Admit Something

[lennytheweedwhacker]

I'm not very good with people

Do you want to be?

Yes I want to be the best at everything, but it's too late.

can you make a good French omelette?

Huh

[doug rr]

I'm not very good with people

Do you want to be?

Yes I want to be the best at everything, but it's too late.

can you make a good French omelette?

Huh

I can teach you

[wease]

I'm not very good with people

Do you want to be?

Yes I want to be the best at everything, but it's too late.

can you make a good French omelette?

Huh

I can teach you

How about a tornado omelette?

[doug rr]

I'm not very good with people

Do you want to be?

Yes I want to be the best at everything, but it's too late.

can you make a good French omelette?

Huh

I can teach you

How about a tornado omelette?

Lenny cant handle that yet..

[lennytheweedwhacker]

I can't handle anything

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[spike]

He’ll probably step out on your mom next.

[lennytheweedwhacker]

About to slide into his dm's

[Jorge]

My dad has begun wearing a toupee and it's breaking my brain.

My uncle had an extremely obvious hair trasplant, with his new hairline populated by hair that is a completely different texture from what's on the rest of his head

[epilogue]

I'm researching assisted suicide.

Might just be legal in NYC. That's good to know.

[spike]

You okay, Joe?

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[Higgs]

My dad has begun wearing a toupee and it's breaking my brain.

I'm sitting with my Mum in palliative care and I somehow think this is worse. Sorry trag.

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[Dev]

I'm not very good with people

It's possible you are autistic. I know there are some other autistic posters on this forum. Perhaps try messaging The Argonaut. He might have some information on what moving forward might look like.

[Dev]

I'm not very good with people

It's possible you are autistic. I know there are some other autistic posters on this forum. Perhaps try messaging The Argonaut. He might have some information on what moving forward might look like.

[Dev]

I'm not very good with people

Do you want to be?

Yes I want to be the best at everything, but it's too late.

can you make a good French omelette?

Huh

It's because if you could make the omlette then you could make it for people and they would be more likely to forgive your social shortcomings.

[Jorge]

I'm researching assisted suicide.

Might just be legal in NYC. That's good to know.

Those Dev threads really got to you

[Jorge]

My dad has begun wearing a toupee and it's breaking my brain.

My uncle had an extremely obvious hair trasplant, with his new hairline populated by hair that is a completely different texture from what's on the rest of his head

does the family think less of him?

I don't think so. I only just saw him last night after several years and I kept staring at him thinking something looked off but unsure what it was

[spike]

My dad has begun wearing a toupee and it's breaking my brain.

My uncle had an extremely obvious hair trasplant, with his new hairline populated by hair that is a completely different texture from what's on the rest of his head

does the family think less of him?

I don't think so. I only just saw him last night after several years and I kept staring at him thinking something looked off but unsure what it was

The drapes are now the carpet!