The Not Happy Thread

Shoplist:
One toy darts set (sticky cup style)
Alcohol swabs.
One 1000cc syringe, needleless (possibly smaller).

Save darts and discard toy set. Pull stick ftom dart. Put hole in center of dart cup. Attach cup to syringe. Place syringe/cup on cyst. Carefully withdraw plunger until vacuum keeps cup to cyst. Check frequently and keep sterile.

 

Interesting conversation going on here...

 

My poor man, I know how you feel. As a Frenchman living in the states, I found life hard without my fabulous, authentic, crusty bread. The best I could was a shrine in my house with this photo in a beautiful blue, white, and red frame.

Someday I'll come back to you...

 

Here this should help you and anyone else who needs this niche fix filled.

Spoiler: Well :P

 

Well. That ruined my dinner. Possibly forever.

 

Seen them all....

 

This smiley-face is unjustified.

 

If you're looking for sanity, I suspect you've come to the wrong forum. We seem to delight in departures from normality round here.

 

It should be a sad face since I've been provided with nothing new?

 

Hundred fifty mile drive to work turned to two fifty. Now I have to finish quick tomorrow and drive six hours back. I hate traffic. Tis the life of field service. Bring on the overtime pay.

 

Why should it be so hard to find that?

 

I’d more think we just enjoy expanding the definition of normal.

 

I was being kind, actually. Truth be told, we stretch normality until it breaks. Not content with that, we berate the leftovers with fringe social media offerings, give the cowed martyr a good gang bang with logic, throw the victimised trash into the furnace of review and curb-stomp the resulting molten puddle with critique. It bears no semblance of normality once we're done with it!

Treat my frenetic ramblings with the same respect, if you please.

 

So many years driving, doing field service that I still can't drink coffee unless it's in a styrofoam cup.

 

Just eating my overcooked pitta pizzas for my lunch. Somehow managed to press a hard chunk of bread into my tongue, and draw blood.

 

Ouch.

 

That's the face I make when I'm counting the minutes I've been playing Golf.

 

Golf is ‘nice enough,’ and the joy in the players’ faces is ‘nice enough’ to see. But the whole tearing up of the environment to lay plastic sprinkler systems, and the legions of keeper slaves ensuring the cultured grasses stand at a one quarter inch is essentially gross, and sort of horrible, the hierarchies, with respect.

 

It took the Writing Forums to help me see the world in a whole new light.

I'll never play golf again, and my prayers will be with the 'keeper slaves' tonight.

 

It's not easy to squeeze with a tripod.

That happens when moon is full or half or empty or halfempty or... and kids are sleeping and neigbour is out of silver bullets and...

- My diagnose is that you are insane, mad, bonkers and lunatic.
- No Sir Doctor Gearloose. I'm not mad. I'm an artist. I'm an author and poet and photographer.
- Really? Also a photographer?
- Yes Sir! I take black and white art pictures with a Russian Kiev 88 mid format camera to Kodak T-Max film. I overexposure and underdevelop it to get what I want.
- Really? T-Max? Not Trix? Not HP4 or FP5?
- No Sir. T-Max. And I use Ilford MG ART 300 paper.
- Dear God. I almost thought that you make prints with Hahnemühle papers.
- Well... You know... If I must make prints with a printer it's of course Hahnemühle Photo Rag 310g/m^2...
- Yes... I see... I really can't diagnose you in any other way than artist. Or... Maybe... If you...
- Sir! I'm saving money for large format camera!
- Toyo?
- No Sir! Alpa!
- That's it. You are an artist! B the way... What kind of books do you write?
- I write about art photographing as a way express unconscious emotions.
- Oh my, oh my... Go, go, go, go... Get out of here! You are too crazy to be a lunatic!

- What was that? An earthquake?
- No. Something worse. And more dangerous.
- An explosion? A bomb?
- No. Worse than that. It was expanded definition of normal in Writingforums!
- Hell, no? Is it possible to survive that?

 

Far as I know, there are no slaves being held at any of the courses I play, but last Wednesday I was on the third green and heard what sounded like faint strains of Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.

 

Nevertheless little men do arise at 5am to brush the grass, after having studied grass at the college for a £300 a week career in the lawn managements’ lifestyle.

Other guys dig trenches, laying pipes underground for an endless sprinkler system that makes our grass remain so green to the eye line, fakey..

Pedro pours the gin and tonics...

while forever fat people waddle a mile along turf, a cheroot in lips, men whacking baby balls from the A to Z.

 

Just wordplay, I like golfers, association football is the same