uncle sam
Silver Meritorious Patron
Bah!
Let's get down to the nitty gritty of life on planet
I like the Hotties !! Like you didn't know that.
FCDC circa 1970
- Thread starter nozeno
- Start date
- Status
I like the Hotties !! Like you didn't know that.
uncle sam
Silver Meritorious Patron
I don't think it is derreailed, just esperienceing a little flaccidity.
Now--this is a hottie -that I'd like to find in my Christmas Stocking !
The Great Zorg
Gold Meritorious Patron
CarmeloOrchards
Crusader
I don't think it is derreailed, just esperienceing a little flaccidity.
If flaccidity is the problem, perhaps Viagra is the solution.
The Great Zorg
Gold Meritorious Patron
If flaccidity is the problem, perhaps Viagra is the solution.
Proof positive why women should NEVER take Viagra.
Commander Birdsong
Crusader
i am surrounded by philistines
this is littercher nozzie.
i know it has received views.
i don't know if anyone has actually tried to read it.
did anyone read it?
did it seem to be littercher?
this is littercher nozzie.
i know it has received views.
i don't know if anyone has actually tried to read it.
did anyone read it?
did it seem to be littercher?
paradox
ab intra silentio vera
I've been following your story, such as it is. You can write very well, have a knack with turning a phrase. It must be difficult with only an hour available at library machines. You'd do better, cmdr, by starting your own thread in the "My Story" section (http://www.forum.exscn.net/forumdisplay.php?f=2) where it might come across as more coherent, being in one place. I read your piece on your friend, Billy Martin, in the whozits thread, the one from I AM A $CIENTOLOGIST or whatever it is, and thanked you for posting it. But you should really consider consolidating your story in one place, one thread, such as I've suggested, in the My Story section. fwiw
nozeno
Gold Meritorious Patron
Commander Birdsong
Crusader
the wordsmith whines
you know football and so do millions of other people.
so...
not only do i indulge a personal egobloatation in claiming my henscratchings to be littercher i engorge it with delusions of the existence of evidence to it's high quality.
a couple months ago you inquired if i might exercise my "OT" abilities on behalf of your local gridiron gang and so far the results have conformed with the stated specifcations. i've engineered a parallel construction with my writings which last week led to a denouement on friday and an epiphany on saturday and the transcendent synergy between word and game manifested in the widely (and wildly) noted contest at the meadowlands on sunday.
pyrotechnics or megalomania?
TSTO i have no material connection to the national football league and thus no riposte to anyone who might quote the colorful colliquium or my erstwhile chum billy martin and tell me "you're talking like a man with a paper arsehole" but at least no one will contest i have written the nonfiction i have published.
i can make no serious claim to having enhanced the product of an activity which generates tens of billions of dollars of economic activity and has tens of millions of followers, millions of customers and thousands of wealthy owners, players and prosperous employees.
i get a few dozen readers, some who might have an apreciation for the art of it and get to sleep al fresco in twenty degree weather.
what material reward do i receive for my effort?
the OSA rifles my belongings and rips off my archive.
it's enough to gag a maggot.
you know football and so do millions of other people.
so...
not only do i indulge a personal egobloatation in claiming my henscratchings to be littercher i engorge it with delusions of the existence of evidence to it's high quality.
a couple months ago you inquired if i might exercise my "OT" abilities on behalf of your local gridiron gang and so far the results have conformed with the stated specifcations. i've engineered a parallel construction with my writings which last week led to a denouement on friday and an epiphany on saturday and the transcendent synergy between word and game manifested in the widely (and wildly) noted contest at the meadowlands on sunday.
pyrotechnics or megalomania?
TSTO i have no material connection to the national football league and thus no riposte to anyone who might quote the colorful colliquium or my erstwhile chum billy martin and tell me "you're talking like a man with a paper arsehole" but at least no one will contest i have written the nonfiction i have published.
i can make no serious claim to having enhanced the product of an activity which generates tens of billions of dollars of economic activity and has tens of millions of followers, millions of customers and thousands of wealthy owners, players and prosperous employees.
i get a few dozen readers, some who might have an apreciation for the art of it and get to sleep al fresco in twenty degree weather.
what material reward do i receive for my effort?
the OSA rifles my belongings and rips off my archive.
it's enough to gag a maggot.
Commander Birdsong
Crusader
christmas eve 1972
there was no xmas at fcdc. not in the early 70's. it was as absent as thanksgiving, the fourth of july and saint swithin's day. the only notice it had in the org was when the appropriate policy was quoted to invalidate john ruane for using it to explain a dip in stats.
"that's a 'the why is god'"
"no" said john, "the why is jesus"
kathie and i had been living in her cellar digs since mid november and were planning to wed. we had barely begun a conversation and since we both worked day and foundation we had little waking time together. also our words needed to tread softly through the minefield of ingsoc's psycholinguistics lest we provoke the wrath of big brother. the red and green were voluminous but bore no reference to santa. i thought that made sense enough as xmas had no bearing on tech.
but so far as i knew it was not forbidden. i gave thought to how to make something out of very little and flashed on a long forgotten childhood moment. darnie, my father's mother, was visiting rowena rogerson one summer day in the north hills when i was eight or nine and her nephew was down from gorham. he had a "prize ball" someone had bought him for sixtynine cents and something of tom sawyer to his nature. he showed a flair for drama as he slowly unwrapped it's multicolored wrapper and unrolled the tissue paper revealing one by each more than a dozen cheap toys, a plastic whistle, a rubber dog, a little square you wiggle to make the image of a clown juggle and so on, each appearing then quickly slipped into the pocket of his dungarees. i was awful jealous of the fun he was having and teased by the brief glimpse of treasure. he could have played me to help whitewash his aunt polly's fence.
saturday night we took a walk through georgetown and stopped in some small shops and i collected nine or ten cheap gewgaws. ten bucks was more than a day's pay for us but i got a cheap gold colored necklace with a disk pendant with a bas relief head of a lion, a small vial of "essential oil", a piece of chocolate, a handsome tigerwood letter opener and a few other things, picked up some tissue paper and fashioned her prize ball.
org hours were from 8:30 am to 10:30 pm and we always gave the org all it's hours. xmas eve as always our separate tasks released us to the front porch of midnight. kathie was childshine with surprise and delight. she still had some of the hardware last i knew.
damn...
shoulda bought some wine too.
there was no xmas at fcdc. not in the early 70's. it was as absent as thanksgiving, the fourth of july and saint swithin's day. the only notice it had in the org was when the appropriate policy was quoted to invalidate john ruane for using it to explain a dip in stats.
"that's a 'the why is god'"
"no" said john, "the why is jesus"
kathie and i had been living in her cellar digs since mid november and were planning to wed. we had barely begun a conversation and since we both worked day and foundation we had little waking time together. also our words needed to tread softly through the minefield of ingsoc's psycholinguistics lest we provoke the wrath of big brother. the red and green were voluminous but bore no reference to santa. i thought that made sense enough as xmas had no bearing on tech.
but so far as i knew it was not forbidden. i gave thought to how to make something out of very little and flashed on a long forgotten childhood moment. darnie, my father's mother, was visiting rowena rogerson one summer day in the north hills when i was eight or nine and her nephew was down from gorham. he had a "prize ball" someone had bought him for sixtynine cents and something of tom sawyer to his nature. he showed a flair for drama as he slowly unwrapped it's multicolored wrapper and unrolled the tissue paper revealing one by each more than a dozen cheap toys, a plastic whistle, a rubber dog, a little square you wiggle to make the image of a clown juggle and so on, each appearing then quickly slipped into the pocket of his dungarees. i was awful jealous of the fun he was having and teased by the brief glimpse of treasure. he could have played me to help whitewash his aunt polly's fence.
saturday night we took a walk through georgetown and stopped in some small shops and i collected nine or ten cheap gewgaws. ten bucks was more than a day's pay for us but i got a cheap gold colored necklace with a disk pendant with a bas relief head of a lion, a small vial of "essential oil", a piece of chocolate, a handsome tigerwood letter opener and a few other things, picked up some tissue paper and fashioned her prize ball.
org hours were from 8:30 am to 10:30 pm and we always gave the org all it's hours. xmas eve as always our separate tasks released us to the front porch of midnight. kathie was childshine with surprise and delight. she still had some of the hardware last i knew.
damn...
shoulda bought some wine too.
nozeno
Gold Meritorious Patron
Commander Birdsong
Crusader
hi nozzie!
it's a fragrance applied to a body, like myrrh. you see the necklace was gold colored and then i used poetic liscence to say i put in a piece of chocolate which i didn't. i did put in some incense and even though it wasn't frankincense it still completed the original triad. but don't tell anyone and let the living souls see through the tasty lie to the divine truth beyond. same way they always do.
merry christmas!
Dare I ask what "essential oils" are?
it's a fragrance applied to a body, like myrrh. you see the necklace was gold colored and then i used poetic liscence to say i put in a piece of chocolate which i didn't. i did put in some incense and even though it wasn't frankincense it still completed the original triad. but don't tell anyone and let the living souls see through the tasty lie to the divine truth beyond. same way they always do.
merry christmas!
Mystic
Crusader
Twas der nicht afore Khreesmus
Hunt ull thruu der hoouse
Nix ah kreechur was a-stirr'n
Nix even ah moouse
Der stock'ns twere ung frum der chimney mit kair
En hoops Saint Nicholas vud schuun be dair
Chuu en chur kirchief
'n me in me cap
Hood juss souttled doon for a looung vinter's nip
Vhen oot en der lawn der came soouch ah klatter
Me jumped frum me bed ta see vhat der matter
Oop vent der vindow
Oot vent der sash
Der booutum fell oot
'n me fell on me arm.
Hunt ull thruu der hoouse
Nix ah kreechur was a-stirr'n
Nix even ah moouse
Der stock'ns twere ung frum der chimney mit kair
En hoops Saint Nicholas vud schuun be dair
Chuu en chur kirchief
'n me in me cap
Hood juss souttled doon for a looung vinter's nip
Vhen oot en der lawn der came soouch ah klatter
Me jumped frum me bed ta see vhat der matter
Oop vent der vindow
Oot vent der sash
Der booutum fell oot
'n me fell on me arm.
Mystic
Crusader
Merry Christmas, San Francisco: http://www.free-press-release.com/news/200811/1227157238.html
Winston Smith
Flunked Scientology
Crabby Old Man
When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in North Platte , Nebraska , it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.
Later, when the nurses were going through his meager possessions, they found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital. One nurse took her copy to Missouri .
The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the St. Louis Association for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.
And this little old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this 'anonymous' poem winging across the Internet.
Crabby Old Man
What do you see nurses?. . . .. . What do you see?
What are you thinking . .. . When you're looking at me?
A crabby old man . . . . . Not very wise,
Uncertain of habit .. . .. . . With faraway eyes?
Who dribbles his food . . . . . And makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice . 'I do wish you'd try!'
Who seems not to notice . . . .. The things that you do.
And forever is losing . . . . . A sock or shoe?
Who, resisting or not . . . . .. Lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding . . . ..The long day to fill?
Is that what you're thinking? . Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse . .. You're not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am. . . . .. . As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, . . . . . As I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of Ten . . . . . With a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters ..Who love one another.
A young boy of Sixteen . . . . With wings on his feet.
Dreaming that soon now . . . . . A lover he'll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty . . . . . My heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows . . .. . .. That I promised to keep.
At Twenty-Five, now . . . . I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide . . . . And a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty . . . .My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other . . . . .With ties that should last.
At Forty, my young sons . . . . . Have grown and are gone,
But my woman's beside me . . . To see I don't mourn.
At Fifty, once more, ¦.babies play 'round my knee,
Again, we know children . . . . .My loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me . . . ..My wife is now dead.
I look at the future . . . Shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing . . Young of their own.
And I think of the years . . . . . And the love that I've known.
I'm now an old man . . . . And nature is cruel.
Tis jest to make old age . . . Look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles . . . . Grace and vigor, depart.
There is now a stone .. Where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass . . A young guy still dwells,
And now and again . . . . My battered heart swells.
I remember the joys . . . . ..I remember the pain.
And I'm loving and living . . . . Life over again.
I think of the years, all too few ... Gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact . .. . . That nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people . . . . . Open and see.
Not a crabby old man . . . Look closer . . . See ME!!
When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in North Platte , Nebraska , it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.
Later, when the nurses were going through his meager possessions, they found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital. One nurse took her copy to Missouri .
The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the St. Louis Association for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.
And this little old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this 'anonymous' poem winging across the Internet.
Crabby Old Man
What do you see nurses?. . . .. . What do you see?
What are you thinking . .. . When you're looking at me?
A crabby old man . . . . . Not very wise,
Uncertain of habit .. . .. . . With faraway eyes?
Who dribbles his food . . . . . And makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice . 'I do wish you'd try!'
Who seems not to notice . . . .. The things that you do.
And forever is losing . . . . . A sock or shoe?
Who, resisting or not . . . . .. Lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding . . . ..The long day to fill?
Is that what you're thinking? . Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse . .. You're not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am. . . . .. . As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, . . . . . As I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of Ten . . . . . With a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters ..Who love one another.
A young boy of Sixteen . . . . With wings on his feet.
Dreaming that soon now . . . . . A lover he'll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty . . . . . My heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows . . .. . .. That I promised to keep.
At Twenty-Five, now . . . . I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide . . . . And a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty . . . .My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other . . . . .With ties that should last.
At Forty, my young sons . . . . . Have grown and are gone,
But my woman's beside me . . . To see I don't mourn.
At Fifty, once more, ¦.babies play 'round my knee,
Again, we know children . . . . .My loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me . . . ..My wife is now dead.
I look at the future . . . Shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing . . Young of their own.
And I think of the years . . . . . And the love that I've known.
I'm now an old man . . . . And nature is cruel.
Tis jest to make old age . . . Look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles . . . . Grace and vigor, depart.
There is now a stone .. Where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass . . A young guy still dwells,
And now and again . . . . My battered heart swells.
I remember the joys . . . . ..I remember the pain.
And I'm loving and living . . . . Life over again.
I think of the years, all too few ... Gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact . .. . . That nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people . . . . . Open and see.
Not a crabby old man . . . Look closer . . . See ME!!
- Status