Phillipe

I'd agree with you, but there's one little hitch - - I'll never retire. I'll either die first or just keep working. One of the nice little perks of being self-employed...

I've imprinted on my massage table...

Thank you, my Queen. Viewing is between 4:00 and 6:00pm tomorrow evening, in lieu of flowers please send 10W30 (Castrol) to: Fatty's Scrap and Recycling Yard 1223 Dipstick Drive Head Gasket, PA 18708 - that was the whole idea! Well, in the summer, anyway...

The End of A Useful Life She was faithful to the end. Her skin, blemished over the years from constant exposure to the elements, hung limply on her frame, a testament to a full and useful life. Her eyes were dimmed from too many late-night sessions on the road and her tread, once straight and sure, was now helter-skelter, her pigeon-toed gait a sure sign of advancing age. And yet… She always took me where I wanted to go, without complaint. Oh, sure, occasionally we would laugh at the shared joke of her “high-maintenance” lifestyle but, compared to many others I’d lived with, she was more than reasonable. Besides, it wasn’t her fault I’d met her so late in life… And it was also true that she was no raving beauty. Physical perfection wasn’t her strong point. Often when I was out with her, she’d seem to cringe when a beautiful, young and sexy thing would pass by us, but always I would pat her lovingly and whisper “Don’t worry, sweetheart – you have it where it matters”. In the summer she was always hot, in the winter freezing cold. Her circulatory system had evidently suffered some indignity or another before we’d met, and no matter what specialists we went to the cause could never be found. And still she went through life unafraid. This winter proved very hard for her. I tried everything I knew to make her comfortable, but I could see the damnable signs of her imminent end. Her reflexes were slowed; I heard creaks and groans when she moved; she couldn’t even wipe away her own tears anymore without my helping her, but it was help that I gave more than willingly. Yesterday I took her out for a pizza, her favorite food. We’d driven to most of the local pizzerias and sampled all the exotic pies offered, but she always preferred Little Caesars. Just another sign, I suppose, of her simple and frugal nature. We bought two of the Hot-‘n’-Ready Pepperoni pizzas and started back home, under most conditions a simple 15-minute drive. She hadn’t been complaining any more than normal so I had no inkling of what was about to happen. As we drove along Route 11, she suddenly began shivering. I tried to hold her, to reassure her that no matter what we’d pull through this, but it didn’t seem to help. I threw on the four-way flashers and pulled to the side of the road, trying to close my ears to the gut-wrenching moans that were issuing from her insides. But it was her time. I of course stayed with her as help was summoned, hoping against hope that she would be up and about as soon as the professionals took care of her. But they had been reciting the same mantra for the entire last year – “she doesn’t have long – go easy with her”. When help finally came and we rode together to the familiar small building with the flowerbeds in front and the gorgeous Japanese maple in the back (where she and I had spent many a happy occasion being reunited) she was oddly quiet, as if accepting her fate. The tears started welling-up in my eyes and I fought them back as best I could, but she knew and, I think, was happy in that knowledge. I said goodbye to her after the prognosis. We both knew it was her time, but I found it the most difficult thing I had ever done. Yes, she was downright decrepit and ugly; she wasn’t an athlete by any stretch of the imagination; she had a strong will and would often avoid any attempts at helping her, but always she was gentle with me and together we roamed the back roads and unusual destinations of Pennsylvania. “At least she met the kids” I tried consoling myself with, but it was far too little and far too late. It was actually a warm day for January yesterday… a day when the thick ice deposited from previous brutal snowstorms was melting, creating vast lakes of gloppy mud. Birds were actually finding their voices again and the sun, hidden for so long beneath angry gray clouds, actually dared to peek out and say hello. I said goodbye, and hoped that her spirit, if not some of her healthier internal parts, would go on to brighten other lives as she had mine. She was one in several million and I’ll never forget her, and I can only hope that she realized this in the end. I handed over the key to the scrap-yard owner, touched her dulled paint once last time and walked away, knowing I’d never have a van like that again.

I've been in that position, too...

Testing, always testing, huh?

A Test of Love ~Author Unknown John Blanchard stood up from the bench, straightened his Army uniform, and studied the crowd of people making their way through Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, the girl with the rose. His interest in her had begun thirteen months before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the notes penciled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful mind. In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Hollis Maynell. With time and effort he located her address. She lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond. The next day he was shipped overseas for service in World War II. During the next year and one-month the two grew to know each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A Romance was budding. Blanchard requested a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like. When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they scheduled their first meeting - 7:00 PM at the Grand Central Station in New York. "You'll recognize me," she wrote, "by the red rose I'll be wearing on my lapel." So at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he'd never seen. I'll let Mr. Blanchard tell you what happened: A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. I started toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, a small, provocative smile curved her lips. "Going my way, sailor?" she murmured. Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer to her, and then I saw Hollis Maynell. She was standing almost directly behind the girl. A woman well past 40, she had graying hair tucked under a worn hat. She was more than plump, her thick-ankled feet thrust into low-heeled shoes. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I was split in two, so keen was my desire to follow her, and yet so deep was my longing for the woman whose spirit had truly companioned me and upheld my own. And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her gray eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was to identify me to her. This would not be love, but it would be something precious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful. I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt choked by the bitterness of my disappointment. "I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me; may I take you to dinner?" The woman's face broadened into a tolerant smile. "I don't know what this is about, son," she answered, "but the young lady in the green suit who just went by, she begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test!"

Darlin', you KNOW there's no doors strong enough to hold me here if I don't want to be...

One could only hope for such an occurrence...

You're right. I'm sorry, Mods. Sorry, Admins. Sorry, everyone. But please don't bring up the "pay for" thing, OK? I own several sites - it isn't that expensive, even figuring in the amount of bandwidth this place probably needs. I'm not saying it's a moot point, but it isn't a strong negotiation tool either. If they were truly concerned with finances and needed to fund the site, they could have Google ads on every page. That would more than pay for hosting and maintenance. Hell, if they're THAT bad off, I'LL pay for the bloody thing. And keeping it a "nice" sandbox is relative. A hard-core occultist might wish to see all the Christian members banned, as most Christians probably wish I'd just go away. In catering to everyone, as I think you realize, you create headaches for yourself and please no one. My nasty comment was pointed at a general "you all" - in my POV, when a post that contains only gentle poking is treated like TNT, with no explanation, then that's equivalent to sending spam - unsigned, unacknowledged and definitely NOT honorable. When there's no explanation, imaginations (and the rumor mill) run amok. I felt I was chastised because I mentioned Kevin's name, and felt that if he couldn't "take" some ribbing, then something is wrong somewhere in the system. I understand how the management here works - I was simply venting my anger at the system. I have no ax to grind with anyone here. Except maybe Camelflogged, but he already knows that and hides from me a lot.

Always - and sideways, to boot. Get it? Foot? Boot? A-ha, ha, ha...

Just kidding, sweetie. Darn. Me and my boca grande...

Sure I do - I play dead. Then Theresa's friend can stick TP all over me You really DO want to see me leave here, don't you?

Why should a little thing like THAT stop you?

No!!!!! Don't! Stop! Don't! Stop! Don't stop! Don't stop!

And now Massa Murph won't let me go...my term of servitude here isn't over yet ...actually, I'm glad about that... ...but I'm STILL keeping that escape hatch open, just in case...

Don't feel bad - they have some strange things there. It's not as "friendly" as it is here, but it's my home away from home when I want to let my hair down.

Thank you, Mark. At least someone cares enough to post their reasoning. It's just a shame that some others can't accept criticism, even in a jesting vein. "Do What Is Right"

Oh, yeah - I know how they operate here. Cowards.

Sorry, Mike - I'm leaving this place.

That's right - I took a Lord's name in vain, evidently.

Good job, Mods! You're really on the ball!

Amerika? *sigh* (Sung to the tune of "American Pie" by Don McLean) A long, long time ago... I can still remember How my writing used to make me smile. And I knew if I put humor in That I could make some people grin And, maybe, they’d be happy for a while. But mind police, they made me shiver With every poem I’d deliver. Bad news on the forum; I couldn’t make one more post. I can’t remember if I cried When I saw my works were all denied, But something touched me deep inside The day that free speech died. So bye-bye, is the rallying cry. No more topics that are heavy, My stuff's all cut and dried. And them good mind cops were sinkin’ all that I tried Singin’, "this’ll be the day free speech dies. "this’ll be the day free speech dies." Did you write a post on love, And did you make fun of God above, Everybody says it's so Do you listen to rock ’n roll, Can stories save your mortal soul, Watch us teach you how to heel, real slow Well, I know you’re gonna' moderate Every post I've made on here to date. You'll guzzle down your beer And decide what others hear Oh, I was a lonely rhyming Taoist monk But it seems I'm seen as just a punk And I knew that I was out of luck The day that free speech died. I started writin’, "Bye-bye, why should I even try?" All the cops here speak of freedom But the cops here all lie. Them ol' mind police are sinkin’ all that I try And singin’, "This’ll be a thread we'll deny. "This’ll be a thread we'll deny." Now for five years all my stuff's condoned But hey, wait - is he getting stoned? Well that’s not how it's allowed to be. What the Sifu wrote in a parody It was judged unworthy for all to see In a voice that came from you to me. Oh, and while the Mods were looking down, They stuck on Phil a thorny crown. The forum was adjourned; No verdict was returned. And while Admins read a book of Marx, The OTDs smoked in the park, And sang dirty lyrics in the dark The day that free speech died. I was writing, "Bye-bye, is my rallying cry" No more topics that are heavy Now my stuff's cut and dried Them good mind cops were sinkin’ all that I tried And singin’, "This’ll be a thread we'll deny. "This’ll be a thread we'll deny." Helter skelter, I wrote how I felt her. The Mods flew off seeking moral shelter, I was high and climbing fast. I landed foul mentioning grass The Admins cried for a ban, en masse, With the Sifu on the outside, on his ass. Now the big crime here, as I assume, Was posting words that weren't groomed. That's why they looked askance Oh, but I never got a chance! `cause the members seem to need a shield; That's why the Mods keep their eyes peeled. Do you recall what was revealed The day that free speech died? I started writing, "Bye-bye, is my rallying cry" No more topics that are heavy Now my stuff's cut and dried Them good mind cops were sinkin’ all that I tried And singin’, "This’ll be a thread we'll deny. "This’ll be a thread we'll deny." Oh, and there they were all in one place, A ministerial Master Race With nothing left but pure disdain. So come on: Mod, be nimble, Mod, be quick! Hey, Mod - sit on a candlestick! Cause fire is the Censor’s only friend. Oh, and as I'm watched in this small cage I really start to feel my age No angel born in hell Could help these people spell. And as the flamewars climbed into the night No ones quite sure who's wrong or right, I saw Kevin laughing with delight The day that free speech died He was singing, "Bye-bye, Mr. Poetry Guy No more mentioning such evil Or your ass we will fry. My good old boys are dyin’ for you to try And singin’, "This’ll be the day free speech dies. "This’ll be the day free speech dies."" I met a girl who drank some booze And I asked to see her cool tatoos, But she just frowned and turned away. I went down to the sacred site Where I’d heard that tolerance was right But the Admins said my stories wouldn’t play. "Live without meats", ol' Clueless screamed, The Admins cried, ol' Git got creamed But not a word was spoken; The members' wills were broken. And the three things I admire most: Honor, truth and a decent host They got thrown from pillar to post The day that free speech died. And I was singing, "Bye-bye, is my rallying cry" No more topics that are heavy Now my stuff's cut and dried Them good mind cops were sinkin’ all that I tried And singin’, "This’ll be a thread we'll deny. "This’ll be a thread we'll deny." We were singing, "Bye-bye, is our rallying cry" No more topics that are heavy Now our stuff's cut and dried Them good mind cops were sinkin’ all that we tried And singin’, "This’ll be a thread we'll deny. "This’ll be a thread we'll deny."

Ah, yes, the mind police - monitor all you like. The rest of our freedoms in this country are being taken away - why not free speech? NOTE: Rev. Jerry - nothing personal - just business.