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 This is my diary

 Author:  Topic:  Posted:
Mar 25, 2002
There are many like it, but this one is mine.

More diaries by osm
I don't enjoy life
Movie Review
Of Microsoft and "Great" Britain
The Truth Behind ESR's Sex Tips
The Dating Game
a day in the park with opalhawk
opalhawk's childlike innocence
[UPDATED]heavenly white roses seem to whisper to me when opalhawk smiles
Can't sleep? Bored with the same-ol' same-ol'?
no sleep for the weary
what the hell am i doing here?
smaerd dicul htiw erutnevda yadnus
a new hope
life changing event
help wanted
life is grand
surgical strikes
decisions, decisions
lifestyle changes in face of terrorism
lesbian update
what a freak
MY weird uncle benny
Why Natalie Portman Is Better Than Any Of You
exorcising haunted attics
we've hit the big time, baby!
has natalie met her match??
unfortunately, she speaks english
a whole new perspective
Hell in a Handbasket
famous last words
I Miss Hauntedattics
Startling Revelation
Occupying America
Super Bowl Commercial
Happy Birthday, Reagan
OB-La-Di, OB-La-Da
Happy Valentine's Day!
The Day the Dopes Came Over
clusterlizard survives barage of hacking attempts!
I haven't been getting a whole lot of sleep
Queen Mum Spontaneously Reanimates, Does Elvis Imitation


Excellent work (1.00 / 1) (#1)
by Ben Reid on Mon Mar 25th, 2002 at 06:49:14 PM PST
Your writing talent shines. Tension, character development, a crechendo of lies and intrigue -- it's all there. And the ending was just something special eh?

I'd give it four and a half stars.

Crescendo (1.00 / 1) (#2)
by Slobodan Milosevic on Mon Mar 25th, 2002 at 07:18:46 PM PST

No ... crèche-ndo (1.00 / 1) (#3)
by Ben Reid on Mon Mar 25th, 2002 at 08:11:10 PM PST
crèche Pronunciation Key (krsh)
A representation of the Nativity, usually with statues or figurines.
A hospital for foundlings.
Chiefly British. A day nursery.


endo- or end-
Inside; within: endometrium.

Isn't it obvious?

"a day nursery inside of lies and intrigue".

Sheeesh. Do I have to spell it out every time?

Mr Milosevic (5.00 / 1) (#8)
by budlite on Tue Mar 26th, 2002 at 04:45:52 AM PST
May I make a small point? The "nt" or "n/t" or "(n/t)" or whatever, marker is meant to be placed in the subject of a post. That way bandwidth isn't wasted downloading the page.

This isn't a dig at you, just a little advice.

Your diary (none / 0) (#4)
by Ernest Bludger on Mon Mar 25th, 2002 at 10:32:27 PM PST
and you are defenders of your country. You are the masters of your enemy. You are the saviours of your life. So be it .. . until there is no enemy ... but peace. Or another diary entry.

Without my Diary (5.00 / 5) (#6)
by osm on Mon Mar 25th, 2002 at 11:23:03 PM PST
I am useless. With me, my Diary is useless.

Sir, (5.00 / 1) (#5)
by jvance on Mon Mar 25th, 2002 at 10:58:42 PM PST
Your Spartan prose is intriguing to me, and I wish to subscribe to your newsletter.
Adequacy has turned into a cesspool consisting of ... blubbering, superstitious fools arguing with smug, pseudointellectual assholes. -AR

Poll: next diary (3.00 / 1) (#7)
by because it isnt on Tue Mar 26th, 2002 at 02:13:45 AM PST
"How I learned to stop worrying and love my diary"

"Diary, diary, give me your answer true."

"Heeeeeeeeeeere's my diary!"

"A bit of the old ultra-diary." -- because it isn't

3 (5.00 / 3) (#9)
by Shinkansen on Tue Mar 26th, 2002 at 05:31:46 AM PST
Woah woah! I got it! They can't send a bill to a dead guy can they? So where it says "Name," I'll put "deceased," and where it says "Sex," I'll put "No thanks, I'm Dead." Bulletproof!

Because 30,000 burning nuns can't be wrong...

That's the real problem (5.00 / 1) (#10)
by res0 on Wed Mar 27th, 2002 at 08:00:10 PM PST
Those ridiculous aristocrats. All they do is sit in their high ivory towers, oppressing the lower class.

If only they might abandon their vain principles and eat some lard, perhaps they would understand why we might want to join the Navy. I mean, every liar has an opportunity to vote. So why not choose adultery? Morality has no branches, and truth has no leaves. Metaphorically speaking, life is hell, and slow death is heaven. Diametrically opposed, they merely hasten the crawling paste that is running down my arm and across my fingers, threatening to forever sever my neck from the rest of my feet. The bones are exposed to the nitrogen-rich atmosphere, causing them to rot in my grave as I slowly disintegrate, much like MicroVASoftware's horrible monopoly will when the Energy Dept. busts them at last.

My views are radical I know, but there is not much we can do about binomial expansion. Pascal already took care of that bird, and it is slowly driving away out of Newton's grasp and into the new Einsteinian model.


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