Red Mosquito

epilogue wrote:

Jorge wrote:

Post of the year

spike wrote:

The Argonaut wrote:

Jorge wrote:

put that gator in there, too

Shocked there aren’t any Crocs already.

Jorge wrote:

VinylGuy wrote:This happened at Cannes Lions this year.

9 months later,

Coincidence??

epilogue wrote:

Jorge wrote:

Post of the year

epilogue wrote:

Jorge wrote:

Post of the year

bart wrote:She reminds me of levar burton for some reason

wease wrote:

epilogue wrote:

Jorge wrote:

Post of the year

Haha! Holy fucking shit! It gets my vote.

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.

Ello Sailor wrote:Cuties.

tragabigzanda wrote:Several of us hooked up in Minneapolis this weekend to watch Strat get hitched.

Monkey Driven, Trag, Strat, Ruddo, Bodysnatcher:


Prince night at the Twins game; leaning in:


A tender moment:


In all seriousness, we started a text thread pre-Covid that has formed into a terrific friendship. We’ve gone through some major life milestones together. Making friends in your 40s can be hard, and the effort everyone made to show up is a real testament (to what, take your pick).

tragabigzanda wrote:In all seriousness, we started a text thread pre-Covid that has formed into a terrific friendship. We’ve gone through some major life milestones together. Making friends in your 40s can be hard, and the effort everyone made to show up is a real testament (to what, take your pick).