Red Mosquito

BurtReynolds wrote:

Jorge wrote:I like hats but my head is too large for most of them

Just go to a hatter and get a custom one.

My head is also too large.

spike wrote:

96583UP wrote:

spike wrote:

96583UP wrote:a wide brimmed hat is logical in the summer sun

But not while singing Evenflow.

His hats are too dark and bulky and always worn indoors like some psychopath

a light grain-based hat worn in the sun on the otherhand shows wisdom

96583UP wrote:but we kept the russians away just long enough so they would learn never to invade another country again

BurtReynolds wrote:

Jorge wrote:I like hats but my head is too large for most of them

Just go to a hatter and get a custom one.

My head is also too large.

Carl Sandburg wrote: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.

BurtReynolds wrote:If you could wear any type of hat in history without worrying about what anyone thinks, what would it be?

BurtReynolds wrote:Is 'lingerie" just "laundry" in French?

spike wrote:

bodysnatcher wrote:

BurtReynolds wrote:If you could wear any type of hat in history without worrying about what anyone thinks, what would it be?

Probably a trucker hat with a miller lite logo