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cindy

Goal: 100,000 POST IN THIS THREAD

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don't go to stats. read the book show for the test and get a B like everyone else.

the statistical likelihood of getting laid if you're trying is near nil, but maybe you'll skew the data.

Impossible. This isn't undergrad.

There's a quiz every single class as opposed to tests.

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Impossible. This isn't undergrad.

There's a quiz every single class as opposed to tests.

good god... what are you trying to grow up to be?

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trying to pry myself away from the computer and doing as well at it as always.

Im running errands, walking my dog later, I need to work out and the neighbors wife is gone for the weekend.

Party time at his house. Oh, and the U of Kansas is playing U of Missouri which is always big around here. Especially this game since it could be the last time they play each other since Missouri is moving the SEC.

http://www.canada.com/sports/basketball/Missouri+Kansas+square+showdown/6209929/story.html

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thinking of 3 songs that i'll spare you...

both good career choices, though superman at least shouldn't require that kind of market analysis.

and still on the computer.

my neighbor's wife is away too but i should probably stay away from his house until she's back.

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another technical question... is there somewhere in settings to change how many posts per page you view? cause... this gets hard to follow when it rolls on too long.

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i'm left with weather chat

it's freezing, and the wind is roaring around the mountain and straight through the closed windows and the walls, and there is nothing i can do to get this house warm.

i used to like winter.

for the life of me i can't remember why.

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i may be forced to read... a book instead of posts i mean.

which is something i love but... been trudging through the slough of despair trying to get through this one book for months and it has me repelled by the whole process.

Edited by cindy

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You're welcome.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

thank you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

now i have to re-watch every episode of buffy and angel and maybe some of that sleazy true blood and a few tim burton movies and maybe a few lincoln movies and....

well, yeah, the johnny cash is playing right now.

******* awesome!

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lord help us all... i'm transferring some things here... and some of them are poems.

i apologize.

but it's bukowski.

Cows In Art Class

good weather

is like

good women-

it doesn't always happen

and when it does

it doesn't

always last.

man is

more stable:

if he's bad

there's more chance

he'll stay that way,

or if he's good

he might hang

on,

but a woman

is changed

by

children

age

diet

conversation

sex

the moon

the absence or

presence of sun

or good times.

a woman must be nursed

into subsistence

by love

where a man can become

stronger

by being hated.

Charles Bukowski

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congrats, Chinaski

as I near 70

I get letters, cards, little gifts

from strange people.

congratulations, they tell

me,

congratulations

I know what they mean:

the way I have lived

I should have been dead in half

that time

I have piled myself with a mass of

grand abuse, been

careless toward myself

almost to the point of

madness,

I am still here

leaning toward this machine

in this smoke-filled room,

this large blue trashcan to my

left

full of empty

containers

the doctors have no answers

and the gods are

silent

congratulations, death,

on your patience.

I have helped you all that

I can

now one more poem

and a walk out on the balcony,

such a fine night there

I am dressed in shorts and stockings,

gently scratch my old

belly,

look out there

look off there

where dark meets dark

it's been one hell of a crazy

ballgame

from "Third Lung Review" - 1992

Bukowski.

no matter how bad i feel, i read him and i know it can always get worse. and probably will.

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hello, how are you?

this fear of being what they are:

dead.

at least they are not out on the street, they

are careful to stay indoors, those

pasty mad who sit alone before their tv sets,

their lives full of canned, mutilated laughter.

their ideal neighborhood

of parked cars

of little green lawns

of little homes

the little doors that open and close

as their relatives visit

throughout the holidays

the doors closing

behind the dying who die so slowly

behind the dead who are still alive

in your quiet average neighborhood

of winding streets

of agony

of confusion

of horror

of fear

of ignorance.

a dog standing behind a fence.

a man silent at the window.

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