Just enough.

Counting or use of math skills to track drinking doses is a vile and gross misuse of talent. Never, ever, count or otherwise measure your drink intake. Are you insane?

Noted. An uptick in quantity, though not necessarily quality, will be a duty when the Zombie Apocalypse appears on the horizon. Something we should all keep in mind.

HOLY WTF? Who knew there was such a thing as a frilled shark? A dinosaur shark? Peter Benchley picked a measly Great White when he could've had this thing?



http://www.newsweek.com/dinosaur-era...ortugal-708764

Shark shark!!!

Probably.

But whatever to keep drinking.

Don't be silly. Drink exactly the correct amount by keeping track of how you are feeling about things. If you are unhappy, then you either drank too little or drank too much. Clearly this is an individual sort of thing, but slightly less clear (yet also totally obvious) is that the correct quantity might not be stable over time.

I let it vary by a factor of about, let's see, essentially maximally 30% upwards or downwards. It probably follows some bell curve. +- 10% variations are routine for the weekly consumption. +20% is already a feast.

I find this is freedom enough for now. The alternative is naturally to stop the intake, have been working on that vision for some years now. Hasn't materialized yet. Waiting for better motivation.

But one day!

bankroll management idiot

Reported.

I'll take two insults, but not three.

Can you count to three?

I'm one of those people who report satisfaction from practicing gratitude. Back when I was 20 and called myself an atheist, I surprised my friend who called herself a witch-because she hadn't at that time met an atheist who shared her value in satisfying gratitude. I don't recall any specific influence from my agnostic early back ground besides other people who were openly thankful themselves. So, thanks.

I think I never have called myself an atheist, you know, like some kind of statement. It has more grown stronger as there's no evidence for the contrary, and I'm a little afraid of living and dying having been a fool.

One may learn a lot from being fooled. How not to get fooled again for example.
Back to my recollection and examination of gratitude,


The question I got back then was "who are you saying thanks to, if you don't believe in anything to give thanks to?" My answer then was I didn't know and it didn't matter. It wasn't unreasonable and didn't harm anyone just to take opportunities to show thanks.

My answer now is everything, which is ultimately includes all available agents who can recognize and receive thanks. Unless everything doesn't exist, then I'm thanking nothing and still enjoy a continuum of satisfaction doing so. And I can still thank you.

I just learned that person X, up the road on 101, bit the dust. He was a partner in a small business and did carvings and other art stuff – some of it rather good. He was a friend of my Father. Anyway, I visited a few months ago and had a pleasant talk. He did have health issues being in his mid 80’s.

So one morning, late this summer, he goes out to feed his chickens, toting small pails of seed in each hand. He sat down to rest apparently before the task was done and fell over dead. And that is how he was found - Slumped on the ground - Surrounded by hungry chickens. Such is life.

R.I.P.

You can only defy gravity for so long.

Condolences Zeno and readers of relation.

Dying alive just what happens said some human spying on the joker and the thief.

The cows are no where to be seen, but now have like 43 new Canadian looking winged-neighbors in the field next to the yard. They waiting for the dog to be in for the night, then they'll poop all over the driveway eating the seasonal pecans.

Should I play some hockey videos for them? Is such a polite joke on the Canadian reputation of hockey fanatics.

You should already know this:

Politics, as a practice, whatever its professions, has always been the systematic organization of hatreds. - Henry Adams

I only post this as a test. Wise people will move on, which is what we should do. Smart people start gasping and choking and spouting rebuttals and other nonsense. Do the wise thing. And have another Beer on me.

Shouldn't Canada be Nuked?

The faceless man turned and…

The world around me turned to sand. Everywhere I looked sand. Impossibly tall dunes rising, rising, rising to the slowly moving clouds, white with purity taken from the souls of children cast aside in the rage of war.

Once a part of the ocean’s saltwater tapestry; fluorescent pink and blue coral, shellfish cast ashore over millennia, worn thin by the insufferable wind. The dunes hiding that silent aching ancient life within each tiny grain exhaled a tormented yearning. The hushed wail wished to salvage the children’s souls trapped in microscopic ice prisons resting on the wistful dust of civilization held aloft by the foul wind.

To reclaim even one of the imprisoned souls, to mix the sea’s silent aching ancient life with innocence lost upon the shoulders of human conceit would unleash upon the shores of ignorance the force of beauty, the notion of the jungle running rampant, armies of creativity melting gun powder and it’s histories spawn.

The man laughed; guttural, from the sewer’s rotting detritus, **** and piss filled flow. Sand dunes lurched into the sea, giving up their noble quest and uncovering pistons coated in oil, messengers shackled to desks, phones looped over their thinning hair, mountaintops shorn of boulders, thick trunked trees and their very tops. This was the face of the unknown man.

How much time passed, I don’t know. I yearned for the island. Where was the island?

My son approached the man. I wanted to grab my son and run from this place. I couldn’t move. I screamed inside as the man’s face, pistons moving up and down and dripping thick black oil where his mouth should have been, crumbling mountain replacing his nose and brows, tiny shackled beings mirrored in the millions where his eyes should have been, became obscenely concerned about my son’s wellbeing.

My son addressed the monstrous visage. “Will we be safe on the island?”

“Of course.” Oil spilled on the deck of the ferry. “We take care of everyone on the island.”

My son smiled. “That’s good. My dad was worried.”

Dirt and forest green fern shook loose from the man’s eyebrows when he jerked his head to look at me.

Millions of mirrored beings peered at me from beneath the disintegrating brow. “There is something for everyone on the island, even you.” The pistons pumped faster, like metal teeth ratcheting up and down, up and down.

I forced my head to shake side to side. “No.”

My son frowned. “But, dad, that’s just the way it is. The island is safe, and we can have whatever we want.”

Get off the habit.

Hey, now- unless it's observable, no talking about it!(joke)

My eight year old and I have been having talks recently about nuclear weapons. Interesting discussions. He likes big explosions, but would invent a "Negative nuke" he'd fire which "stops all harm". Smart kid.

It's only a game, Masque.

Yes it is, especially if you win...



And long before our times

(my aunt probably experienced this)