and... that loverly blondie doll from s.afrika would say "Ag, sharp!"

*rubs hands together over the anticipated introduction of a Yo-Landi sociopathic type character* Quote

uhmm ill be happy to help..lol...brilliant in french means like ''magnifique''...outstanding in english..the word brilliant it self means ''shining''...french is so damn complicated..haha...



you are welcome in this thread jerkin (infinate.pause)

*whispers in Kertus' ear "Merci pour votre gentillesse." *

*rubs blurry eyes, puts glasses on.. goes back to the keyboard and the next part of a story* Quote

|--------------------------un rancard amoureux (septi�me)---------------------------|


Around the villa, the property is illuminated as though by the glare of burning white phosphorus or an arc torch�s star-like visual heat as it fuses and vaporizes steel in its fierce grip. The exterior security lights are oriented to provide no shadows for any intruder to gain obscured proximity to the structure or its outbuildings, and to allow for no easy targeting of anything on the property. Over the following two days there will be multiple complaints lodged by local residents to the Polizia di Stato about the immense glare lighting the night. Amateur and professional pilots will gossip that when they first saw the glare they thought some government weapons testing was being conducted and fishermen off the coast will stand motionless at their net controls, stare at the glare, shake their heads and return to work.

In the distance we hear the sound of traffic moving the air on the seaside highway, further off we hear the rumble of distant thunder. The thin forest around the villa is as silent as an empty confessional.

Moving from the staircase in the front foyer of the villa toward the rear of the building we hear the sounds of voices in conversation from somewhere ahead. Only the foyer behind us is lit as we pass through the large front room toward the dining room�s pocket doors, now closed. The glare from the exterior casts mullion and lace shear patterns across the room from the left to the right. Atop the baby grand piano, lid closed, are a grouping of Faberge framed photographs; the slightly faded color photograph of a blonde woman, clothed in sixties era garb, seated with a red faced young man, his arm around her shoulder, on a green corduroy covered couch. The woman holds a newborn in her arms, and has an exhausted looking but smiling expression. Another Faberge frame; a young girl, just post pubescent, grinning wildly, disorderly hair, grinning with braces clad teeth, the blonde beside her, grinning as wildly as the girl. A third frame, the blonde and the brunette embracing on a cobbled street, surrounded by a group of smiling people, a family photo, some celebration or another, a grim looking asian man dressed in a dark suit beside the brunette, an older woman stands behind the blonde, her hand on the blonde�s shoulder, an uneasy seeming smile upon her mouth.

We look up and focus on the entry from the foyer as the blonde and the brunette descend the stairs together. They are dressed similarly, black jeans, ankle height Doc Martin black laced up boots, and black nylon jackets un-clasped, exposing their light weight body armor underneath. The blond carries a satchel over one shoulder, the brunette a small leather portfolio style case. �Did he say anything about the situation between here and home?� the blonde asks. �No� replies the brunette, and adds �Apparently, that�s the news that has been brought� she adds. The two move quickly through the room, the light from the exterior making them blur and merge with the rooms contents as they pass through. Looking back at the photographs on the gleaming baby grand�s surface the light from the opening panel doors lights the polished wood and surrounds the Faberge frames. We hear the previously muffled voices clearly now, and recognizing the voice of the green-eyed bodyguard we focus on the doorway. We see a group of people standing around the end of a cleared ebony dining table; at the far end sits the green-eyed bodyguard who is focused on an array of maps scattered in front of him and a pad computer. We see him look up as the blonde and the brunette enter the room. The brunette turns and we see her slide the portfolio she carries under her arm and lifting the concealed brass handles from the doors� edges, pull the pocket doors shut.

We return our focus to the grouping of Faberge frames; the last photograph, a stone terrace overlooking a curve of high cliffs extending in the background to the left, wide entryways to a low stone building to the right, the blue of the Mediterranean sky above the structure. On the terrace, a group of women and children, all startlingly attractive, laugh and raise champagne flutes in a toast. The murmur of the conversation behind the doors picks up again, and we hear the sound of waves on a distant shore.

� Amanda 2011
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|-----------------------------Black----------------------|

Hey... oooh...
Sheets of empty canvas, untouched sheets of clay
Were laid spread out before me as her body once did.
All five horizons revolved around her soul
As the earth to the sun
Now the air I tasted and breathed has taken a turn....

And now my bitter hands chafe beneath the clouds
Of what was everything.
Oh, the pictures have all been washed in black, tattooed everything...

I take a walk outside
I'm surrounded by some kids at play
I can feel their laughter, so why do I sear?
Oh, and twisted thoughts that spin round my head
I'm spinning, oh, I'm spinning
How quick the sun can drop away...

And now my bitter hands cradle broken glass
Of what was everything?
All the pictures have all been washed in black, tattooed everything...

All the love gone bad turned my world to black
Tattooed all I see, all that I am, all I'll be... yeah...
Uh huh... uh huh... ooh...

(excerpts) � Pearl Jam 1991 Quote

An ode to a former model Miss Olivia Gee and her vod's of nasal exploration.

Pick it,
Lick it,
Roll it,
Flick it. Quote

An ode to a former model Miss Olivia Gee and her vod's of nasal exploration.

Pick it,
Lick it,
Roll it,
Flick it.



hahahha... and kind eww at the same time! Quote

no ewwww at all.. more of a (running)(hurl)... LOL fu suggs for making me laugh! Sharp! Quote

magnifique! ... (correcto jerkin'???, i'm learnin' french!!) votre �criture me prend � un autre endroit ... magnifique ... je pense que je pourrais �tre follement amoureuuuuuuuuux... Quote

magnifique! ... (correcto jerkin'???, i'm learnin' french!!) votre �criture me prend � un autre endroit ... magnifique ... je pense que je pourrais �tre follement amoureuuuuuuuuux...



lmao...take care Kertus... Quote

magnifique! ... (correcto jerkin'???, i'm learnin' french!!) votre �criture me prend � un autre endroit ... magnifique ... je pense que je pourrais �tre follement amoureuuuuuuuuux...



Oui mon cher, un autre lieu est un lieu id�al pour prendre pour. Attendez, je pense qu'il y a un australien environ � venir dans le m�lange. OH quel plaisir des choses qui commencent � �tre r�v�l� ! Quote

Oui mon cher, un autre lieu est un lieu id�al pour prendre pour. Attendez, je pense qu'il y a un australien environ � venir dans le m�lange. OH quel plaisir des choses qui commencent � �tre r�v�l� !



ce sont d'excellentes nouvelles, mais pensez-vous qu'un Skip peut foutre en l'air l'ambiance de culture? Quote

ce sont d'excellentes nouvelles, mais pensez-vous qu'un Skip peut foutre en l'air l'ambiance de culture?


Je crois que si je travail mon m�tier � tisser assez dur, rendre assez grande et suffisamment endommag�s, ils le ferons partout dans le monde, ils peuvent ambiance ou non. I mean hell, one of em's head's well dented, how's that for AuZ culture? Quote

no ewwww at all.. more of a (running)(hurl)... LOL fu suggs for making me laugh! Sharp!



Ya welcome hunn - just getting this thread back on it's poetic course Quote

|--------------------------un rancard amoureux (huiti�me)---------------------------|

The dining room is well lit even without the roar of the light issuing from the villa walls onto the surrounding yards and gardens; the curtains are closed tight. The room is a stark study in black and white. The walls here, unlike those of the larger living room behind the closed doors behind us, are a glaring white and show recent signs of construction where new wiring connected to touch pads hang from utility boxes concealed within the plaster. The table is ebony, partially covered with a canvas construction cloth; the other furnishings in the room are only eight ebony and black fabric chairs four of which, at this end of the table, are tucked tight against the table edge under the canvas. The curtained windows line the wall to the left side of the room and at the far end of the room. A stack of paint cans and a large rolled bundle, apparently a carpet for the room, are stacked in the left corner of the room, the bundle leaning against the corner wall itself.

The people in the room carry the black and white theme on. All are dressed in black. With the exception of the brunette, the blonde and the green-eyed �monster� they all wear combat rigging and weapons packages. The green-eyed bodyguard sits at the head of the table farthest away from us. The brunette sits at the first chair perpendicular to his left; beside her and closer to us sits her brother Philip; behind her on her left, and at the right shoulder of the body guard stand two tall males, stoic, composed, and very large. Both have closely cropped scalps and are unshaven, both with calm blue eyes. They are identical twins, the only noticeable difference between the two, the one farthest away has a jagged scar on the displayed right side of this head, running from the hairline above his right eye, along the side of his skull to his right ear, which is strangely twisted as though being pulled, even now, from behind the helix of its auricular. The scarred twin stares directly at the blonde and when she takes notice of him, winks without smiling. The blonde releases an exasperated sigh and moves her look to the seated body guard, �Driver I swear, if Kert keeps this up I�ll shoot him in the ass myself.� Driver looks up from the maps, gazes at the blonde and says �Right. You have my complete approval for whatever you think is necessary.� Driver turns his head slightly to his left motioning the fourth member of the defense team forward. �Rilla tell them what you and your team have identified on the road from here to Spain.�

The seventh member of the group steps forward from slightly behind Driver. She�s tall, even more so because of the three inch thick soles of her Doc Martin 1940 style black boots, close to 180 centimeters tall. Sitting at the table the blonde looks up, and looks further up. The woman is an icy looking brunette, lean, narrow seeming until you look closely. Unlike the others in the room, her dress is conspicuously different. It�s black, but unlike the others, it�s not loose on the body for ease of movement. It is skin tight, showing how smoothly muscular she is; and it�s torn. A jagged rip on the right trouser leg exposes her white thigh. She wears no jacket, in fact, except for her heavier bullet proof body armor vest; she wears no top at all. Her tattoos are the only bright colors in the room. The text �Hou jy daarvan?�, in fire house red, is tattooed on her left forearm; and we can see an intricate pattern of butterflies in multiple colors extending from the top of her right hip up her side under the vest and reappearing along her right shoulder and the right side of her neck. She�s beautiful in no classic sense but captivating. Her eyes are large and an inviting shade of blue. Her hair is long, pulled tight against her scalp, and extends, in a braid, from the crown of her head, like a polo pony�s upright tail, braided for a match.

�Howzit? Hier is dit. Two ambushez. First hier, ahwn die SP1 awtside Termini. Vyf okes wit nine millimeter autos ahnd grenade launchers.� She points at the map indicating a location just west of the city of Termini along the Italian coast. �Dit hier,� pointing to another location on the map that is parallel to the first, �front ouff tunnel at Bordighera, same package.� She looks down at the blonde, who�s looking at Rilla�s hand on the map, the nails cut short, precise, painted black. �Sharp fek�d I thinks.� The blonde looks up into her eyes, �Rider?� she says.

Rider looks up from the maps, then at his touchpad computer. �Two teams, one for each ambush. The first for the SP1 site, to be a diversion, one of the Humvees 2 units, hit hard and retreat, damage them so they�ll be delayed trying to catch up with our main group here� he places his finger down on the second ambush site, west of the tunnels on the Autostrada dei Fiori. �This will be the rest of us, three Humvees, the three person value package in the last Humvee with C and C. The other two Vees will carry the combat arrays and heavy weapons. I�ll update your pads as we travel. Rilla I want you and the Kerts in the second HV, you�ll run the assault on the ambush site, I don�t want any of them behind us when we go through okay?� The scarred one of the twins replies �Piece of piss Driver.� We recede from the room, listening to the movements and mutters of the group. Driver sits staring at the closed pocket doors, quiet, composing himself, knowing that what is about to occur, will never go as planned.

Outside the villa, the four combat model Humvees pull close to the front doors. The occupants of the house exit and quickly mount the vehicles. The Humvees roll on into the thin forest on the gravel drive, backlit by the scorching white lighting. The lights from the villa switch off. In the sudden darkness we are blind, all is black; we hear the sudden swell of the singing of crickets and frogs.

� Amanda 2011
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"Come on Odin, you've been in there for hours." he shouted with a little bit of laughter in his voice. They'd been drinking. A guys night out. In his house. Now, fueled by the rocket fuel he had prepared using a secret combination of some of his best stock, they were going out for some adventure.

He weaved a little as he made his way to the door. They would walk into town. But it would not be enough to sober them. This made him giggle a bit.

The dark beast came out of his study. His single green eye winking. His paws making an irregular scritching sound on the tile floor. His excess fur tied in a kind of pony tail on the back of his head. He wore a patch over the empty eye socket, it had a skull and crossbones embroidered on it.

The patch made him laugh. "Oh nice Odin. We aren't going to a costume party you know."

The cat simply ignored the comment and walked stiffly out into the street. But it was clearly drunk, no matter how it tried to hide it, for it knocked over a small table and careened into the door on the way out.

He was amused to see two crows tag along with them as they worked their way with some difficulty down the street. It was not the first time he'd seen them. He realized, even in his drunken state, for the first time, in a kind of foggy epiphany, that these crows somehow belonged to his cat. He was too happy to be freaked out. And he'd gotten used to surprises from his cat. But his inner self, the part that some call a racial or cultural memory, was twitching and squirming all the same. He made an oath to himself to give that part of himself a rum when they had reached the midpoint of their adventure and were due.

Then they reached the parlour: "Tatiana's tats" it was called. They lurched in. Tatiana was a babe and they had made a brotherly vow to burn some insight into their hides. Odin had lost the pull of straws and had to go first. Tatiana didn't want to do it, it seemed odd to her, but they poured out some of his magic mix from a flask for her, and she suddenly wakened to the beauty and symmetry of it all.

"Wha... wha... do you want?" she asked Odin.

The cat maintained his stoic silence and pointed to a napkin that he had drawn something upon as they reveled. It was a large letter "O" with lids that made it look like an eye. But the pupil was a crow and classical illumination played with the edges of the letter whose cells looked a bit like bricks.

Tatiana was excited. "Cool! Where do you want it?"

Odin simply pushed out his right shoulder a bit and sat down in the chair. His tat virginity would be broken by a work on his starboard side.

Ohhh what a fateful moment. Years later it would play over and over again in their minds. If only he hadn't given Tatiana that drink. If only Odin had shaved his right arm.

For when she started to do her work, an unexpected loss of balance brought hot needle in contact with dry fur... and foooooooooooom... Odin's whole right front leg went up in a blaze all at once.

Now he broke his silence. He uttered a horrible oath in Norwegian. His eye blazed hideous green. Ice blasts smote all in the room as he conjured forth artic storm spirits.

Tatiana sadly was cut down by one slash from the vengeful beast. But in a way she was lucky. For her punishment was final and quick. But the cat's drinking buddy, whose only crime was to witness the mistake, was to suffer for eternity.

How arbitrary and cruel are the ways of the gods! If you should find yourself in Hades, for the flimsiest of reasons, don't be surprised to see some poor soul next to you wearing a collar with a bell, eating ice cold cat food while being rubbed the wrong way by some twenty odd demons. If you have any doubt about who it is next to you, check for his flask and I think you'll find it still there, still half full, and none to help him finish it off.







Quote

*purrs delightedly* Quote

|-------------------------------My Un-caressed Breast-----------------------------------|


i told you, don't apologize; you have these times when you have no need of me at all, and i know that.
you have moments when you are inside of yourself, whether in agony or joy i do not know.
you have moments, i know that.

i am a weakness that occurs.
i am something other.
i am.

a moment ago i was caressing my breast
and had no interest in it other than not sitting alone.

we are both our own muddles, our own mixes, our own spirits,
whatever it is that i feel.

ty for sending me your note.
ty for sending me links.

i don't have anything to send you right now but these words,
and my un-caressed breast.

� Amanda 2011
Quote

Shot in the ass for a wink! That poor dude, all for jus' tryin' ta b noice! Quote

Shot in the ass for a wink! That poor dude, all for jus' tryin' ta b noice!



lmao
Quote

whickerman1: Oh man does this suck. I am ready to cut out of here the first chance I get.

whickerman2: Shut up you! You are gonna get us all killed with that loose talk!

whickerman1: Oh lighten up. The officers are too busy trying to figure out what to do next to notice a little grumbling in the ranks.

whickerman3: I'm with noisy. How do we get out of this chicken outfit?

whickerman2: There is no way out. Two full battalions on either side of us. Enforcers in back. Prepare to die gloriously!

whickerman1: You die gloriously! Look at these lousy shields they gave us. (breaking off a corner of his) Fucking whicker!

whickerman3: Yeah I couldn't even make a chair out of this.

whickerman2: It's light though. Surely this will give us an advantage against our enemies who...

whickerman1: Oh it's LIGHT is it! Oooooooh thank you so much for giving me a shield that is so fucking easy to carry. Maybe next campaign you can give us all sticks of butter instead.

whickerman3: I say we cram these straw mats up our satrap's ass!

whickerman2: Shut up Shut up Shut up! We'll all lose our heads for this kind of sedition!

whickerman1: I'm with you! Then we'll light them. Don't see how we're gonna make it out of this though. Sure to be a goddamned rout.

whickerman3: Yeah and leading it will be our yellow king.

whickerman1: Ain't that the truth. When he gives us those long speeches before heading out I just wanna give him such a wedgie. He is so effffing hopeless. Even his lack-brain son would surely be an improvement.

whickerman3: Why go with his son? Power clearly is derived from the people and ...

whickerman2: Fucking communists!

whickerman1 and 3: Shut up you fascist!

whickerman1: (very sarcastically) Fight smarter not harder!

whickerman3: (equally) Victory comes from improving processes... measureably.

whickerman1: What keeps me going is that at least we are going to be slaughtered by someone who has his shit together. You don't find this kind of bullshit in the Macedonian army.

whickerman3: (laughing) Yes. Our gold will be taken and our villages burned by the cream of the crop.

whickerman2: You fucking traitors! I oughtta cut you in two right here, right now.

whickerman1: You'll never make it through a chicken bone with that sword. What the fuck, brass? Is this Sargon vs. Ackamithrides?

whickerman3: (singing) Watch it jitter, see it glitter, oooooh it bends around bone, our battle scimitar.

whickerman2: Let's see. (slashes at 1, who raises his shield)

whickerman1: (laughing uncontrollably) Look the whicker can stop something! Bwwaaaaaaa ha ha ha.

whickerman3: (very soberly) Yeah but it won't stop anything from the other side. Not even a dart.

A horn sounds and suddenly the ground starts to shake. All further talk is drowned out by shouts and eventually the clash of metal on ... whicker.





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