So here’s how it goes.
You can post anything!
For example, you can tell stories, gossip, flirt, say whatever comes to your mind, overuse emoticons, count to ten, say your ABCs, post funny websites, talk about your day, pick your nose, write poetry, etc…
No rules, just fun!
So where’s my beer?
/techchick expects Silo to buy hera beer in Vegas.
::Picking her nose:: 
A, B, C, D, E, F, G…H, I, J, K, LMNOP…Q, R, S…T, U, V…W, X…Y and Z. Now I know my ABCs. Next time won’t you sing with me? 
So a priest, a blonde, and Bill Clinton walk into a bar. The bartender says, “What is this, a joke?” 
::whispering:: Did you hear what ::mumble mumble:: said about Silo? I think it’s true. :eek:
1, 2, 3, 5, 6…damn! 
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 9…damn! :mad:
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9…10! I did it! 
Hey, Mr. Cynical! I got something for you right here! :o
Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Silver_Fire…I don’t know what else to add. 
Wow, Silo, what a great idea for a thread. :rolleyes: 
One last post…
Before I go to bed.
I am beat, tired and need quality sleep!
Nighty night all, see you in the morning!
You’re so on my list of who I want to be on top of, Silver_Fire!
…or something.
LMAO!
::runs off to add to her sig::
I just hope ChiefScott doesn’t walk in and see Silver using smilies as full stops…
<---------------jumps in!
[/quote]
:looks around:
[/quote]
:eek:
[/quote]
[/quote]
Dear ChiefScott:
I would just like to take this moment to say I’m sorry about the smilies.
::snickers and runs off::
I will not be a party to this sham.
I’ll be the judge of that.
Well, OK, I will. But it feels kinda dirty.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“'Tis some visiter,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door —
Only this, and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; — vainly I had tried to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore —
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore —
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“'Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door —
Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door; —
This it is, and nothing more.”
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you " — here I opened wide the door; —
Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore!”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!” —
Merely this, and nothing more.
Then into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon I heard again a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore —
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
'Tis the wind and nothing more!”
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door —
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door —
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore —
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the raven “Nevermore.”
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no sublunary being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door —
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as “Nevermore.”
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered — not a feather then he fluttered —
Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before —
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.”
Quoth the raven “Nevermore.”
Wondering at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster so when Hope he would adjure —
Stern Despair returned, instead of the sweet Hope he dared adjure —
That sad answer, “Never — nevermore.”
But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore —
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Angels whose faint foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee — by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite — respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore;
Let me quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
Quoth the raven “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil! —
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted —
On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore —
Is there — is there balm in Gilead? — tell me — tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the raven “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil — prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us — by that God we both adore —
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore —
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
Quoth the raven “Nevermore.”
“Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting —
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! — quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the raven “Nevermore.”
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted — nevermore!
::runs around telling everybody and their mothers that UncleBeer was involved in the post padding shenanigans::
I have proof!!
that was of course “The Raven” by Edgar Allen Poe
:Grabs large Coke:
How much do you have to post here to pad your count? Does it have to matter? Really?
is anyone listening? HEllo?
BlaH blah blah…
Oh well…
A Post Count Padding Party?
I wonder if I should join in…
Nah. Most of my posts are useless enough as it is.
No shit, Sherlock
Thanks though, that’s my favourite poem in the English language.
Sure, why not? Hmm . . . lets see . . .
All I have to do today is make a poster. Not too bad.
And go sorta kinda look at grad schools.
But not really, cuz I’m just keeping a friend company, who is only going to the little grad fair thingy they put together to appease her mom.
considers subjecting the party to her poetry, decides against it . . . for now
You terribly, dirty, sick people! A post count should only be raised by the use of intelligent, thoughtful, and meaningful posts!
Bri