The variants of the long-standing story of the Children’s Crusade have similar themes. A boy began preaching in either France or Germany claiming that he had been visited by Jesus and told to lead a Crusade to peacefully convert Muslims to Christianity. Through a series of portents and miracles he gained a considerable following, including up to 30,000 children. He led his followers south towards the Mediterranean Sea, in the belief that the sea would part on their arrival, allowing him and his followers to march to Jerusalem, but this did not happen. They were sold to two merchants (Hugh the Iron and William of Posqueres) who gave free passage on boats to as many of the children as were willing, but then they were either taken to Tunisia and sold into slavery by the merchants, or died in a shipwreck on San Pietro Island off Sardinia during a gale. Some may have failed to reach the sea, dying or giving up from starvation and exhaustion. They were betrayed by some of the adults in their group.
Mirth is worth it worth its wait in bosons, as birth is worse for where. War pays threepence in weeds. This the one they call Jesus is said to have said when pretending to be dead.
Turned out it was a fatal flaw in his transmission, his unassuming tendency to balk up in the crux, to go beyond the primordial in all his trappings, to go so far as to to wash the feet of the followers.
Every night in bed he thinks of her assets, trying to mesmerize her feet. She was the slightest boned woman in a hundred miles. He had the proof in the photos. One hundred proof.
Just trying to poke a hole in your impregnable logic. Hooded ounces, said Buffon, cling to the driven hind during the the last turn of the screw. The carpenter nailed his brick of mormolite duing these drying times. A jobber’s douzen of bases balked from here to eternity.
This has been a panty raid. Jeepers creepers, pardon my french, my fellow friend of freedom. And pass the twig of prosperity to Saint Eskimo. Exximo. Let me get this strait, you get the next.
Jesus had no nest, he had no nid to reside. He had all of the fertile crescent on the upside of his head and looked down on the rest of the world.
If I could just make one child smile, I would dig a hole to middle earth and bury a hoard of hobbits. If I could just spring yon mouse out of his trap which I set, I would sing hossanahs in triplicate to the appropriate authorities. If I could save the life of one riscotted mosquito, I would make a pilgrimage to the peaks of the Hindu Kush. If I ever receive the medal of honor, I will give thanks to the presidents and all their bankers. Backers. Back benchers. Back to the landers. Lantern bearers. Mummblers of the omlet in search of the horninest man. Our own Genghis Kahn. Check your genes at the gate to gain root.
Ignore the preceding transpositions at your peril. We have fired our spell checkers. Witches in cheap clothing. From the sally ann.
Cotrgave says, that Lascher la bonde à means to give liberty, or free pillage, unto a violent thing.
I have a spine. I’m warm blooded. I’m hairy. And mating may result in a live birth.
Please to forgive me, but I am also a primate. Prehensile tale, five left fingers, no end of words on the tip of my tongue, a couple opposable thumbs. A spanner in the works.
My people used to run naked in the African savanna, and soon spread to the warm California sun. In those days they used to appreciate a person with a little common sense.
But those days are long gone.
Late Wednesday, Tesla’s CEO Elon Musk announced that the company would be adding its own hardware to all new Tesla cars to allow up to Level 5 autonomy. In the automotive industry, Level 5 denotes a fully self-driving vehicle. Musk said that it would be some time before Tesla’s software would advance to meet capabilities of the new hardware available, which the company is calling “Hardware II.”
Still, the CEO stressed that all new cars would come with the new hardware suite, even if the software isn’t activated.
The hardware includes eight cameras for a 360° view, 12 ultrasonic sensors, “forward-facing radar with advanced processing,” a retro-entabulator, and an Nvidia Titan GPU that’s capable of 12 trillion operations per second.
Let’s lay our cards on the table. Either you’ll die laughing at this fitting fable for our simple times, when all’s white with the world, and black is the color of my true love’s heir, or not. Rue not the sprue.
Osama bin one bad motherfucker, gotta give him that. Counted coup big time on yonder seaboard. Or so they say. Himself disclaims credit. Ancient history now.
Inland, from beyond the Bitterroot to the frontiers of the Flathead, tribes were called to cache in their buffalo chips. “Listen up yo captains of industry. May God grant you the grace to suck up your forty pieces.”
I stopped by the beauty salon to say goodbye to my wife.
To speak ballistically, and in all hottentotitude, those baden-baden mothfoggers are marching to their own drummer, all dumbed up on sanctity and god bless America, god damn it to fucking hell. Are you beginning to get the point? United we stand with a bird in the hand.
By fucking Osama we have slipped the bonds of Echelon and thrown Carnivore a tasty fiche for its quarterly report. Saint Bill of the Gates will claim his pound of flesh, but it’s two hundred percent deductible. We gonna give him a plutonium enema. Right upside the head. Okay, slow down before we get a bust, if you wood get my drift.
Now is the time for all of us half-bad men to consult their palm pilots, and make like Samson in all his glories. Women mutatis mutandis, or, as they say downtown, nematodes to the Monroe Doctrine.