Testimonals from Friendster
I wrote some testimonials on Friendster, and then I never returned. In order to not lose them forever, I'm pasting them here:
Tanya:
There I was, just outside of Dien Bien Phu in North Vietnam. Our Huey was downed by Viet Cong AA on a bug-out, and the rest of the 117th was dead except for me. I wasn't in such good shape, myself, with a broken leg and a whole lot of lost blood. I was sitting against a tree at the edge of a black marsh, waiting for death, when I heard her voice. "Soldier, you look like you could use a hand." She came out of nowhere, helped me up, and half carried, half-dragged me south through the jungle. I asked her name, and she said "Jones. Major Tanya Jones." Her clothes were as clean as the blue sky above us, and she whistled an old chopper pilot tune as we made our way over the marshy terrain. I passed out from the pain in my leg, and when I came to, I was lying in a hospital bed in our base at Tan An, with my thigh splinted and bandaged, and nurses fussing around me. "Where is Major Jones?" I asked. "I gotta see her!". The nurses stared at me, wide-eyed, and then scurried from the room. Moments later, the head doctor appeared and asked me "Were you calling for Tanya Jones?". "Yes!" I replied, "She saved my life! I'd be gutted and lying on my face in a marsh if it wasn't for her!" The doctor cleared his throat and looked down at the floor. "I don't know how you got here, son, and it looks like we'll never know. Major Jones died exactly one year ago today, when her Huey went down over Dien Bien Phu."
fjarlq
A thundering crash of metal-shod hoof. A flash of searing white light.
The door splinters and he strides in, crushing under aesirian foot the slithering cowards, destroying with Odin's fiery gaze the clustering madmen, striking down with Buri's icy hand the insidious demons that feast on our souls in the name of humanity. He pauses at a breath of a sound, and his empyreal frame stoops as he speaks softly to a frightened child. We blink at the pure blinding peace, and when we open our eyes he is gone.
A whisper of lilac wind. A mist of vanilla rain.
From K about Me:
Steve's tastes and my own intersect in
so many different areas that any
criticism directed at him would
probably apply to me, too. Now I've
got the lack of criticism out of the
way. Time for the praise. Steve is
smart, funny, and he can juggle and
sing. Invite him to your next party.
You won't be disappointed. If he
fails as entertainment, he could
probably serve drinks.
From T about Me:
When viewing the Steve, please keep all
heads and hands inside the vehicle.
Photographs are allowed, but be aware
that use of a flash might upset the
Steve. Did you know the typical Steve
uses his thick skull and big brain for
defensive purposes? Only rarely does
this make a mess. [Friendly Tours not
responsible for injury or idiocy. The
Steve seems to have a mind of its own.]
The only known sample in captivity
haunts a stucco-ed suburbia, and like
the cuckoo, has managed to insinuate
himself into a foreign society, not
only surviving, but apparently thriving
on the local populace. Recently shorn,
(Steve's pelt worth its weight in
carbon.) our nearby male specimen has
been seen assaulting penguins in
retaliation for the indignity of this
delousing. Reputable scientists believe
the Steve envies the penguin its open
spaces and superior fish-catching
skills. A competing view is held that
the Steve only wishes to take that warm
and fuzzy niche all humans seem to have
for our dapper ecological neighbors,
and his cuddliness in general is
lending growing weight to this theory.
Please, Billy. Do not feed the Steve.
Tanya:
There I was, just outside of Dien Bien Phu in North Vietnam. Our Huey was downed by Viet Cong AA on a bug-out, and the rest of the 117th was dead except for me. I wasn't in such good shape, myself, with a broken leg and a whole lot of lost blood. I was sitting against a tree at the edge of a black marsh, waiting for death, when I heard her voice. "Soldier, you look like you could use a hand." She came out of nowhere, helped me up, and half carried, half-dragged me south through the jungle. I asked her name, and she said "Jones. Major Tanya Jones." Her clothes were as clean as the blue sky above us, and she whistled an old chopper pilot tune as we made our way over the marshy terrain. I passed out from the pain in my leg, and when I came to, I was lying in a hospital bed in our base at Tan An, with my thigh splinted and bandaged, and nurses fussing around me. "Where is Major Jones?" I asked. "I gotta see her!". The nurses stared at me, wide-eyed, and then scurried from the room. Moments later, the head doctor appeared and asked me "Were you calling for Tanya Jones?". "Yes!" I replied, "She saved my life! I'd be gutted and lying on my face in a marsh if it wasn't for her!" The doctor cleared his throat and looked down at the floor. "I don't know how you got here, son, and it looks like we'll never know. Major Jones died exactly one year ago today, when her Huey went down over Dien Bien Phu."
fjarlq
A thundering crash of metal-shod hoof. A flash of searing white light.
The door splinters and he strides in, crushing under aesirian foot the slithering cowards, destroying with Odin's fiery gaze the clustering madmen, striking down with Buri's icy hand the insidious demons that feast on our souls in the name of humanity. He pauses at a breath of a sound, and his empyreal frame stoops as he speaks softly to a frightened child. We blink at the pure blinding peace, and when we open our eyes he is gone.
A whisper of lilac wind. A mist of vanilla rain.
From K about Me:
Steve's tastes and my own intersect in
so many different areas that any
criticism directed at him would
probably apply to me, too. Now I've
got the lack of criticism out of the
way. Time for the praise. Steve is
smart, funny, and he can juggle and
sing. Invite him to your next party.
You won't be disappointed. If he
fails as entertainment, he could
probably serve drinks.
From T about Me:
When viewing the Steve, please keep all
heads and hands inside the vehicle.
Photographs are allowed, but be aware
that use of a flash might upset the
Steve. Did you know the typical Steve
uses his thick skull and big brain for
defensive purposes? Only rarely does
this make a mess. [Friendly Tours not
responsible for injury or idiocy. The
Steve seems to have a mind of its own.]
The only known sample in captivity
haunts a stucco-ed suburbia, and like
the cuckoo, has managed to insinuate
himself into a foreign society, not
only surviving, but apparently thriving
on the local populace. Recently shorn,
(Steve's pelt worth its weight in
carbon.) our nearby male specimen has
been seen assaulting penguins in
retaliation for the indignity of this
delousing. Reputable scientists believe
the Steve envies the penguin its open
spaces and superior fish-catching
skills. A competing view is held that
the Steve only wishes to take that warm
and fuzzy niche all humans seem to have
for our dapper ecological neighbors,
and his cuddliness in general is
lending growing weight to this theory.
Please, Billy. Do not feed the Steve.