Answers Arent At The Back

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

Happy Birthday

Happy Birthday... To?

Yes it's a good friend of mines Birthday today, unfortunately though I am not allowed to name this person on my Blog.

Protecting his real identity [as we all do online of sorts], is paramount, but unfortunately it seems that some people out there in cyber-land who wish to persecute this man, may well be able to recognise his identity from pseudonyms I've previously used...

FFS People... It's not his fault, leave him alone people, he's a good man... Is it his fault he looks like that? No!

Anyway, Happy Birthday Salman... :-)

Ciao Caio
Confused From Chichester

I BLOG There4 I Am

5Comments:

gemmak said...: Rofl!

How old is this 'good friend' then? :o); 11:24 am
Anonymous said...: But Salman was born on 19 June 1947. You obviously don't know your friend well enough; 1:06 pm
Fletch said...: Thats called misinformation...

Its to stop the Fundamentalists planting Bombs in 'Clintons' on the right day...; 1:22 pm
Anonymous said...: Excuses, excuses!!!; 4:39 pm
gemmak said...: Cake? Did I hear someone say cake!??; 6:30 pm

Blogroll Me!

The Register - Biting the hand that feeds IT

"I know why you're here. I know what you've been doing... why you hardly sleep, why you live alone, and why night after night, you sit by your computer...."

**********

D: "Where is everybody, Hol?"
H: "They're dead, Dave."
D: "Who is?"
H: "Everybody, Dave."
D: "What, Captain Hollister?"
H: "Everybody's dead, Dave."
D: "What, Todhunter?"
H: "Everybody's dead, Dave."
D: "What, Selby?"
H: "They're all dead. Everybody's dead, Dave."
D: "Petersen isn't, is he?"
H: "Everybody is dead, Dave."
D: "Not Chen?"
H: "Gordon Bennett! Yes! Chen, everybody. Everybody's dead, Dave"
D: "Rimmer?"
H: "He's dead, Dave. Everybody's dead. Everybody is dead, Dave!"
D: "Wait. Are you trying to tell me everybody's dead?"
H: "I wish I'd never let him out in the first place."

**********

"I know most of you have been where I am tonight: the crash site of unrequited love. You've asked yourself, how did I get here? What was it about--was it her smile, Was it the way she crossed her legs, the turn of her ankle? The poignant vulnerability of her slender wrists? What are these elusive and ephemeral things that ignite passion in the human heart?...."

"That's an age-old question; it's perfect food for thought on a bright midsummer's night. Hey, you said it best, Will: "Love looks not with eyes but with the mind, And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind." Yeah....."

**********

"Well one day I was at home threatening the kids when I looks out through the hole in the wall and sees this tank pull up and out gets one of Dinsdale's boys, so he comes in nice and friendly and says Dinsdale wants to have a word with me, so he chains me to the back of the tank and takes me for a scrape round to Dinsdale's place and Dinsdale's there in the conversation pit with Doug and Charles Paisley, the baby crusher, and two film producers and a man they called 'Kierkegaard', who just sat there biting the heads of whippets and Dinsdale says 'I hear you've been a naughty boy Clement' and he splits me nostrils open and saws me leg off and pulls me liver out and I tell him my name's not Clement and then... he loses his temper and nails me head to the floor..."

**********

"If u hold back anything Ill kill ya. If u bend the truth or I think your bending the truth, Ill kill ya. If u forget anything Ill kill ya. In fact ur gonna have to work very hard to stay alive. Now do u understand everything Ive said? Because if u dont, Ill kill ya...."

**********

"The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he, who in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. "

**********

The details of my life are quite inconsequential... very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds- pretty standard really. At the age of twelve I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum... it's breathtaking- I highly suggest you try it.

**********

Love comes when manipulation stops. When you think more about the other person than about his or her reaction to you. When you dare to reveal yourself fully. When you dare to be vulnerable.

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

Happy Birthday

5Comments:

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