<p>Yeah, I hadn’t been on in a while; I had been in Scotland-no internet just sheep.</p>
<p>i like sheep, except they’re not very fuzzy. at least, not like you’d think.</p>
<p>Sheep is tasty…</p>
<p>Discuss</p>
<p>“Sheep is tasty…”</p>
<p>You might say otherwise if you had a Scottish specialty.</p>
<p>Even the best fall down sometimes Even the wrong words seem to rhyme
Out of the doubt that fills my mind I somehow find You and I collide</p>
<p>he really needs to stop that whole song lyrics thing…</p>
<p>Oh, hint to the wise.</p>
<p>This is really funny if you read it in a dirty manner.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>The cake is less than she’d hoped it would be. She tries not to mind. It is only a cake, she tells herself. It is only a cake. She and Richie have frosted it and she has, guiltily, invented something else for him to do while she squeezes yellow roses onto the edges from a pastry tube and writes, “Happy Birthday Dan” in white icing. She does not want the mess her son would make of it. Still, it has not turned out the way she’s pictured it; no, not at all. There’s nothing really wrong with it, but she’s imagined something more. She’d imagined it larger, more remarkable. She’d hoped (she admits to herself) it would look more lush and beautiful, more wonderful. This cake she’s produced feels small, not just in the physical sense but as an entity. it looks amateurish; handmade. She tells herself, It’s fine. It’s a fine cake, everyone will love it. Its clumsy aspects (the scattering of crumbs caught in the icing, the squashed appearance of the “n” in “Dan,” which got too close to a rose) are part of its charm. She washes the dished. She thinks about the rest of the day.*</p>
<p>Dirty Lablondie! What is the American Expression: get your head out of the gutter…lol.</p>
<p>You can’t make me 
</p>
<p>Imagine there’s no Heaven
It’s easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today</p>
<p>my, it got quiet in here</p>
<p>qwilde, isn’t it like 7 AM or something in Brittain?</p>
<p>we’re all pondering lablondie’s post.</p>
<p>I don’t live in Britain…unfortunately.</p>
<p>For some reason I think there are two 'T’s in Britain</p>
<p>no, it’s only one T.</p>
<p>I know that, but my brain refuses to accept that fact.</p>
<p>Sorry, to dissapoint: just one.</p>
<p>your brain can’t spell!!!</p>
<p>Just like I think exercise is spelled like “excercise”</p>
<p>We’ve had over 100 posts in 1 hour</p>
<p>lol, it’s funny to look at the times. there are minutes with about 10 posts…</p>
<p>Pathetic…</p>