few wild rumors and storied followed Jack and Sammy around, nothing ever hit the newspapers or the public in general. When they finished the tour of countries, Jack suggested that they try some undersea diving. They did. And spelunking. They did that too. Sammy finally drew the line at visiting Antarctica. He'd come to realize that Jack was stalling. After talking to his Dad about it over e-mail, he figured out that Jack probably didn't want to have to kill Nate. Nate told Sammy that humans could be squeamish about killing friends and acquaintances. So, Sammy eventually put his tail down (as he didn't have a foot) and told Jack that it was time - he was ready to go back and take up his duties from his dad. Jack, delayed it a little more by insisting that they go back to Japan and buy an appropriate sword. He even stretched it a little more by getting lessons in how to use the sword. But, eventually, he'd learned as much as he was likely to without dedicating his life to it, and was definitely competent enough to take the head off of a snake. It was time to head back and see Nate. When they got back to the US, Jack got the old RV out of storage where he and Sammy had left it after their tour of the fifty states, he loaded up Sammy and the sword, and they headed for the desert. When they got to the small town that Jack had been trying to find those years ago when he'd met Nate, Jack was in a funk. He didn't really feel like walking all of the way out there. Not only that, but he'd forgotten to figure the travel time correctly, and it was late afternoon. They'd either have to spend the night in town and walk out tomorrow, or walk in the dark. As Jack was afraid that if he waited one more night he might lose his resolve, he decided that he'd go ahead and drive the RV out there. It was only going to be this once, and Jack would go back and cover the tracks afterward. They ought to be able to make it out there by nightfall if they drove, and then they could get it over tonight. Jack told Sammy to e-mail Nate that they were coming as he drove out of sight of the town on the road. They then pulled off the road and headed out into the desert. Everything went well, until they got to the sand dunes. Jack had been nursing the RV along the whole time, over the rocks, through the creek beds, revving the engine the few times they almost got stuck. When they came to the dunes, Jack didn't really think about it, he just downshifted and headed up the first one. By the third dune, Jack started to regret that he'd decided to try driving on the sand. The RV was fishtailling and losing traction. Jack was having to work it up each dune slowly and was trying to keep from losing control each time they came over the top and slid down the other side. Sammy had come up to sit in the passenger seat, coiled up and laughing at Jack's driving. As they came over the top of the fourth dune, the biggest one yet, Jack saw that this was the final dune - the stone, the lever, and somewhere Nate, waited below. Jack put on the brakes, but he'd gone a little too far. The RV started slipping down the other side. Jack tried turning the wheel, but he didn't have enough traction. He pumped the brakes - no response. They started sliding down the hill, faster and faster. Jack felt a shock go through him as he suddenly realized that they were heading for the lever. He looked down - the RV was directly on course for it. If Jack didn't do something, the RV would hit it. He was about to end humanity. Jack steered more frantically, trying to get traction. It still wasn't working. The dune was too steep, and the sand too loose. In a split second, Jack realized that his only chance would be once he hit the stone around the lever - he should have traction on the stone for just a second before he hit the lever - he wouldn't have time to stop, but he should be able to steer away. Jack took a better grip on the steering wheel and tried to turn the RV a little bit - every little bit would help. He'd have to time his turn just right. The RV got to the bottom of the dune, sliding at an amazing speed in the sand. Just before they reached the stone Jack looked across it to check that they were still heading for the lever. They were. But Jack noticed something else that he hadn't seen from the top of the dune. Nate wasn't wrapped around the lever. He was off to the side of the lever, but still on the stone, waiting for them. The problem was, he was waiting on the same side of the lever that Jack had picked to steer towards to avoid the lever. The RV was already starting to drift that way a little in its mad rush across the sand and there was no way that Jack was going to be able to go around the lever to the other side. Jack had an instant of realization. He was either going to have to hit the lever, or run over Nate. He glanced over at Sammy and saw that Sammy realized the same thing. Jack took a firmer grip on the steering wheel as the RV ran up on the stone. Shouting to Sammy as he pulled the steering wheel, "BETTER NATE THAN LEVER," he ran over the snake.
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Hi OP please read all of the above ,
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Colonel Cancer posted:Hi OP please read all of the above , ![]() I wasted an hour of my wife's life with that joke.
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Hello OP
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I hope you're enjoying life OP ![]()
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Her power, her magic, was also a weapon of defense. But it would only work on people. It would not work on a chicken. And it would not work on wickedness incarnate. Her gaze flicked toward the door, checking the distance. The chicken took a single hop toward her. Claws gripping Juni's upper arm, it leaned her way. Her leg muscles tightened till they trembled. The chicken backed up a step, tensed, and spurted feces onto Juni's face. It let out the cackle that sounded like a laugh. She dearly wished she could tell herself she was being silly. Imagining things. But she knew better. Kahlan frantically tried to think as the chicken bawk-bawk-bawked. "Mother," the chicken croaked. Kahlan flinched with a cry. In the dark, the chicken thing let out a low chicken cackle laugh. It hadn't come from where she expected the chicken to be. It was behind her. "Please, I mean no harm," she called into the darkness. "I mean no disrespect. I will leave you to your business now, if that's all right with you." She took another shuffling step toward the door. She moved carefully, slowly, in case the chicken thing was in the way. She didn't want to bump into it and make it angry. She mustn't underestimate it. Kahlan had on any number of occasions thrown herself with ferocity against seemingly invincible foes. She knew well the value of a resolute violent attack. But she also somehow knew beyond doubt that this adversary could, if it wanted, kill her as easily as she could wring a real chicken's neck. If she forced a fight, this was one she would lose. The chicken thing let out a whispering cackle. With the next flash of lightning, she saw chicken feet standing between her and the crack under the door. The thing wasn't more than a foot from her face. The beak pinched the vein on the back of her hand over her eyes. The chicken tugged, as if trying to pull a worm from the ground. It was a command. It wanted her hand away from her eyes. The beak gave a sharp tug on her skin. There was no mistaking the meaning in that insistent yank. Move the hand, now, it was saying, or you'll be sorry. If she made it angry, there was no telling what it was capable of doing to her. Juni lay dead above her as a reminder of the possibilities. She told herself that if it pecked at her eyes, she would have to grab it and try to wring its neck. If she was quick, it could only get in one peck. She would have one eye left. She would have to fight it then. But only if it went for her eyes. Her instincts screamed that such action would be the most foolish, dangerous thing she could do. Both the Bird Man and Richard said this was not a chicken. She no longer doubted them. But she might have no choice. If she started, it would be a fight to the death. She held no illusion as to her chances. Nonetheless, she might be forced to fight it. With her last breath, if need be, as her father had taught her. The chicken snatched a bigger beakful of her skin along with the vein and twisted. Last warning. Kahlan carefully moved her trembling hand away. The chicken-thing cackled softly with satisfaction.
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fart
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Ha ha ha you guys think you're funny but little do you know, I work at a bike store... And it's January I am merely harvesting time
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The Grimace posted:I hope you're enjoying life OP I'll get back to you... *distant screams of anguish* Pizza's done!
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Once upon a time there was a lovely princess. But she had an enchantment upon her of a fearful sort, which could only be broken by Love's first kiss. She was locked away in a castle guarded by a terrible fire breathing dragon. Many brave knights had attempted to free her from this dreadful prison, but none prevailed. She waited in the dragon's keep in the highest room of the tallest tower for her true love and true love's first kiss. Like that's ever going to happen. What a loony. Shrek Beware Stay out I think he's in here. All right. Lets get it! Hold on. Do you know what that thing can do to you? Yeah. He'll groan into your bones for his brains. Well actually that would be a giant. Now Ogres, huh, they are much worse. They'll make a soup from your freshly peeled skin. They'll chew your livers, squeeze the jelly from your eyes. Actually, it's quite good on toast. Back, back beast, back! I warned you! Right. This is the part, where you run away. Yeah! And stay out. Wanted. Fairytale creatures. Right, this one is full. Take it away. Give me that. Your fine days are over. -25 pieces of silver for the witch. Next. -Come on. Sit down there! And be quiet! This cage is so small. You wouldn't turn me in. I'll never be stubborn again. I can change. Please, give me another chance. Oh, shut up! Next. What do we got? This little wooden puppet. I'm not a puppet, I'm a real boy. Five shillings for the possessed toy. Take it away. No! Please, don't let them do it! Next. What do you got? Well, I've got a talking donkey! Right. Well that's good for ten schillings, if you can prove it. Oh, go ahead fella. Well? He's just a li..., just a little nervous. He's really quite a chatterbox. You boneheaded donkey! That's it. I have heard enough. Guards! No, no, he talks, he does! I can talk. I love to talk. I've talked to... Get her out of my sight! -No, no, I swear! Hey, I can fly. -He can fly! -He can fly! He can talk! -That's right, fool! Now I'm a flying, talking donkey! You might have seen house fly, maybe even a superfly. But I bet you ain't never seen a donkey fly! Seize him! Get him! This way! Hurry! You there. Ogre. -I. By the order of lord Farquaad. I am authorized to place you both under arrest. And transport you to designated resettlement facility. Oh really? You and what army? Can I say something to you? Listen, you were really, really something, back there. Incredible. Are you talking to... ...me? Yes, I was talking to you. Can I just tell you that you were really great back there with those guards. They thought that was all over there. And then you showed up and BAM. There was tripping on over themselves like babes in the woods. That really made me feel good to see that. Oh, that's great. Really. Man, it's good to be free. Now, why don't you go celebrate your freedom with your own friends? But I... I don't have any friends. And I'm not going out there by myself. Hey wait a minute. I have a great idea... I'll stick with you. You and me in green fighting machine. Together we'll scare the spin if anybody crosses us. Oh, a, that was really scary. Maybe you don't mine me saying. If that don't work, your breath will certainly do the job done, 'cause... you definitively need some tic-tac or something, 'cause your breath stinks! Man you've ??? my note! Just like the time... ...and then I ate some rotten berries. Man I had some strong gases leaking out of my but that day. Why are you following me? I'll tell you why. 'Cause I'm all alone, there is no one here, beside me. My problems have all gone. There's no one to derive me. But you got to have free ... -Stop singing! Well, it's no wonder, you don't have any friends. Wow! Only a true friend would be that truly honest. Listen! Little donkey. Take a look at me! What am I? A... ...really tall? No! I'm an Ogre. You know, grab your torch and pitchforks. Doesn't that bother you? Nope. Really? -Really really. Oh? Man, I like you. What's your name? A..., Shrek. Shrek?! But do you know, what I like about you, Shrek? You've got that kind of: "I don't care what nobody thinks of me" thing. I like that, I respect that, Shrek. You're all right. Uh, look at that. Who would wanna live in a place like that? That would be my home. Oh, it is lovely. Just beautiful. You know you're quite a decorator. It's amazing what you did with such a modest budget. I like that boulder. That is a nice boulder. I guess, you don't entertain much, do you? I like my privacy. You know I do to. That's another thing, we have in common. Like I hate it when you got somebody in your face. You try to give them a hint and they won't leave. And then there's that big occurred silence, you know? Can I stay with you? -What? Can I stay with you, please. Of course! -Really? No. -Please! I don't want to go back there. You don't how is like to be concerned like a freak. Well..., maybe you do. But that's why we have to stick together! You got to let me stay! Please! Please! OK, OK. -But one night only. -Huh, thank you! A, what are you do... No! This is going to be fun. We can stay up late, swap the manly stories. And in the morning... I'm making waffles. Where do I sleep? Outside! Oh, a, I guess that's cool. You know, I don't know you and you don't know me... ... so I guess, outside is best for me. Here I go. Good night. I do like that half door. I'm a donkey all alone outside. Sit by myself outside, I guess. I'm all alone, there's no one here beside me. -I thought, I told you to stay outside. -I am outside. Well James. This is far from the farm, but what choice do we have? It's not... What a lovely bed. -Got you! I found some cheese. Awful stuff. -Is that you Gordon? -How did you know? Enough! What are you doing in my house? Oh, no, no, no... Death prods off the table! Where would we supposed to put her. The bed's taken. What? I live in a swamp. I've put up signs. I'm a terrifying Ogre! What do I have to do, to get a little privacy? Oh, no! No, no! What are you doing in my swamp? All right, get out of here. All of you. Move it! Come on, let's go. And hurry up, hurry up. No, no, not there. Not there! Hey don't look at me. I didn't invite them. Oh gosh, no one invited us. -What? We were forced to come here. -By who? Lord Farquaad. He ??? All right. Who knows where this Farquaad guy is? Oh I do. I know where he is. Does anyone else know where to find him? -Anyone at all? -Me. -Anyone? Oh pick me, I know! Me, me. Ok, fine. Attention all fairy tale things! Do not get comfortable. Your welcome is officially warned up. In fact. I'm gonna see this guy Farquaad right now and get all off my land and back where you came from. You. You're coming with me. All right. That's what I like to hear, man. Shrek and Donkey, two stubborn friends off on a world and big city adventure. I love it. I'm on road again. Sing with me Shrek! I'm on road again... What did I say about singing? -Can I whistle? -No. -Well, can I hummer? -All right. That's enough. He's ready to talk. Run, run, run as fast as you can, you can't catch me. I'm the gingerbread man. You monster. I'm not a monster here. You are. You and the rest of that fairytale trash, poisoning my perfect world. -Now tell me! Where are the others? -Eat me. I've tried to be fair to you, creatures. Now my patience has reached its end! -Tell me! Or I'll... -No, no, not the buttons. Not gumdrop buttons. All right! Who's hiding them? Ok, I'll tell you. -Do you know the muffin-man? -The muffin-man? -The muffin-man. -Yes, I know the muffin-man. Who lives on Proully lane? -Well, she's married to the muffin-man. -The muffin-man! -The muffin-man! -She's married to the muffin-man. My lord! We found it. Well then, what are you waiting for? Bring it in. Magic mirror. Don't tell him anything! Evening. Mirror, mirror on the wall. Is this not the most perfect kingdom of them all? Well, technically, you're not a king. A..., felonious. -You were saying. -What I mean is a... ...you're not a king, yet. But you can become one. All you have to do, is marry a princess. Go on. So, just sit back and relax my lord, because it's time for you to meet today's eligible bachelorettes. And here they are. Bachelorette number one is a mentally ▓▓▓▓ shading from a kingdom far, far away. She likes sushi and hottubbing anytime. Her hobbies include cooking and cleaning for two evil sisters. Please welcome... Cinderella. Bachelorette number two is a kemp wearing girl from a land of fantasy. Although she lives with seven other man, she is not easy. Just kiss hers dead frozen lips and find out what a live wife she is. Come on. Give it up for... Show-white. And last but certainly not least. Bachelorette number three is a fire-breathing ????, dragon guarded castle, surrounded by a hot boiling lava. But don't let that cool you off. She's a loaded pistol who likes Pina Coladas and getting cut in the rain. Yours for the rescuing, Princess Fiona. So will it be, bachelorette number one? Bachelorette number two? Or bachelorette number three? -Two... -Three! -Two! One. No, no, no. Three. Pick number three my lord. Ok, ok. Number three. Lord Farquaad. You've chosen... princess Fiona. She's nice. Fiona. She's perfect. All I have to do is just find someone... But I probably should mention little thing that happens at night... -I'll do it! -Yes, but after sunset... Silence! I will make this princess Fiona my queen. And Duloc will finally have the perfect king! Captain! Assemble your finest man. We're going to have a tournament! That's it, that's, right there, that's Duloc. I've told you I'll find it. So. That must be lord Farquaad's castle. Aha, that's the place. Do you think maybe he's compensating for something. Hey, hey wait up Shrek! -Hey, you! -No, no! Wait a second. Look, I'm not gonna eat you. I just... It's quiet. Too quiet. Where is everybody? Hey look at this. Wow! -Let's do that again. -No. no. All right. You're going the right way for smack bottom. Sorry about that. That champion should have the honor, no, no... ...the privilege to go forth and rescue the lovely princess Fiona from the fireing keep of the dragon. If for any reason the winner is unsuccessful, the first runner up will take his place. And so on, and so forth. Some of you may die, but it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make. Applause. Let the tournament begin. What is that? Ugh, it's hideous. Oh, that's not very nice. It's just a donkey. Indeed. Knights! New plan. The one, who kills the Ogre, will be named champion. How about him. Oh, hey. Now, come on. Can't we just settle this over a pint? No? All right then. Come on. Hey Shrek! Let me, let me! The chair! Give him the chair! Thank you. Thank you, very much. I'm here until Thursday. Try the wheel! Shall I give the order sir? No. I have a better idea. People of Duloc. I give you our champion! What? Congratulation, Ogre. You've won the honor of embarking on a great and noble quest. Quest? I'm already on a quest. A quest to get my swamp back! -Your swamp? -Yeah, my swamp! Where you dumped those fairytale creatures. Indeed. All right Ogre, I'll make you a deal. Go on this quest for me and I'll give you your swamp back. Exactly the way it was? Down to the last slime covered toast tool. -And the squatters? -As good as gone. What kind of quest? Ok, let me get this straight! We gonna go find the dragon and rescue a princess just so Farquaad will give you back the swamp, which you only don't have, 'cause he filled it with full of freaks on the first place. -Is that about right? -You know what? Maybe there is a good reason, donkeys shouldn't talk. I don't get it Shrek. Why didn't you just pull some old Ogre stuff on them? You know, ??? . Grab his bones to make you brave. You know the whole Ogre trick. Oh, you know what. Maybe I could have decapitated entire village and put their heads on plate. Got a knife, cut open their spleens and drink their fluids. Does that sound good to you? A, no, not really, no. For your information, there is a lot more to Ogres than people think. -Example. -Example? OK, A-a-m, Ogres are like onions. -They stink? -Yes, no. -O, they make you cry. -No. Oh, you leave them out on the sun and they get all brown and start ??? little wild hairs? No! Layers! Onions have layers. Ogres have layers. Onions have layers. You get it? We both have layers. O, you both have layers. You know not everybody likes onions. Cake! Everybody loves cakes. Cakes have layers. I don't care what everyone likes. Ogres are not like cakes. You know what else everyone likes? Paffe. Have you ever met a person and you say: "Hey, let's get some paffe" and they say I don't like paffe. Paffe is delicious. No! You tensed, irritating, miniature peace of barden. Ogres are like onions. End of story. Bye, bye. See you lather. Paffe is maybe the most delicious thing on the whole drat planet. You know I think I've preferred your humming. Do you have a tissue or something, 'cause I'm making a mess. Just the word paffe has made me start slimying Why, Shrek, did you do that? Man you got to warn somebody before you just crack one off. My mouth was opened and everything. Believe me donkey, if it was me, you'd be dead. It's brimstone. We must be getting close. Yeah, right, brimstone. Don't be talking ??? brimstone. I know what I smell and ??? no brimstone. And they don't come of stone neither. Sure it's big enough, but look at the location. Oh, Shrek, remember when you said that Ogres have layers? Oh, yeah. Well, I have a confession to make. Donkeys don't have layers. We wear ??? sleeves. Wait a second. Donkeys don't have sleeves. -You know what I mean. -Oh, you can't tell me you're afraid of highs. No, I'm just a little uncomfortable of being on a rickety bridge over boiling lake of lava! Come on donkey, I'm right here beside you. Ok? For emotional support. We'll just hackle this thing together one little baby step after time. -Really? -Really really. Ok. That makes me feel so much better. Just keep moving and don't look down. Don't look down, don't look down. Shrek! I'm looking down! I can't do this. Just let me off right now, please. -But you're already half way. -Yeah, but I know that half is safe. Ok, fine. I don't have time for this. You go back. Shrek, no, wait. Don't do that! Oh, I'm sorry. Do what? -Oh. This? -Yes, that! Yes, yes. Do it. OK. -No, Shrek! -I'm doing it. I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die. Shrek, I'm gonna die. That will do Donkey, that will do. Cool. So where is this fire breathing pain in the neck anyway? Inside. Waiting for us to rescue her. I was talking about the dragon Shrek. -Are you afraid? -No, but shhhhh. Oh, good. Me neither. Because there's nothing wrong with being afraid. Here's a..., something responsible of the situation. Not to mention dangerous situation. And there's dragon that breathes fire. I'm sure he's meaner than a cow or anything, but they're scare. You know what I mean. I'm sure he's heavier than a cow... Donkey. Two things. Ok? Shut, up. Now go over there and see if you can find any stairs. Stairs? I thought we were looking for the princess. The princess will be up the stairs in the highest room in the tallest tower. What makes you think she'll be there? I read it in a book once. Cool. You handle the dragon, I'll handle the stairs. Oh, I'll find those stairs. I'll ???. That's right. Those stairs won't know which way they go. The drafting stairs, ??? Don't mess with me. I'm the stair master. I'm master of the stairs. I wish I had a stair right here right here now, I'd step all over it. Well, at least we know where the princess is. -But where is the... -Dragon! Donkey, look out! Got you. Oh, what large teeth you have. I mean, white sparkling teeth. You probably hear this all the time from your food, but you must bleach yourself, because that is one dashing smile you got there. And do I detect the hint of minty freshness? And you know what else? You're a girl dragon. Oh, sure. I mean 'course you're a girl dragon, 'cause you're just ricking the feminine beauty out. What's the matter with you? Do you have something in your eye? Man, I'd really love to stay, but you know I'm a asthmatic and I don't know if we would worked out. You'd be blowing smoke and stuff. Shrek! No, Shrek! Shrek! -Wake up! -What? Are you princess Fiona? I am. Awaiting a knight so bold as to rescue me. Oh, that's nice. Now let's go. But wait, sir knight. This be our first meeting. Should not be wonderful, romantic moment? Yeah. Sorry lady there's no time. Hey, what are you doing? You know, you should sweep me out of my feet. Out through the window and down the rope by to your valued steed. You've had a lot of time to plan this, haven't you? Uh-um. But we have to sing through this moment. You can residing of a poem to me. A ballad, a sonnet, a libretti. Or something. I don't think so. Well, can I at least know a name of my champion? Shrek. So, Shrek. I pray that you take this favor as a token of my gratitude. Thanks. -You didn't slay the dragon? -It's not my job to do this. Now, come on! But this isn't right. ??? That's what all the other knights did. Yeah. Right before they burst in the flame. That's not the point. Wait. Where are you going? Exit is over there. Well, I have to save my rear end. What kind of knight are you? One of a kind. ...rush into a physical relationship. I'm not that emotionally ready for commitment of a this magnitude. That was the word I was looking for. Magnitude. Hey, that is unwanted physical contact. Hey, what are you doing? Ok, ok, let's just back up a little and take this one step at the time. I mean, we really should get to know each other first, you know what am I saying. As friends, maybe even as ??? Hey don't do that. That's my tail. That's ma personal tail. And you're going to tear it off.... Oh, no. No! -It talks?! -Yeah. It's getting to shut up, that's a trick. Ok, you two. Head for the exit. I'll take care of the dragon. Ruuuuun! You did it. You rescued me. Amizing, you're wonderful. You're a ... ...a little unorthodox I admit, but by deed is great and by heart is pure. I'm entirely in your debt. And where would a brave knight be without his noble steed. I hope you heard that. She called me a noble steed. She thinks I'm a steed. The battle is won. You may remove your helmet good sir knight. -Aah, no. -Why not? I have helmet hair. Please. I wouldst look upon the face of my rescuer. Oh, no, you wouldn't, dust. But, how will you kiss me? What? That wasn't in a job description. -Maybe it's a perk? -No. It's destiny. You must know how it goes. A princess locked in a tower and besieged by a dragon is rescued by a brave knight. And then they share true love's first kiss. With Shrek? You think, wait... ...you think Shrek is your true love? Well, yes. You think that Shrek is your true love. What is so funny? Let's just say, I'm not your type, ok? Of course you are. You're my rescuer. Now, now remove your helmet. Look. I really don't think this is a good idea. -Just take off the helmet. -I'm not going to. -Take it off! -No! -Now! -Ok, easy. As you command your highness. You're an Ogre. Oh, you were expecting Prince Charming. Well, yes, actually. Oh no. This is all wrong. You're not supposed to be an Ogre. Princess, I was sent to rescue you by lord Farquaad, ok? He's the one, who wants to marry you. Well, then why didn't he come to rescue me? Good question. You should ask him that, when we get there. But I have to be rescued by my true love. Not by some Ogre and his pet. Well so much for noble steed. Look princess. You're not making my job any easier. Well I'm sorry, but your job is not my problem. You can tell lord Farquaad that if he wants to rescue me properly, I'll be waiting for him right here. Hey, I'm no ones messenger boy, all right? -I'm a delivery boy. -You wouldn't dare. -You coming donkey? -Put me down! Yeah, I'm right behind you. Put me down or you will suffer the consequences. This is not dignified. Put me down. Ok, here's another question. Let's say that a woman 'digged' you, but you don't really like her, that way. Now, how you let her down real easy, so her feelings aren't hurt? But you don't get burned to a crisp neither. How do you do this? Just tell her, she's not your true love. Everyone knows it what happens when you find... Hey! The sooner we get to Duloc, the better. Oh, yeah. You gonna love it there princess. It's beautiful. And what of my groom to be, lord Farquaad. What's he like? Well, let me put it this way, princess. Men of Farquaad's stature are in short supply. Oh no, Shrek. There are those who think little of him. Stop it. Stop it, both of you. You know, you're just jealous that you can never measure up to a great ruler like lord Farquaad. Yeah. Well maybe you're right princess. But I'd like you do that measuring when you see him tomorrow Tomorrow? It will take that long? -Shouldn't we stop to make camp? -No. That would take longer. We can keep going. But there are robbers in the woods. Whoa, time out Shrek. Camp is definitely something that sounds good. Hey. Come on. I'm scarier than anything we're gonna see in this forest. I need to find somewhere to camp, now! Hey, over here. Shrek, we can do better than that. Now, I don't think this is decent for princess. No, no, it's perfect. It just needs a few homey touches. Homey touches? Like what? A door. Well, gentleman I'll be d..., good night. Do you want me to come in and read you a bedtime story, 'cause I will... I said good night! Shrek! What are you doing? I just..., you know... Oh, come on, I was just kidding. And that one, that's Throwback. The only Ogre to ever spit over three wheat fields. Right. Yeah. Hey, can you tell my future form these stars? Well, the stars don't tell the future, Donkey. They tell stories. Look. There's Blodna, the "Flatulent" You can guess what he is famous for. All right. Now I know you're making this up. No. Look. There he is and there's the group of hunters running away from his stag. Man, there ain't nothing, but a bunch of little dots. You know donkey, sometimes things are more than they appear. Forget it. Hey Shrek. What are you gonna do when we get our swamp back, anyway? -Our swamp? -You know. When we're through rescuing the princess and all that stuff. We? Donkey, there is no we. There's no our. There's just me and my swamp. And the first thing I'm gonna do, is build a ten foot wall around my land. You cut me deep Shrek, you cut me real deep just now. You know, what I think? I think this whole wall thing is just a way to keep somebody out. No, do you think? -Are you hiding something? -Never mind Donkey. Oh, this is another one of those onion things, isn't it? No. This is one of those drop it and leave it alone things. -Why don't you want to talk about it? -Why do you want to talk about it? -Oh, Why you block? -I'm not blocking. -Oh yes you are. -Donkey, I'm warning you. -Who are you trying to keep out? Just tell me that Shrek. Who? Everyone, ok? -Oh, now we're getting somewhere. -Oh, for 'the love of pit'. Hey, what's your problem Shrek? What do you got against the whole world anyway? Look. I'm not the one with the problem, ok? It's the world that seems to have a problem with me. People take one look at me and go: AAA... Help! Run! A big stupid ugly Ogre. They judge me, before they even know me. That's why I'm better off alone. You know what? When we met, I didn't think you're just a big stupid, ugly Ogre. Yeah, I know. So, a... Are there any donkeys up there? Well, there's a Cabby. The small and annoying. Ok, ok. I see him, now. Big shining one, right there. That one, over there? That's the moon. Again. Show me again. Mirror, mirror, show her to me. Show me the princess. Perfect. Yeah. You know I like like that. Oh come on baby... -Donkey. Wake up. -What? -Wake up. Morning. How do you like your eggs? -Good morning princess. -What's all this about? You know, we kind of got of to a bad start yesterday and I wanted to make it up to you. I mean, after all, you did rescue me. Thanks. Well, eat up. We've got a big day ahead of us. -Shrek! -What? It's a compliment. Better out than in I always say. But that's no way to behave in front of a princess. -Thanks. -She's as nasty as you are. You know. You're not exactly what I've expected. Well, maybe you shouldn't judge people before you get to know them. Princess! What are you doing? ???mon shery, for I am your saviour. And I am rescuing you from this green...beast. Hey! That's my princess. Go find your own. Please, monster. Can't you see I'm a little busy here? Look, pal. I don't know who you think you are. Oh, of course. How rude that was. Please, let me introduce myself. Oh marry men! Man, that was annoying. Oh, you little... Shall we? ???all the forin??? Whoa, hold on, now. Where did that come from? -What? -That. Back there. That was amazing. Where did you learn that? Well, when one lives alone one has to learn these things in case there's a... There is an arrow in your butt. What? Oh, would you look at that. Oh, no... This is all my fault. I'm so sorry. -What's wrong? -Shrek's hurt. -Shrek's hurt? Shrek's hurt! -Oh, no. Shrek's going to die. -Donkey, I'm ok. You can't do this to me Shrek. I'm too young for you to die. Keep your legs elevated. Turn your head ???. -Does anyone know how to handle... -Donkey! Calm down. If you want to help Shrek, run into woods and find me a blue flower with red thorns. Blue flower, red thorns. Ok, I'm on it. Blue flower, red thorns. Blue flower, red thorns. Don't die Shrek. And if you see a long tunnel, stay away from the light! -Donkey! -Oh, yeah. Right. Blue flower, red thorns. Blue flower, red thorns. -What are the flowers for? -For getting rid of the Donkey. Now, you hold still and I'll yank this thing out. -Hey! Easy with the yanking. -I'm sorry, but it has to come out. No, no. It's tender. What you're doing here is the opposite... -Don't move. -Ok, look. Time out. -Would you... Ok. What do you propose we do? Blue flower, red thorns. Blue flower, red thorns. Blue flower, red thorns. This would be so much easier if I wasn't colorblind. Blue flower, red thorns. Blue flower, red thorns. Hold on, Shrek. I'm coming! Not good. Ok, ok, I can lose it. It's just about it. Nothing happened. We were just a... Look if you want to be alone, all you had to do is ask, ok? Oh, come on. That's the last thing on my mind. The princess here was just... Au! Hey, what's that? Is that... There it is, princess. -Your future awaits you. -That's Duloc? Yeah. I know. You'll shrink things lord Farquaad is compensating for something, which I think needs, he has a I guess we better move on. Sure, but Shrek... -I'm worried about Donkey. -What? I mean. Look at him. He doesn't look so good. -What are you talking about? I'm fine. -Well, that's what they always say. And the next thing you know you're on your back. -Dead! -You know she's right. You look awful. -Do you want to sit down? -You know, I'll make you up some tea. Well, I won't say nothing, but I've got this twinge in my neck. And if I turn my neck like this, look. Au, see? -He's hungry. I'll find us some dinner. -I'll get the firewood. Hey, where are you going? Oh man, I can't feel my thumbs. I don't have any thumbs!!! I think I need a hug. This is good. This is really good. -What is this? -Wheat rat. -Rotisserie style. -No kidding. -Oh, this is delicious. -Well, they also great in stews. Now, I don't mean to brag, but I make a mean wheat rat stew. I guess I'll be dining a little different late tomorrow night. Maybe you can come visit me in the swamp sometime. I'll cook all kinds of stuff for you. Swamp toast, soup fish, eye tartar. You name it. I'd like that. -Ah... , princess? -Yes, Shrek? I'm a.... I was wondering. Are you... a... Are you gonna eat that? Man, isn't this romantic. Just look at that sunset. Sunset?! Oh, no. It's late. It's very late. -What? -Wait a minute. I see what's going on here. You're afraid of the dark. Aren't you? Yes, yes. That's it. That's, I'm terrified. You know I'll better go inside. But don't feel bad, princess. I used to be afraid of the dark too. Until... Hey, no, wait. I'm still afraid of the dark. -Good night. -Good night. Ahh. Now I really see what's going on here. Oh, what are you talking about. Hey I don't wanna even hear. Look, I'm an animal and I got instincts. And I know that you two are digging on each other. I can feel it. Oh, you're crazy. I'm just bringing her back to Farquaad. Oh, come on, Shrek. Wake up and smell the fairemones. Just go in there and tell her how you feel. There's nothing to tell. Besides, even if I did tell her that... well you know. I'm not saying that I do, 'cause I don't. She's a princess and I'm... ...an Ogre. Yeah, an Ogre. -Hey, where are you going? -To get more firewood. Princess. Princess Fiona? Princess, where are you? Princess? It's very spooky in here and are we playing little games. -No, no. -Help! Shrek! Shrek! -No. -Shrek! -It's ok. It's ok. -What did you do with the princess? -Donkey, shhh. I'm the princess. -It's me, in this body. -Oh my god. You ate the princess. -Can you hear me? -Donkey! Listen, keep breathing. I'll get you out of there! Shrek! Shrek! Shrek! This is me. Princess? What happened to you? You're a... different. -I'm ugly, ok? -Yeah. Was it something that you ate? 'Cause I told Shrek those rats were a bad idea. -You are what you eat, I say. -No. I've been this way as long as I can remember. What do you mean? Look, I've never seen you like this before. It only happens when the sun goes down. By night one way, by day another. This shall be the norm until you find true love's first kiss. Then, take love's true form... -Oh, that's beautiful. I didn't know you wrote poetry. -It's the spell. When I was a little girl, a witch cast a spell on me. Every night I become this. This horrible ugly beast. I was placed in a tower to await the day when my true love would rescue me. That's why I have to marry lord Farquaad tomorrow, before the sun sets and he sees me, like this? All right, all right. Calm down. Look, it's not that bad. You're not that ugly. Wait, wait, I'll not lie, you are ugly. But you only look like this at night. Shrek's ugly 24/7. But Donkey, I'm a princess. And this is not how a princess is meant to look. Princess. How about if you don't marry Farquaad? I have to. Only my true love's kiss can brake the spell. But you know, you're kind of an Ogre. And Shrek... Well you've got a lot in common. Shrek? Princess, I... How is it going first of all? Good? Good for me to. I'm ok. I saw this flower and thought of you because it's pretty. And, well, I don't really like it, but I thought you may like it, because you're pretty. But I like you anyway. A.... I'm in trouble. Ok, here we go. Who could ever love a piece so hideous and ugly? Princess and ugly don't go together. That's why I can't stay here with Shrek, but only chance to live happily ever after is to marry my true love. Don't you see, Donkey? That's just how it has to be. It's the only way to break the spell. Well, at least you've got tell Shrek the truth. No, no. You can't breathe the word. No one must ever know. What's the point of being unable to talk? You got to keep secrets. Promise you won't tell. Promise! You know, before this is over, I'm going to need whole lot of serious therapies. All right, all right. I won't tell him. But you should. Look at my eye twitching. I tell him, I tell him not. I tell him. I tell him not. I tell him! Shrek! Shrek! There's something I want ... Shrek. Are you all right? Perfect. Never been better. I... There's something I have to tell you. You don't have to tell me anything, princess. I heard enough last night. -You've heard what I said? -Every word. I thought you'd understand? Oh, I understand! Like you said, who could love a hideous, ugly beast! -I thought that wouldn't matter to you. -Yeah, well, it does. Ah, right on time. Princess. I brought you a little something. What I missed? What I missed? -Princess Fiona. -As promised. Now hand it over. Very well, Ogre. The deed to your swamp. Cleared out as agreed. Take it and go. Before I change my mind. Forgive me princess for startling you, but you startled me. For I've never seen such a radiant beauty before. -I am lord Farquaad. -Lord Farquaad? Oh, no, no... forgive me my lord for I was just saying short... farewell. Oh. That is so sweet. You don't have to raise good manners on the Ogre. -It's not like it has feelings. -No. You're right. It doesn't. Princess Fiona, beautiful fair flawless Fiona, I ask your hand in marriage. Will you be the perfect bride for the perfect groom? Lord Farquaad, I accept. Nothing would make... Excellent! I'll start the plans for tomorrow we wedd... No! I mean I... Why wait? Let's get married today. Before sunset. Oh, anxious are we? You're right. The sooner, the better. There's so much to do. There is the camera, the cake, the band, the guests... Captain! Round up some guests. Farewell Ogre. Shrek, what are you doing? You let her get away. -Yeah, so what. -Shrek. There's something about her that you don't know. -I talked to her last night. She's... -Yeah I know you talked to her last night. You're great pal, aren't you? Now, if you two are such good friend, why didn't you follow her home? -Shrek. I want to go with you. -I told you, didn't I? You're not coming home with me. I live alone. My swamp, me and nobody else! Understand? Nobody! Especially useless, pathetic, annoying, talking donkeys! -But. I thought... -Yeah. You know what? You thought wrong. Shrek. Donkey? What are you doing? I was thinking of all the people, you would recognize a wall when you see one. Well, yeah. But the wall supposed to go around my swamp. Not through it. It is around your half. See? That's your half and this is my half. Oh, your half? Yes, my half. I helped rescue the princess. I did half the work. I get half the booty. Now hand me that big old rock, the one that looks like your head -Back off! -No. You back off! -This is my swamp. -Our swamp. -Let go, Donkey! -You let go! -Stubborn jackass. -Smelly Ogre. Fine! Hey, hey, come back here. I'm not through with you, yet. -Well, I'm through with you! -Well, you know. You were always me, me, me. Well, guess what? Now it's my turn! So you just shut up and pay attention! You are mean to me, you insult me, you don't appreciate anything that I do! You're always pushing me around or pushing me away. Oh, yeah? Well, if I treated you so bad, how come you came back? Because that's what friend do. They forgive each other! Oh, yeah. You're right Donkey. I forgive you for stabbing me in the back! You're so wrapped up in layers, onion boy. You're afraid of your own feelings. -Go away. -See? There you are, doing it again. Just like you did it to Fiona. And all she ever do, was like you. Maybe even love you. Love me? She said I was ugly! A hideous creature. -I heard that you two were talking. -She wasn't talking about you. She was talking about... ...somebody else. She wasn't talking about me? Well then, who was she talking about? No way, I'm not saying anything. You won't listen to me, right? Right? -Donkey. -No! Ok, look. I'm sorry, all right? I'm sorry. I guess I am just a big stupid, ugly Ogre. Can you forgive me? -Hey, that's the friends are for, right? -Right. -Friends? -Friends. So? What did Fiona said about me? Why are you asking me for? Why don't you just go ask her. The wedding! We'll never make it in time! Never fear! For where there is a will, there is a way. And I have I way. Donkey? -I guess this is just my act of magnetism. -Oh, come here, you. All right. All right. Don't get all started. No one likes kissass. All right, hop on. Hold on tight. I hadn't have a chance to install seat belts, yet. People of Duloc. We gather here today to bear witness to reunion of our new king... Excuse me. Could you just skip ahead to "I do's"? Go on. Go ahead and have some fun, if we need you, I'll whistle. How about that? Shrek, wait, wait a minute. You want to do this right, don't you? -What are you talking about? -It's the line, it's the line you got to wait for. The priest is going to say: "Speak now or forever hold your peace". And that's where you say: "I object". -I don't have time for this. -Wait, wait. What are you doing? Listen to me! Look, you love this woman, don't you? -Yes. -You want to hold her! -Yes. -Please her! -Yes! Then you got to, got to try a little tender love. -The chicks love that romantic crap. -All right. Cut it out. When does this guy say the line? We got to check it out. And as so by the power of these two... What do you see? -I now pronounce you... -There they go! -...he all ready said it. -Oh, for 'the love of pit'. I object! Shrek? Oh, now what does he want? Hi, everyone. Having a good time, aren't you? I love Duloc, first of all. Very clean. -What are you doing here? -Really, it's rude enough being alive, when no one wants you. But showing up uninvited to a wedding... -Fiona! I need to talk to you. -Oh, now you wanna talk? Well it's a little late for that. So if you'll excuse me. -But you can't marry him! -And why not? Because, because he's just marrying you so he can be king. -Outrageous! Fiona, don't listen to him. -He's not your true love. -What do you know about true love? -Well, I ...I'm in... Oh, this is precious. The Ogre has fallen in love with the princess. Laugh. Shrek. Is this true? Who cares. It's preposterious. Fiona, my love, we gonna kiss away for our happily ever after. Now kiss me! By night one way, by day another. I wanted to show you before. Well. That explains a lot. Oh. It's disgusting. Guards, guards. I order you to get them out of my sight. -Now! Get them! Get them, both! -No! This marriage is minding, and that makes me king. See? See? -Shrek! -No. -Don't just stand there, you dogs. -Get out of my way. No! Shrek! -And as for you my wife. -Fiona! I'll have you locked back in that tower for the rest of your days! I will have order. I will have potential. I will have... All right, nobody move! I got a dragon here and I'm not afraid to use it. I'm a donkey on the edge! Celebrity marriages. They never last, do they? Go ahead Shrek. -Fiona? -Yes, Shrek? I love you. Really? Really, really. I love you too. A time for true love's first kiss... Fiona? Fiona? Are you all right? Yes. But I don't understand. I'm supposed to be beautiful. But you are beautiful. I was hoping this would be a happy ending. God bless us, everyone.
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Ok
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the john galt speech
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the john galt speech part two (i couldn't fit it all in one post)
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Mega64 posted:the john galt speech who is that?
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ok aeminal, read that all back to us
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fart
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riverrun, past Eve and Adam’s, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs. Sir Tristram, violer d’amores, fr’over the short sea, had passencore rearrived from North Armorica on this side the scraggy isthmus of Europe Minor to wielderfight his penisolate war: nor had topsawyer’s rocks by the stream Oconee exaggerated themselse to Laurens County’s gorgios while they went doublin their mumper all the time: nor avoice from afire bellowsed mishe mishe to tauftauf thuartpeatrick not yet, though venissoon after, had a kidscad buttended a bland old isaac: not yet, though all’s fair in vanessy, were sosie sesthers wroth with twone nathandjoe. Rot a peck of pa’s malt had Jhem or Shen brewed by arclight and rory end to the regginbrow was to be seen ringsome on the aquaface. The fall (bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonner ronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnuk!) of a once wallstrait oldparr is retaled early in bed and later on life down through all christian minstrelsy. The great fall of the offwall entailed at such short notice the pftjschute of Finnegan, erse solid man, that the humptyhillhead of humself prumptly sends an unquiring one well to the west in quest of his tumptytumtoes: and their upturnpikepointandplace is at the knock out in the park where oranges have been laid to rust upon the green since devlinsfirst loved livvy. What clashes here of wills gen wonts, oystrygods gaggin fishy-gods! Brékkek Kékkek Kékkek Kékkek! Kóax Kóax Kóax! Ualu Ualu Ualu! Quaouauh! Where the Baddelaries partisans are still out to mathmaster Malachus Micgranes and the Verdons catapelting the camibalistics out of the Whoyteboyce of Hoodie Head. Assiegates and boomeringstroms. Sod’s brood, be me fear! Sanglorians, save! Arms apeal with larms, appalling. Killykillkilly: a toll, a toll. What chance cuddleys, what cashels aired and ventilated! What bidimetoloves sinduced by what tegotetabsolvers! What true feeling for their’s hayair with what strawng voice of false jiccup! O here here how hoth sprowled met the duskt the father of fornicationists but, (O my shining stars and body!) how hath fanespanned most high heaven the skysign of soft advertisement! But was iz? Iseut? Ere were sewers? The oaks of ald now they lie in peat yet elms leap where askes lay. Phall if you but will, rise you must: and none so soon either shall the pharce for the nunce come to a setdown secular phoenish. Bygmester Finnegan, of the Stuttering Hand, freemen’s maurer, lived in the broadest way immarginable in his rushlit toofarback for messuages before joshuan judges had given us numbers or Helviticus committed deuteronomy (one yeastyday he sternely struxk his tete in a tub for to watsch the future of his fates but ere he swiftly stook it out again, by the might of moses, the very water was eviparated and all the guenneses had met their exodus so that ought to show you what a pentschanjeuchy chap he was!) and during mighty odd years this man of hod, cement and edifices in Toper’s Thorp piled buildung supra buildung pon the banks for the livers by the Soangso. He addle liddle phifie Annie ugged the little craythur. Wither hayre in honds tuck up your part inher. Oftwhile balbulous, mithre ahead, with goodly trowel in grasp and ivoroiled overalls which he habitacularly fondseed, like Haroun Childeric Eggeberth he would caligulate by multiplicables the alltitude and malltitude until he seesaw by neatlight of the liquor wheretwin ’twas born, his roundhead staple of other days to rise in undress maisonry upstanded (joygrantit!), a waalworth of a skyerscape of most eyeful hoyth entowerly, erigenating from next to nothing and celescalating the himals and all, hierarchitectitiptitoploftical, with a burning bush abob off its baubletop and with larrons o’toolers clittering up and tombles a’buckets clottering down. Of the first was he to bare arms and a name: Wassaily Booslaeugh of Riesengeborg. His crest of huroldry, in vert with ancillars, troublant, argent, a hegoak, poursuivant, horrid, horned. His scutschum fessed, with archers strung, helio, of the second. Hootch is for husbandman handling his hoe. Hohohoho, Mister Finn, you’re going to be Mister Finnagain! Comeday morm and, O, you’re vine! Sendday’s eve and, ah, you’re vinegar! Hahahaha, Mister Funn, you’re going to be fined again! What then agentlike brought about that tragoady thundersday this municipal sin business? Our cubehouse still rocks as earwitness to the thunder of his arafatas but we hear also through successive ages that shebby choruysh of unkalified muzzlenimiissilehims that would blackguardise the whitestone ever hurtleturtled out of heaven. Stay us wherefore in our search for tighteousness, O Sustainer, what time we rise and when we take up to toothmick and before we lump down upown our leatherbed and in the night and at the fading of the stars! For a nod to the nabir is better than wink to the wabsanti. Otherways wesways like that provost scoffing bedoueen the jebel and the jpysian sea. Cropherb the crunch-bracken shall decide. Then we’ll know if the feast is a flyday. She has a gift of seek on site and she allcasually ansars helpers, the dreamydeary. Heed! Heed! It may half been a missfired brick, as some say, or it mought have been due to a collupsus of his back promises, as others looked at it. (There extand by now one thousand and one stories, all told, of the same). But so sore did abe ite ivvy’s holired abbles, (what with the wallhall’s horrors of rollsrights, carhacks, stonengens, kisstvanes, tramtrees, fargobawlers, autokinotons, hippohobbilies, streetfleets, tournintaxes, megaphoggs, circuses and wardsmoats and basilikerks and aeropagods and the hoyse and the jollybrool and the peeler in the coat and the mecklenburk bitch bite at his ear and the merlinburrow burrocks and his fore old porecourts, the bore the more, and his blightblack workingstacks at twelvepins a dozen and the noobibusses sleighding along Safetyfirst Street and the derryjellybies snooping around Tell-No-Tailors’ Corner and the fumes and the hopes and the strupithump of his ville’s indigenous romekeepers, homesweepers, domecreepers, thurum and thurum in fancymud murumd and all the uproor from all the aufroofs, a roof for may and a reef for hugh butt under his bridge suits tony) wan warning Phill filt tippling full. His howd feeled heavy, his hoddit did shake. (There was a wall of course in erection) Dimb! He stottered from the latter. Damb! he was dud. Dumb! Mastabatoom, mastabadtomm, when a mon merries his lute is all long. For whole the world to see. Shize? I should shee! Macool, Macool, orra whyi deed ye diie? of a trying thirstay mournin? Sobs they sighdid at Fillagain’s chrissormiss wake, all the hoolivans of the nation, prostrated in their consternation and their duodisimally profusive plethora of ululation. There was plumbs and grumes and cheriffs and citherers and raiders and cinemen too. And the all gianed in with the shoutmost shoviality. Agog and magog and the round of them agrog. To the continuation of that celebration until Hanandhunigan’s extermination! Some in kinkin corass, more, kankan keening. Belling him up and filling him down. He’s stiff but he’s steady is Priam Olim! ’Twas he was the dacent gaylabouring youth. Sharpen his pillowscone, tap up his bier! E’erawhere in this whorl would ye hear sich a din again? With their deepbrow fundigs and the dusty fidelios. They laid him brawdawn alanglast bed. With a bockalips of finisky fore his feet. And a barrowload of guenesis hoer his head. Tee the tootal of the fluid hang the twoddle of the fuddled, O! Hurrah, there is but young gleve for the owl globe wheels in view which is tautaulogically the same thing. Well, Him a being so on the flounder of his bulk like an overgrown babeling, let wee peep, see, at Hom, well, see peegee ought he ought, platterplate. Hum! From Shopalist to Bailywick or from ashtun to baronoath or from Buythebanks to Roundthehead or from the foot of the bill to ireglint’s eye he calmly extensolies. And all the way (a horn!) from fiord to fjell his baywinds’ oboboes shall wail him rockbound (hoahoahoah!) in swimswamswum and all the livvylong night, the delldale dalppling night, the night of bluerybells, her flittaflute in tricky trochees (O carina! O carina!) wake him. With her issavan essavans and her patterjackmartins about all them inns and ouses. Tilling a teel of a tum, telling a toll of a teary turty Taubling. Grace before Glutton. For what we are, gifs a gross if we are, about to believe. So pool the begg and pass the kish for crawsake. Omen. So sigh us. Grampupus is fallen down but grinny sprids the boord. Whase on the joint of a desh? Finfoefom the Fush. Whase be his baken head? A loaf of Singpantry’s Kennedy bread. And whase hitched to the hop in his tayle? A glass of Danu U’Dunnell’s foamous olde Dobbelin ayle. But, lo, as you would quaffoff his fraudstuff and sink teeth through that pyth of a flowerwhite bodey behold of him as behemoth for he is noewhemoe. Finiche! Only a fadograph of a yestern scene. Almost rubicund Salmosalar, ancient fromout the ages of the Agapemonides, he is smolten in our mist, woebecanned and packt away. So that meal’s dead off for summan, schlook, schlice and goodridhirring. Yet may we not see still the brontoichthyan form outlined aslumbered, even in our own nighttime by the sedge of the troutling stream that Bronto loved and Brunto has a lean on. Hic cubat edilis. Apud libertinam parvulam. Whatif she be in flags or flitters, reekierags or sundyechosies, with a mint of mines or beggar a pinnyweight. Arrah, sure, we all love little Anny Ruiny, or, we mean to say, lovelittle Anna Rayiny, when unda her brella, mid piddle med puddle, she ninnygoes nannygoes nancing by. Yoh! Brontolone slaaps, yoh snoores. Upon Benn Heather, in Seeple Isout too. The cranic head on him, caster of his reasons, peer yuthner in yondmist. Whooth? His clay feet, swarded in verdigrass, stick up starck where he last fellonem, by the mund of the magazine wall, where our maggy seen all, with her sisterin shawl. While over against this belles’ alliance beyind Ill Sixty, ollollowed ill! bagsides of the fort, bom, tarabom, tarabom, lurk the ombushes, the site of the lyffinginwait of the upjock and hockums. Hence when the clouds roll by, jamey, a proudseye view is enjoyable of our mounding’s mass, now Wallinstone national museum, with, in some greenish distance, the charmful waterloose country and the two quitewhite villagettes who hear show of themselves so gigglesomes minxt the follyages, the prettilees! Penetrators are permitted into the museomound free. Welsh and the Paddy Patkinses, one shelenk! Redismembers invalids of old guard find poussepousse pousseypram to sate the sort of their butt. For her passkey supply to the janitrix, the mistress Kathe. Tip. This the way to the museyroom. Mind your hats goan in! Now yiz are in the Willingdone Museyroom. This is a Prooshious gunn. This is a ffrinch. Tip. This is the flag of the Prooshious, the Cap and Soracer. This is the bullet that byng the flag of the Prooshious. This is the ffrinch that fire on the Bull that bang the flag of the Prooshious. Saloos the Crossgunn! Up with your pike and fork! Tip. (Bullsfoot! Fine!) This is the triplewon hat of Lipoleum. Tip. Lipoleumhat. This is the Willingdone on his same white harse, the Cokenhape. This is the big Sraughter Willingdone, grand and magentic in his goldtin spurs and his ironed dux and his quarterbrass woodyshoes and his magnate’s gharters and his bangkok’s best and goliar’s goloshes and his pulluponeasyan wartrews. This is his big wide harse. Tip. This is the three lipoleum boyne grouching down in the living detch. This is an inimyskilling inglis, this is a scotcher grey, this is a davy, stooping. This is the bog lipoleum mordering the lipoleum beg. A Gallawghurs argaumunt. This is the petty lipoleum boy that was nayther bag nor bug. Assaye, assaye! Touchole Fitz Tuomush. Dirty MacDyke. And Hairy O’Hurry. All of them arminus-varminus. This is Delian alps. This is Mont Tivel, this is Mont Tipsey, this is the Grand Mons Injun. This is the crimealine of the alps hooping to sheltershock the three lipoleums. This is the jinnies with their legahorns feinting to read in their handmade’s book of stralegy while making their war undisides the Willingdone. The jinnies is a cooin her hand and the jinnies is a ravin her hair and the Willingdone git the band up. This is big Willingdone mormorial tallowscoop Wounderworker obscides on the flanks of the jinnies. Sexcaliber hrosspower. Tip. This is me Belchum sneaking his phillippy out of his most Awful Grimmest Sunshat Cromwelly. Looted. This is the jinnies’ hastings dispatch for to irrigate the Willingdone. Dispatch in thin red lines cross the shortfront of me Belchum. Yaw, yaw, yaw! Leaper Orthor. Fear siecken! Fieldgaze thy tiny frow. Hugacting. Nap. That was the tictacs of the jinnies for to fontannoy the Willingdone. Shee, shee, shee! The jinnies is jillous agincourting all the lipoleums. And the lipoleums is gonn boycottoncrezy onto the one Willingdone. And the Willingdone git the band up. This is bode Belchum, bonnet to busby, breaking his secred word with a ball up his ear to the Willingdone. This is the Willingdone’s hurold dispitchback. Dispitch desployed on the regions rare of me Belchum. Salamangra! Ayi, ayi, ayi! Cherry jinnies. Figtreeyou! drat fairy ann, Voutre. Willingdone. That was the first joke of Willingdone, tic for tac. Hee, hee, hee! This is me Belchum in his twelvemile cowchooks, weet, tweet and stampforth foremost, footing the camp for the jinnies. Drink a sip, drankasup, for he’s as sooner buy a guinness than he’d stale store stout. This is Rooshious balls. This is a ttrinch. This is mistletropes. This is Canon Futter with the popynose. After his hundred days’ indulgence. This is the blessed. Tarra’s widdars! This is jinnies in the bonny bawn blooches. This is lipoleums in the rowdy howses. This is the Willingdone, by the splinters of Cork, order fire. Tonnerre! (Bullsear! Play!) This is camelry, this is floodens, this is the solphereens in action, this is their mobbily, this is panickburns. Almeidagad! Arthiz too loose! This is Willingdone cry. Brum! Brum! Cumbrum! This is jinnies cry. Underwetter! Goat strip Finnlambs! This is jinnies rinning away to their ousterlists dowan a bunkersheels. With a nip nippy nip and a trip trippy trip so airy. For their heart’s right there. Tip. This is me Belchum’s tinkyou tankyou silvoor plate for citchin the crapes in the cool of his canister. Poor the pay! This is the bissmark of the marathon merry of the jinnies they left behind them. This is the Willingdone branlish his same marmorial tallowscoop Sophy-Key-Po for his royal divorsion on the rinnaway jinnies. Gambariste della porca! Dalaveras fimmieras! This is the pettiest of the lipoleums, Toffeethief, that spy on the Willingdone from his big white harse, the Capeinhope. Stonewall Willingdone is an old maxy montrumeny. Lipoleums is nice hung bushellors. This is hiena hinnessy laughing alout at the Willingdone. This is lipsyg dooley krieging the funk from the hinnessy. This is the hinndoo Shimar Shin between the dooley boy and the hinnessy. Tip. This is the wixy old Willingdone picket up the half of the threefoiled hat of lipoleums fromoud of the bluddle filth. This is the hinndoo waxing ranjymad for a bombshoob. This is the Willingdone hanking the half of the hat of lipoleums up the tail on the buckside of his big white harse. Tip. That was the last joke of Willingdone. Hit, hit, hit! This is the same white harse of the Willingdone, Culpenhelp, waggling his tailoscrupp with the half of a hat of lipoleums to insoult on the hinndoo seeboy. Hney, hney, hney! (Bullsrag! Foul!) This is the seeboy, madrashattaras, upjump and pumpim, cry to the Willingdone: Ap Pukkaru! Pukka Yurap! This is the Willingdone, bornstable ghentleman, tinders his maxbotch to the cursigan Shimar Shin. Basucker youstead! This is the dooforhim seeboy blow the whole of the half of the hat of lipoleums off of the top of the tail on the back of his big wide harse. Tip (Bullseye! Game!) How Copenhagen ended. This way the museyroom. Mind your boots goan out. Phew! What a warm time we were in there but how keling is here the airabouts! We nowhere she lives but you mussna tell annaone for the lamp of Jig-a-Lanthern! It’s a candlelittle houthse of a month and one windies. Downadown, High Downadown. And nummered quaintlymine. And such reasonable weather too! The wagrant wind’s awalt’zaround the piltdowns and on every blasted knollyrock (if you can spot fifty I spy four more) there’s that gnarlybird ygathering, a runalittle, doalittle, preealittle, pouralittle, wipealittle, kicksalittle, severalittle, eatalittle, whinealittle, kenalittle, helfalittle, pelfalittle gnarlybird. A verytableland of bleakbardfields! Under his seven wrothschields lies one, Lumproar. His glav toside him. Skud ontorsed. Our pigeons pair are flewn for northcliffs. The three of crows have flapped it southenly, kraaking of de baccle to the kvarters of that sky whence triboos answer; Wail, ’tis well! She niver comes out when Thon’s on shower or when Thon’s flash with his Nixy girls or when Thon’s blowing toomcracks down the gaels of Thon. No nubo no! Neblas on you liv! Her would be too moochy afreet. Of Burymeleg and Bindmerollingeyes and all the deed in the woe. Fe fo fom! She jist does hopes till byes will be byes. Here, and it goes on to appear now, she comes, a peacefugle, a parody’s bird, a peri potmother, a pringlpik in the ilandiskippy, with peewee and powwows in beggybaggy on her bickybacky and a flick flask fleckflinging its pixylighting pacts’ huemeramybows, picking here, pecking there, pussypussy plunderpussy. But it’s the armitides toonigh, militopucos, and toomourn we wish for a muddy kissmans to the minutia workers and there’s to be a gorgeups truce for happinest childher everwere. Come nebo me and suso sing the day we sallybright. She’s burrowed the coacher’s headlight the better to pry (who goes cute goes siocur and shoos aroun) and all spoiled goods go into her nabsack: curtrages and rattlin buttins, nappy spattees and flasks of all nations, clavicures and scampulars, maps, keys and woodpiles of haypennies and moonled brooches with bloodstaned breeks in em, boaston nightgarters and masses of shoesets and nickelly nacks and foder allmicheal and a lugly parson of cates and howitzer muchears and midgers and maggets, ills and ells with loffs of toffs and pleures of bells and the last sigh that come fro the hart (bucklied!) and the fairest sin the sunsaw (that’s cearc!). With Kiss. Kiss Criss. Cross Criss. Kiss Cross. Undo lives ’end. Slain. How bootifull and how truetowife of her, when strengly forebidden, to steal our historic presents from the past postpropheticals so as to will make us all lordy heirs and ladymaidesses of a pretty nice kettle of fruit. She is livving in our midst of debt and laffing through all plores for us (her birth is uncontrollable), with a naperon for her mask and her sabboes kickin arias (so sair! so solly!) if yous ask me and I saack you. Hou! Hou! Gricks may rise and Troysirs fall (there being two sights for ever a picture) for in the byways of high improvidence that’s what makes lifework leaving and the world’s a cell for citters to cit in. Let young wimman run away with the story and let young min talk smooth behind the butteler’s back. She knows her knight’s duty while Luntum sleeps. Did ye save any tin? says he. Did I what? with a grin says she. And we all like a marriedann because she is mercenary. Though the length of the land lies under liquidation (floote!) and there’s nare a hairbrow nor an eyebush on this glaubrous phace of Herrschuft Whatarwelter she’ll loan a vesta and hire some peat and sarch the shores her cockles to heat and she’ll do all a turfwoman can to piff the business on. Paff. To puff the blaziness on. Poffpoff. And even if Humpty shell fall frumpty times as awkward again in the beardsboosoloom of all our grand remonstrancers there’ll be iggs for the brekkers come to mournhim, sunny side up with care. So true is it that therewhere’s a turnover the tay is wet too and when you think you ketch sight of a hind make sure but you’re cocked by a hin. Then as she is on her behaviourite job of quainance bandy, fruting for firstlings and taking her tithe, we may take our review of the two mounds to see nothing of the himples here as at elsewhere, by sixes and sevens, like so many heegills and collines, sitton aroont, scentbreeched ant somepotreek, in their swishawish satins and their taffetaffe tights, playing Wharton’s Folly, at a treepurty on the planko in the purk. Stand up, mickos! Make strake for minnas! By order, Nicholas Proud. We may see and hear nothing if we choose of the shortlegged bergins off Corkhill or the bergamoors of Arbourhill or the bergagambols of Summerhill or the bergincellies of Miseryhill or the countrybossed bergones of Constitutionhill though every crowd has its several tones and every trade has its clever mechanics and each harmonical has a point of its own, Olaf’s on the rise and Ivor’s on the lift and Sitric’s place’s between them. But all they are all there scraping along to sneeze out a likelihood that will solve and salve life’s robulous rebus, hopping round his middle like kippers on a griddle, O, as he lays dormont from the macroborg of Holdhard to the microbirg of Pied de Poudre. Behove this sound of Irish sense. Really? Here English might be seen. Royally? One sovereign punned to petery pence. Regally? The silence speaks the scene. Fake! So This Is Dyoublong? Hush! Caution! Echoland! How charmingly exquisite! It reminds you of the outwashed engravure that we used to be blurring on the blotchwall of his innkempt house. Used they? (I am sure that tiring chabelshoveller with the mujikal chocolat box, Miry Mitchel, is listening) I say, the remains of the outworn gravemure where used to be blurried the Ptollmens of the Incabus. Used we? (He is only pretendant to be stugging at the jubalee harp from a second existed lishener, Fiery Farrelly.) It is well known. Lokk for himself and see the old butte new. Dbln. W. K. O. O. Hear? By the mausolime wall. Fimfim fimfim. With a grand funferall. Fumfum fumfum. ’Tis optophone which ontophanes. List! Wheatstone’s magic lyer. They will be tuggling foriver. They will be lichening for allof. They will be pretumbling forover. The harpsdischord shall be theirs for ollaves. Four things therefore, saith our herodotary Mammon Lujius in his grand old historiorum, wrote near Boriorum, bluest book in baile’s annals, f t. in Dyffinarsky ne’er sall fail til heathersmoke and cloudweed Eire’s ile sall pall. And here now they are, the fear of um. T. Totities! Unum. (Adar.) A bulbenboss surmounted upon an alderman. Ay, ay! Duum. (Nizam.) A shoe on a puir old wobban. Ah, ho! Triom. (Tamuz.) An auburn mayde, o’brine a’bride, to be desarted. Adear, adear! Quodlibus. (Marchessvan.) A penn no weightier nor a polepost. And so. And all. (Succoth.) So, how idlers’ wind turning pages on pages, as innocens with anaclete play popeye antipop, the leaves of the living in the boke of the deeds, annals of themselves timing the cycles of events grand and national, bring fassilwise to pass how. 1132 A.D. Men like to ants or emmets wondern upon a groot hwide Whallfisk which lay in a Runnel. Blubby wares upat Ublanium. 566 A.D. On Baalfire’s night of this year after deluge a crone that hadde a wickered Kish for to hale dead tunes from the bog lookit under the blay of her Kish as she ran for to sothisfeige her cowrieosity and be me sawl but she found hersell sackvulle of swart goody quickenshoon ant small illigant brogues, so rich in sweat. Blurry works at Hurdlesford. (Silent.) 566 A.D. At this time it fell out that a brazenlockt damsel grieved (sobralasolas!) because that Puppette her minion was ravisht of her by the ogre Puropeus Pious. Bloody wars in Ballyaughacleeaghbally. 1132. A.D. Two sons at an hour were born until a goodman and his hag. These sons called themselves Caddy and Primas. Primas was a santryman and drilled all decent people. Caddy went to Winehouse and wrote o peace a farce. Blotty words for Dublin. Somewhere, parently, in the ginnandgo gap between antediluvious and annadominant the copyist must have fled with his scroll. The billy flood rose or an elk charged him or the sultrup worldwright from the excelsissimost empyrean (bolt, in sum) earthspake or the Dannamen gallous banged pan the bliddy duran. A scribicide then and there is led off under old’s code with some fine covered by six marks or ninepins in metalmen for the sake of his labour’s dross while it will be only now and again in our rear of o’er era, as an upshoot of military and civil engagements, that a gynecure was let on to the scuffold for taking that same fine sum covertly by meddlement with the drawers of his neighbour’s safe. Now after all that farfatch’d and peragrine or dingnant or clere lift we our ears, eyes of the darkness, from the tome of Liber Lividus and, (toh!), how paisibly eirenical, all dimmering dunes and gloamering glades, selfstretches afore us our fredeland’s plain! Lean neath stone pine the pastor lies with his crook; young pricket by pricket’s sister nibbleth on returned viridities; amaid her rocking grasses the herb trinity shams lowliness; skyup is of evergrey. Thus, too, for donkey’s years. Since the bouts of Hebear and Hairyman the cornflowers have been staying at Ballymun, the duskrose has choosed out Goatstown’s hedges, twolips have pressed togatherthem by sweet Rush, townland of twinedlights, the whitethorn and the redthorn have fairygeyed the mayvalleys of Knockmaroon, and, though for rings round them, during a chiliad of perihelygangs, the Formoreans have brittled the tooath of the Danes and the Oxman has been pestered by the Firebugs and the Joynts have thrown up jerrybuilding to the Kevanses and Little on the Green is childsfather to the City (Year! Year! And laughtears!), these paxsealing buttonholes have quadrilled across the centuries and whiff now whafft to us, fresh and made-of-all-smiles as, on the eve of Killallwho. The babbelers with their thangas vain have been (confusium hold them!) they were and went; thigging thugs were and houhnhymn songtoms were and comely norgels were and pollyfool fiansees. Menn have thawed, clerks have surssurhummed, the blond has sought of the brune: Elsekiss thou may, mean Kerry piggy?: and the duncledames have countered with the hellish fellows: Who ails tongue coddeau, aspace of dumbillsilly? And they fell upong one another: and themselves they have fallen. And still nowanights and by nights of yore do all bold floras of the field to their shyfaun lovers say only: Cull me ere I wilt to thee!: and, but a little later: Pluck me whilst I blush! Well may they wilt, marry, and profusedly blush, be troth! For that saying is as old as the howitts. Lave a whale a while in a whillbarrow (isn’t it the truath I’m tallin ye?) to have fins and flippers that shimmy and shake. Tim Timmycan timped hir, tampting Tam. Fleppety! Flippety! Fleapow! Hop! In the name of Anem this carl on the kopje in pelted thongs a parth a lone who the joebiggar be he? Forshapen his pigmaid hoagshead, shroonk his plodsfoot. He hath locktoes, this shortshins, and, Obeold that’s pectoral, his mammamuscles most mousterious. It is slaking nuncheon out of some thing’s brain pan. Me seemeth a dragon man. He is almonthst on the kiep fief by here, is Comestipple Sacksoun, be it junipery or febrewery, marracks or alebrill or the ramping riots of pouriose and froriose. What a quhare soort of a mahan. It is evident the michindaddy. Lets we overstep his fire defences and these kraals of slitsucked marrogbones. (Cave!) He can prapsposterus the pillory way to Hirculos pillar. Come on, fool porterfull, hosiered women blown monk sewer? Scuse us, chorley guy! You tollerday donsk? N. You tolkatiff scowegian? Nn. You spigotty anglease? Nnn. You phonio saxo? Nnnn. Clear all so! ’Tis a Jute. Let us swop hats and excheck a few strong verbs weak oach eather yapyazzard abast the blooty creeks. Jute.—Yutah! Mutt.—Mukk’s pleasurad. Jute.—Are you jeff? Mutt.—Somehards. Jute.—But you are not jeffmute? Mutt.—Noho. Only an utterer. Jute.—Whoa? Whoat is the mutter with you? Mutt.—I became a stun a stummer. Jute.—What a hauhauhauhaudibble thing, to be cause! How, Mutt? Mutt.—Aput the buttle, surd. Jute.—Whose poddle? Wherein? Mutt.—The Inns of Dungtarf where Used awe to be he. Jute.—You that side your voise are almost inedible to me. Become a bitskin more wiseable, as if I were you. Mutt.—Has? Has at? Hasatency? Urp, Boohooru! Booru Usurp! I trumple from rath in mine mines when I rimimirim! Jute.—One eyegonblack. Bisons is bisons. Let me fore all your hasitancy cross your qualm with trink gilt. Here have sylvan coyne, a piece of oak. Ghinees hies good for you. Mutt.—Louee, louee! How wooden I not know it, the intellible greytcloak of Cedric Silkyshag! Cead mealy faulty rices for one dabblin bar. Old grilsy growlsy! He was poached on in that eggtentical spot. Here where the liveries, Monomark. There where the missers moony, Minnikin passe. Jute.—Simply because as Taciturn pretells, our wrongstoryshortener, he dumptied the wholeborrow of rubbages on to soil here. Mutt.—Just how a puddinstone inat the brookcells by a riverpool. Jute.—Load Allmarshy! Wid wad for a norse like? Mutt.—Somular with a bull on a clompturf. Rooks roarum rex roome! I could snore to him of the spumy horn, with his woolseley side in, by the neck I am sutton on, did Brian d’ of Linn. Jute.—Boildoyle and rawhoney on me when I can beuraly forsstand a weird from sturk to finnic in such a patwhat as your rutterdamrotter. Onheard of and um&scene! Gut aftermeal! See you doomed. Mutt.—Quite agreem. Bussave a sec. Walk a dun blink roundward this albutisle and you skull see how olde ye plaine of my Elters, hunfree and ours, where wone to wail whimbrel to peewee o’er the saltings, where wilby citie by law of isthmon, where by a droit of signory, icefloe was from his Inn the Byggning to whose Finishthere Punct. Let erehim ruhmuhrmuhr. Mearmerge two races, swete and brack. Morthering rue. Hither, craching eastuards, they are in surgence: hence, cool at ebb, they requiesce. Countlessness of livestories have netherfallen by this plage, flick as flowflakes, litters from aloft, like a waast wizzard all of whirlworlds. Now are all tombed to the mound, isges to isges, erde from erde. Pride, O pride, thy prize! Jute.—’Stench! Mutt.—Fiatfuit! Hereinunder lyethey. Llarge by the smal an’ everynight life olso th’estrange, babylone the greatgrandhotelled with tit tit tittlehouse, alp on earwig, drukn on ild, likeas equal to anequal in this sound seemetery which iz leebez luv. Jute.—’Zmorde! Mutt.—Meldundleize! By the fearse wave behoughted. Despond’s sung. And thanacestross mound have swollup them all. This ourth of years is not save brickdust and being humus the same roturns. He who runes may rede it on all fours. O’c’stle, n’wc’stle, tr’c’stle, crumbling! Sell me sooth the fare for Humblin! Humblady Fair. But speak it allsosiftly, moulder! Be in your whisht! Jute.—Whysht? Mutt.—The gyant Forficules with Amni the fay. Jute.—Howe? Mutt.—Here is viceking’s graab. Jute.—Hwaad! Mutt.—Ore you astoneaged, jute you? Jute.—Oye am thonthorstrok, thing mud. (Stoop) if you are abcedminded, to this claybook, what curios of signs (please stoop), in this allaphbed! Can you rede (since We and Thou had it out already) its world? It is the same told of all. Many. Miscegenations on miscegenations. Tieckle. They lived und laughed ant loved end left. Forsin. Thy thingdome is given to the Meades and Porsons. The meandertale, aloss and again, of our old Heidenburgh in the days when Head-in-Clouds walked the earth. In the ignorance that implies impression that knits knowledge that finds the nameform that whets the wits that convey contacts that sweeten sensation that drives desire that adheres to attachment that dogs death that bitches birth that entails the ensuance of existentiality. But with a rush out of his navel reaching the reredos of Ramasbatham. A terricolous vivelyonview this; queer and it continues to be quaky. A hatch, a celt, an earshare the pourquose of which was to cassay the earthcrust at all of hours, furrowards, bagawards, like yoxen at the turnpaht. Here say figurines billycoose arming and mounting. Mounting and arming bellicose figurines see here. Futhorc, this liffle effingee is for a firefing called a flintforfall. Face at the eased! O I fay! Face at the waist! Ho, you fie! Upwap and dump em, ace to ace! When a part so ptee does duty for the holos we soon grow to use of an allforabit. Here (please to stoop) are selveran cued peteet peas of quite a pecuniar interest inaslittle as they are the pellets that make the tomtummy’s pay roll. Right rank ragnar rocks and with these rox orangotangos rangled rough and rightgorong. Wisha, wisha, whydidtha? Thik is for thorn that’s thuck in its thoil like thumfool’s thraitor thrust for vengeance. What a mnice old mness it all mnakes! A middenhide hoard of objects! Olives, beets, kimmells, dollies, alfrids, beatties, cormacks and daltons. Owlets’ eegs (O stoop to please!) are here, creakish from age and all now quite epsilene, and oldwolldy wobblewers, haudworth a wipe o grass. Sss! See the snake wurrums everyside! Our durlbin is sworming in sneaks. They came to our island from triangular Toucheaterre beyond the wet prairie rared up in the midst of the cargon of prohibitive pomefructs but along landed Paddy Wippingham and the his garbagecans cotched the creeps of them pricker than our whosethere outofman could quick up her whatsthats. Somedivide and sumthelot but the tally turns round the same balifuson. Racketeers and bottloggers. Axe on thwacks on thracks, axenwise. One by one place one be three dittoh and one before. Two nursus one make a plausible free and idim behind. Starting off with a big boaboa and threelegged calvers and ivargraine jadesses with a message in their mouths. And a hundreadfilled unleavenweight of liberorumqueue to con an we can till allhorrors eve. What a meanderthalltale to unfurl and with what an end in view of squattor and anntisquattor and postproneauntisquattor! To say too us to be every tim, nick and larry of us, sons of the sod, sons, littlesons, yea and lealittlesons, when usses not to be, every sue, siss and sally of us, dugters of Nan! Accusative ahnsire! Damadam to infinities True there was in nillohs dieybos as yet no lumpend papeer in the waste, and mightmountain Penn still groaned for the micies to let flee. All was of ancientry. You gave me a boot (signs on it!) and I ate the wind. I quizzed you a quid (with for what?) and you went to the quod. But the world, mind, is, was and will be writing its own wrunes for ever, man, on all matters that fall under the ban of our infrarational senses fore the last milch-camel, the heartvein throbbing between his eyebrowns, has still to moor before the tomb of his cousin charmian where his date is tethered by the palm that’s hers. But the horn, the drinking, the day of dread are not now. A bone, a pebble, a ramskin; chip them, chap them, cut them up allways; leave them to terracook in the muttheringpot: and Gutenmorg with his cromagnom charter, tintingfast and great primer must once for omniboss step rubrickredd out of the wordpress else is there no virtue more in alcohoran. For that (the rapt one warns) is what papyr is meed of, made of, hides and hints and misses in prints. Till ye finally (though not yet endlike) meet with the acquaintance of Mister Typus, Mistress Tope and all the little typtopies. Fillstup. So you need hardly spell me how every word will be bound over to carry three score and ten toptypsical readings throughout the book of Doublends Jined (may his forehead be darkened with mud who would sunder!) till Daleth, mahomahouma, who oped it closeth thereof the. Dor. Cry not yet! There’s many a smile to Nondum, with sytty maids per man, sir, and the park’s so dark by kindlelight. But look what you have in your handself! The movibles are scrawling in motions, marching, all of them ago, in pitpat and zingzang for every busy eerie whig’s a bit of a torytale to tell. One’s upon a thyme and two’s behind their lettice leap and three’s among the strubbely beds. And the chicks picked their teeths and the dombkey he begay began. You can ask your rear end if he believes it. And so cuddy me only wallops have heels. That one of a wife with folty barnets. For then was the age when hoops ran high. Of a noarch and a chopwife; of a pomme full grave and a fammy of levity; or of golden youths that wanted gelding; or of what the mischievmiss made a man do. Malmarriedad he was reversogassed by the frisque of her frasques and her prytty pyrrhique. Maye faye, she’s la gaye this snaky woman! From that trippiery toe expectungpelick! Veil, volantine, valentine eyes. She’s the very besch Winnie blows Nay on good. Flou inn, flow ann. Hohore! So it’s sure it was her not we! But lay it easy, gentle mien, we are in rearing of a norewhig. So weenybeenyveenyteeny. Comsy see! Het wis if ee newt. Lissom! lissom! I am doing it. Hark, the corne entreats! And the larpnotes prittle. It was of a night, late, lang time agone, in an auldstane eld, when Adam was delvin and his madameen spinning watersilts, when mulk mountynotty man was everybully and the first leal ribberrobber that ever had her ainway everybuddy to his lovesaking eyes and everybilly lived alove with everybiddy else, and Jarl van Hoother had his burnt head high up in his lamphouse, laying cold hands on himself. And his two little jiminies, cousins of ourn, Tristopher and Hilary, were kickaheeling their dummy on the oil cloth flure of his homerigh, castle and earthenhouse. And, be dermot, who come to the keep of his inn only the niece-of-his-inlaw, the prankquean. And the prankquean pulled a rosy one and made her wit foreninst the dour. And she lit up and fireland was ablaze. And spoke she to the dour in her petty perusienne: Mark the Wans, why do I am alook alike a poss of porterpease? And that was how the skirtmisshes began. But the dour handworded her grace in dootch nossow: Shut! So her grace o’malice kidsnapped up the jiminy Tristopher and into the shandy westerness she rain, rain, rain. And Jarl van Hoother warlessed after her with soft dovesgall: Stop deef stop come back to my earin stop. But she swaradid to him: Unlikelihud. And there was a brannewail that same sabboath night of falling angles somewhere in Erio. And the prankquean went for her forty years’ walk in Tourlemonde and she washed the blessings of the lovespots off the jiminy with soap sulliver suddles and she had her four owlers masters for to tauch him his tickles and she convorted him to the onesure allgood and he became a luderman. So then she started to rain and to rain and, be redtom, she was back again at Jarl van Hoother’s in a brace of samers and the jiminy with her in her pinafrond, lace at night, at another time. And where did she come but to the bar of his bristolry. And Jarl von Hoother had his baretholobruised heels drowned in his cellarmalt, shaking warm hands with himself and the jimminy Hilary and the dummy in their first infancy were below on the tearsheet, wringing and coughing, like brodar and histher. And the prankquean nipped a paly one and lit up again and redcocks flew flackering from the hillcombs. And she made her witter before the wicked, saying: Mark the Twy, why do I am alook alike two poss of porterpease? And: Shut! says the wicked, handwording her madesty. So her madesty ’a forethought’ set down a jiminy and took up a jiminy and all the lilipath ways to Woeman’s Land she rain, rain, rain. And Jarl von Hoother bleethered atter her with a loud finegale: Stop domb stop come back with my earring stop. But the prankquean swaradid: Am liking it. And there was a wild old grannewwail that laurency night of starshootings somewhere in Erio. And the prankquean went for her forty years’ walk in Turnlemeem and she punched the curses of cromcruwell with the nail of a top into the jiminy and she had her four larksical monitrix to touch him his tears and she provorted him to the onecertain allsecure and he became a tristian. So then she started raining, raining, and in a pair of changers, be dom ter, she was back again at Jarl von Hoother’s and the Larryhill with her under her abromette. And why would she halt at all if not by the ward of his mansionhome of another nice lace for the third charm? And Jarl von Hoother had his hurricane hips up to his pantrybox, ruminating in his holdfour stomachs (Dare! O dare!), ant the jiminy Toughertrees and the dummy were belove on the watercloth, kissing and spitting, and roguing and poghuing, like knavepaltry and naivebride and in their second infancy. And the prankquean picked a blank and lit out and the valleys lay twinkling. And she made her wittest in front of the arkway of trihump, asking: Mark the Tris, why do I am alook alike three poss of porter pease? But that was how the skirtmishes endupped. For like the campbells acoming with a fork lance of lightning, Jarl von Hoother Boanerges himself, the old terror of the dames, came hip hop handihap out through the pikeopened arkway of his three shuttoned castles, in his broadginger hat and his civic chollar and his allabuff hemmed and his bullbraggin soxangloves and his ladbroke breeks and his cattegut bandolair and his furframed panuncular cumbottes like a rudd yellan gruebleen orangeman in his violet indigonation, to the whole longth of the strongth of his bowman’s bill. And he clopped his rude hand to his eacy hitch and he ordurd and his thick spch spck for her to shut up shop, dappy. And the duppy shot the shutter clup (Perkodhuskurunbarggruauyagokgorlayorgromgremmitghundhurthrumathunaradidillifait itillibumullunukkunun!) And they all drank free. For one man in his armour was a fat match always for any girls under shurts. And that was the first peace of illiterative porthery in all the flamend floody flatuous world. How kirssy the tiler made a sweet unclose to the Narwhealian captol. Saw fore shalt thou sea. Betoun ye and be. The prankquean was to hold her dummyship and the jimminies was to keep the peacewave and van Hoother was to git the wind up. Thus the hearsomeness of the burger felicitates the whole of the polis. O foenix culprit! Ex nickylow malo comes mickelmassed bonum. Hill, rill, ones in company, billeted, less be proud of. Breast high and bestride! Only for that these will not breathe upon Norronesen or Irenean the secrest of their soorcelossness. Quarry silex, Homfrie Noanswa! Undy gentian festyknees, Livia Noanswa? Wolkencap is on him, frowned; audiurient, he would evesdrip, were it mous at hand, were it dinn of bottles in the far ear. Murk, his vales are darkling. With lipth she lithpeth to him all to time of thuch on thuch and thow on thow. She he she ho she ha to la. Hairfluke, if he could bad twig her! Impalpabunt, he abhears. The soundwaves are his buffeteers; they trompe him with their trompes; the wave of roary and the wave of hooshed and the wave of hawhawhawrd and the wave of neverheedthemhorseluggarsandlisteltomine. Landloughed by his neaghboormistress and perpetrified in his offsprung, sabes and suckers, the moaning pipers could tell him to his faceback, the louthly one whose loab we are devorers of, how butt for his hold halibutt, or her to her pudor puff, the lipalip one whose libe we drink at, how biff for her tiddywink of a windfall, our breed and washer givers, there would not be a holey spier on the town nor a vestal flouting in the dock, nay to make plein avowels, nor a yew nor an eye to play cash cash in Novo Nilbud by swamplight nor a’ toole o’ tall o’ toll and noddy hint to the convaynience. He dug in and dug out by the skill of his tilth for himself and all belonging to him and he sweated his crew beneath his auspice for the living and he urned his dread, that dragon volant, and he made louse for us and delivered us to boll weevils amain, that mighty liberator, Unfru-Chikda-Uru-Wukru and begad he did, our ancestor most worshipful, till he thought of a better one in his windower’s house with that blushmantle upon him from earsend to earsend. And would again could whispring grassies wake him and may again when the fiery bird disembers. And will again if so be sooth by elder to his youngers shall be said. Have you whines for my wedding, did you bring bride and bedding, will you whoop for my deading is a? Wake? Usgueadbaugham! Anam muck an dhoul! Did ye drink me doornail? Now be aisy, good Mr Finnimore, sir. And take your laysure like a god on pension and don’t be walking abroad. Sure you’d only lose yourself in Healiopolis now the way your roads in Kapelavaster are that winding there after the calvary, the North Umbrian and the Fivs Barrow and Waddlings Raid and the Bower Moore and wet your feet maybe with the foggy dew’s abroad. Meeting some sick old bankrupt or the Cottericks’ donkey with his shoe hanging, clankatachankata, or a slut snoring with an impure infant on a bench. ’Twould turn you against life, so ’twould. And the weather’s that mean too. To part from Devlin is hard as Nugent knew, to leave the clean tanglesome one lushier than its neighbour enfranchisable fields but let your ghost have no grievance. You’re better off, sir, where you are, primesigned in the full of your dress, bloodeagle waistcoat and all, remembering your shapes and sizes on the pillow of your babycurls under your sycamore by the keld water where the Tory’s clay will scare the varmints and have all you want, pouch, gloves, flask, bricket, kerchief, ring and amberulla, the whole treasure of the pyre, in the land of souls with Homin and Broin Baroke and pole ole Lonan and Nobucketnozzler and the Guinnghis Khan. And we’ll be coming here, the ombre players, to rake your gravel and bringing you presents, won’t we, fenians? And it isn’t our spittle we’ll stint you of, is it, druids? Not shabbty little imagettes, pennydirts and dodgemyeyes you buy in the soottee stores. But offerings of the field. Mieliodories, that Doctor Faherty, the madison man, taught to gooden you. Poppypap’s a passport out. And honey is the holiest thing ever was, hive, comb and earwax, the food for glory, (mind you keep the pot or your nectar cup may yield too light!) and some goat’s milk, sir, like the maid used to bring you. Your fame is spreading like Basilico’s ointment since the Fintan Lalors piped you overborder and there’s whole households beyond the Bothnians and they calling names after you. The menhere’s always talking of you sitting around on the pig’s cheeks under the sacred rooftree, over the bowls of memory where every hollow holds a hallow, with a pledge till the drengs, in the Salmon House. And admiring to our supershillelagh where the palmsweat on high is the mark of your manument. All the toethpicks ever Eirenesians chewed on are chips chepped from that battery block. If you were bowed and soild and letdown itself from the oner of the load it was that paddyplanters might pack up plenty and when you were undone in every point fore the laps of goddesses you showed our labourlasses how to free was easy. The game old Gunne, they do be saying, (skull!) that was a planter for you, a spicer of them all. Begog but he was, the G.O.G! He’s duddandgunne now and we’re apter finding the sores of his sedeq but peace to his great limbs, the buddhoch, with the last league long rest of him, while the millioncandled eye of Tuskar sweeps the Moylean Main! There was never a warlord in Great Erinnes and Brettland, no, nor in all Pike County like you, they say. No, nor a king nor an ardking, bung king, sung king or hung king. That you could fell an elmstree twelve urchins couldn’t ring round and hoist high the stone that Liam failed. Who but a Maccullaghmore the reise of our fortunes and the faunayman at the funeral to compass our cause? If you was hogglebully itself and most frifty like you was taken waters still what all where was your like to lay the cable or who was the batter could better Your Grace? Mick Mac Magnus MacCawley can take you off to the pure perfection and Leatherbags Reynolds tries your shuffle and cut. But as Hopkins and Hopkins puts it, you were the pale eggynaggy and a kis to tilly up. We calls him the journeyall Buggaloffs since he went Jerusalemfaring in Arssia Manor. You had a gamier cock than Pete, Jake or Martin and your archgoose of geese stubbled for All Angels’ Day. So may the priest of seven worms and scalding tayboil, Papa Vestray, come never anear you as your hair grows wheater beside the Liffey that’s in Heaven! Hep, hep, hurrah there! Hero! Seven times thereto we salute you!
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Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word Word
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You won't read my post
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allakkakka atuarsinnaanngilatit
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Was in your city for AB this weekend, and while I had a pretty decent time like the previous years I've been here, I needed an obligatory reminder that Boston is a city with a terrible subway system. What kind of subway system has contactless smartcards for fares, and countdown clocks in every station, but shuts down service at 1am when you're just getting your party on a Saturday night, or trying to get back from AB? Had to walk an hour and a half back to my hotel (the DoubleTree Bayside over by JFK/UMass) when I missed the last train by like 5 minutes after walking to Copley from Hynes to have a better chance of catching a train, and I didn't want to spring for a taxi and had no smartphone to call an Uber, like the goddamn hotel concierge recommended because their shuttle bus driver had gone home for the night... Even asked as I was leaving the Hynes and the goddamn security told me the trains would still likely be running. Nope, locked. Same at Arlington. Missed the last one at Boylston by like 3 minutes after I already swiped in... And the transit workers there didn't bother to tell us that the trains were no longer running until like 10 minutes of a bunch of people waiting around on a platform for a train that would never come. Tried walking to Park Street for the Red Line direct to UMass after that, only to find that they locked the access to the Red Line platforms, so I decided to do the walk. Went through Chinatown via Washington, a walk that I remembered from last year going to and from PAX from the Omni Parker House when I was crashing with fellow Enforcer friends from New York (Basically NYCC Crew who became Enforcers as well), then over to South Station, then heading south along the highway. Got to Broadway ok after cutting around Chinatown, when I should've gone straight south from South Station instead. Had to leg it over a bridge to Southie over the parked Red Line trains instead after going through the area where the Ink Block condos are or something? Good thing Boston has so many maps around downtown and on bike racks, otherwise I would've gotten so lost, especially without a smartphone, and my dumbphone was already out of battery... Ran into an MBTA cop over on Dorchester as I was heading south from Broadway, who pointed me in the right direction to get to Andrew Square, but not any way to get to UMass Boston/JFK after that, besides some general directions (go down Boston Street or over a bridge on Southampton and I'll pass the hotel). Oh course he had to get in some NYC bashing in to make the directions as simple as possible so I could understand them when I told him I was from the city, though I guess he laid off a bit after I told him to lay it on me, since I walked around LA a lot when I was there for Jeopardy. Made it Andrew Square ok after walking through some dark industrial Southie neighborhoods, but got hopelessly lost after that. Asked a cab driver who was stopped in that area on Boston Street for directions, and he was nice enough to give me a ride back to the hotel and tell me that I would've needed to walk another half hour or so around the highway to make it back on foot. Really nice dude, gotta make sure to pay it forward next time. Dude has family in eastern Queens too, so small world. Total walking time from Hynes to Andrew Square and then some, minus 10 minutes waiting around for a Green Line train that would never come at Boylston? An hour and a half. My feet hurt and I almost fell a couple times on Southie's uneven sidewalks. My Boston friend told me the next morning that I had really gone out of my way towards downtown in order to catch that train that would never come, and I could've taken a more direct route that would've cut 30 minutes out of my walk. She also kept saying that she warned me I should've left earlier... Looking up the route on Google later, she was right. Man, my feet still hurt from that walk, even after a night's sleep. Blargh. Man, in the 6 or so times I've come up to Boston, I've always had some sort of transportation related nightmare. First time for AB 2007, I miss my Megabus back to the city on Monday from Back Bay (because Megabus wasn't stopping at South Station back then) because I didn't know that Back Bay was within immediate walking distance from Copley on the Green Line, so I did a roundabout transfer to the Orange Line Back Bay Station like an idiot. I don't think Megabus allowed changing buses for a fee back then. And this was after crashing at a computer lab on the BU campus because my cousin who went to the school had a friend who had access to the lab over Spring Break and let us stay there, showering at one of his friend's walk-up dorms off of the river. I also wound up missing the last train for the first time and walk the wrong way down Boylston towards downtown instead of BU, but a caught a cab back once I realized where I was going wrong around Boston Common... Managed to catch a last minute Chinatown bus (Fung Wah was still running back then, bless their cheap rear end tickets) on a non-Fung Wah liveried Fung Wah bus with my cousin, and made it back to Manhattan Chinatown that night, albeit with my out of battery phone blowing up with voicemails and missed calls from my family who were expecting me back hours earlier... Was still out my Megabus fare though... Second time in Boston for AB 2014, I was crashing at another cousin's place in the North End by the Paul Revere House. Coming back from Hynes, I got the same problem with the trains shutting down so drat early, so I had to walk back to his place. Kinda a theme for me in Boston, walking down Boylston and then through Boston Common late at night, getting lost around the State House, then making it through Government Center and then to Haymarket and back to my cousin's. His roommate was amazed that I walked back and didn't just take a taxi or an Uber, but again, I wanted to save money and didn't have a smartphone. Next month I go up again with a bunch of NYCC Crew friends to Enforce for the first time at PAX East 2014. My cousin is out of town, back at his parents' place in Jersey, so I crash with other NYCC dudes I know at the Seaport Hotel, which is really nice, but with like 5 guys there in the room, it was rough. Walked around the convention center area on Saturday in search of cheaper food in the area, and wind up seeing quite a bit more of Southie than I was expecting when I just wanted to go to Broadway for eats... Met a bunch of goons and an old friend from high school at the Giant Bomb panel, plus other dudes I know from college back here in the city, which was cool. Leaving on Sunday, I forget my Jeopardy baseball cap in my friend's room as they're rushing me out the door (I wanted to stay to watch Game of Thrones, since it was the Purple Wedding episode and watching Joffrey choke on that poisoned wine would've been great, but we would've gotten back to the city even later), and I have to wait until I see him again (at the XMen Days of Future Past worldwide premiere event at the Javits Center a month and a half later) to get it back, and when I did, it was all sorts of beat up. Didn't get back home on Staten Island in the city until 5am because we had to drop everyone else off first since they were on our way to my place, which is what I get for living on Staten Island. AB 2015 has me getting into Boston at 5am because the Chinatown buses (Lucky Star this time) were all sold out for Easter weekend and I had to grab a cab up to the Megabus stop instead after getting a last minute midnight ticket after leaving my house so late because of arguing with people online over the results of the Friday night Jeopardy episode, specifically Final Jeopardy. Get into South Station late because of fog so the bus can't go as fast as it should've been. Get on the train to UMass, and just as I start making the 5 minute walk to the hotel from there, it starts pouring and I get soaked. Drenched like a wet cat as I check into the hotel, which sucked rear end. Had to get back to NY on Sunday for a family thing too, so I took a 12:30am Lucky Star bus back to Manhattan Chinatown, and got like 2 hours of decent sleep back on Staten Island after getting back to the city and getting home before my cousin came to pick me up for a graveyard visit for my deceased relatives over in Queens... PAX East 2015 a couple weeks later has me leaving New York in my NYCC friend's van in the middle of a snowstorm, then hitting rush hour traffic trying to get downtown to check into our hotel. Miss the exit we were supposed to take, wind up going across a bridge and then down Storrow Drive and around a loop of downtown before getting to the Omni Parker House because of lovely GPS directions and getting lost and stuff. Miss Enforcer check in by half an hour after having dinner in Chinatown and have to wait for the next day to get our shirts and badges, despite PRD (the Enforcer coordinator) not having left yet, but all the paperwork guys gone. Hung out in the Hilton for a while with NYCC Crew buddies though, so that was cool. Also managed to take everyone to Winsor Dim Sum in Chinatown on Sunday night after con is over, which was great, but my last act as an Enforcer as they prune the rolls later that year and I don't have the seniority to remain Enforcing. Oh well, two years was a good run. Still, I won't miss being crammed into a room like that, I think we had 7 of us in that room at one point just before we left. Had to grab a Chinatown bus back too, since there wasn't enough room in my friend's van and he was leaving later on Monday when I had to be back on Monday morning. Still, Boston is a nice enough place to visit, I guess. Wish I had more time (and money) to look around and spend on food and stuff. Would've loved to wander around the Pru a lot more, but by that time my feet were already killing me. Had a Boston friend show me around for some decent and cheap food in the Hynes area too, so that was cool. Saw a bunch of AB friends that I only see like once a year. I wanted some dim sum at Winsor before I left, especially since the South Station bus terminal is like a couple of blocks from Chinatown, and I had a couple of hours to kill before my bus left last night. But my friend wanted to do pho instead, and since she was paying... And that wasn't a bad choice either. Maybe I'll be back next year, since I can't do PAX East this year, as I'm not Enforcing anymore.
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AEMINAL posted:Ha ha ha you guys think you're funny but little do you know, I work at a bike store... And it's January by Richard Siken Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake and dress them in warm clothes again. How it was late, and no one could sleep, the horses running until they forget that they are horses. It’s not like a tree where the roots have to end somewhere, it’s more like a song on a policeman’s radio, how we rolled up the carpet so we could dance, and the days were bright red, and every time we kissed there was another apple to slice into pieces. Look at the light through the windowpane. That means it’s noon, that means we’re inconsolable. Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us. These, our bodies, possessed by light. Tell me we’ll never get used to it.
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Lol e z cummings
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How are u doing OP
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My name a Borat
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# ? Feb 7, 2025 22:11 |
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I won't
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