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Originally Posted by centaur532
And now I need Drolefille to come translate this.
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At your service, mum.
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Originally Posted by Tom Earp
Ah No, I work 6 days a week, so what the heck do you do or are you refering to your self?
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I completely missed the point of your post which is difficult because it was a response to me. I work 6 days a week and give homeless people wine in exchange for the food they get from good samaritans. Call me an enabler. I like having the homeless on the street as they help me watch my store from burglars.
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Oh, I forgot, You are special and with the herd and a follower!
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You're a very special person. Someone taught me this new thing of calling people "followers" and since then I've just been using it non-stop. Nevermind the fact that it doesn't make sense. You must be the leader of this "herd"
To cool or not to cool, that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep; (to cool)
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action. - Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd.
Also I <3 God... sorry I got distracted.
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I love smilies don't you!
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OMG I So totally love these little pictures of people by the side of my posting screen because they like totally express how I feel at any given sentence.
It's like so totally amazing how well they capture my inner self
Note:
Some Earp smilies removed so that the translator could fully express the feelings coming through the post within the 10 image limit
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