Your elder phonics vibrate my spectacle sciences.
|is imperfectly illuminated|
Art guy, in many ways you are the epitome of monoliths.
*is currently impressed*
Murphy, you hit the spots other bitters don't reach. And you hit them hard.
We scraped along like rats, but now we will soar like eagles... eagles on pogo sticks!
|is in perfect karmic alignment|
Thirith, your incisive intelligence cuts straight through purple haze, the logic in your humanism is thankfully all but postmodern. If fluffy owls were to reason, if Athena herself were to speak up she would scarcely top your intellect.
My salutations follow you like puppydogs.
Blog: Room with a view.
~You are a *Taverner*.
Sometimes patrons want to go where everybody knows their names, though it helps when half of them are named John. When people want to celebrate, or commiserate, they gather to your establishment. You provide the atmosphere, the warmth, rum, and even an ear to bend. Did I mention the rum? Years before the language will be mangled with terms like facilitator and networking and interpersonal communication, you've overseen it all, and broken up a few bar fights, to boot.~
Punky, the vibrations of your chi ascend to the dragon epoch.
"Why are there ghosts in the kitchen punching each other in the balls?" - Aidan, "Being Human"
"Christianity has not been tried and found wanting; it has been found difficult and not tried."
- G.K. Chesterton
My moderator voice is red.
| Dread Buthulhu|
ah, Buc, your mesquite-flavoured looks warm the confit-duck of my heart.
Limertilly: A pagan deity forgotten by man and therefore banished to the realms of memory and darkness now remembered by a young girl in downtown L.A. in the form of a dream and therefore freed to reap your revenge on the people who discarded you, thereby forcing said girl to learn to use her innate yet awesome powers as a soothsayer to gather forces of the Earth to defy you and once more banish you to your cold, cold prisoooooon
My sister's band, what I am very very proud of: www.bit.ly/toodar
|half the man he used to be|
Oh board people, when I feel the weight of your hearts the lightness fills my being with the song of butterflies, the scent of red balloons, the cry of the pterodactyl.
| Dread Buthulhu|
Does your chrysanthemum know no bounds? You are as fragrant dapple-dawn-drawn camel.
Never stare into a car's headlights and freeze, because you'll either be run over or shot.
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