May 1st, 2006


(no subject)

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<tr><td align="center"><b><font size="+1">In the dark ages, how would magicmarmot die?</font><br /><br /></td></tr>
<tr><td align="center"><font size="+2" color="#000000">You would create wings of wax, then attempt to fly. But flying too near to the sun wouldn't be your undoing: it would be thinking that wax wings would work.</font></td></tr>
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<tr><td align="center" font size="-2: color="#FF0000"><a href="">'How would you die in the dark ages?'</a> at <a href="" ></a></font></td></table></center>

(no subject)

The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out
The worms play pinochle on my snout

Rain brings out the worms. The parking lot at work is full of worms, like actually to the point of being slippery under car tires. And it smells like worms, a sickly-sweet decaying smell that is not the good part of rain. It smells like soft death.
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