Oofah…looks like Mom’s had one two many mint juleps again..
Ale, man, ale’s the stuff to drink
For fellows whom it hurts to think:
Look into the pewter pot
To see the world as the world’s not.
And faith, ’tis pleasant till ’tis past:
The mischief is that ’twill not last.
Oh I have been to Ludlow fair
And left my necktie God knows where,
And carried half way home, or near,
Pints and quarts of Ludlow beer:
Then the world seemed none so bad,
And I myself a sterling lad;
And down in lovely muck I’ve lain,
Happy till I woke again.
Then I saw the morning sky:
Heigho, the tale was all a lie;
The world, it was the old world yet,
I was I, my things were wet,
And nothing now remained to do
But begin the game anew.
Are you the same guy that ran that awesome ProneBoned!! porn blog a few months ago?
Why did you stop?
Because I could.
Why are you posting again?
Because I can.
Are you like back, back?
Uh. I don’t think so. I just have a lot of GIFs lying around. And sometimes I’m inspired to make new ones.
So there’s porn, but it’s not all porn? It’s what…porn-ish?
Can I talk to you?
ASK is open.
What about email or KIK?
If you remember the IDs from the previous incarnation, give them a try.
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.
GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!— An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime.—
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
What’s the point of prolonging my already protracted demise by offering more fodder for which to reply? I probably have more unreleased GIFs than you have followers. What a hoot, huh?
Sarcasm aside - I wonder the same thing. My follower base grows every day, and I have no idea why.
Maybe people like the replies. Maybe people think I’ll make a comeback. Who knows…
You won’t know, unless you care enough to find out. Up to you, kiddo.