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Posted By Jack Straw,
Feb 17, 2012 at 1:28 PM
Thank god we're not on Sunday's.
*stashes the other toga before any one else sees it*
PIP? :lol: Dare I ask what that is?
Hey, sounds like a great show. I am no actors,but I need money.
A lot of men will watch this show, bet we need something to have girls watching it as well......
I could play the French Canadiand Lumberjack, I don't know why, but when women love my French accent .
I would only eat meatball stew and potato and have those crazy story of me and my old Friend who has stoped talking to me since he is Famous (Bastard Bonhomme).
I could be the one stuck in 1800's. Leaving far from town in a small hand build log cabin. Lumbing with horse and travelling with sled og in the winter. And I could easilly always be drunk on some caribous or hand brand alcool. (My great grand-father was once a rhum runner during US/CA prohibition, he was bringing boose from St-Pierre Island to the GaspÃ© Peninsula.)
All aspirants to perimeter patrol are cordially invited to explore this important opportunity. Please re-read and annotate your copy of The Art of War, and bring it with you to the workshop. Dress is casual-assault.
Security Workshop Schedule:
06:00 EST Krav Maga workout
08:00 EST Apocotechure: zombie-proofing the grounds and house
10:00 EST Vampires and Werewolves: A Coordinated Response to Divergent Threats
11:30 EST Cooking, decorating, and dressing with garlic and wasabi
13:00 EST So They Wanna Feel the Love? Distinguishing between Emo and Pellet Burning (Please take a few minutes to fill out the following quiz before attending http://www.quizrocket.com/emo-quiz if time permits; otherwise indicate how you heat your home on the signup sheet)
14:00 EST Dressing for Success: The Great Cape Debate; Make Your Own Boot Sheaths; When Camo Works Against You, or Does this Facepaint Make Me Look Like a Dork? (Short answer: yes, and it will give you zits)
We'll wrap things up with Krav Maga elimination rounds; potluck follows.
The production company called and said that you are a bunch of divas. Someone is demanding a gold plated milk crate, another is requesting a new type of flat bed vehicle, a certain older "gentlemen" wants vodka with Viagra in it and lastly someone won't appear on camera with any "right wing wackos". :coolsmile:
We need a rum runner, most def.
No problem; I doubt that any "right-wing wackos" will show up for the pellet-splitting contest.
Sounds like week 10 of boot camp.
I learned shortly thereafter not to raise my hand and be an aspirant.
I heard you are on the new Celebrity Apprentice.
I owe somebody ice cream. Sorry.
Will we need ribbons & awards????
Need to know !!
I got kicked off, I kept looking at his combover.
The whisper in the trees is that the toga/pron-star contingent is planning to streak us.
A-M bring salads or a main dish;
N-Z bring side dishes or dessert.
WTH is Piejam when you need her????
Keeping a low profile; trying to leave her Hollywood days behind her and live quietly now.
Is Light Maple Syrup Grand Father would do for desert ?
http://www.csil.ca/recettes/download/Light Maple Syrup Grand Father.pdf
Yes and bring the snowman suit. I got a plan.
Not acceptable !!
Paging PJ, paging PJ !!
Maple Syrup, dessert; Grandfather, main course. And although this might peg me as a right-wing wacko, bringing him in that capacity could cast you in a suspicious light.
And now for our culture break:
By Donald Hall
August, goldenrod blowing. We walk
into the graveyard, to find
my grandfatherâ€™s grave. Ten years ago
I came here last, bringing
marigolds from the round garden
outside the kitchen.
I didnâ€™t know you then.
among carved names that go with photographs
on top of the piano at the farm:
Keneston, Wells, Fowler, Batchelder, Buck.
We pause at the new grave
of Grace Fenton, my grandfatherâ€™s
sister. Last summer
we called on her at the nursing home,
eighty-seven, and nodding
in a blue housedress. We cannot find
my grandfatherâ€™s grave.
Back at the house
where no one lives, we potter
and explore the back chamber
where everything comes to rest: spinning wheels,
pretty boxes, quilts,
bottles, books, albums of postcards.
Then with a flashlight we descend
firm steps to the root cellarâ€”black,
with dirt floors and fieldstone walls,
and above the walls, holding the hewn
sills of the house, enormous
granite foundation stones.
Past the empty bins
for squash, apples, carrots, and potatoes,
we discover the shelves for canning, a few
of tomato left, andâ€”what
is this?â€”syrup, maple syrup
in a quart jar, syrup
my grandfather made twenty-five
for the last time.
coming to the farm in March
in sugaring time, as a small boy.
He carried the pails of sap, sixteen-quart
buckets, dangling from each end
of a wooden yoke
that lay across his shoulders, and emptied them
into a vat in the saphouse
where fire burned day and night
for a week.
Now the saphouse
tilts, nearly to the ground,
like someone exhausted
to the point of death, and next winter
when snow piles three feet thick
on the roofs of the cold farm,
the saphouse will shudder and slide
with the snow to the ground.
we take my grandfatherâ€™s last
quart of syrup
upstairs, holding it gingerly,
and we wash off twenty-five years
of dirt, and we pull
and pry the lid up, cutting the stiff,
dried rubber gasket, and dip our fingers
in, you and I both, and taste
the sweetness, you for the first time,
the sweetness preserved, of a dead man
in the kitchen he left
when his body slid
like anyoneâ€™s into the ground.
Donald Hall, â€œMaple Syrupâ€ from Old and New Poems. Copyright Â© 1990 by Donald Hall. Reprinted with the permission of Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.
That's awesome, Snow. I can taste the syrup in my toga !
Nothing shrimpy there; full-sail -pron.
If that's how it's going to be delivered, I expect standing-room only at the workshop. Hint: steer clear of the mystery meat . . .
What time is make-up tomorrow?