srijeda, 04.07.2007.

Malo pojezije na vječnu temu...

WOMAN'S POEM

Before I lay me down to sleep,
I pray for a man, who's not a creep,
One who's handsome, smart and strong.
One who loves to listen long,
One who thinks before he speaks,
One who'll call, not wait for weeks.
I pray he's gainfully employed,
When I spend his cash, won't be annoyed.
Pulls out my chair and opens my door,
Massages my back and begs to do more.
Oh! Send me a man who'll make love to my mind,
Knows what to answer to "how big is my behind?"
I pray that this man will love me to no end,
And always be my very best friend.

MAN'S POEM
I pray for a deaf-mute nymphomaniac with huge boobs who owns a liquor store and a golf course. This doesn't rhyme and I don't care.

Courtesy of Prodigal Mum
- 14:50 - Komentari (5) - Isprintaj - #

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Opis bloga
svega pomalo, mene najviše

LivecamCroatia
Sročenice
Asimov, Isaac
(1920-1992) b. Petrovichi, Russia.
At two-tenths the speed of light, dust and atoms might not do significant damage even in a voyage of 40 years, but the faster you go, the worse it is--space begins to become abrasive. When you begin to approach the speed of light, hydrogen atoms become cosmic-ray particles, and they will fry the crew. ...So 60,000 kilometers per second may be the practical speed limit for space travel.

Isaac Asimov, Sail On! Sail On! In The Relativity of Wrong, Kensington Books, New York, 1996, p 220.

Churchill, Winston S.
...man will occasionally stumble over the truth, but usually manages to pick himself up, walk over or around it, and carry on.

Quoted in: Irving Klotz, Bending perception, a book review, Nature, 1996, Volume 379, p 412 (1).

Phoenix II.
Danas sam zavukao ruku u srce i izvukao jedan strah i bacio ga u smeće, par snova i spremio ih džep jer nikad ne znaš kad će ti
zatrebati, malo nade i vratio je nazad, šaku oktarinske osobnosti i bacio je u vjetar, hrpu gluposti i samo se nasmijao.

janisamindigo.blog.hr, utorak, 27.05.2008.

E. A. Poe
When music affects us to tears, seemingly causeless, we weep not, as Gravina* supposes, from 'excess of pleasure'; but through excess of an impatient, petulant sorrow that, as mere mortals, we are as yet in no condition to banquet upon those supernal ecstasies of which the music affords us merely a suggestive and indefinite glimpse.

"Nešto iz mudrih glava" (courtesy of V.K.):
Ne znam koliko imam godina, to se stalno mjenja.

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