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Patch

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Posts posted by Patch

  1. Don't go to church on Sunday

    Don't get on my knees to pray

    Don't memorize the books of the Bible

    I got my own special way

    I know Jesus loves me

    Maybe just a little bit more

    I fall down on my knees every Sunday

    At Zerelda Lee's candy store

    Well it's got to be a chocolate Jesus

    Make me feel good inside

    Got to be a chocolate Jesus

    Keep me satisfied

    Well I don't want no Abba Zabba

    Don't want no Almond Joy

    There ain't nothing better

    Suitable for this boy

    Well it's the only thing

    That can pick me up

    Better than a cup of gold

    See only a chocolate Jesus

    Can satisfy my soul

    When the weather gets rough

    And it's whiskey in the shade

    It's best to wrap your savior

    Up in cellophane

    He flows like the big muddy

    But that's ok

    Pour him over ice cream

    For a nice parfait

    Well it's got to be a chocolate Jesus

    Good enough for me

    Got to be a chocolate Jesus

    Good enough for me

    Well it's got to be a chocolate Jesus

    Make me feel good inside

    Got to be a chocolate Jesus

    Keep me satisfied

    Chocolate Jesus - Tom Waits

  2. So since moving to Minnesota several years ago I've developed a nasty pollen allergy that manifests itself through nasty hives. The triggers, once engaged, are warmth and/or pressure on the skin. Like, say, being under a blanket for hours; like, say, during a normal night's sleep. An early nice day Sunday, a simple long walk in the fresh air with the dog and a cigar out on the porch was enough to have me waking up Monday morning with the beginnings of an outbreak. Itchy, ugly red weals raised all over, feel like shet, look like a freak. OTC antihistamines are no real help, and sometimes a piping-hot shower will flush them all, but sometimes not. The battle now becomes a struggle to keep them from spreading.

    That means no undue warmth or pressure on the skin.

    That means nothing but a thin blanket at night.

    That means no shower.

    Those mean being cold and grumpy for days.

    But I mainly wanted to relate all that so I could tell you all that I didn't shower Monday or Tuesday, and that slightly crusty feeling made me think of y'all.

    Have you ever thought that maybe you have bed bugs?

  3. Extacy behind the barn : Sex & Drugs in the Mormon Village by Joe the Justicar

    I had no clue in three parts :

    vol. I God I have no clue

    vol. II Still no clue

    vol. III Clue or glue : the final question by Boo Radley

    Why I hate Michael Emrys by anonymous german dive bomber

    Mi piache popolo perque e putza by Seanachai

    Wot I Tink . Me Story by M. Emrys

    Satan got it all wrong. diary from Texas by Mr.Spkr

    and so on

    I've read all of them.

  4. Posting from Dalem's computer here, but it is in fact myself, Seanachai.

    I would prefer to be unconscious right now, but I must forego that dubious pleaseaure.

    Because, I have died, and been reborn. I have just spent the last two hours watching the Star Wars Holiday Special, from 1978. And, on this, the morning of my 'Life Day' rebirth, all I can tell you bunch of hairy little wookie scum is...

    Well, all I can say is...you don't know. And there's no way I can tell you about it. You'll simply have to wait until I decide to give you the gift of death and rebirth, by sending you a copy of the DVD.

    It's no good begging me to raise you to a higher plane by destroying you and drawing you forth from the fire. You will have to wait upon my new and more perfect understanding of the this thing we call 'Life'.

    You will have to prove to me that you are both worthy enough, and unworthy enough.

    Only those worthy of being shattered like a cheap beer mug in dive bar will receive the blessing, so that they might be remade into the chalice from which knowledge, truth and understanding may be drunk.

    And I do mean drunk. I think that none of you, including the Australians, will ever be drunk enough to pass throught that fire and come out whole...

    -the Seanachai

    Either the Gnome is very drunk or Dalem is imitating the Gnome being very drunk.

  5. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.....seems that not only is 'Murka the true Goobernation, you guys are even promoting the fact on your food items.

    group_2-1.jpg

    Granted that the Smuckers products stem from a certain Jerome Monroe Smucker who was a resident of Orrville, OHIO which may preclude the rest of the states from the title but i'd like to keep things simple and lump you all into the one basket.

    Goober peanut butter and jelly is one of my favorites!

  6. I always love it when Im here

    Its a part of North Lincolnshire

    I do love exploring around

    the Industrial Garden Town

    It's famous for steel industry

    Coat of arms are yellow and green

    Home of Danny Flynn and Liz Smith

    And it lies on the Lincoln Cliff

    Thats Why I Go To Scunthorpe

    Its lovely and it's Up North

    It used to be Escumetorp

    Which I believe is Old Norse

    Its Why I go to Scunthorpe

    and Frodingham and Ashby

    It is the best place to be

    ...also Brumby and Crosby

    Thats Why I Go To Scunthorpe

    Thats Why I Go To Scunthorpe

  7. .. I just wanted to point out that someone cannot be Sent to Scunthorpe.. no, one is called to Scunthorpe. Constantly.

    But, as we all know, Scunthorpe is not a physical point in time, rather it is a condition, a nexus amidst a revolving, swirling pattern of competing psychological conditions and emotional impulses that compete to drive one hither and thither... as such, Scunthorpe is an event horizon within the deepest crevices of the Inner Self upon which are waking lives can be sucked up and spat out.

    So, its all a bit consuming.

    Just thought I might like to put things into context.

    I want to go to Sunny Scunny.

  8. The other night, I was having dinner with my good friends, and my special friend, Smaller Nora, was sitting next to me. And during dinner, she rolled her little head over on her shoulders, the way children do, and looked up at me with her blue eyes, and said: 'Grandma Steve, what is your favorite?'

    I looked at her for a while, and finally said, 'My favorite what, Nora?'

    And she replied, 'What is your Favorite?!'

    So I told her: You and your sister Emma are my favorites!

    And she told me: 'Nooooooo! What is your favorite?!'

    After several minutes of work, it turned out she wanted to know what my favorite food was. There was a bit in the middle regarding my favorite maybe being 'green' and 'about this big'. Even six years of dealing with children hasn't given me certification in actually having a clue; I'm still a journeyman.

    So, I told her 'Well, Nora, my favorite is spaghetti'. I make a fantastic spaghetti sauce, my own concoction, based on the spaghetti sauce my Mom made us as kids, which I loved. Strangely, we were actually eating spaghetti at Nora's that night, made by her Mom.

    She considered my answer and told me 'No. What is your favorite?'

    I thought, maybe, that she thought I'd said spaghetti simply because we were having it that night, so I thought about another food I loved, and remembered that it was one that she and her sister both liked, and I told her 'Well, Nora, my favorite is pot roast'.

    She told me: 'No, that's not right!'

    I was beginning to be confused. I was being asked to guess 'my' favorites, but I was getting them wrong. I was torn between thinking I didn't understand the game, then wondering if, because I didn't give it enough thought, I was actually not giving my REAL favorite foods.

    So, figuring I wasn't understanding the game, and suddenly seeing where I might have gone wrong, I told her: 'Oh, okay, Nora, you want to know what my favorite food is! I get it! My favorite food is Ice Cream!'

    And she tells me: 'No, Grandma Steve, I mean a tricky food! Not like that!'

    Christ, at this point, I'm actually getting paranoid. What the heck is a 'tricky food'?

    So, we spent the next several minutes with her asking, and me telling her what 'my favorite food is', and her telling me 'No, that's not right!'

    As God is my witness, I have never had to try and guess what my own favorite food is.

    After a few minutes her Mom became aware of our game, and the fact that I was actually losing a game to determine what my favorite food was. So she jumped in and said 'Nora, I know what Grandma Steve's favorite food is, it is lobster!'.

    And I told Nora, 'Oh, that is true, I do very much love lobster!' And then Jen, Nora's Mom told her: 'And Nora, I bet Grandma Steve really loves filet mingon.'

    And I told Nora, 'Yes, indeed, I really do love filet mignon. That is one of my favorite foods!'

    And Nora's response was, 'No, that is not it! I mean the tricky food!'

    Took the two of us another ten minutes to try and work it out. Turns out my favorite food is 'Brussel sprouts'.

    This plays back into the whole 'it's green and about this big' thing that came up in the early stages of the game, when I didn't even know I was trying to work out a food item. It was a relief to me that I actually do, in fact, like brussel sprouts. And a bit of a strange thing that my sister Kat, who died, had brussel sprouts as her favorite vegetable. Every year, at Thanksgiving and Christmas, someone always made brussel sprouts, cause they were Kat's favorite.

    I did not find out what made brussel sprouts a 'tricky food'. Hell, I don't even know what a 'tricky food' is. Imagine that. I've lived all these years, and I still don't know what a 'tricky food' is.

    This is not surprising. I didn't even know what my 'favorite food' was. But, and this gives me hope, I am willing to learn...

    That's a funny Small Friends story.

    I thought your favorite food was lamb stew?

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