Darksun wrote:willywag wrote:I think it might work with pasta and antipasto as well.
Except that's ante
and pasto vs pasta.
xander
Let's go.........RANDOM!
<I chopey-chopey your post>
what does that mean? why did they choose to say that? lol... I would have said "<LOG DELETED>"
really where did stuff like "<chop-post PB>" or whatever come from? just wondering...
what does that mean? why did they choose to say that? lol... I would have said "<LOG DELETED>"
really where did stuff like "<chop-post PB>" or whatever come from? just wondering...
Last edited by Hacker101 on Sat Mar 04, 2006 3:55 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Mr. Roboto
- level4
- Posts: 826
- Joined: Sat Jan 08, 2005 6:05 pm
- Location: Baltimore.md.us
Hey, I just had a thought!
I think.....
um.....
I think I have a thought, but I think my thought went thunk.
Or did it go thud instead of the thunk I thought I was thinking of?
I think the thought I'm thinking of is the thing a thought going thud or thunk would think of in a sink... a pink sink. Sink the pink. Sinking pink pinko.
A pinko in a rink thinks the things a sinking thought would think of when a dink sinks a drink from a pink sink going clink. But if that dink is drunk on a pink sink drink, this thoughts would go thunk in a rink with a kinky pinko.
What if that pinko is a writer who's out of ink? How would that pinko in the rink with the drunk and his pink drink whose thoughts I thought went thunk in the sink write without ink?
What do you think?
I think.....
um.....
I think I have a thought, but I think my thought went thunk.
Or did it go thud instead of the thunk I thought I was thinking of?
I think the thought I'm thinking of is the thing a thought going thud or thunk would think of in a sink... a pink sink. Sink the pink. Sinking pink pinko.
A pinko in a rink thinks the things a sinking thought would think of when a dink sinks a drink from a pink sink going clink. But if that dink is drunk on a pink sink drink, this thoughts would go thunk in a rink with a kinky pinko.
What if that pinko is a writer who's out of ink? How would that pinko in the rink with the drunk and his pink drink whose thoughts I thought went thunk in the sink write without ink?
What do you think?
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Lord_Doskias
- level4
- Posts: 603
- Joined: Sat Jul 10, 2004 5:08 am
- Location: over there
- Contact:
Kubla Khan
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And here were gardens bright with sinuous rills
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced;
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves:
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 't would win me
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge, 1798
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And here were gardens bright with sinuous rills
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced;
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves:
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 't would win me
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge, 1798
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