Thursday, March 24, 2005

   Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birth day to...scew this. Ok today is indeed my birthday. But I'm not going to do anything.
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Monday, March 21, 2005

Once again, another funny little site.
ILoveEggs
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Friday, March 18, 2005

The Viper
A widow lived alone on the top floor of an apartment house. One morning her telephone rang."Hello," she said."This is the viper," a man said. "I'm coming up." "Somebody is fooling around," she thought, and hung up.A half-hour later the telephone rang again. It was the same man."It's the viper," he said, "I'll be up soon."The widow didn't know what to think, but she was getting frightened.Once more the telephone rang. Again it was the viper."I'm coming up now," he said.She quickly called the police. They said they would be right over. When the doorbell rang, she sighed with relief. "They are here!" she thought.But when she opened the door there stood a little old man with a bucket and a cloth. "I am the viper," he said. "I vish to vash and vipe the vindows."
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Tuesday, March 15, 2005

Mango Biscuits
When I went off to see Ayers Rock I thought I'd buy a Mango Biscuit

Though I'd talked to several friends who said I really shouldn't risk it

They said, "Biscuit mangos, yes, But Mango Biscuits, that's a con"

So, I dug in my little heels and I set off to prove them wrong

I went into the biscuit shop and asked for, "Mango Biscuits please"

And the shopkeeper was so happy that he fell down to his knees

He cried out, "Take all of my biscuits they're the nicest thing to eat"

But I declined very politely saying, "One will be a treat"

I thought to run a biscuit shop you'd have to be a biscuit purist

And that such a man could never run a biscuit fraud on tourists

But then O! Tragedy of Tragedies my tears came down in streams

For what I thought were Mango Biscuits

Were nothing more than Custard Creams.


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Saturday, March 12, 2005

The Raven
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore--
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-- Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;-- vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow-- sorrow for the lost Lenore--
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-- Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me-- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door--
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-- This it is, and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"-- here I opened wide the door;-- Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"-- Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore--
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-- 'Tis the wind and nothing more."
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door--
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-- Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore--
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning-- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door--
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as "Nevermore."
But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered-- not a feather then he fluttered--
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown before--
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before." Then the bird said, "Nevermore."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore--
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore Of 'Never-- nevermore'."
But the Raven still beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore--
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er, She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee-- by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite-- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!-- prophet still, if bird or devil!--
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted--
On this home by Horror haunted-- tell me truly, I implore--
Is there-- is there balm in Gilead?-- tell me-- tell me, I implore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil-- prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us-- by that God we both adore--
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore--
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore." Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked, upstarting--
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!-- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted-- nevermore!


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American Idiot By: Green Day
Don't wanna be an American idiot.
Don't want a nation under the new mania.
And can you hear the sound of hysteria?
The subliminal mind f*ck America.

Welcome to a new kind of tension.
All across the alienation.
Everything isn't meant to be okay.
Television dreams of tomorrow.
We're not the ones who're meant to follow.
For that's enough to argue.

Well maybe I'm the faggot America.
I'm not a part of a redneck agenda.
Now everybody do the propaganda.
And sing along in the age of paranoia.

Welcome to a new kind of tension.
All across the alienation.
Everything isn't meant to be okay.
Television dreams of tomorrow.
We're not the ones who're meant to follow.
For that's enough to argue.

Don't wanna be an American idiot.
One nation controlled by the media.
Information age of hysteria.
It's calling out to idiot America.

Welcome to a new kind of tension.
All across the alienation.
Everything isn't meant to be okay.
Television dreams of tomorrow.
We're not the ones who're meant to follow.
For that's enough to argue.
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Monday, March 7, 2005

   Funny Story
i will admit that this story insults blondes. But who cares.

A blonde haired girl went to go ride a horse. She sat on the saddle( this horse does not have reins) and started to ride. All of a sudden the horse went out of control. It was rushing though the feilds knocking the girl all over the place. She almost fell off, but managed to hang on. The horse suddenly started to speed up. The girl tried to jump off the horse but her foot got stuck in the stirrup (foot place on the saddle).
Her head was just a few inches from the horses holves. about to be crushed. Then the Wal-Mart manager came out to help her.

Get it? she was riding one of those things out in front of stores that those little kids ride.

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Saturday, March 5, 2005

Ok, people go to this site:
DrPepper
then go to Media Gallery and click on the first picture by the TV thing.

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Today will be Mississippi Day. To celebrate this day I will post some pictures making fun of this state whose name is so fun to spell. M-I-S-S-I-S-S-I-P-P-I.








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Wednesday, March 2, 2005

Eat this Duckie-Chan. You little deprived girl.












































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































ok then.
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