[107410] in cryptography@c2.net mail archive
Re: Hey
daemon@ATHENA.MIT.EDU (Elliot Dorsey)
Tue Nov 6 21:58:29 2007
From: "Elliot Dorsey" <woodymaurita@aod.org>
To: "Crypto.discuss" <crypto.discuss@bloom-picayune.mit.edu>
<html>
<body bgcolor="#FFFFF2" text="#000003">
<p><b><font size="3" color="#FF0008">R</font></b><br>
<b><font size="3" color="#FF0004">O</font></b><br>
<b><font size="3" color="#FF0002">L </font></b>Full 18K Gold Daytona - $269.00<br>
<font size="3"><b><font color="#FF0000">E</font></b></font><br>
<b><font size="3" color="#FF0008">X</font></b><br>
</p>
<p>Y<b></b>e<font></font>s i<u></u>t<u></u>'<b></b>s o<l></l>u<l></l>r r<l></l>e<l></l>a<font></font>l p<u></u>r<b></b>i<font></font>c<l></l>e<l></l>s, o<b></b>v<font></font>e<b></b>r 1000 models just for you!</p>
<p>Visit our s<l></l>h<l></l>o<u></u>p:</p>
<p><a href="http://081.entyoneyounghealthh.com">http://081.entyoneyounghealthh.com</a></p>
<p><font color="#FFFFF6">Ramage quite rightly believed that Bertie Fossington was mad. "You speak as though I were keeping you prisoner, Paul. "If you can get into that chair all by yourself, Paul,»she said at last, "then I think you can fill in your own fucking n's. So Annie took the box and lit the match and put the lit match in his hand and he touched it to the comer of the paper and then let the match fall into the pot and watched, fascinated, as the flame tasted, then gulped. This resin oozed from the low trees of the area, and the Bourka called it Fire-Oil or Fire-Blood-Oil. She had plugged the knife into the outlet by his wheelchair and there had been more pleading and more screaming and more promises that he would be good. There were three doors in the room, two to the left and one straight ahead, between the refrigerator and the pantry alcove.LITTLE DOGS GO TO THE BATHROOM ALL OVER BIG WHEELS! please. "No,»she said. Over one arm she held a wicker basket. Un-fucking true.</font></p>
<p><font color="#FFFFF2">He could see this but reached anyway, unable to believe Fate or God or Whoever could be so cruel. "She tipped the blade of the axe flat, the tendons standing out in her strong right wrist, and he could see the wink of the amethyst ring she still wore on the pinkie finger of that hand. He reversed out of the pantry, pausing to turn off the light, reminding himself that he must (rinse) put everything back in order as he made his retreat. "She slapped herself across the left cheek with her left hand, hard enough to leave an imprint. She had done it, and all the time between then and now had been pain and boredom and occasional bouts of work on his stupidly melodramatic book to escape the former two. You're getting what might happen to you mixed up with what already happened to him. He heard the thud of first one knee from behind him, then the other, then the first again. Ears attuned for the sound of Old Bessie returning — although she had only been gone for forty-five minutes — he pulled a bunch of the Kleenex, dipped the wad in the pitcher, and bent awkwardly over to one side with the soppy mass in his hand. If she could got put an end to her restless tossing and turning, she could at least postpone the moment at which she began it. He also saw gooey splatters of food on the housecoat, and she had only managed to get on one of her slippers. The plot was melodramatic but well constructed, in its own modest way quite amusing. He turned the page and discovered another clipping from the Bakersfield Journal — the last, as it turned out. Dull dirty half-shine oh boy you gotta remember that one that one ain't half-bad oh boy I am stoned now, all the past was prologue to this shit hey baby this here is the mainline oh fuck I'm tucked but this is crystal top-end shit this is going out on a mile-high wave in a fucking Rolls this is — "What do you want first, Paul? Confucius say if man want to grow one row of corn, first must shovel one ton of shit. She gripped the handle farther up in her left hand and spread her legs like a logger. E-H's mommy andAnd now he was struck by an idea of such intense loveliness — in terms of the plot at least — that he looked up, mouth open, eyes wide. She brought it to him, the old scuffed Lord Buston he'd had since college, and put it in his hands. Sitting there, head thrown back, face shiny with sweat, hair plastered to his forehead, Paul spoke one of them aloud now, almost as an incantation: "There may be fairies, there may be elves, but God helps those who help themselves. Just as he came to believe that nothing Hezekiah could say would convince M'Chibi to leave his hut, he heard sounds of movement. He would never be able to maneuver this balky, oversized thing back to the bedroom in time. She would no more invite Mr Rocky Mountain Businessman in than she would drive Paul to Stapleton International and put a first-class ticket back to New York in his hand. sometimes leaning one way, sometimes leaning the other, sometimes riding a little high on the line, sometimes dipping a little low.</font></p>
</body>
</html>
