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RobBob

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'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe.

 

 

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

The frumious Bandersnatch!"

 

 

He took his vorpal sword in hand:

Long time the manxome foe he sought--

So rested he by the Tumtum tree,

And stood awhile in thought.

 

 

And, as in uffish thought he stood,

The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,

Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,

And burbled as it came!

 

 

One two! One two! And through and through

The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!

He left it dead, and with its head

He went galumphing back.

 

 

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?

Come to my arms, my beamish boy!

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"

He chortled in his joy.

 

 

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe.

 

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The History Of One Tough Motherfucker

 

he came to the door one night wet thin beaten and

terrorized

a white cross-eyed tailless cat

I took him in and fed him and he stayed

grew to trust me until a friend drove up the driveway

and ran him over

I took what was left to a vet who said,"not much

chance...give him these pills...his backbone

is crushed, but is was crushed before and somehow

mended, if he lives he'll never walk, look at

these x-rays, he's been shot, look here, the pellets

are still there...also, he once had a tail, somebody

cut it off..."

 

I took the cat back, it was a hot summer, one of the

hottest in decades, I put him on the bathroom

floor, gave him water and pills, he wouldn't eat, he

wouldn't touch the water, I dipped my finger into it

and wet his mouth and I talked to him, I didn't go any-

where, I put in a lot of bathroom time and talked to

him and gently touched him and he looked back at

me with those pale blue crossed eyes and as the days went

by he made his first move

dragging himself forward by his front legs

(the rear ones wouldn't work)

he made it to the litter box

crawled over and in,

it was like the trumpet of possible victory

blowing in that bathroom and into the city, I

related to that cat-I'd had it bad, not that

bad but bad enough

 

one morning he got up, stood up, fell back down and

just looked at me.

 

"you can make it," I said to him.

 

he kept trying, getting up falling down, finally

he walked a few steps, he was like a drunk, the

rear legs just didn't want to do it and he fell again, rested,

then got up.

 

you know the rest: now he's better than ever, cross-eyed

almost toothless, but the grace is back, and that look in

his eyes never left...

 

and now sometimes I'm interviewed, they want to hear about

life and literature and I get drunk and hold up my cross-eyed,

shot, runover de-tailed cat and I say,"look, look

at this!"

 

but they don't understand, they say something like,"you

say you've been influenced by Celine?"

 

"no," I hold the cat up,"by what happens, by

things like this, by this, by this!"

 

I shake the cat, hold him up in

the smoky and drunken light, he's relaxed he knows...

 

it's then that the interviews end

although I am proud sometimes when I see the pictures

later and there I am and there is the cat and we are photo-

graphed together.

 

he too knows it's bullshit but that somehow it all helps.

 

 

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'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe.

 

 

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

The frumious Bandersnatch!"

 

 

He took his vorpal sword in hand:

Long time the manxome foe he sought--

So rested he by the Tumtum tree,

And stood awhile in thought.

 

 

And, as in uffish thought he stood,

The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,

Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,

And burbled as it came!

 

 

One two! One two! And through and through

The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!

He left it dead, and with its head

He went galumphing back.

 

 

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?

Come to my arms, my beamish boy!

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"

He chortled in his joy.

 

 

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe.

 

that is lewis carol

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What luck!

The southern valley

Make snow fragrant.

 

 

I know they arent 5-7-5 but thats cause of translation!

 

 

A autumn wind

More white

Than the rocks in the rocky mountain.

 

 

From all directions

Winds bring petals of cherry

Into the grebe lake.

 

 

Even a wild boar

With all other things

Blew in this storm.

 

 

The crescent lights

The misty ground.

Buckwheat flowers.

 

 

Bush clover in blossom waves

Without spilling

A drop of dew.

 

 

 

 

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Crimpers and slopers and long waits in iso;

The stretch in my lycra that helps me to dyno;

The beta I'll need for the crux underclings.....these are a few of my favorite things.

 

A bolt by my feet and my knee and my shoulder;

Some obnoxious music to play when I boulder;

Apparel that matches my colorful slings....these are a few of my favorite things!

 

 

 

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Crimpers and slopers and long waits in iso;

The stretch in my lycra that helps me to dyno;

The beta I'll need for the crux underclings.....these are a few of my favorite things.

 

A bolt by my feet and my knee and my shoulder;

Some obnoxious music to play when I boulder;

Apparel that matches my colorful slings....these are a few of my favorite things!

 

 

 

 

Ha ha ha ha ha ha! Viva the 80's!

 

And for the new age:

 

Toothbrush and chalkpot and crashpad so cushy

Prana short-shorts show off crag-betty tushy

Warm up on Magic Lite, then go send Kings ... these are a few of my favorite things!

 

fruit.gif

 

This game rocks.

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'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe.

 

'Twas Plymmig, and the Beamsey sheets

Did gybe and spinnake o'er the beach,

All burgee were the mizzen beats

And the stay tack outreach.

 

Beware the jurygaff, my son,

The cleats that jam, the shrouds that stretch,

Beware the trimaran, and shun

The clumptions cataketch.

 

He took his tiller luff to deck

Long time the distant main he sought,

So ruddered he by the gallefry

And anchored there athwart.

 

But as in clewsome fend he keeled

The cataketch with forestay guide

Came riding through the gale and heeled,

All reefed upon the tide.

 

About! About! and in and out

The plimsoll mast went log-a-smack!

He left it barred, and planing hard

He jibbed, abafting back.

 

"And has thou slooped the cataketch?

Port to my helm, my boomish bouy!

O freeboard horse! O transome course!"

He portled in his joy.

 

'Twas Plymmig, and the Beamsey sheets

Did gybe and spinnake o'er the beach,

All burgee were the mizzen beats

And the stay tack outreach.

 

A luff Lyric of Vertue and Boaty

by Merton Naydler

(David Lewis; The Ship Would Not Travel Due West, Chapter 8)

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there's reading in those mags? pictures dont count as reading or do you mean "Busty Brandi, 21, 48-26-32, likes unshaven mountain climbers, snafflehounds and horsecock. Turnoffs include Lycra and bolts. Future plans include soloing Reticent Wall." hahaha.gif

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