(no subject)
We have loved and lost and lost and loved, and those who we thought we had not loved, we do.
We have triumphed over the effervescence of our fortitude; we have scaled the walls of Sparta, and smote therein those who would challenge us. We have declared our willingness for bloodshed, but such acts shall not be dealt merely in response to words (indeed, we are 'hollaback' comrades) but as a reaction against those who would harm our kith and kin, our friends and compatriots.
What shall we say of the evening? I sat and beheld creative people; I sat and beheld those who would fornicate at our hallowed house of revelry, they who dishonor our holy grounds with drunken saliva washing over each others' necks like a river of filth cascading down Mount Satan. They whisper soft words unintelligible yet all I head is the confused mumblings of children who promise never again to shit the bed while mommy prepares another nipple for the greedy feast. Other ladies enter to deliver propaganda, black upon white sketches of a whelpling smoking pot, a trendy name and a musical disaster from Down Under.
We smile and nod and nod and smile and the Earth continues around the sun as milestones pass and in a hundred years your children will be drinking me out of a glass, breathing me through the air and eating me through your food. If you disbelieve this, ask yourself if Napoleon was into golden showers the next time you are at the water fountain.
Or maybe our Little Corporal wants YOU to be into golden showers.
We have triumphed over the effervescence of our fortitude; we have scaled the walls of Sparta, and smote therein those who would challenge us. We have declared our willingness for bloodshed, but such acts shall not be dealt merely in response to words (indeed, we are 'hollaback' comrades) but as a reaction against those who would harm our kith and kin, our friends and compatriots.
What shall we say of the evening? I sat and beheld creative people; I sat and beheld those who would fornicate at our hallowed house of revelry, they who dishonor our holy grounds with drunken saliva washing over each others' necks like a river of filth cascading down Mount Satan. They whisper soft words unintelligible yet all I head is the confused mumblings of children who promise never again to shit the bed while mommy prepares another nipple for the greedy feast. Other ladies enter to deliver propaganda, black upon white sketches of a whelpling smoking pot, a trendy name and a musical disaster from Down Under.
We smile and nod and nod and smile and the Earth continues around the sun as milestones pass and in a hundred years your children will be drinking me out of a glass, breathing me through the air and eating me through your food. If you disbelieve this, ask yourself if Napoleon was into golden showers the next time you are at the water fountain.
Or maybe our Little Corporal wants YOU to be into golden showers.