Yesterday my Automatic Post Maker generated such a large glob of scripture that I had to rive the mass to fit it into this diary. Now here is an illustration that I found in an ancient pamphlet:
Running around with sheepfish is practically all I did when I was a nun.
To my mind, the overuse of anything emphatic is impossible.
It’s not just an anagram but also a palindrome of . . . dang, now I forgot what I was going to say.
I hope that the following internet link helps you understand why flowers are so pretty.
We constitute the Homer of electronic odds and ends, because of our earliness; but, if you know someone or something that came earlier, please let us know, because we’re interested in besting falsifiers.
I’ve always assumed that so-and-so is the reason Officer Duke reacts to David Dolores Frank’s music by saying: This stinks of Germany! (Pardon another reference to that film – the truth is that I earn an adult beverage every time I manage to cite Wrong Cops online.)
This is how my Fiendster page looked on May 24 of the End Times:
I know what you mean about the sad nature of ‘threshold singing’ but I love these people because they look so happy. I assume that they understand this line from Walt Whitman (Song of Myself, §6): “. . . to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.”
Your death song
While listening to the song that you have instructed us to play for you when you “enter into extremely advanced old age,” it made me feel like I was giving birth to kittens; so I applaud your choice.
My death song
When I myself am “frail and at the threshold,” I’ll request that Officer Duke recite his funeral outburst from near the end of the movie Wrong Cops; and then I’ll oblige everyone at my ceremony to listen to the following track by Mr. Oizo, which will be accompanied by hired dancers: a spotlight will shine on them, and the dancers’ movements will slowly imitate the motion that a person makes when they are preparing to enter into a game of Double Dutch jump rope. There will be no other movement – it will be a minimalistic dance. Now here is my death song:
Also, when I become the owner of a retail outlet, I will play the above track repeatedly on the store’s speaker system.
While you’re busy fabricating a deity, I’ll see if I can find some way to force people to worship it.
Solution to the USA’s illegal immigration problem: The immigrants in question should collectively announce a plan to engage in a walkout unless they are granted citizenship; for those in power are so dependent upon illegals that they shall straightway acquiesce.
I thought it would be easy to think of something grandfatherly to say here, but I’m drawing a blank.
If you can read Goethe’s Faust: Part 2 in German, I would do that rather than anything else. Very sincerely.
Yes, I am the exotic dancer on whom they based the original RoboCop.
My washout is grande, my ego is venti, and my cheeks are rouge on account of what you did.
I’ve been abusing this stuff ever since I became a natural blonde.
My apologies to Mr. Stanislavski – it turns out that his method of speeding the rate of one’s physical decay works fine after all.
I finished my chores early this morning so that I can spend the rest of the day conversing with wildlife.
At last we have located the deep end of the social network.