for tea
He pushed aside his broad cross and released the door, turned back to me as he shuffled into the kitchen, tiger paw slippers plush on the feet. He ran his nose a bit, and he drew the spit noisily up into her as He fished two cups in the corner cupboard and sat unceremoniously on the counter.
"rose hips, chamomile, peppermint?" He waited for an answer not, but threw two bags with red labels in the teacups before the boiling water from the heat increased. In addition to the teacups he let the pot stand, turned to me.
"I would give you fresh brew, but you look so -" The sound wavered from his torso as he raised his hands and loudly sniffed again. His nose had turned a bit red.
"The climate here gets me somehow not. One would think that after all the generations here, some changes will have taken place. Nada." He glanced into the pot before the hot water in the cups and poured me a pressed into their hands. But it was too hot so I wegstellte on the table.
"In the fridge is still cold, my aunt has brought, I do not contract. Want it? Bread is still there." He eyed me doubtfully. "Come into the living room, standing here on the train does not get us."
Before the carpet, he sneezed loudly, and put the whole living room set on fire.
"Oh shit." Perplexed, he scratched his head, put down the cup. "That happens to me constantly lately, could you give me just 'rich ne helping hand sky No shit?..."
We deleted the fire as best he could - was not much affected been drawn, his furniture was prepared for surprises - and put us on the coffee table.
"Sometimes I wonder whether I'll go back. The other day I was missing with my sister over there. Of course I have a lot," he nodded approvingly to the television, in which was just dumb a court show, "but generally it went to me because the better. I mean, the constant colds and be frozen feet, and constantly burning device. That's not a life. "
thought, he shook his head and sipped from his cup. Then fell on me, I mean that in the kitchen had forgotten, and I got up to take her quickly. And actually I would also returned to her, it would not have knocked on the fridge, so I already on the table wegstellte and opened the door.
Before me lay a sausage on the top shelf, in the door were two bottles of Pepsi and three bottles of ketchup. The rest of the back wall consisted of a room, mainly, cool, slow down, painted white. It moved - a bit slow - well-fed and skinny guys at a great distance from one another, yet united by their acne. They seemed to enjoy a great time, before they distributed paper and pens, and one was holding a book in his hand while he softly anything lectured.
He reappeared beside me on his own cup in hand, and shared my views in the refrigerator. Then he grinned at me weird and said drowsy ". My doctor has recommended raw food containing"
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Should You Go To The Dentist With A Gum Ulcer
Turro Viteo
whisper. Thin, low voice from the back, front, from anywhere. No matter where I go, I will not let go. If I
the brightly lighted passage tumbling down, still half asleep, then it penetrates between the cell bars, and sometimes one or the other staring eye. Please contact me on the back, even at work, and between the oppressed choked whisper.
We produce recycled upholstery material. For office chairs, or chairs, couch cushions. That's right, rapists and murderers had their hands already there, where today falls into your ass. What will bring it, I do not know but it I do not care. Like so much else now, too.
At half past twelve we trot down to dinner, closed, except for the huge swath that I propose. From the front and back the murmur, the rotating head as I trudge into the room and me alone on a three-foot bank, I show in front of me potatoes that look like they were after successful yesterday's power for today's high-choked again extra been.
I do not care. Before, I got down a bite, but that is past. Meanwhile, I sit just there and the blade plate into me, until nothing is there. Without smell, taste, to be filled. Still, I've grown for three pounds.
destroy Forty-five minutes later on, mix, produce. It is a miserable term, unwilling long process, but it fits. If I tear up cardboard boxes, scraps of rain, and the others flee together to a huge shadow over smoldering from a distance, without threatening. Up to this quiet, ever-present whisper. Since I am
already here. For weeks, maybe. Time blurred, once you have started here. It is vague and intangible, every day goes in the other as on the watercolor paintings of occupational therapy. There is no stopping point, it does not find it. I have for weeks with no one else spoken.
dinner, the same as every night, then employment. Three and a half hours to the confinement. Ridiculous. Some write letters, play backgammon read. And yet they never look at what they do, their eyes are on me, cling to in sticky, glibbrigen, exploded fragments. Sometimes it itches a bit. But scratch force of the skin, the stage I'm already behind me. Usually I'm sitting in my corner of the places where nobody dared to - which is where I sit - and do my stuff. Or try, at least, the glowing black augenberingte wheeling me at any time from corners and crevices and as the front headlights of a truck that has made the stalking an error.
Sometimes I clench his fist and stare a little angry bargain, and then it will be a bit quieter. But it never does disappear.
"Why be a sitting?", Then asks a sudden, and I stare in disbelief at my first script, then go up to him. A young pup, still wet behind the ears. Must be over come when I have not looked.
My arm muscles tighten, when I curl my fingers. I stare at him, a bit irritated, perhaps, a bit surprised. Openness is a freshly cleaned window. Needs fishing for words in my dry throat.
"piracy", saying I then and step the glass.
I can still see me as he turns his back, face difficulty in controlling the unpleasant surprise, I see writing, and hear his steps very thin. And at night I lie
back in my cell, growing, as always. And around me just whisper.
whisper. Thin, low voice from the back, front, from anywhere. No matter where I go, I will not let go. If I
the brightly lighted passage tumbling down, still half asleep, then it penetrates between the cell bars, and sometimes one or the other staring eye. Please contact me on the back, even at work, and between the oppressed choked whisper.
We produce recycled upholstery material. For office chairs, or chairs, couch cushions. That's right, rapists and murderers had their hands already there, where today falls into your ass. What will bring it, I do not know but it I do not care. Like so much else now, too.
At half past twelve we trot down to dinner, closed, except for the huge swath that I propose. From the front and back the murmur, the rotating head as I trudge into the room and me alone on a three-foot bank, I show in front of me potatoes that look like they were after successful yesterday's power for today's high-choked again extra been.
I do not care. Before, I got down a bite, but that is past. Meanwhile, I sit just there and the blade plate into me, until nothing is there. Without smell, taste, to be filled. Still, I've grown for three pounds.
destroy Forty-five minutes later on, mix, produce. It is a miserable term, unwilling long process, but it fits. If I tear up cardboard boxes, scraps of rain, and the others flee together to a huge shadow over smoldering from a distance, without threatening. Up to this quiet, ever-present whisper. Since I am
already here. For weeks, maybe. Time blurred, once you have started here. It is vague and intangible, every day goes in the other as on the watercolor paintings of occupational therapy. There is no stopping point, it does not find it. I have for weeks with no one else spoken.
dinner, the same as every night, then employment. Three and a half hours to the confinement. Ridiculous. Some write letters, play backgammon read. And yet they never look at what they do, their eyes are on me, cling to in sticky, glibbrigen, exploded fragments. Sometimes it itches a bit. But scratch force of the skin, the stage I'm already behind me. Usually I'm sitting in my corner of the places where nobody dared to - which is where I sit - and do my stuff. Or try, at least, the glowing black augenberingte wheeling me at any time from corners and crevices and as the front headlights of a truck that has made the stalking an error.
Sometimes I clench his fist and stare a little angry bargain, and then it will be a bit quieter. But it never does disappear.
"Why be a sitting?", Then asks a sudden, and I stare in disbelief at my first script, then go up to him. A young pup, still wet behind the ears. Must be over come when I have not looked.
My arm muscles tighten, when I curl my fingers. I stare at him, a bit irritated, perhaps, a bit surprised. Openness is a freshly cleaned window. Needs fishing for words in my dry throat.
"piracy", saying I then and step the glass.
I can still see me as he turns his back, face difficulty in controlling the unpleasant surprise, I see writing, and hear his steps very thin. And at night I lie
back in my cell, growing, as always. And around me just whisper.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Vintage Girdle Milena Velba
Nostalgia
Do you still remember the cold gust in your face, violently pressing its way down your throat? Back then, when we used to spend nights outside around the lights and on the chilly shores, back when the crowd used to be together. Lola. Hal. Queen. You, me. Sweet Tooth and Sables. Do you still remember?
Like when we missed the bus and walked up Queensway in search of someplace warm. Everything was silent and empty, except for an internet café where a stocky Indian was closing, and the sickly lit Subway with some guy behind the counter stacking boxes. We stood still for a moment and stared, but then another howling wind blew us away.
I hugged myself, gait like a stork, and kept making a fuss about being cold until you gave me your jacket, you silly thing, and pranced down the streets in a t-shirt in a London autumn night. You said you weren't cold, you stupid thing. You insisted on it.
The haunting dark of Kensington Gardens silently brooded before us when we approached it, menacing, contemplating, stretching its dusty tentacles to swipe us off our feet. It got Queen first; they struck him and engaged him deeply with climbing the gates. He used to be so artful with climbing, winding up on top of something before he had even noticed himself starting.
Or Victoria Embankment. Was it there? The raw, harsh air tugging at my senses. You didn't need to breathe, though, when Sables was drunk, when the alcopops had him and Hal discuss their latest break-up, and they cursed and shook their fists at the world and laughed and toppled over; and I swear to God Hal would've just fallen into the river if Lola hadn't caught a hold of him, and she tugged him all the way along the shore and yelled at him with her piercing screams until the wounds were fresh and open again and a bit sore. She used to burn so much back then, with her terribly tame haircut and her terribly distorted face. must
I bet you remember it all You. You could not possibly forget.
But it's not like you could tell.
I miss you still.
Do you still remember the cold gust in your face, violently pressing its way down your throat? Back then, when we used to spend nights outside around the lights and on the chilly shores, back when the crowd used to be together. Lola. Hal. Queen. You, me. Sweet Tooth and Sables. Do you still remember?
Like when we missed the bus and walked up Queensway in search of someplace warm. Everything was silent and empty, except for an internet café where a stocky Indian was closing, and the sickly lit Subway with some guy behind the counter stacking boxes. We stood still for a moment and stared, but then another howling wind blew us away.
I hugged myself, gait like a stork, and kept making a fuss about being cold until you gave me your jacket, you silly thing, and pranced down the streets in a t-shirt in a London autumn night. You said you weren't cold, you stupid thing. You insisted on it.
The haunting dark of Kensington Gardens silently brooded before us when we approached it, menacing, contemplating, stretching its dusty tentacles to swipe us off our feet. It got Queen first; they struck him and engaged him deeply with climbing the gates. He used to be so artful with climbing, winding up on top of something before he had even noticed himself starting.
Or Victoria Embankment. Was it there? The raw, harsh air tugging at my senses. You didn't need to breathe, though, when Sables was drunk, when the alcopops had him and Hal discuss their latest break-up, and they cursed and shook their fists at the world and laughed and toppled over; and I swear to God Hal would've just fallen into the river if Lola hadn't caught a hold of him, and she tugged him all the way along the shore and yelled at him with her piercing screams until the wounds were fresh and open again and a bit sore. She used to burn so much back then, with her terribly tame haircut and her terribly distorted face. must
I bet you remember it all You. You could not possibly forget.
But it's not like you could tell.
I miss you still.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Dog Rubbing Against Furniture
Seelversorger III
On the first day did not happen much. to shout twice earned Yolken short awareness back, only to each about three minutes confused, incoherent stuff from cheese sticks and the Russian Mafia, before he fell abruptly back into a deep stupor.
The second day was very similar, except that he once managed, while talking to bite into a bread with aeeianischer unicorn sausage to the bite a little later in a high arc to spit back against the wall and some of ungulates to roar, before he toppled backwards and remained motionless lie again.
went on the third day, then slowly uphill.
pushed as casually as possible to Connaugh through the door, even threw a long look at the dazzlingly white furniture, before he seemed to take Yolken 'presence at all noted.
"What a shit load," he remarked in the air, pushed up his hat in one move his head and stared at the curtains, instead of Yolks' sweaty face, which was sunk into the cushions as his eyes in their caves. Dark it shone on him before they lost focus and Yolken staring only ahead.
"not even vegetarian," he croaked, clutching the thin finger into the covers. Connaugh shook his head, instead of settling, he stalked through the narrow room, his hands sunk deep in his pockets, and the wrinkles in his forehead.
"stone eaters, they can cater for special and essential nature of refugees, but not vegetarian, they get their act together. Shit again! No wonder, with Tourette this line."
Yolken smiled weakly. ".. Tzlu is a good man," he said soothingly. He paused a moment before he Connaugh focused again.
"Hast thou hast thou .. .. found something?"
Connaugh smacked his lips and shrugged his shoulders, instead of something unique to vomit.
"The eels are like, how fucking eels. Glide you through the hands and ... argh, they have skeletons in your closet. We both know that. We get it yet, we get, and if we use but the guerrillas need. I'll tell you. " Meanwhile he was
hinübergetrottet the window and stared out, and he snorted with rage almost. As it clanged behind his back, he spun around and caught Yolken, as this was fishing for a teacup on the table.
"What are you doing! Who has since placed? What is this for a staff? Feneverflucht ..!!" again
Yolken said nothing, while excited Connaugh, the voice and swelling as a disengaged seismograph. He smiled a little to himself, and fumbled around vaguely at the ceiling.
"... I'll be right back," finished his speech and Connaugh was already half out, "this is unbearable." The cry echoed
spasm itself nor against on the farm. Twenty minutes later came
Connaugh new items fell, sweaty hair in his hand a crackling paper bag.
"I've done right," he growled, coffee pot in the other, and Yolken threw the paper bag on the bed. Pale fingers reached for her, and wrapped in a bubble-occupied Teigstange.
"What's that?" Murmured Yolken. Connaugh stood beside the bed, but saw it does not, stared in the direction of bathroom and gulped the meantime the rest of his coffee.
soul with cheese, "he said.
He cast a sidelong glance Yolken, in silence, and when they saw each other, the grin wandered from one face to another.
On the first day did not happen much. to shout twice earned Yolken short awareness back, only to each about three minutes confused, incoherent stuff from cheese sticks and the Russian Mafia, before he fell abruptly back into a deep stupor.
The second day was very similar, except that he once managed, while talking to bite into a bread with aeeianischer unicorn sausage to the bite a little later in a high arc to spit back against the wall and some of ungulates to roar, before he toppled backwards and remained motionless lie again.
went on the third day, then slowly uphill.
pushed as casually as possible to Connaugh through the door, even threw a long look at the dazzlingly white furniture, before he seemed to take Yolken 'presence at all noted.
"What a shit load," he remarked in the air, pushed up his hat in one move his head and stared at the curtains, instead of Yolks' sweaty face, which was sunk into the cushions as his eyes in their caves. Dark it shone on him before they lost focus and Yolken staring only ahead.
"not even vegetarian," he croaked, clutching the thin finger into the covers. Connaugh shook his head, instead of settling, he stalked through the narrow room, his hands sunk deep in his pockets, and the wrinkles in his forehead.
"stone eaters, they can cater for special and essential nature of refugees, but not vegetarian, they get their act together. Shit again! No wonder, with Tourette this line."
Yolken smiled weakly. ".. Tzlu is a good man," he said soothingly. He paused a moment before he Connaugh focused again.
"Hast thou hast thou .. .. found something?"
Connaugh smacked his lips and shrugged his shoulders, instead of something unique to vomit.
"The eels are like, how fucking eels. Glide you through the hands and ... argh, they have skeletons in your closet. We both know that. We get it yet, we get, and if we use but the guerrillas need. I'll tell you. " Meanwhile he was
hinübergetrottet the window and stared out, and he snorted with rage almost. As it clanged behind his back, he spun around and caught Yolken, as this was fishing for a teacup on the table.
"What are you doing! Who has since placed? What is this for a staff? Feneverflucht ..!!" again
Yolken said nothing, while excited Connaugh, the voice and swelling as a disengaged seismograph. He smiled a little to himself, and fumbled around vaguely at the ceiling.
"... I'll be right back," finished his speech and Connaugh was already half out, "this is unbearable." The cry echoed
spasm itself nor against on the farm. Twenty minutes later came
Connaugh new items fell, sweaty hair in his hand a crackling paper bag.
"I've done right," he growled, coffee pot in the other, and Yolken threw the paper bag on the bed. Pale fingers reached for her, and wrapped in a bubble-occupied Teigstange.
"What's that?" Murmured Yolken. Connaugh stood beside the bed, but saw it does not, stared in the direction of bathroom and gulped the meantime the rest of his coffee.
soul with cheese, "he said.
He cast a sidelong glance Yolken, in silence, and when they saw each other, the grin wandered from one face to another.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Optimist Pram Rigging
Motherfucking heart goes click-clack-Ding-Dong
"Something's broken off here. He must be."
"You do not say."
Per shuffled over to the gaping open hatch and took a deep look, shoving aside Goal vacantly. His gaze wandered over the firm steel patterns as they interacted in tiny stirs, the motions independently flowing from the pumping center all the way through twitching, steel-clad tubes, cold scaffold bones and the soft chest sheath. Always Accompanied by a gentle ticking noise, although you could only hear it with the ribcage lids wide open.
"What did he say again sounded off?"
"The sound, if I remember correctly. Some sort of, er... ticking and ringing. It seems that he called it 'click-clack-ding-dong'."
"You don't say. Turn on the light, will you. This coop is awfully gloomy."
Tor nodded and cautiously tiptoed down a path through the clutter and debris; a warm, sickly yellow light flooded the room when he flipped the switch. Some things still worked the ancient way here. Of course, complex automatic illumination systems had already been installed in other places; those however generally did not belong to people like Per and Tor but rather to the kind of people who employed them.
"Did he say something else? Just curious."
"Er, as far as I remember, he insisted on working perfectly."
"So why're we wasting our time with him then?"
"... He said it's just love upsetting this innards."
"Bull." A dismissive grin made its way over Per's face as he shook his head. "As if a fucking robot could do that. Hand me that turnscrew, will you."
Turnscrew in hand, Tor hesitated.
"Why shouldn't they? I mean-"
Per grabbed the tool and cut his brother off.
"Oh please, Tor. Stop with your naïveté, it's killing your brain. As if such a simple, unfeeling machine could suddenly develop a wondrous, helplessly irrational attribute as this from a scratch."
"Yeah, but I- I mean, no." Instead of looking Per in the face, Tor stared out of the window above the counter, helplessly fumbling with a few bolts. "Your argument isn't especially- scientific, either." Again, Per cut him off before he could manage to squeeze out anything more through his narrow mouth.
"Fine, if it'll shut you up. He can't even procreate; why should he develop something so strongly related to procreation?"
"Love doesn't necessarily mean sex. I mean."
Air fizzed past when Per screwed loose one of the tubes. He let out a surprised cough and waved his hand before his face, wearing a deep frown.
"Love means that your genes survive. You love your family because it's partly your genes, come on. They already have them, that's why you don't want to fuck them. As if you didn't know. But robots don't have genes. So what sense would that make?"
Tor let out a sharp, frustrated sigh. His exasperated argument was underlined by almost spastic flailing of his arms.
"What sense do the other emotions make, then? As far as I remember, he was made to imitate humans! He does feel! So why shouldn't he suddenly develop feelings like that?"
"Because it would simply make no sense, and also he's far too simple for that. Stop thinking in clichés, Tor, don't be so stupid, I know you aren't. And now, hand over that Richmond gauge, will you. We need to have him fixed up by tomorrow."
"Something's broken off here. He must be."
"You do not say."
Per shuffled over to the gaping open hatch and took a deep look, shoving aside Goal vacantly. His gaze wandered over the firm steel patterns as they interacted in tiny stirs, the motions independently flowing from the pumping center all the way through twitching, steel-clad tubes, cold scaffold bones and the soft chest sheath. Always Accompanied by a gentle ticking noise, although you could only hear it with the ribcage lids wide open.
"What did he say again sounded off?"
"The sound, if I remember correctly. Some sort of, er... ticking and ringing. It seems that he called it 'click-clack-ding-dong'."
"You don't say. Turn on the light, will you. This coop is awfully gloomy."
Tor nodded and cautiously tiptoed down a path through the clutter and debris; a warm, sickly yellow light flooded the room when he flipped the switch. Some things still worked the ancient way here. Of course, complex automatic illumination systems had already been installed in other places; those however generally did not belong to people like Per and Tor but rather to the kind of people who employed them.
"Did he say something else? Just curious."
"Er, as far as I remember, he insisted on working perfectly."
"So why're we wasting our time with him then?"
"... He said it's just love upsetting this innards."
"Bull." A dismissive grin made its way over Per's face as he shook his head. "As if a fucking robot could do that. Hand me that turnscrew, will you."
Turnscrew in hand, Tor hesitated.
"Why shouldn't they? I mean-"
Per grabbed the tool and cut his brother off.
"Oh please, Tor. Stop with your naïveté, it's killing your brain. As if such a simple, unfeeling machine could suddenly develop a wondrous, helplessly irrational attribute as this from a scratch."
"Yeah, but I- I mean, no." Instead of looking Per in the face, Tor stared out of the window above the counter, helplessly fumbling with a few bolts. "Your argument isn't especially- scientific, either." Again, Per cut him off before he could manage to squeeze out anything more through his narrow mouth.
"Fine, if it'll shut you up. He can't even procreate; why should he develop something so strongly related to procreation?"
"Love doesn't necessarily mean sex. I mean."
Air fizzed past when Per screwed loose one of the tubes. He let out a surprised cough and waved his hand before his face, wearing a deep frown.
"Love means that your genes survive. You love your family because it's partly your genes, come on. They already have them, that's why you don't want to fuck them. As if you didn't know. But robots don't have genes. So what sense would that make?"
Tor let out a sharp, frustrated sigh. His exasperated argument was underlined by almost spastic flailing of his arms.
"What sense do the other emotions make, then? As far as I remember, he was made to imitate humans! He does feel! So why shouldn't he suddenly develop feelings like that?"
"Because it would simply make no sense, and also he's far too simple for that. Stop thinking in clichés, Tor, don't be so stupid, I know you aren't. And now, hand over that Richmond gauge, will you. We need to have him fixed up by tomorrow."
Friday, September 11, 2009
Dental Hygiene Graduate Student Cover Letter
a Wednesday night.
Die Flaschen rattled, as they Soleil neck pulled out of the box. They rose high with two of the four arms over his head, he balanced by lying about filth of the bachelor life to the kitchen table, where it shuts off the five bottles aeeisches ale before it is emphatically one of the cheap white folding chairs pushed and lit Król the cigar.
"PFAA can. Earthlings say about you, what you want, but tobacco was a damn good idea", it said in a satisfied surging cloud of smoke and lowered her eyes.
"I do not like. Smells too strict," said Eryana as she stared with curled nose to Krol's cigar. This was not unsettled but not and smoked more satisfied, the free flaunted goat legs hitting.
"Is worse than the smell of tobacco," murmured Tanh. He reached first after one of the bottles and headed to the closure with its protruding teeth - that's why he had let the never correct it - before it more lively continued
"Just today I ran a übern way, a zoo keeper or so, so a zookeeper. A bit of memory Mische, the usual wait, is when a Brax it again to lock up as a tiger to let know about that. By far that was not so tragic, but was I in front of him, had an elephant flag that went up yesterday! "
"elephant flag?" Eryana rümpfte ihre Nase, und rümpfte sie nur noch mehr, als Tanh den Kronkorken quer über den Küchentisch spuckte.
"Elefantenfahne. Wie in, da riecht wer nach Elefant, ziemlich heftig." Zuvor noch ebenso mit dem Verschluss seines Ales beschäftigt, wenn auch weitaus ungeschickter, merkte Soleil nun auf:
"... Wie riecht Elefant?"
"Fene, wie soll ich das beschreiben", Tanh zuckte mit den Schultern und fuchtelte vage in der Gegend herum, nahm dann einen großen Schluck, "Elefant riecht halt nach Elefant, nach groß und grau und tröt halt."
"Blöde Synästhetiker." Mit einer Grimasse griff Eryana in die Erdnussschale auf dem Tisch und schob sich die Handvoll in den Mund. As she chewed, her eyes tilted aside and they began to concentrate some highly ill-fitting feathers straight. Tanh began to imitate with mockery enthusiastic at imaginary wings, until they looked up their lousy quality petr Mauser. But until then, had long since penetrated a thin cackle the general silence.
"Laugh now," she poisoned, "I do not feel like it."
"it shows." Tanh did not sound particularly sympathetic.
"A shame it is with Yolks! The security here is now to pull hair. Seelversorger When we have only the Kieker, it's our turn."
"Now you do not even into the shirt."
"Besides," turned Król between themselves in another smoke barrage, "Yolk is now almost back heals. We skin so quickly to anything." And tapped his index finger against the horned temples.
"I thought we were going to have some fun and get distracted by this stuff now?" Soleil set off his ale and grabbed a green transparent Dealer cap from the air, he pulled over the head Król and its kringle horns. "Let's start before Eryana still seriously upset. Sergio, are you ready soon?"
The small, pointed face to the name startled shortly, hovering just above the hook a dimly lit field.
"Yes, now, save it, Soleil." Even the words without S contained a habitual, difficult to categorize hiss.
"had yet to catch Connaugh. Ugh, like me piss off Sikacen" Eryana complained more than they long ago took in receiving their dice. While they kept her in hand, she ordered Król in a series on the table, and Tanh placed it on a rickety tower, while a confused grin spread across his face.
"As you know, you could almost think you had a soft spot for our old goat had."
"Tanh" Eryanas mouth was narrow, and her eyebrows were a line itself, however, already almost seemed to wheeze with indignation. But before they flare up further, could Soleil switched between.
"Sikacen are really demanding colleagues. I have one here in the accounts, which must always check in the reports. Apostrophenfehler A and the entire furniture flies through the room."
"Peacock. Thus, it indicated. Is unfortunately highly inevitable." The cigarette was placed in the ashtray.
"So inevitably, as your hoofprints in the carpets everywhere? I've already seen so fiercely howl three cleaning. I have to accept wait, what?"
Król snorted and shuffled his hooves as he threw a slight pique Tanh view. Then he rolled the dice, and with it the Rest at the table, all staring in the tense three-level field that had been flickering in the middle between them.
"Connaugh is still a Ekelpaket." Eryana tore his eyes away from it as the first, in order to prevent the thick black hair. Sighing, she rested her chin in one hand then, as if they really had no desire to play what may well corresponded to reality. But it was not as if anyone asked.
Sergio gritted my teeth and wanted to devote all silent stealth tactical considerations, as his gaze dropped to Krol's cube. But as he opened his mouth, usually so calm and even indignant artificial:
"Even again! You always end up in the best position ever you get all the synergies and bonuses credited ... Your dice are still dovetailed, I can see on your beard "
Król laughed bleating instead of an ordinary response, he threw his triad dice only the second time, and this time released no figures alone, one word had spread on each cube:..
Not me.
Die Flaschen rattled, as they Soleil neck pulled out of the box. They rose high with two of the four arms over his head, he balanced by lying about filth of the bachelor life to the kitchen table, where it shuts off the five bottles aeeisches ale before it is emphatically one of the cheap white folding chairs pushed and lit Król the cigar.
"PFAA can. Earthlings say about you, what you want, but tobacco was a damn good idea", it said in a satisfied surging cloud of smoke and lowered her eyes.
"I do not like. Smells too strict," said Eryana as she stared with curled nose to Krol's cigar. This was not unsettled but not and smoked more satisfied, the free flaunted goat legs hitting.
"Is worse than the smell of tobacco," murmured Tanh. He reached first after one of the bottles and headed to the closure with its protruding teeth - that's why he had let the never correct it - before it more lively continued
"Just today I ran a übern way, a zoo keeper or so, so a zookeeper. A bit of memory Mische, the usual wait, is when a Brax it again to lock up as a tiger to let know about that. By far that was not so tragic, but was I in front of him, had an elephant flag that went up yesterday! "
"elephant flag?" Eryana rümpfte ihre Nase, und rümpfte sie nur noch mehr, als Tanh den Kronkorken quer über den Küchentisch spuckte.
"Elefantenfahne. Wie in, da riecht wer nach Elefant, ziemlich heftig." Zuvor noch ebenso mit dem Verschluss seines Ales beschäftigt, wenn auch weitaus ungeschickter, merkte Soleil nun auf:
"... Wie riecht Elefant?"
"Fene, wie soll ich das beschreiben", Tanh zuckte mit den Schultern und fuchtelte vage in der Gegend herum, nahm dann einen großen Schluck, "Elefant riecht halt nach Elefant, nach groß und grau und tröt halt."
"Blöde Synästhetiker." Mit einer Grimasse griff Eryana in die Erdnussschale auf dem Tisch und schob sich die Handvoll in den Mund. As she chewed, her eyes tilted aside and they began to concentrate some highly ill-fitting feathers straight. Tanh began to imitate with mockery enthusiastic at imaginary wings, until they looked up their lousy quality petr Mauser. But until then, had long since penetrated a thin cackle the general silence.
"Laugh now," she poisoned, "I do not feel like it."
"it shows." Tanh did not sound particularly sympathetic.
"A shame it is with Yolks! The security here is now to pull hair. Seelversorger When we have only the Kieker, it's our turn."
"Now you do not even into the shirt."
"Besides," turned Król between themselves in another smoke barrage, "Yolk is now almost back heals. We skin so quickly to anything." And tapped his index finger against the horned temples.
"I thought we were going to have some fun and get distracted by this stuff now?" Soleil set off his ale and grabbed a green transparent Dealer cap from the air, he pulled over the head Król and its kringle horns. "Let's start before Eryana still seriously upset. Sergio, are you ready soon?"
The small, pointed face to the name startled shortly, hovering just above the hook a dimly lit field.
"Yes, now, save it, Soleil." Even the words without S contained a habitual, difficult to categorize hiss.
"had yet to catch Connaugh. Ugh, like me piss off Sikacen" Eryana complained more than they long ago took in receiving their dice. While they kept her in hand, she ordered Król in a series on the table, and Tanh placed it on a rickety tower, while a confused grin spread across his face.
"As you know, you could almost think you had a soft spot for our old goat had."
"Tanh" Eryanas mouth was narrow, and her eyebrows were a line itself, however, already almost seemed to wheeze with indignation. But before they flare up further, could Soleil switched between.
"Sikacen are really demanding colleagues. I have one here in the accounts, which must always check in the reports. Apostrophenfehler A and the entire furniture flies through the room."
"Peacock. Thus, it indicated. Is unfortunately highly inevitable." The cigarette was placed in the ashtray.
"So inevitably, as your hoofprints in the carpets everywhere? I've already seen so fiercely howl three cleaning. I have to accept wait, what?"
Król snorted and shuffled his hooves as he threw a slight pique Tanh view. Then he rolled the dice, and with it the Rest at the table, all staring in the tense three-level field that had been flickering in the middle between them.
"Connaugh is still a Ekelpaket." Eryana tore his eyes away from it as the first, in order to prevent the thick black hair. Sighing, she rested her chin in one hand then, as if they really had no desire to play what may well corresponded to reality. But it was not as if anyone asked.
Sergio gritted my teeth and wanted to devote all silent stealth tactical considerations, as his gaze dropped to Krol's cube. But as he opened his mouth, usually so calm and even indignant artificial:
"Even again! You always end up in the best position ever you get all the synergies and bonuses credited ... Your dice are still dovetailed, I can see on your beard "
Król laughed bleating instead of an ordinary response, he threw his triad dice only the second time, and this time released no figures alone, one word had spread on each cube:..
Not me.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Does The Bikini Trimmer Work
computer_hilfe @ 2009-09-01T16: 30:00
Hello my friends, I have a really stupid
problem with my PC.
For some time, shows me my Pc in various Web browsers only links in blue on some items will no longer appear. I
the problem just can not go away.
maybe someone had a similar problem?
Any hunches could be the problem?
I know in any case no further.
This is still a Sreenshot from LJ.
I think you can see the problem.
.
Hello my friends, I have a really stupid
problem with my PC.
For some time, shows me my Pc in various Web browsers only links in blue on some items will no longer appear. I
the problem just can not go away.
maybe someone had a similar problem?
Any hunches could be the problem?
I know in any case no further.
This is still a Sreenshot from LJ.
I think you can see the problem.
.
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