Red Mosquito

epilogue wrote:

Dev wrote:

BurtReynolds wrote:

BurtReynolds wrote:

The boy built a frog army. He didn't ask permission. He didn't wait for someone else to do it. He didn't consider the ethics of making a frog army. He just did it. He IMPOSED himself on the world, and in doing so, he transformed it in a very real way.

What did you do today? Nothing.

pls relax

Also, why did you block out the byline?

epilogue wrote:

Dev wrote:I would have never known about this John McAfee if not for this thread

same

and honestly I still don't really know who he is

JuanHamm wrote:

epilogue wrote:

Dev wrote:I would have never known about this John McAfee if not for this thread

same

and honestly I still don't really know who he is

I doubt anyone really did

BurtReynolds wrote:"oh I don't know if I should. I don't want to rock the boat. I don't want to hurt anybody."

Pathetic!

spike wrote:

BurtReynolds wrote:"oh I don't know if I should. I don't want to rock the boat. I don't want to hurt anybody."

Pathetic!

Dev wrote:Cum back down to earth, Burt.

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:

Ello Sailor wrote:Cocaine? Pretty sure it was the bath salts that really knocked his final screw loose.

BurtReynolds wrote:Yeah the guy with millions of dollars that lived a life of adventure and freedom doing whatever the fuck he wanted and died at the age of 75 (likely on his own terms) was the crazy one, not the domesticated cattle that watched biographies of him. How's your 401k?