Dechristo

my uncle has a weally big cattle wench in Owegun

there is room in the world and matrimonial prospects for big pussies

battery powered

my wife's teachings are sought by many seekers of The Way. She is The KnagGuru

he's into the latest bromance mechanism: e-loping

killjoy

A stick, a stone, It's the end of the road, It's the rest of a stump, It's a little alone It's a sliver of glass, It is life, it's the sun, It is night, it is death, It's a trap, it's a gun The oak when it blooms, A fox in the brush, A knot in the wood, The song of a thrush The wood of the wind, A cliff, a fall, A scratch, a lump, It is nothing at all It's the wind blowing free, It's the end of the slope, It's a beam, it's a void, It's a hunch, it's a hope And the river bank talks of the waters of March, It's the end of the strain, The joy in your heart The foot, the ground, The flesh and the bone, The beat of the road, A slingshot's stone A fish, a flash, A silvery glow, A fight, a bet, The range of a bow The bed of the well, The end of the line, The dismay in the face, It's a loss, it's a find A spear, a spike, A point, a nail, A drip, a drop, The end of the tale A truckload of bricks in the soft morning light, The shot of a gun in the dead of the night A mile, a must, A thrust, a bump, It's a girl, it's a rhyme, It's a cold, it's the mumps The plan of the house, The body in bed, And the car that got stuck, It's the mud, it's the mud Afloat, adrift, A flight, a wing, A hawk, a quail, The promise of spring And the riverbank talks of the waters of March, It's the promise of life It's the joy in your heart A stick, a stone, It's the end of the road It's the rest of a stump, It's a little alone A snake, a stick, It is John, it is Joe, It's a thorn in your hand and a cut in your toe A point, a grain, A bee, a bite, A blink, a buzzard, A sudden stroke of night A pin, a needle, A sting, a pain, A snail, a riddle, A wasp, a stain A pass in the mountains, A horse and a mule, In the distance the shelves rode three shadows of blue And the riverbank talks of the waters of March, It's the promise of life in your heart, in your heart A stick, a stone, The end of the road, The rest of a stump, A lonesome road A sliver of glass, A life, the sun, A knife, a death, The end of the run And the riverbank talks of the waters of March, It's the end of all strain, It's the joy in your heart.

it's a beautiful day

when you go to kiss your honey and her nose is kinda runny and you think it's kinda funny well, it's not

it's a tumor

it's a piece of cake

he thought it was "Duboi"

Rilf?

noobile

I fastened straps on a 3qt Tupperware bowl.

the four horse's-asses of the apocalypse

the guy with the drawn hankie

The Crestone group. Bagging the Blanca Peak group (w/ Little Bear & Ellingwood, all three over 14k) in a day is a good challenge, too.

while we sit at our computers, it's good to remember that there's no such thing as "e-loving".

Miffed that he wasn't snubbed by all those astute Europeans?

unchain your mountain-clambering soul

The cc.com Tutorial On Fathering belongs in the Pirates Forum. Kev, you and spouse are free (within boundaries) to raise your children as you see fit. As long as your dedication to love remains paramount over your commitment to your pacifistic philosophy, you'll get by. But, the burden is on you. As you've probably found, the relationship with your child carries a poignancy not found in any other bond. The pressing sting is often in the question that must be answered: "Given the circumstance, what is the right thing to do for them?" Like all relationships of weight, if you're goal holds for both of you to continue to learn to love better while seeing your way through the world, at some point, the flexibility will be required to suspend or cast away cherished, longstanding, and tightly held notions. For me, part of the poignancy of parenting was in accepting the irony that those small malleable hearts of love are often best guided along their paths by firm steering boundaries.