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[Meta/OT] This is an OT thread
- Thread starter Tom Cashel
- Start date
Tom Cashel
First Post
Here’s why it’s not dead:
Just outside the back door is a green pasture, and from it a wind like water’s shine flaps the flowered curtains in the windows. Sometimes its nice just to lean up against the doorjamb, feel the shoulder bones and flesh rest not too uncomfortably in that wooden notch still waiting to be sanded and refinished, and breathe in clean air. When the nostrils catch a wisp of pollen, reminiscent of that garden Gramps insisted on weeding every day until his knees gave out, one wonders if maybe the bee who sent that smell did so on purpose...or was it just a side-effect of someone else’s day intruding on mine? A puffy white streak cuts across the blue. Who is on that plane and why can’t it be me? The back porch is ramshackle, peeling, warped boards that clunk under boots. The raccoons trill warnings from below whenever I set foot on their roof. But I don’t tend to eviction, I’m no landlord, they may be squatters but more power to them. When that swaying field of long green is filling my eyes I’m ready to overlook just about anything.
Why the townsfolk pledged their time and sweat and hard-earned dollars for a brand new banner to welcome home the prodigal son, Hamilton G. Swill, to their great home state of Ohio:
Clackety-clackety goes the train wheels over wooden ties, driven down iron rails, belching smoke from the stack. Next stop: Cleveland.
How?
Internal combustion. Coal, to be more specific than you deserve.
Off-topic:
If a thorn sticks in the heel when no one’s around to feel it...does it make a pain?
Remembering.
Been a long time since I ate any Cap’n Crunch.
Quaquaversal?
Every direction at once? Give it a try. Big Lebowski avatars and Principia Discordia sigs ain’t got nothing on a good old shot of Jameson by the hearth on a cold, cold day.
ring, ring
“Hello?”
“Hi there...Jim?”
“Hey Mike. How’s everything?”
“All right...except I got some raccoons holed up under my back porch.”
Pause. “Uh, kinda busy around here today, what with the big homecoming.”
“Ham Swill can wait a bit, don’t’cha think?”
Pause. “You’re a real thorn in my heel sometimes, you know that?”
“That’s just, like, your opinion man.”
“Yeah. I’ll be right over.”
Just outside the back door is a green pasture, and from it a wind like water’s shine flaps the flowered curtains in the windows. Sometimes its nice just to lean up against the doorjamb, feel the shoulder bones and flesh rest not too uncomfortably in that wooden notch still waiting to be sanded and refinished, and breathe in clean air. When the nostrils catch a wisp of pollen, reminiscent of that garden Gramps insisted on weeding every day until his knees gave out, one wonders if maybe the bee who sent that smell did so on purpose...or was it just a side-effect of someone else’s day intruding on mine? A puffy white streak cuts across the blue. Who is on that plane and why can’t it be me? The back porch is ramshackle, peeling, warped boards that clunk under boots. The raccoons trill warnings from below whenever I set foot on their roof. But I don’t tend to eviction, I’m no landlord, they may be squatters but more power to them. When that swaying field of long green is filling my eyes I’m ready to overlook just about anything.
Why the townsfolk pledged their time and sweat and hard-earned dollars for a brand new banner to welcome home the prodigal son, Hamilton G. Swill, to their great home state of Ohio:
Clackety-clackety goes the train wheels over wooden ties, driven down iron rails, belching smoke from the stack. Next stop: Cleveland.
How?
Internal combustion. Coal, to be more specific than you deserve.
Off-topic:
If a thorn sticks in the heel when no one’s around to feel it...does it make a pain?
Remembering.
Been a long time since I ate any Cap’n Crunch.
Quaquaversal?
Every direction at once? Give it a try. Big Lebowski avatars and Principia Discordia sigs ain’t got nothing on a good old shot of Jameson by the hearth on a cold, cold day.
ring, ring
“Hello?”
“Hi there...Jim?”
“Hey Mike. How’s everything?”
“All right...except I got some raccoons holed up under my back porch.”
Pause. “Uh, kinda busy around here today, what with the big homecoming.”
“Ham Swill can wait a bit, don’t’cha think?”
Pause. “You’re a real thorn in my heel sometimes, you know that?”
“That’s just, like, your opinion man.”
“Yeah. I’ll be right over.”
Djeta Thernadier
First Post
Reads through this thread again, blushes frequently whilst doing so, still has no idea what the original thread was about, and seriously wonders if mayhaps it's time to change my avatar back to a nice picture of an inanimate object....
baradtgnome
First Post
rambling OT
I think Tom is OT in an on-topic kind of way.
Make mine tequila however, I'm not fond of sweet in my drink. I like the way it is distinct and warm. With salt & citrus or without. Perhaps a margarita or tequila sunrise, or perhaps even a bloody bull. Watching the sun go down, the breeze begins to die as the light begins to fade. The sun takes on that peculiar color of orange juice and grenadine. Memories tend to awaken and waltz slowly across my conscious thought; a place far away; acquaintances nearly forgotten; a girl and a boy alone for the first time; a childhood adventure; a friend lost to divergent paths; another sunset long ago. The waltz ends as the sun is swallowed by the horizon. It always ends the same way, but I still watch fascinated. The leviathan always wins and yet gives no outward sign of pleasure for consuming the prey. The morning will give birth again to the sun. There will be more waltzes, but pray to keep creating more memories. Note to self: low on tequila.
Pretends not to have rambled so. Looks around and does not see Silver Moons return diatribe. Instead tries to show how connected he is by pointing out that I game with Djeta's boy friend. Nobody seems impressed.
If the only tool you have is a hammer, then treat everything like a nail. I don't care if you don't read this.
I think Tom is OT in an on-topic kind of way.
Make mine tequila however, I'm not fond of sweet in my drink. I like the way it is distinct and warm. With salt & citrus or without. Perhaps a margarita or tequila sunrise, or perhaps even a bloody bull. Watching the sun go down, the breeze begins to die as the light begins to fade. The sun takes on that peculiar color of orange juice and grenadine. Memories tend to awaken and waltz slowly across my conscious thought; a place far away; acquaintances nearly forgotten; a girl and a boy alone for the first time; a childhood adventure; a friend lost to divergent paths; another sunset long ago. The waltz ends as the sun is swallowed by the horizon. It always ends the same way, but I still watch fascinated. The leviathan always wins and yet gives no outward sign of pleasure for consuming the prey. The morning will give birth again to the sun. There will be more waltzes, but pray to keep creating more memories. Note to self: low on tequila.
Pretends not to have rambled so. Looks around and does not see Silver Moons return diatribe. Instead tries to show how connected he is by pointing out that I game with Djeta's boy friend. Nobody seems impressed.
If the only tool you have is a hammer, then treat everything like a nail. I don't care if you don't read this.
The Forsaken One
Explorer
, my bad, my bad!
Last edited:
Tom Cashel
First Post
Why shouldn't this be resuscitated as well?
(Not as good as Baraendur's...)
Aiiighh! Get out of my mind!
(Not as good as Baraendur's...)
Aiiighh! Get out of my mind!
Robbert Raets
Explorer
Complain about this 'olde thinge' turning up. Compare it to Baraendur's classic 'this is a Rant' in such a way that it appears even worse than milk that's two months over it's expiration date.....
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