Don

Strange face, with your eyes So pale and sincere Underneath you know well You have nothing to fear For the dreams that came to you when so young Told of a life Where spring is sprung You would seem so frail In the cold of the night When the armies of emotion Go out to fight But while the earth sinks to its grave You sail to the sky On the crest of a wave So forget this cruel world Where I belong I'll just sit and wait And sing my song And if one day you should see me in the crowd Lend a hand and lift me To your place in the cloud

Calvin and Hobbes Sinfest Penny Arcade 8-Bit Theatre

I loved Their Eyes Were Watching God (read through the earlier posts), but.. uhh.. yea, Hawthorne is shitty. And Oprah seriously fucked up the story with the ABC movie thing. So bad. Reading some Dylan Thomas poetry, and I'm probably going to try to start Things Fall Apart.

The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides with the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who in the name of charity and good will shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon those with great vengeance and with furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know that my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee.

..dreading this week. So much shit to do.

I use some Paul Mitchell stuff. I really need a haircut. It looks so messed up when I get out of bed, and it doesn't get much better after I take a shower, but tons of people compliment me on it.. they're like "Dude, your hair is awesome!" A lot of the time it's because they think it looks like I simply don't give a fuck, heh (they've actually said that).

Hey, thanks for the welcome everybody. Hey Mike! Didn't know you registered here. How've you been?

City of God.

Hi, I'm Don. I was reluctant to do one of these threads, since it seems like an odd form of self-satisfaction (this one involves two hands, har har.. anyway...). I guess I'm just not modest enough to keep my ego in check. I migrated over from chilaX. Hey to those of you who remember/know me, and to those who don't. I was lurking here for a little bit, and I thought I had registered previously? I dunno, maybe my memory isn't so good. If you want some basic info, just say so. (Just so you know, the title is what Cletus the Slack-Jawed Yokel always says on the Simpsons)

Older OutKast stuff: Rosa Parks Chonkyfire Skew It On The Bar-B Elevators Southernplayalisticadillacmuzik ATLiens Jazzy Belle Two Dope Boyz (In A Cadillac)

Douglas Adams will be missed. Such a great sense of humor. *pours one out for his lost homie and flashes some gangsta signs sullenly* ---- From Terry Pratchett: "Let's just say that if complete and utter chaos was lightning, he'd be the sort to stand on a hilltop in a thunderstorm wearing wet copper armour and shouting 'All gods are bastards'." "I WAS AT A PARTY," he added, a shade reproachfully. (Death is summoned by the Wizards) "For animals, the entire universe has been neatly divided into things to (a) mate with, (B) eat, © run away from, and (d) rocks." "Only one creature could have duplicated the expressions on their faces, and that would be a pigeon who has heard not only that Lord Nelson has got down off his column but has also been seen buying a 12-bore repeater and a box of cartridges." - "My granny says that dying is like going to sleep," Mort added, a shade hopefully. - I WOULDN'T KNOW. I HAVE DONE NEITHER. Although the scythe isn't pre-eminent among the weapons of war, anyone who has been on the wrong end of, say, a peasants' revolt will know that in skilled hands it is fearsome. "Poets have tried to describe Ankh-Morpork. They have failed. Perhaps it's the sheer zestful vitality of the place, or maybe it's just that a city with a million inhabitants and no sewers is rather robust for poets, who prefer daffodils and no wonder." - I USHERED SOULS INTO THE NEXT WORLD. I WAS THE GRAVE OF ALL HOPE. I WAS THE ULTIMATE REALITY. I WAS THE ASSASSIN AGAINST WHOM NO LOCK WOULD HOLD. - "Yes, point taken, but do you have any particular skills?" (Death consults a job broker) "Women's clothes were not a subject that preoccupied Cutwell much -- in fact, usually when he thought about women his mental pictures seldom included any clothes at all -- but the vision in front of him really did take his breath away." "You won't get away with this," said Cutwell. He thought for a bit and added, "Well, you will probably get away with it, but you'll feel bad about it on your deathbed and you'll wish -- " He stopped talking. "I'm not going to ride on a magic carpet!" he hissed. "I'm afraid of grounds." "You mean heights," said Conina. "And stop being silly." "I know what I mean! It's the grounds that kill you!" "There must be a hundred silver dollars in here," moaned Boggis, waving a purse. "I mean, that's not my league. That's not my class. I can't handle that sort of money. You've got to be in the Guild of Lawyers or something to steal that much." The calender of the Theocracy of Muntab counts down, not up. No-one knows why, but it might not be a good idea to hang around and find out. In fact, no gods anywhere play chess. They prefer simple, vicious games, where you Do Not Achieve Transcendence but Go Straight to Oblivion; a key to the understanding of all religion is that a god's idea of amusement is Snakes and Ladders with greased rungs. "Chain letters," said the Tyrant. "The Chain Letter to the Ephebians. Forget Your Gods. Be Subjugated. Learn to Fear. Do not break the chain -- the last people who did woke up one morning to find fifty thousand armed men on their lawn." "You can't trample infidels when you're a tortoise. I mean, all you could do is give them a meaningful look." His philosophy was a mixture of three famous schools -- the Cynics, the Stoics and the Epicureans -- and summed up all three of them in his famous phrase, "You can't trust any bugger further than you can throw him, and there's nothing you can do about it, so let's have a drink." Dhblah sidled closer. This was not hard. Dhblah sidled everywhere. Crabs thought he walked sideways. Brother Preptil, the master of the music, had described Brutha's voice as putting him in mind of a disappointed vulture arriving too late at the dead donkey. "Pets are always a great help in times of stress. And in times of starvation too, o'course." The labyrinth of Ephebe is ancient and full of one hundred and one amazing things you can do with hidden springs, razor-sharp knives, and falling rocks. "SQUEAK." (The Death of Rats) "He says gods like to see an atheist around. Gives them something to aim at." The figures looked more or less human. And they were engaged in religion. You could tell by the knives (it's not murder if you do it for a god). The trouble was that he was talking in philosophy, but they were listening in gibberish. Om began to feel the acute depression that steals over every realist in the presence of an optimist. "'E's fighting in there!" he stuttered, grabbing the captain's arm. "All by himself?" said the captain. "No, with everyone!" shouted Nobby, hopping from one foot to the other. (Making Friends and Hitting People) YOU HAVE PERHAPS HEARD THE PHRASE THAT HELL IS OTHER PEOPLE? "Yes. Yes, of course." Death nodded. IN TIME, he said, YOU WILL LEARN THAT IT IS WRONG. "I said I Hope it is a good party," said Galder, loudly. AT THE MOMENT IT IS, said Death levelly. I THINK IT MIGHT GO DOWNHILL VERY QUICKLY AT MIDNIGHT. "Why?" THAT'S WHEN THEY THINK I'LL BE TAKING MY MASK OFF.