Unassuming Local Beorc

Man, I leave for half a day and suddenly there's a whole conversation going on in my blog. No. ...Sorry? I feel that these words are either charged with symbolism, or I'm a t-rex. I'm leaning towards the latter.

Greatest word ever!? In other news, I vomited yesterday, guys. ...woo hoo

Guys, according to the calendar on my computer, the world began on January 1st, 1980! It's impossible to make it go back earlier! History is a lie! Windows tried to warn us!

We swear by the lightning that destroys By the streams of generous blood being shed By the bright flags that wave Flying proudly on the high mountains That we have risen up, and whether we live or die We are resolved that Algeria shall live So be our witness - be our witness - be our witness! We are soldiers in revolt for truth And we have fought for our independence When we spoke, none listened to us So we have taken the noise of gunpowder as our rhythm And the sound of machine guns as our melody We are resolved that Algeria shall live So be our witness - be our witness - be our witness! O France, the time of reproof is over And we have ended it as a book is ended O France, this is the day of reckoning So prepare to recieve from us our answer! In our revolution is the end of empty talk We are resolved that Algeria shall live So be our witness - be our witness - be our witness! The cry of the fatherland sounds from the battlefields Listen to it and answer the call! Let it be written in the blood of martyrs And be read to future generations Glory, we have held out our hand to you We are resolved that Algeria shall live So be our witness - be our witness - be our witness! ...Whoa.

So I found this quote and decided to post it here because it seems to fit this site pretty well...

The man is after me � �̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌� �̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿̿̕̚̕̚ ҉҉ ̔̕̚̕̚҉ ҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠͇ ̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌̍ ̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿̿̕̚̕̚͡ # ̎̏̐̑ ̕̚̕̚ ̔̕̚̕̚҉ ҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠͇ ̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌̍ ̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿̿̕̚̕̚͡ ͡҉҉̔̕̚̕̚҉ ͡҉҉̔̕̚̕̚҉ ҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠͇ ̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌̍ A̎̏̐̑̔̿̿̿̕̚̕̚͡ ͡҉҉G̔̕̚̕̚҉ ҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠͇ ̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌̍ ̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿̿̕̚̕̚͡ ͡҉҉ ̕̚̕̚ ̔̕̚̕̚҉◊ख़҉̵̞� � ̒̓̔̕̚ ̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̕̚̕̚ ̡̢̛̗̘̙̜̝ ͡҉O҉ ̵̡̢̢̛̛̛̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟ ̠̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠̊̋̌̍̎ ̏̐̑̒̓ ̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌̕̚̕ ̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿̿̕̚̕̚ ͡ ͡҉҉ C̓̔̿̿̿̕̚۩◊} O҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠� �̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌� �̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿̿̕̚̕̚� � M͡҉ E҉̔̕̚̕̚҉ S~ ҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠͇ ̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌̍ ̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿̿̕̚̕̚͡ ͡ ҉҉ ̔̕̚̕̚҉ ҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘Z̙̜̝̞̟̠� �̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌� �̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿̿̕̚̕̚� ~ ҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠͇ ̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌̍ ̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿̿̕̚̕̚͡ ͡ ҉҉ ̔̕̚̕̚҉ ҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘Z̙̜̝̞̟̠� �̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌� �̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿̿̕̚̕̚� �# ҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠͇ ̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌̍ ̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿̿̕̚̕̚ ҉҉ ̔̕̚̕̚҉ ҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠͇ ̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌̍ ̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿̿̕̚̕̚͡ # ̎̏̐̑ ̕̚̕̚ ̔̕̚̕̚҉ ҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠͇ ̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌̍ ̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿̿̕̚̕̚͡ ͡҉҉̔̕̚̕̚҉ ͡҉҉̔̕̚̕̚҉ ҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠͇ ̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌̍ A̎̏̐̑L̓̔̿̿̿̕̚̕̚͡ ͡҉҉G̔̕̚̕̚҉ ҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠͇ ̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌̍ ̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿̿̕̚̕̚͡ ͡҉҉ ̕̚̕̚ ̔̕̚̕̚҉◊ख़҉̵̞� � ̒̓̔̕̚ ̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̕̚̕̚ ̡̢̛̗̘̙̜̝ ͡҉O ҉ ̵̡̢̢̛̛̛̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟ ̠̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠̊̋̌̍̎ ̏̐̑̒̓ ̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌̕̚̕ ̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿̿̕̚̕̚ ͡ ͡҉҉ ̓̔̿̿̿̕̚۩IT IS◊EATINGMYSOUL} ҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠͇ ̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌̍ ̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿̿̕̚̕̚͡ ͡҉ ҉̔̕̚̕̚҉ ~ ҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠͇ ̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌̍ ̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿̿̕̚̕̚͡ ͡ ҉҉ ̔̕̚̕̚҉ ҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘Z̙̜̝̞̟̠� �̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌� �̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿̿̕̚̕̚� �# ҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠͇ ̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌̍ ̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿̿̕̚̕̚ ҉҉ ̔̕̚̕̚҉ ҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠͇ ̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌̍ ̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿̿̕̚̕̚͡ # ̎̏̐̑ ̕̚̕̚ ̔̕̚̕̚҉ ҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠͇ ̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌̍ ̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿̿̕̚̕̚͡ ͡҉҉̔̕̚̕̚҉ ͡҉҉̔̕̚̕̚҉ ҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠͇ ̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌̍ A̎̏̐̑L̓̔̿̿̿̕̚̕̚͡ ͡҉҉G̔̕̚̕̚҉ ҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠͇ ̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌̍ ̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿̿̕̚̕̚͡ ͡҉҉ ̕̚̕̚ ̔̕̚̕̚҉◊ख़҉̵̞� � ̒̓̔̕̚ ̡̢̛̗̘̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̕̚҉ ̵IS̡̢̢̛THE̛̛̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟ ̠̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓ ̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌̕̚̕ ̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿̿̕̚̕̚ ͡ ͡҉҉ ̓̔̿̿̿̕̚۩◊} ҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘̙̜̝ ̞̟̠͇̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔ ̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑ ̚̕̚͡ ͡҉ ҉̔̕̚̕̚҉ ~ ҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠͇ ̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌̍ ̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿̿̕̚̕̚͡ ͡ ҉҉ ̔̕̚̕̚҉ ҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘Z̙̜̝̞̟̠� �̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌� �̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿̿̕̚̕̚� �# ҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠͇ ̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌̍ ̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿̿̕̚̕̚ ҉҉ ̔̕̚̕̚҉ ҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠͇ ̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌̍ ̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿̿̕̚̕̚͡ # ̎̏̐̑ ̕̚̕̚ ̔̕̚̕̚҉ ҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠͇ ̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌̍ ̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿̿̕̚̕̚͡ ͡҉҉̔̕̚̕̚҉ ͡҉҉̔̕̚̕̚҉ ҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠͇ ̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌̍ A̎̏̐̑L̓̔̿̿̿̕̚̕̚͡ ͡҉҉G̔̕̚̕̚҉ ҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠͇ ̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌̍ ̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿̿̕̚̕̚͡ ͡҉҉ ̕̚̕̚ ̔̕̚̕̚҉◊ख़҉̵̞� � ̒̓̔̕̚ ̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̕̚̕̚ ̡̢̛̗̘̙̜̝ ͡҉O҉ ̵̡̢̢̛̛̛̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟ ̠̖̗̘̙̜̝̞̟̠̊̋̌̍̎ ̏̐̑̒̓ ̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̊̋̌̕̚̕ ̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿̿̕̚̕̚ ͡ HELP ME͡҉҉ ̓̔̿̿̿̕̚۩◊ � �̝̞̟̠͇̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒� �̔̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿� �̕̚̕̚͡ ̒̓̔̕̚E҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘̙� �̝̞̟̠͇̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒� �̔̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿� �̕̚̕̚͡ ̒̓̔̕̚C҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘̙� �̝̞̟̠͇̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒� �̔̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿� �̕̚̕̚͡ � �̝̞̟̠͇̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒� �̔̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿� �̕̚̕̚͡ ̒̓̔̕̚M҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘̙� �̝̞̟̠͇̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒� �̔̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿� �̕̚̕̚͡ ̒̓̔̕̚E҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘̙� �̝̞̟̠͇̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒� �̔̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿� �̕̚̕̚͡ ̒̓̔̕̚S҉̵̞̟̠̖̗̘̙� �̝̞̟̠͇̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒� �̔̊̋̌̍̎̏̐̑̒̓̔̿̿� �̕̚̕̚͡ T͖̟̹̦̤̣̦̹̒̌ͥ͑̇͐͊͝o̴͍̼̯̭͓͍̝̰̊͆̌͝ ̟̳͈̝̼ͦͥ͘͡i͇̺̬̭̻ͯͣ͂n̻̳͙̯̜̼͇̿ͮ͛̑v̴̶̪̲̟͕͈̙ ̋̈́̆̆̾ö̩̻̥͍̟̩̦́k̮͖͚̻͆̉͌ͪ̒̽͆ͬe̴̸͚̹̬͓̠̤͑� �ͯ̔̿ͬͅͅ ̺̻͓̱̤ͨ͊ͧ͒͊t̶̨͔͖̹̼̰͓̻̂̉̈́̿ͮ͝h͉͕̠͈̙̫̲̝̫͛� �͟e̝͇̦̹͑̌͜ ̨̥̇͊ḩ̛̦̙̳̳̲͐͞i̪̳͒̔͢v̵ͨ͋ͮ̔̏ͩ҉̥̜͚̭͖e̟̙̣͈� �͒̈̎ͦͅ-̣̳͍͕͋͌͌̂̆͡ͅm̥͉̝͔͓̻̊͗ͩͮ͠ỉ̧͙̬͇͓̇ͧ� �̍ͥṋ̗͙͇͉͕̬͙͙ͭ͑̂̍̇̇͑͐͋d̼̭̆̋ͭ́̅̏̇͘ ̵͍̜͔͙̗̼͚̫̒͊ͯ̇͌̃̈́͟͞r̢ͤ̉̄ͣ͋͏͓́e̷̢͕̠ͮ̈́̆� �p̡̯̮̲͇͕̩ͧ̇̍̚̕ŗ͇͖̒̎͋ͪͣe̸̴̢͎̖̠̫̪͔̽́̽͛ͅs̹� �͖͉͇̣̻̊ͣͤ̄̌͛̓̚͟e͐ͪ̋̿̓͏̠͚̼̪̣̰ͅn̶͖̖͕̺̠͔̻͈ ̐ͬͫͫ̑͘t̥̪̤̹͎̹̞ͧ͑ͧ͝͡ͅị̮̩̥̮͙͎̓͑͠ͅn̷̼͔̗͎̩ ̫͔͊g̶̞̱̝͙̝͙̋́̄͌̅͢͝ ̘͙̮ͫ̉ͪ͢c̟̲͕͕̩̓̎͞ḣ̶̸̩͚̦̬̱̤͔̹͈́̔͐ͤ͡aͭ̃̐̌ ͮͦ͏̫̜̣̬̲̙̭͢ò̠̭̖ͥͩ̈́͆̓̈s̴̛͓͓̲̲͋̊͑̐̓ͩͬ͑.� �̳̄͋ ̷̢̹̳͙̹̙͍̙̅̂ͩͧ̾̚I̮̤̪̹̠̾͋̃n̶̺̫͓̲̥̠͔̄́̓ͪ̍� �͢v̡̭͕͙̣ͫ̎ͮ͐̄̇͛̚̕ͅoͬͧ̿ͫ̔̉ͫ̽̚҉͈̦͕k̸̽̎̐͏̱� �͜ḯ҉̵̻̣̫̞̭̳̰͖̬n̷̜͖̞̮̬͈͖͍̿̓͂͛̾͋̽̉͠͝g̡̰̹� �ͨ̆ͬͯ͌ͥ̋̚͡ ̴̨͙̲̪̜ͤͥͤ̉ͫͯ̒̉ẗ̨̬̹̼̯͆̍ͮ̓͘hͬ̽҉̛͓̘̩̯̥̜e͂ ̏̓̿̍͠҉̣̲̳̮̩͍̕ ͕̼͇̙̪̣̠͈͔ͭͯ̀ͭ͒f͎̗̳͎̥̈́̑͌͛̌̏ͥ͞e̸̡̠͉͓̰̙ͣ� �̈͊̈̐̔̊ḛ̦͕̯̋̒ͭ̇̅̿͡l̶̝͓̳̗̮̻͍̯̋ͨ̅̊̅̾ĭ͕̬̥ ̥̾ͣ̓n̶̝̞̬̦̄̃g̥̖͇͙̠̽ͬ́ͯ̽ͫ̉ ̳͈̪́͛ͯͫ́ͬͯ̑o͔̰̪̰͒̎ͮ͘͢f͖͓͇̣ͨ͂ͤ̚̕ ̛̘͍̗̣̟̬̼ͥ̓c̵̸͔̩͔̩̫̰̜̐͑̎ͯ̚ͅh̨͙͈̥̉ͫ̈̿͆̔ͣ� �̧̺̪͔͔̱͓̠̞ͮ̇͒̍̊o̶̴̟̱̻̻͙͂͜s̼̱̣̩̦̺̖͕̈̆͋̒͂ ͨͥ̀͞͝.͓̣͎̳͇̤͇̺͗ͩ͆̆̅ͤ͡͝ ̶̬̬̱̟̜̼̓̆͂̽̍ͣ̒͒͢͜Ẅ̧̦́ͩ̚iͫ͒͐͛̿͏̳͕̞̙͝t̺̝ ̣̥̻͓͂̐̏̍͢h̐́ͨ́͏̶̱̝̮̞͖͓̬ ̶̺͉̓͌̆ͯ̐̍ͤo͓̺̻̪̗̗̓̇ͭ͆ͪ̓̚̕͟ͅͅụ̧̡̠̰̭̒̅̄� �̊ͮ̈́t̞̯͓̲͕̗̹̤ͥ̋ͣ͌ ͖̐̌̑̉͑̉͟o̖̣̖͕ͤ̐͗̍͐͠r̬̃ͧ͌̈̔d̖͔̝̱͎̙͒ͫeͮ̌̔� �҉̣̠̰̳r̲̠̠̪̯̙̬̲ͬ̾ͪͪ̅ͥ̚͘.̵̝̜̣̝̙͚ͪ̑̃͆̂͘ ͍̪̼̦̲̰̇͑̋ͥ̓̍͒ͣͦ̕ͅT̴͙͙̱͚̳͕̤̩̈́̏̂ͩ̐ͅh̵̴͔� �̻̺͕̽e̙̗̜̞̓͑ͬ̓ͥͯͧ̂ �ͦ̇ͬͦ͌͞ḙ͆̆̉̽̉͗r̢̬͔̬͓̺͇͎̬̘̆ͤ́̆̋̕͝dͥͫ̊̾͋� �ͩ̒̐҉̙͇̩͉i͍̙̬̦͙͉͍ͮ͡ͅǎ̸̡̘̩̟̮̫̋̿̇̈́̀n̸̶̜̻ ̲̝̰̗͙̍̌̓͐̾ͯ̀ ̩̣̻͍͔̩̥̱̈̊̆̎̔̔͑̕h̵̸̝̳̮̫̙̮͖̬̔̂͗̂͞i̴̪͎̖̠� �́̋͌͜͞v̺́̔ͬͨ̉ͅë̬̙̪̞́̈́͐͋̃̒ͩ-̶̳̮̖̳͎̻͓̯̪ͬ ̋̄ṃ̡̗̩̩̦ͨͧ͑̽̄͠i͈̭͖̞̫͔͋͑̆̆ͣ͜n͙̠̙̦̫̺̩̐͊̓ ̐̍̚d̷͓̜͖̪̼͉̟̤͛͑͗̋ ͉ͤͧͦ̄̓̔ͧ̍͑̕͘o̗̦̹̫̹ͭͤf̶̛̖̣̦̯͚̪̞̞ͨ̂̌̃̇̎̐ ̈̐̄̔̾͑͏̵͇̤̰c̠̘̗̹̰̬̱̝̖ͦ̒ͧ̿̌̿͘ḧ̫̙̬͇̳͍͔́� �͒ͮ́͂͡a̫̪͙͎͉̲͎̹͋͆ͮͪ̿ͪ͋o͇͉̒̊ͧ̃̋̈́̈́̀̕s̷͉� �̹̟̺̦̅͌.̵̮̝̠̎̈́̕͞ ̬̹̠͈̫͔͕̓ͭͮ̀̆ͪͅZ̩̻͎͓̯̲̓ͥͫͪ̎ą̹͔̖̖̱͍̥̞́̂̀ ̈ͭ͂̈̂͛l̨̮ͪ̒͌ͦ̊ͧ̊͛͘͜g̪͔̩̑͆̆̏͛͌ͩ̋ớ̢̳̮̫̬̣ ͈͔ͨ̽ͧ̔̋.͍̦͇͔̲͓͔̜ͯ͂̆̋́̕ ̡̯͈̺̣̮̙̒͒̀̆ ̴̫̎̂ͪ͛͑̌̉ͯ͢Ḧ̫̤́ͨ̄͜͢͠e̲̯͍͇̫̋ ̮̱̗͍̤͚̬̞̟̾͘͢ẅ̢͙̭̥̜̿̍̀̏͌h̸̦̰ͥͧ̾̃͘o̊̅ͩ̔̾ ̅͛҉̯̳͢ ͣ̉͋̐͆̈ͪ҉̧̦͎̹͓͚͉̻͘W̛̬̣̅ͧ̒ͣ̌̅͒ͭ͝aͩ͌̿̓̈͆̋� �̤͇͔̘̙̮̖̝͕̕ị̛̱̑͗͌̋ͣ̀͢ţ̞͙̔̉ͮ̚͝s̵̜͓̄͑̍̆ͣ ̈́͌ͧ̈́ ̶͕͖ͧͫ͂̔Bͦ̆̒͏̭ ̜̗̟̕i̢͎̙͔͚̻̜̠͋̓̍ͧ͗͑ͪ͛͜n̴̨̓̑҉͔d̰̮͈̺͑̓͗́͜ ̨͇̤ͤͨ̓͋̕T̑ͭͥ̋̐̾҉̴̛̭h̬̱̰͉ͤ̊̉ẽ͔̤̱͇̱̮͗͂͠ͅ ̬̘̫͎ͥͤ̓ͅl̻̄͆́ͯ̔̈́̾.̣̠̯̝̞͚͚͒ͬ͆̅̈͜͢͢ ̬͇͍̞̫̱̟̒͛͑ͦͤͩ̐̾͟Z͉̝̰̣̩̞̭͌̆́̅̓A̷̡̺͒͗� �

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THEN YOU NEED X-CHROMOSOAP SIMPLY WASH YOUR FACE ONCE A DAY THE SOAP'S PATENTED FORMULA WILL TURN YOUR FACE INTO A BUSHY HAVEN NOTHING WILL STAND IN YOUR WAY IT EAT'S RAZORS ALIVE EATS 'EM ALIVE EVEN FIRE CAN'T STOP IT WATCH AS WE DIP THIS BEARD IN HYDROCHLORIC ACID THE SKIN MELTS AWAY, BUT THE BEARD STAYS ON AND, ABSOLUTELY FREE WE'LL INCLUDE OUR MUSTACHE WAXER COMMAND A FEARSOME MUSTACHE THAT'LL EARN YOU RAISES AT WORK CALL NOW

by meandering wander of wourdcourse, begin again to sleep perchance to dream the reader to view with logic gone and shadows afront, persons in voices mixmatchmeltmoving changing from persona to persona in a logic of sleeptime visions and a grandma too match. plot what plot what plot what breaks in the truest formlessness of the night aimless wander wonder yonder comes the guide to lead the reader through the nightscenes dreams, one after anauthor, cloaked in the fog of sleep and encrypted encoded hidden in speach extainsievely.' Like in dreams dreams visions musings no one two three things stay with me tonight the same time in arrow; punwordplay, portman toes and wordclashcollision evoke invoke revoke refolk the unsure struck sure of dreams, isicalgical chains whips like the wind blows o'er the landscape hills of the mine, mind, mined for all its worth, and ... That's why sense is overrated.

A movie based on a book based on a movie based on a book based on a game based on a movie.

Good point. Hmm...

You can tell it's true art because it's incomprehensible.

So I finally got an iPod (apparently I'm behind on the times) and the only songs I've added so far are: You're Not Alone from Final Fantasy IX The theme of Golden Sun Snowman from Super Smash Brothers Brawl Komm, Susser Tod from End of Evangelion Kingdom Hearts's theme And the Love Theme from Mother 3 So yeah, I'm kind of a geek if you hadn't noticed.

...Yeah.

The sesquipedalian suffered from dysania on the day he would meet with the septuagenarian. His friend, known to parse syntactically related words, went with him and they moved forward at a moderate pace, spotting many conchiferous creatures along the way. They found the septuagenarian while he was practicing his tachygraphy in order to become proficient. The sesquipedalian and his friend rested at the slab of wood used for inscriptions. The septuagenarian, an escapologist from the sanitarium, showed them pictures of his progeny, but his speech was incomprehensive. The sesquipedalian, meanwhile, showed them the escutcheon he'd recently recieved, and his friend explained their sentences' interrelations. After their umpteenth incoherent conversation, the sesquipedalian, septuagenarian, and nameless friend took their pet tiglon and went over to the nearby caldera, where they unfortunately contracted pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis. The end.

Spectacular Trampoline Slaughter Radioactive Math Fandango Morbidly Obese Theme Park Uncensored Stoic Pirate Tale Heroic Chess of the Blood God Communist Surgery Battle Amazing Programming in the Dark Undead Unicycle Insanity Soviet Shopping Forever Irresistible Motorcycle Assassins Cthulhu's Wagon Invasion

Once, but then the Beorc burnt down Serenes Forest. Now I kinda just hang out in Pheonicis.

I am a heron. I have a long neck and I pick fish out of the water with my beak. If you don't repost this comment on 10 other pages I will fly into your kitchen tonight and make a mess of your pots and pans.

This blog is kind of pointless.

In the evening of my life I shall look to the sunset At the moment in my life When the night is due And the question I shall ask Only I can answer Was I brave and strong and true? Did I fill the world with love My whole life through?

There was a little boy who lived in a far away land. Close to the boy’s home, there was a tall mountain, always covered in snow at the top. Also at the top of the mountain, there was an ancient monastery where ancient monks lived. Sometimes, the little boy, as he was riding his tricycle around his yard, would look up at the monastery on the tall mountain and wonder what it was like up there. One day, when the wind was blowing down off the mountain, the air turned quite cold and the little boy could hear a very strange noise on the wind. It was coming from the monastery! He could not figure out what could possibly be making such a strange noise and he was curious. So, the little boy made a peanut butter sandwich, hopped on his tricycle and started his ride up to the monastery. It took him hours and hours, but he finally made it to the top. He bravely pounded on the massive door to the monastery and the head monk opened the door. “Hello, Mr. Monk, sir. Down at my home in the valley below, I heard a very strange noise coming from your monastery. Could you tell me what it is?” “I’m sorry,” replied the head monk, “I can’t tell you. You aren’t a monk.” Sadly, the little boy got back on his tricycle and rode all the way home, in a very foul and frustrated mood. He really did want to know what was making that noise. The wind did not blow down off the mountain again until a couple years later. The boy was a bit bigger and stronger now and now rode around town on his bicycle. As luck would have it, he was out riding when the wind blew down off the mountain, the air turned quite cold, and he heard a very strange noise on the wind. It was coming from the monastery! He could not figure out what could possibly be making such a strange noise and he was curious. So, the bigger boy made a ham and cheese sandwich, hopped on his bicycle and started his ride up to the monastery. It took him hours, but he finally made it to the top. He pounded on the massive door to the monastery and the head monk opened the door. “Hey, Mr. Monk. Down at my home in the valley below, I heard a very strange noise coming from your monastery. Could you tell me what it is?” “I’m sorry,” replied the head monk, “I can’t tell you. You aren’t a monk.” Sadly, the big boy got back on his bicycle and rode all the way home, in a very foul and frustrated mood. He really did want to know what was making that noise. The wind did not blow down off the mountain again until a couple years later. The boy had grown into a strapping youth now and rode around town on his motorcycle. As luck would have it, he was out riding when the wind blew down off the mountain, the air turned quite cold, and he heard a very strange noise on the wind. It was coming from the monastery! He could not figure out what could possibly be making such a strange noise and he was curious. So, the strapping youth grabbed a slice of pizza, hopped on his motorcycle and started his ride up to the monastery. It took him 30 minutes, but he finally made it to the top. He pounded on the massive door to the monastery and the head monk opened the door. “Yo, Mr. Monk, dude. Down at my home in the valley below, I heard a very strange noise coming from your monastery. Could you tell me what it is?” “I’m sorry,” replied the head monk, “I can’t tell you. You aren’t a monk.” Sadly, the strapping youth got back on his motorcycle and rode all the way home, in a very foul and frustrated mood. He really did want to know what was making that noise. The wind did not blow down off the mountain again until a couple years later. The boy was now a young man and often rode around in his new convertible sportscar. As luck would have it, he was out riding when the wind blew down off the mountain, the air turned quite cold, and he heard a very strange noise on the wind. It was coming from the monastery! He could not figure out what could possibly be making such a strange noise and he was curious. So, the young man bought a burger at a fast food place, got in his convertible sportscar, and started his ride up to the monastery. It took him 20 minutes, but he finally made it to the top. He pounded on the massive door to the monastery and the head monk opened the door. “Mr. Monk. Down at my home in the valley below, I heard a very strange noise coming from your monastery. Could you tell me what it is?” “I’m sorry,” replied the head monk, “I can’t tell you. You aren’t a monk.” Sadly, the young man got back in his convertible sportscar and rode all the way home, in a very foul and frustrated mood. He really did want to know what was making that noise. That night, he thought and thought about the very strange noise and how he just had to know what caused it. So, he resolved to do something about it the next day. The next day, he got in his convertible sportscar and raced up the mountain, slammed on his brakes, and skidded to a stop right in front of the massive door to the monastery. He honked the horn of his convertible sportscar until the head monk finally opened the door. “Alright, Mr. Monk, I want to know what is making that very strange noise coming from you monastery!” “I’m sorry,” replied the head monk, “I can’t tell you. You aren’t a monk.” “Well, then can I become a monk?” “Why certainly! It is quite easy. You must travel the earth and count the number of blades of grass in every field and the number of grains of sand on every beach. When you return with your answer, then you shall be a monk.” So the young man left the monastery and travelled the earth. For years and years he counted the blades of grass and grains of sand, until one day he had finally finished. He made his way slowly back to the monastery and found the head monk. “Oh, Mr. Monk, I have travelled the earth these past years, counting the blades of grass and grains of sand. I finally know that there are 123,123,123,123,123 blades of grass in the fields and 123,123,123,123,123 grains of sand on the beaches and I would like to become a monk.” So the man became a monk. At last, he would now be able to find out the source of that very strange noise coming from the monastery. “Mr. Monk, what is the noise coming from the monastery?” asked the new monk. The head monk replied, “The source is too complicated to describe in words. I am afraid that you must see it for yourself to truly understand it. This key will show you the answer you seek.” “Take this key to the deepest, darkest corner of the coldest, dampest room in the dirtiest, filthiest cavern under the monastery. There you will find a long corridor. At the end of the corridor is a door and through the door is the thing that makes the noise.” Well, of course the new monk went immediately to the deepest, darkest corner of the coldest, dampest room in the dirtiest, filthiest cavern under the monastery and there he did indeed find the long corridor. He walked down the corridor until he could see the door at the end. Unfortunately, there were three magical fires that never go out blocking the man from the door. He decided to jump the fires to reach the door. The man made sure the key was secure in his hand, took a running charge at the first fire and leapt! Over the first fire he flew, but he dropped the key. The man leapt back over the fire, ran all the way back down the long corridor, out of the deepest, darkest corner of the coldest, dampest room in the dirtiest, filthiest cavern under the monastery and back to the head monk. “Oh, Mr. Monk! I am so sorry! I went to the deepest, darkest corner of the coldest, dampest room in the dirtiest, filthiest cavern under the monastery, down the long corridor to the door, but there were magical fires and I dropped the key in the first one as I leapt over it.” “Do not worry, for there is another key and you must overcome tests on your way to enlightenment. The second key, however is far, far away in Canada.” The new monk left the monastery and travelled to Canada. It took many years because he had no money, being a monk and all. Eventually, he arrived in Canada and managed to track down the key to the door. The monk then had to make the return journey equally as painstakingly, but finally he arrived back at the monastery. Down into the deepest, darkest corner of the coldest, dampest room in the dirtiest, filthiest cavern under the monastery he went, until he found the long corridor. The three magical fires were in front of him as he took a running start. Over the first fire went the monk, key still in hand! Over the second fire went the monk, key still- RATS! He had dropped the key in the second fire. The monk leapt back over the second fire, back over the first fire, back down the long corridor he walked and out of the deepest, darkest corner of the coldest, dampest room in the dirtiest, filthiest cavern under the monastery. The monk went back to the head monk. “Oh, Mr. Monk! I am so sorry! I went to the deepest, darkest corner of the coldest, dampest room in the dirtiest, filthiest cavern under the monastery, down the long corridor to the door, but there were magical fires and I dropped the key in the second one as I leapt over it.” “Do not worry, for there is one more key and we must all overcome tests on our way to enlightenment. The third key, however is far, far away in Australia.” The monk left the monastery and travelled to Australia. It took many years because he had no money being a monk and all. Eventually he arrived in Australia and managed to track down the key to the door. The monk then had to make the return journey equally as painstakingly, but finally he arrived back at the monastery. By this time, he was quite an old monk. Down into the deepest, darkest corner of the coldest, dampest room in the dirtiest, filthiest cavern under the monastery he went, until he found the long corridor. The three magical fires were in front of him as he took a running start. Over the first fire went the quite old monk, key still in hand! Over the second fire went the quite old monk, key still in hand! Over the THIRD fire went the quite old monk, key still in hand! He had made it! He’d made the jumps and here he was standing outside the door with the answer to his question. Finally, finally, after so many, many, many years of wanting to know what was making the strange noise, he would know. The answer lay through the door in front of him and he could at last be at peace with himself. Slowly, the quite old monk slid the key into the lock. Turning the key a slight ‘click’ was to be heard as the lock moved back allowing the quite old monk to open the door. He pushed the door open and stepped inside. Shock and amazement came over him as he finally realized the answer to his question! Do you know what it was? » Click to show Spoiler - click again to hide... «I'm sorry, I can't tell you. You aren't a monk.

Just thought everyone ought to know.

What is the true form of this question and can you grasp it?

What did the buffalo say to his kid when he left for college? » Click to show Spoiler - click again to hide... «Bison.