rigorousintuition.ca

i generally use high calorie meals to recover afterwards, but, y'know, whatever works for you.

(the dancing banana is STILL funny, everytime i see it, STILL funny)

[and i wasnting insinuating any insults toward anyone with the "mediocre" bit, everyone has an off day, yes?]

Last Post is a bugle call used at Commonwealth of Nations military funerals and ceremonies commemorating those who have been killed in a war. "The Last Post" is also the name of a poem by Robert Graves describing a soldier's funeral during World War I. During the 19th century, "Last Post" was also carried to the various countries of the British Empire into military funerals, where it is played as a final farewell. It is used in public ceremonials commemorating the war dead, particularly on Remembrance Day in the Commonwealth of Nations and The Netherlands (known as Veterans Day in the United States). In Australia and New Zealand it is also played on ANZAC Day.


The Last Post

The bugler sent a call of high romance—
“Lights out! Lights out!” to the deserted square.
On the thin brazen notes he threw a prayer,
“God, if it’s this for me next time in France…
O spare the phantom bugle as I lie
Dead in the gas and smoke and roar of guns,
Dead in a row with the other broken ones
Lying so stiff and still under the sky,
Jolly young Fusiliers too good to die.”

Robert Graves

I love you all, shit I really do! I just realized I love everybody, my niggaz!

Immmmma gonna get in the mood for dis thred here, but Ill getcha back atcha soon enuff homies!

just promise you'll never do that again.

I would rather have mediocre sex than burnt pancakes.

This is a good pancake recipe. My apologies to the vegans.

1 c. flour
1 tbl. sugar
1/2 tsp. salt
1/tsp baking soda
1/tsp baking powder
pinch of cinnamon and nutmeg
2 eggs
1 cup buttermilk (or yogurt and milk combined)
2 tbl melted butter or oil

Sift flour, salt, baking soda, baking powder and spices into a bowl.
Seperate eggs. Combine yolks with buttermilk and melted butter. Whip whites until stiff. Fold sugar into whites. Stir yolk mixture into dry ingredients. Fold in whites. Ladle batter onto a medium hot griddle. Fry on one side until bubbles appear and break. Flip and brown on other side. Serve.

shit, i cooked mine in how long it took me to read that.

i like burned. s'just me. i'm not allowed to burn the rest of them.

I can't help it if you're a slow reader.

ha.
the secret to cooking fast is turning the temperature as high as it will go.

zhivkov wrote:In regards to good pancakes being better than mediocre sex-if anyone of hispanic heritage is around I have a question about sopapillas being served without cinnamon-would this be an immense faux pas if you are serving them to someone who comes from Mexico?
I had thought my libido was about as dead as disco, but it seems to have returned in force and I am hoping to be rewarded for my cooking with a night of fylaa type love making-I have about 3-4 hours -damn cinnamon!
I really don't want to subject the streets of my fair city to my driving as I have a combination of pain meds and xanax in me-actually the cinnamon will just have to stay out!

if no cinnamon, honey is great.

Thats my best goddamn man on the planet in that pic. Word out. I love you man, till my dying breath. Keep it real.


OP ED: No you know I cant promise that!

Love.

Matthew 20:15,16
Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me? Or are you envious because I am generous?
So the last will be first, and the first will be last.

Wait, I thought last post won any thread. Yeah. Uh huh. Yeah. Uh huh.

it's a race to the bottom

"The sturdy capitalist, no matter how deep and square on blocks of Quincy granite he lays the foundations of his banking-house or Exchange, must set it, at last, not on a cube corresponding to the angles of his structure, but on a mass of unknown materials and solidity, red-hot or white-hot, perhaps at the core, which rounds off to an almost perfect sphericity, and lies floating in soft air, and goes spinning away, dragging bank and banker with it at a rate of thousands of miles the hour, he knows not whither, - a bit of bullet, now glimmering, now darkling through a small cubic space on the edge of an unimaginable pit of emptiness. And this wild balloon, in which his whole venture is embarked, is a just symbol of his whole state and faculty."