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Screensize: 640 x 480 800 x 600 1024 x 768 1280 x 1024 UserName: Password: Format Mode: Basic  Help  Prompt  Format: Font Andale Mono Arial Arial Black Book Antiqua Century Gothic Comic Sans MS Courier New Georgia Impact Lucida Console Script MT Bold Stencil Tahoma Times New Roman Trebuchet MS Verdana   Size 1 2 3 4 5 6   Color Black Red Yellow Pink Green Orange Purple Blue Beige Brown Teal Navy Maroon LimeGreen Message: * HTML is OFF * Forum Code is ON Smilies [quote][i]Originally posted by apl4eris[/i] [br]http://ericpasquier.com/3.tpl?ID_feature=50 [img]http://www.boingboing.net/images/pirates.jpg[/img] When the Worm Turned I spaded up the garden in the early days of spring and I planted it to celery and beets and I thought the cost of living to the bottom I would bring when the time was ripe for every kind of eats. But the chickens saw me toiling with the pitchfork and the hoe and the rooster winked and beckoned to the hens and for forty blocks around me they came marching in a row from the stables and the poultry house and pens. Oh, they landed in that garden like a fierce, avenging sprite that the fantod or the jim- jam oft begets and they dug from early morning till the sun went down at night and they filled the air with dirt and onion sets. With an eye to things esthetic, I went out upon the lawn and I planted hollyhock and buttercup but my heart was filled with longing ere I saw another dawn for the life-blood of my neighbor's brindle pup. He had issued invita- tions to the other dogs in town and they gathered in the gloaming by the score and they tramped my johnny-jump-ups and my bouncing-betties down and they left me feeling mighty sad and sore. Then I went to seeing crimson and I grabbed my blunderbuss that I'd loaded full of buckshot for the day when I feared that Kaiser William might be aching for a fuss with a real, fighting, Yankee Doodle jay. When the twilight fell at even on that scene of bloody strife there were chicken guts and feathers everywhere; of a dozen curs that lately had been brimming o'er with life there was nothing left but license tags and hair. Verdigris Valley Verse Albert Stroud (Coffeyville, Kansas: The Journal Press. 1917) Page 34 [/quote]   Check here to include your profile signature.