Unless YOU have proof in HAND...it’s speculation for YOU. ‘Those who know’....meaning YOU are not a ‘THOSE’. I didn’t create the English language but ‘speculation’ is pretty cut and dry. Unless you are an eye witness, YOU are speculating. Word of mouth is not proof.
To Doog or not to Doog. That is the question. Whether 'tis nobler in the doog mind to suffer about bye weeks and players opting out. The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take doog arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them.
For all of you fucking morons out there, why worry about Oregon. Worry about the washington collegiate football team.
To Doog or not to Doog. That is the question. Whether 'tis nobler in the doog mind to suffer about bye weeks and players opting out. The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take doog arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them.
For all of you fucking morons out there, why worry about Oregon. Worry about the washington collegiate football team.
Is this a natty which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight? or art thou but A natty of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain? I see thee yet, in form as palpable As this which now I draw. Thou @Fire_Marshall_Bill'st me the way that I was going; And such an instrument I was to use. Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses, Or else worth all the rest; I see thee still, And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood, Which was not so before. There's no such thing: It is the bloody business which informs Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er the one halfworld Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse The curtain'd sleep; witchcraft celebrates Pale Hecate's offerings, and wither'd murder, Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf, Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace. With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth, Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear Thy very stones prate of my whereabout, And take the present horror from the time, Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives: Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. I go, and it is done; the bell invites me. Hear it not, Doogs; for it is a knell That summons thee to heaven or to hell.
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow will be special, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by a @puppylove_sugarsteel, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.
I know i haven't been here long, but as a long time lurker i gotta say that if my only contribution for this collection of half wits is more long prose, i'll die a happy idiot.
I know i haven't been here long, but as a long time lurker i gotta say that if my only contribution for this collection of half wits is more long prose, i'll die a happy idiot.
I know i haven't been here long, but as a long time lurker i gotta say that if my only contribution for this collection of half wits is more long prose, i'll die a happy idiot.
I know i haven't been here long, but as a long time lurker i gotta say that if my only contribution for this collection of half wits is more long prose, i'll die a happy idiot.
Do you like the taste of bleach?
My morning cocktail is 3 parts gin to 1 part Clorox. Shake it up and serve over ice with lemon garnish. Probably why I shit my brains out exactly at 7:45 every morning. Also why I’m COVID-free
I know i haven't been here long, but as a long time lurker i gotta say that if my only contribution for this collection of half wits is more long prose, i'll die a happy idiot.
Do you like the taste of bleach?
My morning cocktail is 3 parts gin to 1 part Clorox. Shake it up and serve over ice with lemon garnish. Probably why I shit my brains out exactly at 7:45 every morning. Also why I’m COVID-free
I must say, this @LB_33 shows promise...despite the lackluster username.
I know i haven't been here long, but as a long time lurker i gotta say that if my only contribution for this collection of half wits is more long prose, i'll die a happy idiot.
Do you like the taste of bleach?
My morning cocktail is 3 parts gin to 1 part Clorox. Shake it up and serve over ice with lemon garnish. Probably why I shit my brains out exactly at 7:45 every morning. Also why I’m COVID-free
I must say, this @LB_33 shows promise...despite the lackluster username.
I know i haven't been here long, but as a long time lurker i gotta say that if my only contribution for this collection of half wits is more long prose, i'll die a happy idiot.
Do you like the taste of bleach?
My morning cocktail is 3 parts gin to 1 part Clorox. Shake it up and serve over ice with lemon garnish. Probably why I shit my brains out exactly at 7:45 every morning. Also why I’m COVID-free
I must say, this @LB_33 shows promise...despite the lackluster username.
LB_1-32 were likely taken
Likely? Do some research. All were taken. Doog bots fucking this site up
Comments
For all of you fucking morons out there, why worry about Oregon. Worry about the washington collegiate football team.
The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee.
I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling as to sight? or art thou but
A natty of the mind, a false creation,
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
I see thee yet, in form as palpable
As this which now I draw.
Thou @Fire_Marshall_Bill'st me the way that I was going;
And such an instrument I was to use.
Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses,
Or else worth all the rest; I see thee still,
And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood,
Which was not so before. There's no such thing:
It is the bloody business which informs
Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er the one halfworld
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse
The curtain'd sleep; witchcraft celebrates
Pale Hecate's offerings, and wither'd murder,
Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf,
Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace.
With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design
Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth,
Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear
Thy very stones prate of my whereabout,
And take the present horror from the time,
Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives:
Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives.
I go, and it is done; the bell invites me.
Hear it not, Doogs; for it is a knell
That summons thee to heaven or to hell.
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by a @puppylove_sugarsteel, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
I know I know....he said "expect him to leave soon" but he would definitely claim victory if he left so why not conversely