open the door...
Yellow
Posts: 699
k, so ... what's-a-the-deal? i tell this guy from work we can go out and hang out... we're both single, but i make it clear, or perhaps it was just a statement, that i don't date work boys. i say though, if he wants to, we can go out, hang out a little, maybe have a little fun.
we went out and it was not the best time
it was lame, actually
however...
since then...
he's taken it upon himself to conduct conduct that could be considered lewd, assuming.. bordering on harassment...
and i've checked him on this
saying "don't say things like that. it makes me uncomfortable"
and well, shitfire if he don't continue
and so
why is it that once a girl opens the door she has to use brute force to close it?
i know it is not this way with all men
but seriously...
what's the deal?
should i punch him in the jaw?
we went out and it was not the best time
it was lame, actually
however...
since then...
he's taken it upon himself to conduct conduct that could be considered lewd, assuming.. bordering on harassment...
and i've checked him on this
saying "don't say things like that. it makes me uncomfortable"
and well, shitfire if he don't continue
and so
why is it that once a girl opens the door she has to use brute force to close it?
i know it is not this way with all men
but seriously...
what's the deal?
should i punch him in the jaw?
It's all yellow.
Post edited by Unknown User on
0
Comments
Padme: Don't look at me like that.
Anakin: Why?
Padme: It makes me feel uncomfortable.
Your horniferous coworker is obviously tainted with the Dark Side.
Punch him in the lightsaber.
It's not his jaw that is drawing him to you.
JUNK I TELL YOU!
Good luck.
there ain't no easy way out
Mah ouija gonna give him dat
Mah nightly ghost a Sylvie Plath
She comin' round to kick his ass
Mah Sylvie make it plain is plain
She gonna break his little wing
She faced her trials an pains alone
To diss dat shit through everything
sylvia plath? you honor me
You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.
Daddy, I have had to kill you.
You died before I had time--
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe
Big as a Frisco seal
And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.
In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My Polack friend
Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.
It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene
An engine, an engine
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.
The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.
I have always been scared of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You--
Not God but a swastika
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.
You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who
Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.
But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look
And a love of the rack and the screw.
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I'm finally through.
The black telephone's off at the root,
The voices just can't worm through.
If I've killed one man, I've killed two--
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.
There's a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through.
She lived in Cambridge for a time. She was at her happiest here.
one of the funnniest things ive seen all night...
enough to deserve 3 "n"s
Between the emotion and the response
Falls the shadow.
i'm not familiar with her work
the poetry i know is generally from what i think is the renaissance
period?
so...
i looked her up and found this
holy schnikees, i'm going to have to read more... no doubt
serious schtuff
Well, I shall retire to bed now, even though I have a morning off tomorrow and can relax. Thanks, Yellow!
and gweneth wed coldplayer chris....
see
it's all connected