ABCtales is behind the times.

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ABCtales is behind the times.

'I thought this site was supposed to be a happening site, boss?'

Mark raised his good eyebrow, the other having been lost in a quiz night.

'Happening, friend Mark?' Lairy liked to answer a question with a question.

'Yes, happening!' said Mark whilst wondering why Lairy was trying to arrange what looked like an eyebrow onto his top lip.

'We are verily happening, indeed, friend Mark,' said Lairy despiteth findeth himself spaking in olde tongue, verily.

'Soo, lieke, 'ow come we is out of date?' said Mark, trying his best to sound like Ali G.

Mark did the sideways 'v' with his fingers, crossing them over his eyes.

'Out of date?' Lairy nearly dropped his new mousetache into his redpepper/guardian/bigissue/beer lunch, 'wtf r u onabt?'

Lairy liked to keep up with what he thought was text-speak.

'Itz like da forum clk iz wrng,' said Mark, copying Lairy, but worrying that Lairy had now changed into an SS uniform.

'If it's good enough for the royals, it's good enough for me, friend Mark!' Lairy goosestepped around the office.

'Why are you goose-stepping around the office, friend Lairy?' asked Mark, unaware of how fucking boring repetition can be when reading a story, 'I iz in tne wiv de nu forum, daz all,' said Lairy, 'an soz is ma nu bitch, archrgrwl. She can deal wiv it'

'But boss,' Mark was worried about the time...
'ah, fog on the tyne,' said Lairy, 'its all mine, all mine, and what isn't can be archer's.'

Once again, Lairy was clearly delusional. 'Boss, the forum is an hour out of date and Arhergrowl has buggered off!'

'Oh, wotta cnt.' Said Lairy.

And that was that.

[FIN]
Oh Snitcher, you are a one... :-) * P * :-)

The All New Pepsoid the Second!

Shakespeare won't mind. An hour one way of the other isn't going to make a difference to him. If you want to buy my book, visit my blog: http://whatisthisstrangeplace.blogspot.com/
...unless he's late for the opening of his new play: 'A Midsummer Night's Virtual Representation of Reality' :-) * P * :-)

The All New Pepsoid the Second!

Two Chavs of Verona. If you want to buy my book, visit my blog: http://whatisthisstrangeplace.blogspot.com/
If you want to buy Tom's book, visit his blog.
Go on, give me a break. If you want to buy my book, visit my blog: http://whatisthisstrangeplace.blogspot.com/
somehow "the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the prick of 13.00 hours GMT" just doesn't work for me ... call me old fashioned, better still, call me a taxi! aythankyaw exits left with choristers and slippers
You're a minicab. Time is a jade and doth dance with a gunner's gait. If you want to buy my book, visit my blog: http://whatisthisstrangeplace.blogspot.com/
I'll get Fingers to update it. In the meantime I was trying to find some apposite quote for a reply and came across the complete Andrew Marvell poem below - and thought it might amuse you as it has so many truly weird and wonderful lines: To his Coy Mistress by Andrew Marvell Had we but world enough, and time, This coyness, lady, were no crime. We would sit down and think which way To walk, and pass our long love's day; Thou by the Indian Ganges' side Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide Of Humber would complain. I would Love you ten years before the Flood; And you should, if you please, refuse Till the conversion of the Jews. My vegetable love should grow Vaster than empires, and more slow. An hundred years should go to praise Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze; Two hundred to adore each breast, But thirty thousand to the rest; An age at least to every part, And the last age should show your heart. For, lady, you deserve this state, Nor would I love at lower rate. But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near; And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity. Thy beauty shall no more be found, Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound My echoing song; then worms shall try That long preserv'd virginity, And your quaint honour turn to dust, And into ashes all my lust. The grave's a fine and private place, But none I think do there embrace. Now therefore, while the youthful hue Sits on thy skin like morning dew, And while thy willing soul transpires At every pore with instant fires, Now let us sport us while we may; And now, like am'rous birds of prey, Rather at once our time devour, Than languish in his slow-chapp'd power. Let us roll all our strength, and all Our sweetness, up into one ball; And tear our pleasures with rough strife Thorough the iron gates of life. Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run.
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