Penses
This is for short thoughts, links, and other small bits of info that I find interesting. If you enjoy this blog, you may also want to also check out the About Me link for other blogs I may be working on.
About Me
- Name: Teeg
- Location: a pretty how town, (with up so floating many bells down)
Thursday, May 05, 2005
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
Monday, May 02, 2005
Turn Off Your Television
WHAT ARE YOU DOING??: "The average American watches 4.5 hours of television every day. You sleep for eight hours. You get up and work for eight hours. Come home, eat some dinner and turn on the television. A few hours later you're getting sleepy. Time for bed."
Sunday, May 01, 2005
Capitalism and Cows
"TRADITIONAL CAPITALISM -- You have two cows. You sell one and buy a bull. Your herd multiplies, and the economy grows. You sell them and retire on the income.
AN AMERICAN CORPORATION -- You have two cows. You sell one, and force the other to produce the milk of four cows. You are surprised when the cow drops dead."
The Phineas T. Manbottle Library of Arcane Knowledge and Questionable Humor
AN AMERICAN CORPORATION -- You have two cows. You sell one, and force the other to produce the milk of four cows. You are surprised when the cow drops dead."
The Phineas T. Manbottle Library of Arcane Knowledge and Questionable Humor
Random Quote
"'Mothers all want their sons to grow up to be president, but they don't want them to become politicians in the process.'
-John Fitzgerald Kennedy"
-John Fitzgerald Kennedy"
Michelangelo
This comes from dangling from the ceiling–
I'm goitered like a Lombard cat
(or wherever else their throats grow fat)–
it's my belly that's beyond concealing,
it hands beneath my chin like peeling.
My beard points skyward, I seem a bat
upon its back, I've breasts and splat!
On my face the paint's congealing.
Loins concertina'd in my gut,
I drop an arse as counterweight
and move without the help of eyes.
Like a skinned martyr I abut
on air, and, wrinkled, show my fat.
Bow-like, I strain toward the skies.
No wonder then I size
things crookedly; I'm on all fours.
Bent blowpipes send their darts off-course.
Defend my labor's cause,
good Giovanni, from all strictures:
I live in hell and paint its pictures.
Michelangelo Buonarroti
I'm goitered like a Lombard cat
(or wherever else their throats grow fat)–
it's my belly that's beyond concealing,
it hands beneath my chin like peeling.
My beard points skyward, I seem a bat
upon its back, I've breasts and splat!
On my face the paint's congealing.
Loins concertina'd in my gut,
I drop an arse as counterweight
and move without the help of eyes.
Like a skinned martyr I abut
on air, and, wrinkled, show my fat.
Bow-like, I strain toward the skies.
No wonder then I size
things crookedly; I'm on all fours.
Bent blowpipes send their darts off-course.
Defend my labor's cause,
good Giovanni, from all strictures:
I live in hell and paint its pictures.
Michelangelo Buonarroti
