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nerd poetryDisclaimer: This conversation was a free flow between myself and my friend Miss Pajamas over SMS who at the time was driving 60MPH on the freeway while texting.
miss pajamas: that one word just told me how geeky you are
angelo: our texts are like nerd poetry.
miss pajamas: IP. API. IBM. www. COM.
angelo: you only get one point and that's for "API" ... SSL. PHP. IRC. BBS. IPv6. NDP. ICMP. that's street cred. write it down n00b! and don't make me bust out BGP. DNS and SSH either!
miss pajamas: 404 error. Oops it appears that this link is no longer working! Sorry!
angelo: These fucking people! Always screwing up their link paths! Can NO ONE(??) engineer with retroactive compatibility in mind?!?!?
miss pajamas: Internal error. You wanna read me like a CMS, baby. Take your CSS and upload your SAN. Cause no one can and no one will. Cause I'm complicated like an oil spill. LOL. AFK. Take your memes
Worrying Over NothingThe thought about everything is highly confusing,
when people try and think of it, it's always amusing.
They mumble and grumble, and they toss and they turn,
For everything they question, and everything they learn.
But, what is everything? Is it really that known?
Not exactly, for not much is shown.
Everything is, and always will be,
an infinite amount of things to see.
Despite better wishes, and thinking things lightly,
the question will scare is almost nightly.
But, with everything here and nothing in sight,
can one tell what is wrong and is right?
What I say to you, this very fine day is....
why does it matter?
If one worries about worrying, or worries about fear,
they would worry themselves to nothing. For nothing is near.
Needless to say, nothing is nothing more or nothing less,
nothing is everything, is my best guess.
So, if nothing is everything, and everything is a worry,
then you worry about nothing, for it gets you nowhere in a hurry.
Why worry about nothing when there's ever
Genghis Whenever we were bad my mother used to take us to the mall to see Genghis Kahn. They kept him in a dusty diorama of a Mongolian steppe, all tall grass and yurts. He sat on a throne of bone (well, plastic shaped like bone), scowling in incomprehension at the American kids who flocked around him like startled lemmings. My mother would usually push us toward him, saying things like “Tell him what you did to your father’s stamp collection.” Genghis would give a grunt, spit a wad of phlegm onto the tall grass, and give us a wizened, wrinkled grimace, as if he had to go to the bathroom.
He terrified me.
My brother couldn’t get enough of him.
When my brother got caught in my mother’s evening dress, my mother grabbed us both and dragged us to Genghis. It was a slow day, and we were the only kids crowding him. “Tell him what you did,” my mother hissed a
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More