T1me To Over Throw Most Replies!!!

[subsonic87]

Haldo!

[this end up]

oh now i get it.

[this end up]

where the h#ll is fexnix?

[subsonic87]

where the h#ll is fexnix?
Somewhere... else, perhaps?

[subsonic87]

Here is some little questions:
1. Has you some time play football?
2. How did you seen out when you was a
baby?
3. How did you think you came's to
seen out when you are wery old?

[subsonic87]

Here is some little questions:
1. Has you some time play football?
2. How did you seen out when you was a
baby?
3. How did you think you came's to
seen out when you are wery old?

1. Prehaps! I'm've was to make football often times. Play? Know. Best football results twice again.
2. Every age I have seen out as a baby. I think I has the solution: width times height.
3. As a wery old, I can fathom the scene to be with me. Looking always as I ever did. It was not came's. He borrowed mine.

[subsonic87]

http://www.hrwiki.org/images/4/40/SchenectadyCrispies.PNG
Schenectady Crispies are so freaking good, they taste twice! Once in your mouth, and once in your... esophagus!

[subsonic87]

And now it's time for storytime!

PART ONE
Chapter One
ON AN exceptionally hot evening early in July a young man came out
of the garret in which he lodged in S. Place and walked slowly, as
though in hesitation, towards K. bridge.
He had successfully avoided meeting his landlady on the staircase.
His garret was under the roof of a high, five-storied house and was
more like a cupboard than a room. The landlady who provided him with
garret, dinners, and attendance, lived on the floor below, and every
time he went out he was obliged to pass her kitchen, the door of which
invariably stood open. And each time he passed, the young man had a
sick, frightened feeling, which made him scowl and feel ashamed. He
was hopelessly in debt to his landlady, and was afraid of meeting her.
This was not because he was cowardly and abject, quite the contrary;
but for some time past he had been in an overstrained irritable
condition, verging on hypochondria. He had become so completely
absorbed in himself, and isolated from his fellows that he dreaded
meeting, not only his landlady, but any one at all. He was crushed
by poverty, but the anxieties of his position had of late ceased to
weigh upon him. He had given up attending to matters of practical
importance; he had lost all desire to do so. Nothing that any landlady
could do had a real terror for him. But to be stopped on the stairs,
to be forced to listen to her trivial, irrelevant gossip, to pestering
demands for payment, threats and complaints, and to rack his brains
for excuses, to prevaricate, to lie- no, rather than that, he would
creep down the stairs like a cat and slip out unseen.
This evening, however, on coming out into the street, he became
acutely aware of his fears.

[subsonic87]

"I want to attempt a thing like that and am frightened by these
trifles," he thought, with an odd smile. "Hm... yes, all is in a man's
hands and he lets it all slip from cowardice, that's an axiom. It
would be interesting to know what it is men are most afraid of. Taking
a new step, uttering a new word is what they fear most.... But I am
talking too much. It's because I chatter that I do nothing. Or perhaps
it is that I chatter because I do nothing. I've learned to chatter
this last month, lying for days together in my den thinking... of Jack
the Giant-killer. Why am I going there now? Am I capable of that? Is
that serious? It is not serious at all. It's simply a fantasy to amuse
myself; a plaything! Yes, maybe it is a plaything."
The heat in the street was terrible: and the airlessness, the bustle
and the plaster, scaffolding, bricks, and dust all about him, and that
special Petersburg stench, so familiar to all who are unable to get
out of town in summer- all worked painfully upon the young man's
already overwrought nerves. The insufferable stench from the
pot-houses, which are particularly numerous in that part of the
town, and the drunken men whom he met continually, although it was a
working day, completed the revolting misery of the picture. An
expression of the profoundest disgust gleamed for a moment in the
young man's refined face. He was, by the way, exceptionally
handsome, above the average in height, slim, well-built, with
beautiful dark eyes and dark brown hair. Soon he sank into deep
thought, or more accurately speaking into a complete blankness of
mind; he walked along not observing what was about him and not
caring to observe it. From time to time, he would mutter something,
from the habit of talking to himself, to which he had just
confessed. At these moments he would become conscious that his ideas
were sometimes in a tangle and that he was very weak; for two days
he had scarcely tasted food.

[subsonic87]

He was so badly dressed that even a man accustomed to shabbiness
would have been ashamed to be seen in the street in such rags. In that
quarter of the town, however, scarcely any shortcoming in dress
would have created surprise. Owing to the proximity of the Hay Market,
the number of establishments of bad character, the preponderance of
the trading and working class population crowded in these streets
and alleys in the heart of Petersburg, types so various were to be
seen in the streets that no figure, however queer, would have caused
surprise. But there was such accumulated bitterness and contempt in
the young man's heart, that, in spite of all the fastidiousness of
youth, he minded his rags least of all in the street. It was a
different matter when he met with acquaintances or with former
fellow students, whom, indeed, he disliked meeting at any time. And
yet when a drunken man who, for some unknown reason, was being taken
somewhere in a huge waggon dragged by a heavy dray horse, suddenly
shouted at him as he drove past: "Hey there, German hatter" bawling at
the top of his voice and pointing at him- the young man stopped
suddenly and clutched tremulously at his hat. It was a tall round
hat from Zimmerman's, but completely worn out, rusty with age, all
torn and bespattered, brimless and bent on one side in a most unseemly
fashion. Not shame, however, but quite another feeling akin to
terror had overtaken him.
"I knew it," he muttered in confusion, "I thought so! That's the
worst of all! Why, a stupid thing like this, the most trivial detail
might spoil the whole plan. Yes, my hat is too noticeable.... It looks
absurd and that makes it noticeable.... With my rags I ought to wear a
cap, any sort of old pancake, but not this grotesque thing. Nobody
wears such a hat, it would be noticed a mile off, it would be
remembered.... What matters is that people would remember it, and that
would give them a clue. For this business one should be as little
conspicuous as possible.... Trifles, trifles are what matter! Why,
it's just such trifles that always ruin everything...."

[subsonic87]

He had not far to go; he knew indeed how many steps it was from
the gate of his lodging house: exactly seven hundred and thirty. He
had counted them once when he had been lost in dreams. At the time
he had put no faith in those dreams and was only tantalising himself
by their hideous but daring recklessness. Now, a month later, he had
begun to look upon them differently, and, in spite of the monologues
in which he jeered at his own impotence and indecision, he had
involuntarily come to regard this "hideous" dream as an exploit to
be attempted, although he still did not realise this himself. He was
positively going now for a "rehearsal" of his project, and at every
step his excitement grew more and more violent.
With a sinking heart and a nervous tremor, he went up to a huge
house which on one side looked on to the canal, and on the other
into the street. This house was let out in tiny tenements and was
inhabited by working people of all kinds- tailors, locksmiths,
cooks, Germans of sorts, girls picking up a living as best they could,
petty clerks, &c. There was a continual coming and going through the
two gates and in the two courtyards of the house. Three or four
door-keepers were employed on the building. The young man was very
glad to meet none of them, and at once slipped unnoticed through the
door on the right, and up the staircase. It was a back staircase, dark
and narrow, but he was familiar with it already, and knew his way, and
he liked all these surroundings: in such darkness even the most
inquisitive eyes were not to be dreaded.
"If I am so scared now, what would it be if it somehow came to
pass that I were really going to do it?" he could not help asking
himself as he reached the fourth storey. There his progress was barred
by some porters who were engaged in moving furniture out of a flat. He
knew that the flat had been occupied by a German clerk in the civil
service, and his family. This German was moving out then, and so the
fourth floor on this staircase would be untenanted except by the old
woman. "That's a good thing anyway," he thought to himself, as he rang
the bell of the old woman's flat. The bell gave a faint tinkle as
though it were made of tin and not of copper. The little flats in such
houses always have bells that ring like that. He had forgotten the
note of that bell, and now its peculiar tinkle seemed to remind him of
something and to bring it clearly before him.... He started, his
nerves were terribly overstrained by now. In a little while, the
door was opened a tiny crack: the old woman eyed her visitor with
evident distrust through the crack, and nothing could be seen but
her little eyes, glittering in the darkness. But, seeing a number of
people on the landing, she grew bolder, and opened the door wide.
The young man stepped into the dark entry, which was partitioned off
from the tiny kitchen. The old woman stood facing him in silence and
looking inquiringly at him. She was a diminutive, withered up old
woman of sixty, with sharp malignant eyes and a sharp little nose. Her
colourless, somewhat grizzled hair was thickly smeared with oil, and
she wore no kerchief over it. Round her thin long neck, which looked
like a hen's leg, was knotted some sort of flannel rag, and, in
spite of the heat, there hung flapping on her shoulders, a mangy fur
cape, yellow with age. The old woman coughed and groaned at every
instant. The young man must have looked at her with a rather
peculiar expression, for a gleam of mistrust came into her eyes again.

[subsonic87]

"Raskolnikov, a student, I came here a month ago," the young man
made haste to mutter, with a half bow, remembering that he ought to be
more polite.
"I remember, my good sir, I remember quite well your coming here,"
the old woman said distinctly, still keeping her inquiring eyes on his
face.
"And here... I am again on the same errand," Raskolnikov
continued, a little disconcerted and surprised at the old woman's
mistrust. "Perhaps she is always like that though, only I did not
notice it the other time," he thought with an uneasy feeling.
The old woman paused, as though hesitating; then stepped on one
side, and pointing to the door of the room, she said, letting her
visitor pass in front of her:
"Step in, my good sir."
The little room into which the young man walked, with yellow paper
on the walls, geraniums and muslin curtains in the windows, was
brightly lighted up at that moment by the setting sun.
"So the sun will shine like this then too!" flashed as it were by
chance through Raskolnikov's mind, and with a rapid glance he
scanned everything in the room, trying as far as possible to notice
and remember its arrangement. But there was nothing special in the
room. The furniture, all very old and of yellow wood, consisted of a
sofa with a huge bent wooden back, an oval table in front of the sofa,
a dressing-table with a looking-glass fixed on it between the windows,
chairs along the walls and two or three half-penny prints in yellow
frames, representing German damsels with birds in their hands- that
was all. In the corner a light was burning before a small ikon.
Everything was very clean; the floor and the furniture were brightly
polished; everything shone.
"Lizaveta's work," thought the young man. There was not a speck of
dust to be seen in the whole flat.
"It's in the houses of spiteful old widows that one finds such
cleanliness," Raskolnikov thought again, and he stole a curious glance
at the cotton curtain over the door leading into another tiny room, in
which stood the old woman's bed and chest of drawers and into which he
had never looked before. These two rooms made up the whole flat.
"What do you want?" the old woman said severely, coming into the
room and, as before, standing in front of him so as to look him
straight in the face.

[subsonic87]

"I've brought something to pawn here," and he drew out of his pocket
an old-fashioned flat silver watch, on the back of which was
engraved a globe; the chain was of steel.
"But the time is up for your last pledge. The month was up the day
before yesterday."
"I will bring you the interest for another month; wait a little."
"But that's for me to do as I please, my good sir, to wait or to
sell your pledge at once."
"How much will you give me for the watch, Alyona Ivanovna?"
"You come with such trifles, my good sir, it's scarcely worth
anything. I gave you two roubles last time for your ring and one could
buy it quite new at a jeweler's for a rouble and a half."
"Give me four roubles for it, I shall redeem it, it was my father's.
I shall be getting some money soon."
"A rouble and a half, and interest in advance, if you like!"
"A rouble and a half!" cried the young man.
"Please yourself"- and the old woman handed him back the watch.
The young man took it, and was so angry that he was on the point of
going away; but checked himself at once, remembering that there was
nowhere else he could go, and that he had had another object also in
coming.
"Hand it over," he said roughly.
The old woman fumbled in her pocket for her keys, and disappeared
behind the curtain into the other room. The young man, left standing
alone in the middle of the room, listened inquisitively, thinking.
He could hear her unlocking the chest of drawers.
"It must be the top drawer," he reflected. "So she carries the
keys in a pocket on the right. All in one bunch on a steel ring....
And there's one key there, three times as big as all the others,
with deep notches; that can't be the key of the chest of drawers...
then there must be some other chest or strong-box... that's worth
knowing. Strong-boxes always have keys like that... but how
degrading it all is."
The old woman came back.
"Here, sir: as we say ten copecks the rouble a month, so I must take
fifteen copecks from a rouble and a half for the month in advance. But
for the two roubles I lent you before, you owe me now twenty copecks
on the same reckoning in advance. That makes thirty-five copecks
altogether. So I must give you a rouble and fifteen copecks for the
watch. Here it is."
"What! only a rouble and fifteen copecks now!"
"Just so."
The young man did not dispute it and took the money. He looked at
the old woman, and was in no hurry to get away, as though there was
still something he wanted to say or to do, but he did not himself
quite know what.

[subsonic87]

"I may be bringing you something else in a day or two, Alyona
Ivanovna- a valuable thing- silver- a cigarette box, as soon as I
get it back from a friend..." he broke off in confusion.
"Well, we will talk about it then, sir."
"Good-bye- are you always at home alone, your sister is not here
with you?" He asked her as casually as possible as he went out into
the passage.
"What business is she of yours, my good sir?"
"Oh, nothing particular, I simply asked. You are too quick....
Good-day, Alyona Ivanovna."
Raskolnikov went out in complete confusion. This confusion became
more and more intense. As he went down the stairs, he even stopped
short, two or three times, as though suddenly struck by some
thought. When he was in the street he cried out, "Oh, God, how
loathsome it all is! and can I, can I possibly.... No, it's
nonsense, it's rubbish!" he added resolutely. "And how could such an
atrocious thing come into my head? What filthy things my heart is
capable of. Yes, filthy above all, disgusting, loathsome,
loathsome!- and for a whole month I've been...." But no words, no
exclamations, could express his agitation. The feeling of intense
repulsion, which had begun to oppress and torture his heart while he
was on his way to the old woman, had by now reached such a pitch and
had taken such a definite form that he did not know what to do with
himself to escape from his wretchedness. He walked along the
pavement like a drunken man, regardless of the passers-by, and
jostling against them, and only came to his senses when he was in
the next street. Looking round, he noticed that he was standing
close to a tavern which was entered by steps leading from the pavement
to the basement. At that instant two drunken men came out at the door,
and abusing and supporting one another, they mounted the steps.
Without stopping to think, Raskolnikov went down the steps at once.
Till that moment he had never been into a tavern, but now he felt
giddy and was tormented by a burning thirst. He longed for a drink
of cold beer, and attributed his sudden weakness to the want of
food. He sat down at a sticky little table in a dark and dirty corner;
ordered some beer, and eagerly drank off the first glassful. At once
he felt easier; and his thoughts became clear.
"All that's nonsense," he said hopefully, "and there is nothing in
it all to worry about! It's simply physical derangement. Just a
glass of beer, a piece of dry bread- and in one moment the brain is
stronger, the mind is clearer and the will is firm! Phew, how
utterly petty it all is!"

[subsonic87]

But in spite of this scornful reflection, he was by now looking
cheerful as though he were suddenly set free from a terrible burden:
and he gazed round in a friendly way at the people in the room. But
even at that moment he had a dim foreboding that this happier frame of
mind was also not normal.
There were few people at the time in the tavern. Besides the two
drunken men he had met on the steps, a group consisting of about
five men and a girl with a concertina had gone out at the same time.
Their departure left the room quiet and rather empty. The persons
still in the tavern were a man who appeared to be an artisan, drunk,
but not extremely so, sitting before a pot of beer, and his companion,
a huge, stout man with a grey beard, in a short full-skirted coat.
He was very drunk: and had dropped asleep on the bench; every now
and then, he began as though in his sleep, cracking his fingers,
with his arms wide apart and the upper part of his body bounding about
on the bench, while he hummed some meaningless refrain, trying to
recall some such lines as these:
-
"His wife a year he fondly loved
His wife a- a year he- fondly loved."
-
Or suddenly waking up again:
-
"Walking along the crowded row
He met the one he used to know."
-
But no one shared his enjoyment: his silent companion looked with
positive hostility and mistrust at all these manifestations. There was
another man in the room who looked somewhat like a retired
government clerk. He was sitting apart, now and then sipping from
his pot and looking round at the company. He, too, appeared to be in
some agitation.

[Chapter 2 next!]

[subsonic87]

http://www.hrwiki.org/images/e/ed/sbemail130.png
Wibble wee woo woo!
Oh, this is hilarious.

[subsonic87]

http://www.hrwiki.org/images/d/de/sbemail7.PNG
I'm a bell!

[subsonic87]

What is your malfunction?

[subsonic87]

Where's my cottage?

[subsonic87]

Do you think I can own the #4000 post? I'm gunnin' for it.

[subsonic87]

Eyes on the prize!

[subsonic87]

268 of my own posts to go!

[subsonic87]

267 of my own posts to go!

[subsonic87]

266 of my own posts to go!

[subsonic87]

265 of my own posts to go, and I think I drank too much coffee...

[subsonic87]

I'm Addicted to stress
that's the way that i get things done
if I'm not under pressure then i sleep too long
and i hang around like a bum
i think I'm going nowhere and that makes me nervous
everybody's out to get me but i feel all right
everybody's out to get me but i feel all right
everybody's out to get me but i feel all right
Everybody's thinking 'bout me
its the little things that get you
its the little things that get you when you weren't paying attention
its the little things that get you
its the little things that get you when you weren't paying attention

trying to cut down on my caffeine consumption
so when i get up i just have one cup of coffee
and i like to have another cup of coffee with my breakfast
and on the way to work i like to get a cup of coffee
like the kind of cup of coffee that you get with the donuts
but i never get the donut i just have the cup of coffee
and when i get to work i have a cup of coffee
cause i like to have coffee when I'm talking on the phone
but it usually grows cold and i need to get another cup of coffee
and its lunch, and i have an espresso
and when i get back its not morning anymore so i have
a diet cola and another diet cola
but then I'm feeling fine and I'm feeling pretty sharp
and feeling pretty wired and I'm getting things done
but right about two i get this little tiny migraine
it starts behind my eyes and it moves to the back of my neck
and it moves to the bottom of my spine
but it doesn't get there until 5 or 6 o clock
which is the end of the day so I'm fine!
so I'm fine so I'm fine
except when i have to work late when i have to work late
which i usually do

I'm Addicted to stress
that's the way that i get things done
if I'm not under pressure then i sleep too long
and i hang around like a bum
and i think I'm going nowhere and that makes me nervous
everybodies out to get me, but i feel alright
everybodies out to get me, but i feel alright
everybodies out to get me, but i feel alright
everybodies thinking about me!

((talking to trumpet player))
hey, how ya doing...
looking good...
you been working out? yeah i can tell...
alright... see ya later...

i love to work i love to run i love to play real hard
i love to steal little things from the grocery store
like a piece of bubble gum or sometimes i just stick
my thumb in a peach and leave it there
i love to work i love to run i love to water-ski snowboard
jet ski skydive parasail hanglide rollerblade mountainbike
bungee jump well i mean i'd love to do these things if i ever had the time
i love to work i love to work i love to workout after work
i love to spend a little time with this woman I'm seeing
except uh, we never get the time to spend together
so we call each other up and we talk about work
but i think id really love is to get up by myself on a tiny little island
in the middle of the ocean with just me a book and a cellular phone
and a personal computer in case something came up
and i'd eat and i'd drink and i'd run and i'd sleep
and i wouldn't do nothing but swim all day
except ya know, my beeper doesn't work underwater
where there are sharks! where there are sharks! where there are sharks!
and there's this kind of anemone that sticks in your foot
and the poison goes up to your brain and you die
and sand fleas! sand fleas! yuck!
but actually i think would be really relaxing
just me by myself in the middle of the ocean
and thats what i'd really like to do more than anything else
except i'd probably hate it

I'm Addicted to stress
its the way that i get things done
if I'm not under pressure then i sleep too long
and i hang around like a bum
and i think I'm going nowhere and that makes me nervous...
everybodies out to get me, but i feel alright
everybodies out to get me, but i feel alright
everybodies out to get me, but i feel alright
everybodies thinking about me!

everybodies out to get me, but i feel alright
everybodies out to get me, but i feel alright
everybodies out to get me, but i feel alright
everybodies thinking about me!(x2)

[fexnix]

DUde! Thats some serious turbo postinG!!

[fexnix]

keep it up..!
yay!

[subsonic87]

Aw. My coffee's cold.

[subsonic87]

My arm hair color is coming back now. That's good. I worked outside over the summer, and my arm hair got all bleached white and nasty.

[subsonic87]

Have you ever noticed how people don't know how to use adverbs anymore?

[subsonic87]

Si puedes comprender, puedes hablar Espanol!

[subsonic87]

This song is called Alice's Restaurant, and it's about Alice, and the
restaurant, but Alice's Restaurant is not the name of the restaurant,
that's just the name of the song, and that's why I called the song Alice's
Restaurant.

[subsonic87]

You can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant
You can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant
Walk right in it's around the back
Just a half a mile from the railroad track
You can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant

[subsonic87]

Now it all started two Thanksgivings ago, was on - two years ago on
Thanksgiving, when my friend and I went up to visit Alice at the
restaurant, but Alice doesn't live in the restaurant, she lives in the
church nearby the restaurant, in the bell-tower, with her husband Ray and
Fasha the dog. And livin' in the bell tower like that, they got a lot of
room downstairs where the pews used to be in. Havin' all that room,
seein' as how they took out all the pews, they decided that they didn't
have to take out their garbage for a long time.

[subsonic87]

We got up there, we found all the garbage in there, and we decided it'd be
a friendly gesture for us to take the garbage down to the city dump. So
we took the half a ton of garbage, put it in the back of a red VW
microbus, took shovels and rakes and implements of destruction and headed
on toward the city dump.

Well we got there and there was a big sign and a chain across across the
dump saying, "Closed on Thanksgiving." And we had never heard of a dump
closed on Thanksgiving before, and with tears in our eyes we drove off
into the sunset looking for another place to put the garbage.

We didn't find one. Until we came to a side road, and off the side of the
side road there was another fifteen foot cliff and at the bottom of the
cliff there was another pile of garbage. And we decided that one big pile
is better than two little piles, and rather than bring that one up we
decided to throw our's down.

[subsonic87]

That's what we did, and drove back to the church, had a thanksgiving
dinner that couldn't be beat, went to sleep and didn't get up until the
next morning, when we got a phone call from officer Obie. He said, "Kid,
we found your name on an envelope at the bottom of a half a ton of
garbage, and just wanted to know if you had any information about it." And
I said, "Yes, sir, Officer Obie, I cannot tell a lie, I put that envelope
under that garbage."

After speaking to Obie for about fourty-five minutes on the telephone we
finally arrived at the truth of the matter and said that we had to go down
and pick up the garbage, and also had to go down and speak to him at the
police officer's station. So we got in the red VW microbus with the
shovels and rakes and implements of destruction and headed on toward the
police officer's station.

Now friends, there was only one or two things that Obie coulda done at
the police station, and the first was he could have given us a medal for
being so brave and honest on the telephone, which wasn't very likely, and
we didn't expect it, and the other thing was he could have bawled us out
and told us never to be see driving garbage around the vicinity again,
which is what we expected, but when we got to the police officer's station
there was a third possibility that we hadn't even counted upon, and we was
both immediately arrested. Handcuffed. And I said "Obie, I don't think I
can pick up the garbage with these handcuffs on." He said, "Shut up, kid.
Get in the back of the patrol car."

[subsonic87]

And that's what we did, sat in the back of the patrol car and drove to the
quote Scene of the Crime unquote. I want tell you about the town of
Stockbridge, Massachusets, where this happened here, they got three stop
signs, two police officers, and one police car, but when we got to the
Scene of the Crime there was five police officers and three police cars,
being the biggest crime of the last fifty years, and everybody wanted to
get in the newspaper story about it. And they was using up all kinds of
cop equipment that they had hanging around the police officer's station.
They was taking plaster tire tracks, foot prints, dog smelling prints, and
they took twenty seven eight-by-ten colour glossy photographs with circles
and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one explaining what each
one was to be used as evidence against us. Took pictures of the approach,
the getaway, the northwest corner the southwest corner and that's not to
mention the aerial photography.

After the ordeal, we went back to the jail. Obie said he was going to put
us in the cell. Said, "Kid, I'm going to put you in the cell, I want your
wallet and your belt." And I said, "Obie, I can understand you wanting my
wallet so I don't have any money to spend in the cell, but what do you
want my belt for?" And he said, "Kid, we don't want any hangings." I
said, "Obie, did you think I was going to hang myself for littering?"
Obie said he was making sure, and friends Obie was, cause he took out the
toilet seat so I couldn't hit myself over the head and drown, and he took
out the toilet paper so I couldn't bend the bars roll out the - roll the
toilet paper out the window, slide down the roll and have an escape. Obie
was making sure, and it was about four or five hours later that Alice
(remember Alice? It's a song about Alice), Alice came by and with a few
nasty words to Obie on the side, bailed us out of jail, and we went back
to the church, had a another thanksgiving dinner that couldn't be beat,
and didn't get up until the next morning, when we all had to go to court.

[subsonic87]

We walked in, sat down, Obie came in with the twenty seven eight-by-ten
colour glossy pictures with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back
of each one, sat down. Man came in said, "All rise." We all stood up,
and Obie stood up with the twenty seven eight-by-ten colour glossy
pictures, and the judge walked in sat down with a seeing eye dog, and he
sat down, we sat down. Obie looked at the seeing eye dog, and then at the
twenty seven eight-by-ten colour glossy pictures with circles and arrows
and a paragraph on the back of each one, and looked at the seeing eye dog.
And then at twenty seven eight-by-ten colour glossy pictures with circles
and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one and began to cry,
'cause Obie came to the realization that it was a typical case of American
blind justice, and there wasn't nothing he could do about it, and the
judge wasn't going to look at the twenty seven eight-by-ten colour glossy
pictures with the circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each
one explaining what each one was to be used as evidence against us. And
we was fined $50 and had to pick up the garbage in the snow, but thats not
what I came to tell you about.

Came to talk about the draft.

[subsonic87]

They got a building down New York City, it's called Whitehall Street,
where you walk in, you get injected, inspected, detected, infected,
neglected and selected. I went down to get my physical examination one
day, and I walked in, I sat down, got good and drunk the night before, so
I looked and felt my best when I went in that morning. `Cause I wanted to
look like the all-American kid from New York City, man I wanted, I wanted
to feel like the all-, I wanted to be the all American kid from New York,
and I walked in, sat down, I was hung down, brung down, hung up, and all
kinds o' mean nasty ugly things. And I waked in and sat down and they gave
me a piece of paper, said, "Kid, see the phsychiatrist, room 604."

And I went up there, I said, "Shrink, I want to kill. I mean, I wanna, I
wanna kill. Kill. I wanna, I wanna see, I wanna see blood and gore and
guts and veins in my teeth. Eat dead burnt bodies. I mean kill, Kill,
KILL, KILL." And I started jumpin up and down yelling, "KILL, KILL," and
he started jumpin up and down with me and we was both jumping up and down
yelling, "KILL, KILL." And the sargent came over, pinned a medal on me,
sent me down the hall, said, "You're our boy."

Didn't feel too good about it.

[subsonic87]

Proceeded on down the hall gettin more injections, inspections,
detections, neglections and all kinds of stuff that they was doin' to me
at the thing there, and I was there for two hours, three hours, four
hours, I was there for a long time going through all kinds of mean nasty
ugly things and I was just having a tough time there, and they was
inspecting, injecting every single part of me, and they was leaving no
part untouched. Proceeded through, and when I finally came to the see the
last man, I walked in, walked in sat down after a whole big thing there,
and I walked up and said, "What do you want?" He said, "Kid, we only got
one question. Have you ever been arrested?"

And I proceeded to tell him the story of the Alice's Restaurant Massacre,
with full orchestration and five part harmony and stuff like that and all
the phenome... - and he stopped me right there and said, "Kid, did you ever
go to court?"

And I proceeded to tell him the story of the twenty seven eight-by-ten
colour glossy pictures with the circles and arrows and the paragraph on
the back of each one, and he stopped me right there and said, "Kid, I want
you to go and sit down on that bench that says Group W .... NOW kid!!"

[subsonic87]

And I, I walked over to the, to the bench there, and there is, Group W's
where they put you if you may not be moral enough to join the army after
committing your special crime, and there was all kinds of mean nasty ugly
looking people on the bench there. Mother rapers. Father stabbers. Father
rapers! Father rapers sitting right there on the bench next to me! And
they was mean and nasty and ugly and horrible crime-type guys sitting on the bench next to me. And the meanest, ugliest, nastiest one, the meanest
father raper of them all, was coming over to me and he was mean 'n' ugly
'n' nasty 'n' horrible and all kind of things and he sat down next to me
and said, "Kid, whad'ya get?" I said, "I didn't get nothing, I had to pay
$50 and pick up the garbage." He said, "What were you arrested for, kid?"
And I said, "Littering." And they all moved away from me on the bench
there, and the hairy eyeball and all kinds of mean nasty things, till I
said, "And creating a nuisance." And they all came back, shook my hand,
and we had a great time on the bench, talkin about crime, mother stabbing,
father raping, all kinds of groovy things that we was talking about on the
bench. And everything was fine, we was smoking cigarettes and all kinds of
things, until the Sargeant came over, had some paper in his hand, held it
up and said:

[subsonic87]

"Kids, this-piece-of-paper's-got-47-words-37-sentences-58-words-we-wanna-
know-details-of-the-crime-time-of-the-crime-and-any-other-kind-of-thing-
you-gotta-say-pertaining-to-and-about-the-crime-I-want-to-know-arresting-
officer's-name-and-any-other-kind-of-thing-you-gotta-say", and talked for
forty-five minutes and nobody understood a word that he said, but we had
fun filling out the forms and playing with the pencils on the bench there,
and I filled out the massacre with the four part harmony, and wrote it
down there, just like it was, and everything was fine and I put down the
pencil, and I turned over the piece of paper, and there, there on the
other side, in the middle of the other side, away from everything else on
the other side, in parentheses, capital letters, quotated, read the
following words:

("KID, HAVE YOU REHABILITATED YOURSELF?")

I went over to the sargent, said, "Sargeant, you got a lot a damn gall to
ask me if I've rehabilitated myself, I mean, I mean, I mean that just, I'm
sittin' here on the bench, I mean I'm sittin here on the Group W bench
'cause you want to know if I'm moral enough join the army, burn women,
kids, houses and villages after bein' a litterbug." He looked at me and
said, "Kid, we don't like your kind, and we're gonna send you fingerprints
off to Washington."

[subsonic87]

And friends, somewhere in Washington enshrined in some little folder, is a
study in black and white of my fingerprints. And the only reason I'm
singing you this song now is cause you may know somebody in a similar
situation, or you may be in a similar situation, and if your in a
situation like that there's only one thing you can do and that's walk into
the shrink wherever you are ,just walk in say "Shrink, You can get
anything you want, at Alice's restaurant.". And walk out. You know, if
one person, just one person does it they may think he's really sick and
they won't take him. And if two people, two people do it, in harmony,
they may think they're both faggots and they won't take either of them.
And three people do it, three, can you imagine, three people walking in
singin a bar of Alice's Restaurant and walking out. They may think it's an
organization. And can you, can you imagine fifty people a day,I said
fifty people a day walking in singin a bar of Alice's Restaurant and
walking out. And friends they may thinks it's a movement.

And that's what it is , the Alice's Restaurant Anti-Massacre Movement, and
all you got to do to join is sing it the next time it come's around on the
guitar.

[fexnix]

long song

[subsonic87]

With feeling. So we'll wait for it to come around on the guitar, here and
sing it when it does. Here it comes.

You can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant
You can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant
Walk right in it's around the back
Just a half a mile from the railroad track
You can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant

That was horrible. If you want to end war and stuff you got to sing loud.
I've been singing this song now for twenty five minutes. I could sing it
for another twenty five minutes. I'm not proud... or tired.

So we'll wait till it comes around again, and this time with four part
harmony and feeling.

We're just waitin' for it to come around is what we're doing.

All right now.

You can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant
Excepting Alice
You can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant
Walk right in it's around the back
Just a half a mile from the railroad track
You can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant

Da da da da da da da dum
At Alice's Restaurant

[subsonic87]

long song
"I've been singing this song now for twenty five minutes. I could sing it
for another twenty five minutes. I'm not proud... or tired."

[subsonic87]

Everyone needs a little Arlo Guthrie once in a while...

[subsonic87]

XXXII

HOPE is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

[subsonic87]

On Seeing One On A Lady's Bonnet, At Church

Ha! whaur ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie?
Your impudence protects you sairly;
I canna say but ye strunt rarely,
Owre gauze and lace;
Tho', faith! I fear ye dine but sparely
On sic a place.

Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner,
Detested, shunn'd by saunt an' sinner,
How daur ye set your fit upon her-
Sae fine a lady?
Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner
On some poor body.

Swith! in some beggar's haffet squattle;
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle,
Wi' ither kindred, jumping cattle,
In shoals and nations;
Whaur horn nor bane ne'er daur unsettle
Your thick plantations.

Now haud you there, ye're out o' sight,
Below the fatt'rels, snug and tight;
Na, faith ye yet! ye'll no be right,
Till ye've got on it-
The verra tapmost, tow'rin height
O' Miss' bonnet.

My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose out,
As plump an' grey as ony groset:
O for some rank, mercurial rozet,
Or fell, red smeddum,
I'd gie you sic a hearty dose o't,
Wad dress your droddum.

I wad na been surpris'd to spy
You on an auld wife's flainen toy;
Or aiblins some bit dubbie boy,
On's wyliecoat;
But Miss' fine Lunardi! fye!
How daur ye do't?

O Jeany, dinna toss your head,
An' set your beauties a' abread!
Ye little ken what cursed speed
The blastie's makin:
Thae winks an' finger-ends, I dread,
Are notice takin.

O wad some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us!
It wad frae mony a blunder free us,
An' foolish notion:
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us,
An' ev'n devotion!

[subsonic87]

anyone lived in a pretty how town

anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did


Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain


children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more


when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone's any was all to her


someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream


stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)


one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was


all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.


Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain

[subsonic87]

Funeral Blues
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public
doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

[subsonic87]

XCIV
They that have power to hurt and will do none,
That do not do the thing they most do show,
Who, moving others, are themselves as stone,
Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow;
They rightly do inherit heaven's graces
And husband nature's riches from expense;
They are the lords and owners of their faces,
Others but stewards of their excellence.
The summer's flower is to the summer sweet,
Though to itself it only live and die,
But if that flower with base infection meet,
The basest weed outbraves his dignity:
For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;
Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.

[subsonic87]

XL

SHE sweeps with many-colored brooms,
And leaves the shreds behind;
Oh, housewife in the evening west,
Come back, and dust the pond!

You dropped a purple ravelling in,
You dropped an amber thread;
And now you ’ve littered all the East
With duds of emerald!

And still she plies her spotted brooms,
And still the aprons fly,
Till brooms fade softly into stars—
And then I come away.

[this end up]

long song

yes but it one of the best songs ever.

(it runs for 25 minutes)

[subsonic87]

yes but it one of the best songs ever.

(it runs for 25 minutes)
+1
w00t!

[subsonic87]

193 posts to go ('til post #4000)!

[fexnix]

me wanna make soma dem posta

[fexnix]

Turbo POSTA!!

[fexnix]

1

[fexnix]

shorter den 10

[fexnix]

7

[subsonic87]

2 is more than 1

[subsonic87]

And 7 is more than 2x1

[subsonic87]

And I can count to H.

[subsonic87]

And I can count to H.
That's nothing. I can count to purple backwards!

[subsonic87]

Umm, not... pigeons?

[subsonic87]

Wow, I'm being completely inane today.

[AllThingsUni]

http://www.ebaumsworld.com/images/humantower.jpg

[AllThingsUni]

http://www.bboy.org/forums/avatar.php?userid=70502&dateline=1129995053
perfect avatar. love it

[this end up]

i have returnd but now i must leave.

[subsonic87]

Okay, who's ready for chapter 2?

[subsonic87]

Chapter Two
-
RASKOLNIKOV was not used to crowds, and, as we said before, he
avoided society of every sort, more especially of late. But now all at
once he felt a desire to be with other people. Something new seemed to
be taking place within him, and with it he felt a sort of thirst for
company. He was so weary after a whole month of concentrated
wretchedness and gloomy excitement that he longed to rest, if only for
a moment, in some other world, whatever it might be; and, in spite
of the filthiness of the surroundings, he was glad now to stay in
the tavern.
The master of the establishment was in another room, but he
frequently came down some steps into the main room, his jaunty, tarred
boots with red turn-over tops coming into view each time before the
rest of his person. He wore a full coat and a horribly greasy black
satin waistcoat, with no cravat, and his whole face seemed smeared
with oil like an iron lock. At the counter stood a boy of about
fourteen, and there was another boy somewhat younger who handed
whatever was wanted. On the counter lay some sliced cucumber, some
pieces of dried black bread, and some fish, chopped up small, all
smelling very bad. It was insufferably close, and so heavy with the
fumes of spirits that five minutes in such an atmosphere might well
make a man drunk.

[subsonic87]

There are chance meetings with strangers that interest us from the
first moment, before a word is spoken. Such was the impression made on
Raskolnikov by the person sitting a little distance from him, who
looked like a retired clerk. The young man often recalled this
impression afterwards, and even ascribed it to presentiment. He looked
repeatedly at the clerk, partly no doubt because the latter was
staring persistently at him, obviously anxious to enter into
conversation. At the other persons in the room, including the
tavern-keeper, the clerk looked as though he were used to their
company, and weary of it, showing a shade of condescending contempt
for them as persons of station and culture inferior to his own, with
whom it would be useless for him to converse. He was a man over fifty,
bald and grizzled, of medium height, and stoutly built. His face,
bloated from continual drinking, was of a yellow, even greenish,
tinge, with swollen eyelids out of which keen reddish eyes gleamed
like little chinks. But there was something very strange in him; there
was a light in his eyes as though of intense feeling- perhaps there
were even thought and intelligence, but at the same time there was a
gleam of something like madness. He was wearing an old and
hopelessly ragged black dress coat, with all its buttons missing
except one, and that one he had buttoned, evidently clinging to this
last trace of respectability. A crumpled shirt front covered with
spots and stains, protruded from his canvas waistcoat. Like a clerk,
he wore no beard, nor moustache, but had been so long unshaven that
his chin looked like a stiff greyish brush. And there was something
respectable and like an official about his manner too. But he was
restless; he ruffled up his hair and from time to time let his head
drop into his hands dejectedly resting his ragged elbows on the
stained and sticky table. At last he looked straight at Raskolnikov,
and said loudly and resolutely:
"May I venture, honoured sir, to engage you in polite
conversation? Forasmuch as, though your exterior would not command
respect, my experience admonishes me that you are a man of education
and not accustomed to drinking. I have always respected education when
in conjunction with genuine sentiments, and I am besides a titular
counsellor in rank. Marmeladov- such is my name; titular counsellor. I
make bold to inquire- have you been in the service?"

[subsonic87]

"No, I am studying," answered the young man, somewhat surprised at
the grandiloquent style of the speaker and also at being so directly
addressed. In spite of the momentary desire he had just been feeling
for company of any sort, on being actually spoken to he felt
immediately his habitual irritable and uneasy aversion for any
stranger who approached or attempted to approach him.
"A student then, or formerly a student," cried the clerk. "Just what
I thought! I'm a man of experience, immense experience, sir," and he
tapped his forehead with his fingers in self-approval. "You've been
a student or have attended some learned institution!... But allow
me...." He got up, staggered, took up his jug and glass, and sat
down beside the young man, facing him a little sideways. He was drunk,
but spoke fluently and boldly, only occasionally losing the thread
of his sentences and drawling his words. He pounced upon Raskolnikov
as greedily as though he too had not spoken to a soul for a month.
"Honoured sir," he began almost with solemnity, "poverty is not a
vice, that's a true saying. Yet I know too that drunkenness is not a
virtue, and that that's even truer. But beggary, honoured sir, beggary
is a vice. In poverty you may still retain your innate nobility of
soul, but in beggary- never- no one. For beggary a man is not chased
out of human society with a stick, he is swept out with a broom, so as
to make it as humiliating as possible; and quite right, too, forasmuch
as in beggary I am ready to be the first to humiliate myself. Hence
the pot-house! Honoured sir, a month ago Mr. Lebeziatnikov gave my
wife a beating, and my wife is a very different matter from me! Do you
understand? Allow me to ask you another question out of simple
curiosity: have you ever spent a night on a hay barge, on the Neva?"
"No, I have not happened to," answered Raskolnikov. "What do you
mean?"
"Well, I've just come from one and it's the fifth night I've slept
so...." He filled his glass, emptied it and paused. Bits of hay were
in fact clinging to his clothes and sticking to his hair. It seemed
quite probable that he had not undressed or washed for the last five
days. His hands, particularly, were filthy. They were fat and red,
with black nails.

[subsonic87]

His conversation seemed to excite a general though languid interest.
The boys at the counter fell to sniggering. The innkeeper came down
from the upper room, apparently on purpose to listen to the "funny
fellow" and sat down at a little distance, yawning lazily, but with
dignity. Evidently Marmeladov was a familiar figure here, and he had
most likely acquired his weakness for high-flown speeches from the
habit of frequently entering into conversation with strangers of all
sorts in the tavern. This habit develops into a necessity in some
drunkards, and especially in those who are looked after sharply and
kept in order at home. Hence in the company of other drinkers they try
to justify themselves and even if possible obtain consideration.
"Funny fellow!" pronounced the innkeeper. "And why don't you work,
why aren't you at your duty, if you are in the service?"
"Why am I not at my duty, honoured sir," Marmeladov went on,
addressing himself exclusively to Raskolnikov, as though it had been
he who put that question to him. "Why am I not at my duty? Does not my
heart ache to think what a useless worm I am? A month ago when Mr.
Lebeziatnikov beat my wife with his own hands, and I lay drunk, didn't
I suffer? Excuse me, young man, has it ever happened to you... hm...
well, to petition hopelessly for a loan?"
"Yes, it has. But what do you mean by hopelessly?"
"Hopelessly in the fullest sense, when you know beforehand that
you will get nothing by it. You know, for instance, beforehand with
positive certainty that this man, this most reputable and exemplary
citizen, will on no consideration give you money; and indeed I ask you
why should he? For he knows of course that I shan't pay it back.
From compassion? But Mr. Lebeziatnikov who keeps up with modern
ideas explained the other day that compassion is forbidden nowadays by
science itself, and that that's what is done now in England, where
there is political economy. Why, I ask you, should he give it to me?
And yet though I know beforehand that he won't, I set off to him
and..."

[subsonic87]

"Why do you go?" put in Raskolnikov.
"Well, when one has no one, nowhere else one can go! For every man
must have somewhere to go. Since there are times when one absolutely
must go somewhere! When my own daughter first went out with a yellow
ticket, then I had to go... (for my daughter has a yellow
passport)," he added in parenthesis, looking with a certain uneasiness
at the young man. "No matter, sir, no matter!" he went on hurriedly
and with apparent composure when both the boys at the counter guffawed
and even the innkeeper smiled- "No matter, I am not confounded by
the wagging of their heads; for every one knows everything about it
already, and all that is secret is made open. And I accept it all, not
with contempt, but with humility. So be it! So be it! 'Behold the
man!' Excuse me, young man, can you.... No, to put it more strongly
and more distinctly; not can you but dare you, looking upon me, assert
that I am not a pig?"
The young man did not answer a word.
"Well," the orator began again stolidly and with even increased
dignity, after waiting for the laughter in the room to subside. "Well,
so be it, I am a pig, but she is a lady! I have the semblance of a
beast, but Katerina Ivanovna, my spouse, is a person of education
and an officer's daughter. Granted, granted, I am a scoundrel, but she
is a woman of a noble heart, full of sentiments, refined by education.
And yet... oh, if only she felt for me! Honoured sir, honoured sir,
you know every man ought to have at least one place where people
feel for him! But Katerina Ivanovna, though she is magnanimous, she is
unjust.... And yet, although I realise that when she pulls my hair she
only does it out of pity- for I repeat without being ashamed, she
pulls my hair, young man," he declared with redoubled dignity, hearing
the sniggering again- "but, my God, if she would but once.... But
no, no! It's all in vain and it's no use talking! No use talking!
For more than once, my wish did come true and more than once she has
felt for me but... such is my fate and I am a beast by nature!"

[subsonic87]

"Rather!" assented the innkeeper yawning. Marmeladov struck his fist
resolutely on the table.
"Such is my fate! Do you know, sir, do you know, I have sold her
very stockings for drink? Not her shoes- that would be more or less in
the order of things, but her stockings, her stockings I have sold
for drink! Her mohair shawl I sold for drink, a present to her long
ago, her own property, not mine; and we live in a cold room and she
caught cold this winter and has begun coughing and spitting blood too.
We have three little children and Katerina Ivanovna is at work from
morning till night; she is scrubbing and cleaning and washing the
children, for she's been used to cleanliness from a child. But her
chest is weak and she has a tendency to consumption and I feel it!
Do you suppose I don't feel it? And the more I drink the more I feel
it. That's why I drink too. I try to find sympathy and feeling in
drink.... I drink so that I may suffer twice as much!" And as though
in despair he laid his head down on the table.

[subsonic87]

"Young man," he went on, raising his head again, "in your face I
seem to read some trouble of mind. When you came in I read it, and
that was why I addressed you at once. For in unfolding to you the
story of my life, I do not wish to make myself a laughing-stock before
these idle listeners, who indeed know all about it already, but I am
looking for a man of feeling and education. Know then that my wife was
educated in a high-class school for the daughters of noblemen, and
on leaving she danced the shawl dance before the governor and other
personages for which she was presented with a gold medal and a
certificate of merit. The medal... well, the medal of course was sold-
long ago, hm... but the certificate of merit is in her trunk still and
not long ago she showed it to our landlady. And although she is most
continually on bad terms with the landlady, yet she wanted to tell
some one or other of her past honours and of the happy days that are
gone. I don't condemn her for it, I don't blame her, for the one thing
left her is recollection of the past, and all the rest is dust and
ashes. Yes, yes, she is a lady of spirit, proud and determined. She
scrubs the floors herself and has nothing but black bread to eat,
but won't allow herself to be treated with disrespect. That's why
she would not overlook Mr. Lebeziatnikov's rudeness to her, and so
when he gave her a beating for it, she took to her bed more from the
hurt to her feelings than from the blows. She was a widow when I
married her, with three children, one smaller than the other. She
married her first husband, an infantry officer, for love, and ran away
with him from her father's house. She was exceedingly fond of her
husband; but he gave way to cards, got into trouble and with that he
died. He used to beat her at the end: and although she paid him
back, of which I have authentic documentary evidence, to this day
she speaks of him with tears and she throws him up to me; and I am
glad, I am glad that, though only in imagination, she should think
of herself as having once been happy.... And she was left at his death
with three children in a wild and remote district where I happened
to be at the time; and she was left in such hopeless poverty that,
although I have seen many ups and downs of all sort, I don't feel
equal to describing it even. Her relations had all thrown her off. And
she was proud, too, excessively proud.... And then, honoured sir,
and then, I, being at the time a widower, with a daughter of
fourteen left me by my first wife, offered her my hand, for I could
not bear the sight of such suffering. You can judge the extremity of
her calamities, that she, a woman of education and culture and
distinguished family, should have consented to be my wife. But she
did! Weeping and sobbing and wringing her hands, she married me! For
she had nowhere to turn! Do you understand, sir, do you understand
what it means when you have absolutely nowhere to turn? No, that you
don't understand yet.... And for a whole year, I performed my duties
conscientiously and faithfully, and did not touch this" (he tapped the
jug with his finger), "for I have feelings. But even so, I could not
please her; and then I lost my place too, and that through no fault of
mine but through changes in the office; and then I did touch it!... It
will be a year and a half ago soon since we found ourselves at last
after many wanderings and numerous calamities in this magnificent
capital, adorned with innumerable monuments. Here I obtained a
situation.... I obtained it and I lost it again. Do you understand?

[subsonic87]

This time it was through my own fault I lost it: for my weakness had
come out.... We have now part of a room at Amalia Fyodorovna
Lippevechsel's; and what we live upon and what we pay our rent with, I
could not say. There are a lot of people living there besides
ourselves. Dirt and disorder, a perfect Bedlam... hm... yes... And
meanwhile my daughter by my first wife has grown up; and what my
daughter has had to put up with from her step-mother whilst she was
growing up, I won't speak of. For, though Katerina Ivanovna is full of
generous feelings, she is a spirited lady, irritable and
short-tempered.... Yes. But it's no use going over that! Sonia, as you
may well fancy, has had no education. I did make an effort four
years ago to give her a course of geography and universal history, but
as I was not very well up in those subjects myself and we had no
suitable books, and what books we had... hm, any way we have not
even those now, so all our instruction came to an end. We stopped at
Cyrus of Persia. Since she has attained years of maturity, she has
read other books of romantic tendency and of late she had read with
great interest a book she got through Mr. Lebeziatnikov, Lewes'
Physiology- do you know it?- and even recounted extracts from it to
us: and that's the whole of her education. And now may I venture to
address you, honoured sir, on my own account with a private
question. Do you suppose that a respectable poor girl can earn much by
honest work? Not fifteen farthings a day can she earn, if she is
respectable and has no special talent and that without putting her
work down for an instant! And what's more, Ivan Ivanitch Klopstock the
civil counsellor- have you heard of him?- has not to this day paid her
for the half-dozen linen shirts she made him and drove her roughly
away, stamping and reviling her, on the pretext that the shirt collars
were not made like the pattern and were put in askew. And there are
the little ones hungry.... And Katerina Ivanovna walking up and down
and wringing her hands, her cheeks flushed red, as they always are
in that disease: 'Here you live with us,' says she, 'you eat and drink
and are kept warm and you do nothing to help.' And much she gets to
eat and drink when there is not a crust for the little ones for
three days! I was lying at the time... well, what of it! I was lying
drunk and I heard my Sonia speaking (she is a gentle creature with a
soft little voice... fair hair and such a pale, thin little face). She
said: 'Katerina Ivanovna, am I really to do a thing like that?'

[subsonic87]

And
Darya Frantsovna, a woman of evil character and very well known to the
police, had two or three times tried to get at her through the
landlady. 'And why not?' said Katerina Ivanovna with a jeer, 'you
are something mighty precious to be so careful of!' But don't blame
her, don't blame her, honoured sir, don't blame her! She was not
herself when she spoke, but driven to distraction by her illness and
the crying of the hungry children; and it was said more to wound her
than anything else.... For that's Katerina Ivanovna's character, and
when children cry, even from hunger, she falls to beating them at
once. At six o'clock I saw Sonia get up, put on her kerchief and her
cape, and go out of the room and about nine o'clock she came back. She
walked straight up to Katerina Ivanovna and she laid thirty roubles on
the table before her in silence. She did not utter a word, she did not
even look at her, she simply picked up our big green drap de dames
shawl (we have a shawl, made of drap de dames), put it over her head
and face and lay down on the bed with her face to the wall; only her
little shoulders and her body kept shuddering.... And I went on
lying there, just as before.... And then I saw, young man, I saw
Katerina Ivanovna, in the same silence go up to Sonia's little bed;
she was on her knees all the evening kissing Sonia's feet, and would
not get up, and then they both fell asleep in each other's arms...
together, together... yes... and I... lay drunk."
Marmeladov stopped short, as though his voice had failed him. Then
he hurriedly filled his glass, drank, and cleared his throat.

[subsonic87]

"Since then, sir," he went on after a brief pause- "Since then,
owing to an unfortunate occurrence and through information given by
evil-intentioned persons- in all which Darya Frantsovna took a leading
part on the pretext that she had been treated with want of respect-
since then my daughter Sofya Semyonovna has been forced to take a
yellow ticket, and owing to that she is unable to go on living with
us. For our landlady, Amalia Fyodorovna would not hear of it (though
she had backed up Darya Frantsovna before) and Mr. Lebeziatnikov
too... hm.... All the trouble between him and Katerina Ivanovna was on
Sonia's account. At first he was for making up to Sonia himself and
then all of a sudden he stood on his dignity: 'how,' said he, 'can a
highly educated man like me live in the same rooms with a girl like
that?' And Katerina Ivanovna would not let it pass, she stood up for
her... and so that's how it happened. And Sonia comes to us now,
mostly after dark; she comforts Katerina Ivanovna and gives her all
she can.... She has a room at the Kapernaumovs, the tailors, she
lodges with them; Kapernaumov is a lame man with a cleft palate and
all of his numerous family have cleft palates too. And his wife,
too, has a cleft palate. They all live in one room, but Sonia has
her own, partitioned off.... Hm... yes... very poor people and all
with cleft palates... yes. Then I got up in the morning, and put on my
rags, lifted up my hands to heaven and set off to his excellency
Ivan Afanasyevitch. His excellency Ivan Afanasyevitch, do you know
him? No? Well, then, it's a man of God you don't know.

[subsonic87]

He is wax...
wax before the face of the Lord; even as wax melteth!... His eyes were
dim when he heard my story. 'Marmeladov, once already you have
deceived my expectations... I'll take you once more on my own
responsibility'- that's what he said, 'remember,' he said, 'and now
you can go.' I kissed the dust at his feet- in thought only, for in
reality he would not have allowed me to do it, being a statesman and a
man of modern political and enlightened ideas. I returned home, and
when I announced that I'd been taken back into the service and
should receive a salary, heavens, what a to-do there was...!"
Marmeladov stopped again in violent excitement. At that moment a
whole party of revellers already drunk came in from the street, and
the sounds of a hired concertina and the cracked piping voice of a
child of seven singing "The Hamlet" were heard in the entry. The
room was filled with noise. The tavern-keeper and the boys were busy
with the new-comers. Marmeladov paying no attention to the new
arrivals continued his story. He appeared by now to be extremely weak,
but as he became more and more drunk, he became more and more
talkative. The recollection of his recent success in getting the
situation seemed to revive him, and was positively reflected in a sort
of radiance on his face. Raskolnikov listened attentively.

[subsonic87]

"That was five weeks ago, sir. Yes.... As soon as Katerina
Ivanovna and Sonia heard of it, mercy on us, it was as though I
stepped into the kingdom of Heaven. It used to be: you can lie like
a beast, nothing but abuse. Now they were walking on tiptoe, hushing
the children. 'Semyon Zaharovitch is tired with his work at the
office, he is resting, shh!' They made me coffee before I went to work
and boiled cream for me! They began to get real cream for me, do you
hear that? And how they managed to get together the money for a decent
outfit- eleven roubles, fifty copecks, I can't guess. Boots, cotton
shirt-fronts- most magnificent, a uniform, they got up all in splendid
style, for eleven roubles and a half. The first morning I came back
from the office I found Katerina Ivanovna had cooked two courses for
dinner- soup and salt meat with horse radish- which we had never
dreamed of till then. She had not any dresses... none at all, but
she got herself up as though she were going on a visit; and not that
she'd anything to do it with, she smartened herself up with nothing at
all, she'd done her hair nicely, put on a clean collar of some sort,
cuffs, and there she was, quite a different person, she was younger
and better looking. Sonia, my little darling, had only helped with
money 'for the time,' she said, 'it won't do for me to come and see
you too often. After dark maybe when no one can see.' Do you hear,
do you hear? I lay down for a nap after dinner and what do you
think: though Katerina Ivanovna had quarrelled to the last degree with
our landlady Amalia Fyodorovna only a week before, she could not
resist then asking her in to coffee. For two hours they were
sitting, whispering together. 'Semyon Zaharovitch is in the service
again, now, and receiving a salary,' says she, 'and he went himself to
his excellency and his excellency himself came out to him, made all
the others wait and led Semyon Zaharovitch by the hand before
everybody into his study.' Do you hear, do you hear? 'To be sure,'
says he, 'Semyon Zaharovitch, remembering your past services,' says
he, 'and in spite of your propensity to that foolish weakness, since
you promise now and since moreover we've got on badly without you,'
(do you hear, do you hear,) 'and so,' says he, 'I rely now on your
word as a gentleman.'

[subsonic87]

And all that, let me tell you, she has simply
made up for herself, and not simply out of wantonness, for the sake of
bragging; no, she believes it all herself, she amuses herself with her
own fancies, upon my word she does! And I don't blame her for it,
no, I don't blame her!... Six days ago when I brought her my first
earnings in full- twenty-three roubles forty copecks altogether- she
called me her poppet: 'poppet,' said she, 'my little poppet.' And when
we were by ourselves, you understand? You would not think me a beauty,
you would not think much of me as a husband, would you?... Well, she
pinched my cheek 'my little poppet,' said she."
Marmeladov broke off, tried to smile, but suddenly his chin began to
twitch. He controlled himself however. The tavern, the degraded
appearance of the man, the five nights in the hay barge, and the pot
of spirits, and yet this poignant love for his wife and children
bewildered his listener. Raskolnikov listened intently but with a sick
sensation. He felt vexed that he had come here.
"Honoured sir, honoured sir," cried Marmeladov recovering himself-
"Oh, sir, perhaps all this seems a laughing matter to you, as it
does to others, and perhaps I am only worrying you with the
stupidity of all the trivial details of my home life, but it is not
a laughing matter to me. For I can feel it all.... And the whole of
that heavenly day of my life and the whole of that evening I passed in
fleeting dreams of how I would arrange it all, and how I would dress
all the children, and how I should give her rest, and how I should
rescue my own daughter from dishonour and restore her to the bosom
of her family.... And a great deal more.... Quite excusable, sir.
Well, then, sir (Marmeladov suddenly gave a sort of start, raised
his head and gazed intently at his listener) well, on the very next
day after all those dreams, that is to say, exactly five days ago,
in the evening, by a cunning trick, like a thief in the night, I stole
from Katerina Ivanovna the key of her box, took out what was left of
my earnings, how much it was I have forgotten, and now look at me, all
of you! It's the fifth day since I left home, and they are looking for
me there and it's the end of my employment, and my uniform is lying in
a tavern on the Egyptian bridge. I exchanged it for the garments I
have on... and it's the end of everything!"

[subsonic87]

Marmeladov struck his forehead with his fist, clenched his teeth,
closed his eyes and leaned heavily with his elbow on the table. But
a minute later his face suddenly changed and with a certain assumed
slyness and affectation of bravado, he glanced at Raskolnikov, laughed
and said:
"This morning I went to see Sonia, I went to ask her for a
pick-me-up! He-he-he!"
"You don't say she gave it to you?" cried one of the new-comers;
he shouted the words and went off into a guffaw.
"This very quart was bought with her money," Marmeladov declared,
addressing himself exclusively to Raskolnikov. "Thirty copecks she
gave me with her own hands, her last, all she had, as I saw.... She
said nothing, she only looked at me without a word.... Not on earth,
but up yonder... they grieve over men, they weep, but they don't blame
them, they don't blame them! But it hurts more, it hurts more when
they don't blame! Thirty copecks yes! And maybe she needs them now,
eh? What do you think, my dear sir? For now she's got to keep up her
appearance. It costs money, that smartness, that special smartness,
you know? Do you understand? And there's pomatum, too, you see, she
must have things; petticoats, starched ones, shoes, too, real jaunty
ones to show off her foot when she has to step over a puddle. Do you
understand, sir, do you understand what all that smartness means?
And here I, her own father, here I took thirty copecks of that money
for a drink! And I am drinking it! And I have already drunk it!
Come, who will have pity on a man like me, eh? Are you sorry for me,
sir, or not? Tell me, sir, are you sorry or not? He-he-he!"

[subsonic87]

He would have filled his glass, but there was no drink left. The pot
was empty.
"What are you to be pitied for?" shouted the tavern-keeper who was
again near them.
Shouts of laughter and even oaths followed. The laughter and the
oaths came from those who were listening and also from those who had
heard nothing but were simply looking at the figure of the
discharged government clerk.
"To be pitied! Why am I to be pitied?" Marmeladov suddenly
declaimed, standing up with his arm outstretched, as though he had
been only waiting for that question.
"Why am I to be pitied, you say? Yes! there's nothing to pity me
for! I ought to be crucified, crucified on a cross, not pitied!
Crucify me, oh judge, crucify me but pity me! And then I will go of
myself to be crucified, for it's not merry-making I seek but tears and
tribulation!... Do you suppose, you that sell, that this pint of yours
has been sweet to me? It was tribulation I sought at the bottom of it,
tears and tribulation, and have found it, and I have tasted it; but He
will pity us Who has had pity on all men, Who has understood all men
and all things, He is the One. He too is the judge. He will come in
that day and He will ask: 'Where is the daughter who gave herself
for her cross, consumptive step-mother and for the little children
of another? Where is the daughter who had pity upon the filthy
drunkard, her earthly father, undismayed by his beastliness?' And He
will say, 'Come to me! I have already forgiven thee once.... I have
forgiven thee once.... Thy sins which are many are forgiven thee for
thou hast loved much....' And he will forgive my Sonia, He will
forgive, I know it... I felt it in my heart when I was with her just
now! And He will judge and will forgive all, the good and the evil,
the wise and the meek.... And when He has done with all of them,
then He will summon us. 'You too come forth,' He will say, 'Come forth
ye drunkards, come forth, ye weak ones, come forth, ye children of
shame!' And we shall all come forth, without shame and shall stand
before him.

[subsonic87]

And He will say unto us, 'Ye are swine, made in the
Image of the Beast and with his mark; but come ye also!' And the
wise ones and those of understanding will say, 'Oh Lord, why dost Thou
receive these men?' And He will say, 'This is why I receive them, oh
ye wise, this is why I receive them, oh ye of understanding, that
not one of them believed himself to be worthy of this.' And He will
hold out His hands to us and we shall fall down before him... and we
shall weep... and we shall understand all things! Then we shall
understand all!... and all will understand, Katerina Ivanovna
even... she will understand.... Lord, Thy kingdom come!" And he sank
down on the bench exhausted, and helpless, looking at no one,
apparently oblivious of his surroundings and plunged in deep
thought. His words had created a certain impression; there was a
moment of silence; but soon laughter and oaths were heard again.
"That's his notion!"
"Talked himself silly!"
"A fine clerk he is!"
And so on, and so on.
"Let us go, sir," said Marmeladov all at once, raising his head
and addressing Raskolnikov- "come along with me... Kozel's house,
looking into the yard. I'm going to Katerina Ivanovna- time I did."

[subsonic87]

Raskolnikov had for some time been wanting to go and he had meant to
help him. Marmeladov was much unsteadier on his legs than in his
speech and leaned heavily on the young man. They had two or three
hundred paces to go. The drunken man was more and more overcome by
dismay and confusion as they drew nearer the house.
"It's not Katerina Ivanovna I am afraid of now," he muttered in
agitation- "and that she will begin pulling my hair. What does my hair
matter! Bother my hair! That's what I say! Indeed it will be better if
she does begin pulling it, that's not what I am afraid of... it's
her eyes I am afraid of... yes, her eyes... the red on her cheeks,
too, frightens me... and her breathing too.... Have you noticed how
people in that disease breathe... when they are excited? I am
frightened of the children's crying, too.... For if Sonia has not
taken them food... I don't know what's happened! I don't know! But
blows I am not afraid of.... Know, sir, that such blows are not a pain
to me, but even an enjoyment. In fact I can't get on without it....
It's better so. Let her strike me, it relieves her heart... it's
better so... There is the house. The house of Kozel, the cabinet
maker... a German, well-to-do. Lead the way!"
They went in from the yard and up to the fourth storey. The
staircase got darker and darker as they went up. It was nearly
eleven o'clock and although in summer in Petersburg there is no real
night, yet it was quite dark at the top of the stairs.

[subsonic87]

A grimy little door at the very top of the stairs stood ajar. A very
poor-looking room about ten paces long was lighted up by a candle-end;
the whole of it was visible from the entrance. It was all in disorder,
littered up with rags of all sorts, especially children's garments.
Across the furthest corner was stretched a ragged sheet. Behind it
probably was the bed. There was nothing in the room except two
chairs and a sofa covered with American leather, full of holes, before
which stood an old deal kitchen-table, unpainted and uncovered. At the
edge of the table stood a smoldering tallow-candle in an iron
candlestick. It appeared that the family had a room to themselves, not
part of a room, but their room was practically a passage. The door
leading to the other rooms, or rather cupboards, into which Amalia
Lippevechsel's flat was divided stood half open, and there was
shouting, uproar and laughter within. People seemed to be playing
cards and drinking tea there. Words of the most unceremonious kind
flew out from time to time.
Raskolnikov recognised Katerina Ivanovna at once. She was a rather
tall, slim and graceful woman, terribly emaciated, with magnificent
dark brown hair and with a hectic flush in her cheeks. She was
pacing up and down in her little room, pressing her hands against
her chest; her lips were parched and her breathing came in nervous
broken gasps. Her eyes glittered as in fever and looked about with a
harsh immovable stare. And that consumptive and excited face with
the last flickering light of the candle-end playing upon it made a
sickening impression. She seemed to Raskolnikov about thirty years old
and was certainly a strange wife for Marmeladov.... She had not
heard them and did not notice them coming in. She seemed to be lost in
thought, hearing and seeing nothing. The room was close, but she had
not opened the window; a stench rose from the staircase, but the
door on to the stairs was not closed. From the inner rooms clouds of
tobacco smoke floated in, she kept coughing, but did not close the
door.

[subsonic87]

The youngest child, a girl of six, was asleep, sitting curled up
on the floor with her head on the sofa. A boy a year older stood
crying and shaking in the corner, probably he had just had a
beating. Beside him stood a girl of nine years old, tall and thin,
wearing a thin and ragged chemise with an ancient cashmere pelisse
flung over her bare shoulders, long outgrown and barely reaching her
knees. Her arm, as thin as a stick, was round her brother's neck.
She was trying to comfort him, whispering something to him, and
doing all she could to keep him from whimpering again. At the same
time her large dark eyes, which looked larger still from the
thinness of her frightened face, were watching her mother with
alarm. Marmeladov did not enter the door, but dropped on his knees
in the very doorway, pushing Raskolnikov in front of him. The woman
seeing a stranger stopped indifferently facing him, coming to
herself for a moment and apparently wondering what he had come for.
But evidently she decided that he was going into the next room, as
he had to pass through hers to get there. Taking no further notice
of him, she walked towards the outer door to close it and uttered a
sudden scream on seeing her husband on his knees in the doorway.
"Ah!" she cried out in a frenzy, "he has come back! The criminal!
the monster!... And where is the money? What's in your pocket, show
me! And your clothes are all different! Where are your clothes?
Where is the money! speak!"
And she fell to searching him. Marmeladov submissively and
obediently held up both arms to facilitate the search. Not a
farthing was there.
"Where's the money?" she cried- "Mercy on us, can he have drunk it
all? There were twelve silver roubles left in the chest!" and in a
fury she seized him by the hair and dragged him into the room.
Marmeladov seconded her efforts by meekly crawling along on his knees.
"And this is a consolation to me! This does not hurt me, but is a
positive con-so-la-tion, ho-nou-red sir," he called out, shaken to and
fro by his hair and even once striking the ground with his forehead.
The child asleep on the floor woke up, and began to cry. The boy in
the corner losing all control began trembling and screaming and rushed
to his sister in violent terror, almost in a fit. The eldest girl
was shaking like a leaf.

[subsonic87]

"He's drunk it! he's drunk it all," the poor woman screamed in
despair- "and his clothes are gone! And they are hungry, hungry!"- and
wringing her hands she pointed to the children. "Oh, accursed life!
And you, are you not ashamed?"- she pounced all at once upon
Raskolnikov- "from the tavern! Have been drinking with him? You have
been drinking with him, too! Go away!"
The young man was hastening away without uttering a word. The
inner door was thrown wide open and inquisitive faces were peering
in at it. Coarse laughing faces with pipes and cigarettes and heads
wearing caps thrust themselves in at the doorway. Further in could
be seen figures in dressing gowns flung open, in costumes of
unseemly scantiness, some of them with cards in their hands. They were
particularly diverted, when Marmeladov, dragged about by his hair,
shouted that it was a consolation to him. They even began to come into
the room; at last a sinister shrill outcry was heard: this came from
Amalia Lippevechsel herself pushing her way amongst them and trying to
restore order after her own fashion and for the hundredth time to
frighten the poor woman by ordering her with coarse abuse to clear out
of the room next day. As he went out, Raskolnikov had time to put
his hand into his pocket, to snatch up the coppers he had received
in exchange for his rouble in the tavern and to lay them unnoticed
on the window. Afterwards on the stairs, he changed his mind and would
have gone back.
"What a stupid thing I've done," he thought to himself, "they have
Sonia and I want it myself." But reflecting that it would be
impossible to take it back now and that in any case he would not
have taken it, he dismissed it with a wave of his hand and went back
to his lodging. "Sonia wants pomatum too," he said as he walked
along the street, and he laughed malignantly- "such smartness costs
money.... Hm! And maybe Sonia herself will be bankrupt to-day, for
there is always a risk, hunting big game... digging for gold... then
they would all be without a crust to-morrow except for my money.
Hurrah for Sonia! What a mine they've dug there! And they're making
the most of it! Yes, they are making the most of it! They've wept over
it and grown used to it. Man grows used to everything, the scoundrel!"
He sank into thought.

[subsonic87]

"And what if I am wrong," he cried suddenly after a moment's
thought. "What if man is not really a scoundrel, man in general, I
mean, the whole race of mankind- then all the rest is prejudice,
simply artificial terrors and there are no barriers and it's all as it
should be."

[Chapter 3 next!]

[subsonic87]

http://www.hrwiki.org/images/4/40/SchenectadyCrispies.PNG
Schenectady Crispies are so freaking good, they taste twice! Once in your mouth, and once in your... esophagus!

[subsonic87]

My friend Matthw's computer wrote this by misunderstanding dictation:

one of the the the one, so we're a little win when there were one of the only answer of one of the one 11 or the deeper hole in the data is one of the java to be the only thing in the yeah but recent voted to listen to the

[subsonic87]

As you can see, I'm trying to post the entire written output of the human race in this thread. Anyone want to help?

[chosen]

ugh i suppose i need it again: subsonic this is for you.

http://www.bboy.org/forums/avatar.php?userid=70502&dateline=1129995053

[Fly04066814]

Got my new cam today:D

[Fly04066814]

http://proletarium.org/a/static/200507/964_FinePixS5600Zoom_f.JPG
:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D

[Fly04066814]

and my cd drive is broke so i cant install drivers:rolleyes: :(

[subsonic87]

ugh i suppose i need it again: subsonic this is for you.

http://www.bboy.org/forums/avatar.php?userid=70502&dateline=1129995053
Well, someone has to work at overthrowing most replies, right? :D ;)

[Fly04066814]

and my cd drive is broke so i cant install drivers:rolleyes: :(

wich i just found out i dont need

[AllThingsUni]

almost slipped to page two, but chosen is here. dont worry

[Fly04066814]

my batteries died in one day of photos :(

[Fly04066814]

i need rechargables :D

[Fly04066814]

wich ill be getting tommoro :)

[sevenasterisks]

i need rechargables :D

the batteries usually don't last long, so rechargables are a very good idea:)

[Fly04066814]

alkalines i counted about three hours ): NI-MH said to be 4x longer so 12 long hours :P

[Fly04066814]

parents forgot to buy them :( whole day with no new cam :(:(

[Fly04066814]

but i just found my pin time to head to town :D

[Fly04066814]

and ive got a way to rember it

[Fly04066814]

but first some tuneskis

[Fly04066814]

missed the bus:(

[Fly04066814]

got to wait an hour for next one

[Fly04066814]

give me a chance to find me card :D

[Fly04066814]

then i can get infinite batterie life:P

[Fly04066814]

although my non recharge seem to keep coming back :confused:

[this end up]

i am back.

[Fly04066814]

From?

/////

[this end up]

dun, dun dun dun, shady's back....... back again......shady's back......tell a friend

[this end up]

i am awesome

[this end up]

are you awesome?

[this end up]

because i am.

[Fly04066814]

:d

/////

[Fly04066814]

im more than awesome

[Fly04066814]

im so more than awesome im going to put some socks on

[Fly04066814]

and put deodrent on so my more than awesomeness isnt lost while im out :D

[Fly04066814]

i got me batteries :D

[Fly04066814]

i missed good photos because of power :(

[Fly04066814]

time for some uni.....tis all dark and cold outside :)

[chosen]

i did my first grind yesterday. it was pretty cool.

[this end up]

i have returned and my awesomness has been multiplied. Yay ME!!!!! i like chicken


my quote for the day is

if at first you don't succed, try try again

[unitic]

yeah yeah yeah,, neally deah neally deah neally deah. that was a random one!

[manon1wheel]

ok guys..its been a while since ive been on... lets step it up!

[manon1wheel]

stepp it up!

[manon1wheel]

step it up!

[manon1wheel]

step it up guys!!!

[manon1wheel]

step it up

[manon1wheel]

step it up!!!

[dudewithasock]

Erm....

::steps it up::

[Spudman]

::takes it down a notch::

*evil laughter*

[theotherguy]

::Puts it back up::

[dudewithasock]

::boogies::

[sevenasterisks]

alot of these posts are really pointless...

[Fly04066814]

YaY for stopmotion!

http://www.unicyclist.com/gallery/?g2_view=core.ShowItem&g2_itemId=156834

:D

[chosen]

:cries:

[this end up]

alot of these posts are really pointless...

no sh*t sherlock. it is ttotmr. what do you expect algebreic equations and football stats (just kidding, your a cool guy;))

[fexnix]

soon we will have someone own the 3000th post in this thread.

[fexnix]

And that someone will be me.

[subsonic87]

And that someone will be me.
Not if I have anything to say about it!

[fexnix]

I mean 4000 posts

[fexnix]

only 100 posts left

[fexnix]

97 psots

[fexnix]

96

[fexnix]

95

[fexnix]

94

[fexnix]

93

[fexnix]

92

[subsonic87]

91

[forrestunifreak]

Crap, this is the most boring turbo-posting I've ever seen!

don't you guys do anything FUN in here?

[subsonic87]

90

[sevenasterisks]

you really should come up with something other than just counting down to whatever.

[subsonic87]

you really should come up with something other than just counting down to whatever.
Lighten up, dude. We're having fun, and who cares if our posts are pointless? We're trying to surpass Most Replies by any means necessary. Quit dissing us.

[subsonic87]

Oh, and 86.

[subsonic87]

don't you guys do anything FUN in here?

Here comes chapter 3!

[subsonic87]

HE WAKED up late next day after a broken sleep. But his sleep had
not refreshed him; he waked up bilious, irritable, ill-tempered, and
looked with hatred at his room. It was a tiny cupboard of a room about
six paces in length. It had a poverty-stricken appearance with its
dusty yellow paper peeling off the walls, and it was so low-pitched
that a man of more than average height was ill at ease in it and
felt every moment that he would knock his head against the ceiling.
The furniture was in keeping with the room: there were three old
chairs, rather rickety; a painted table in the corner on which lay a
few manuscripts and books; the dust that lay thick upon them showed
that they had been long untouched. A big clumsy sofa occupied almost
the whole of one wall and half the floor space of the room; it was
once covered with chintz, but was now in rags and served Raskolnikov
as a bed. Often he went to sleep on it, as he was, without undressing,
without sheets, wrapped in his old student's overcoat, with his head
on one little pillow, under which he heaped up all the linen he had,
clean and dirty, by way of a bolster. A little table stood in front of
the sofa.
It would have been difficult to sink to a lower ebb of disorder, but
to Raskolnikov in his present state of mind this was positively
agreeable. He had got completely away from every one, like a
tortoise in its shell, and even the sight of the servant girl who
had to wait upon him and looked sometimes into his room made him
writhe with nervous irritation. He was in the condition that overtakes
some monomaniacs entirely concentrated upon one thing. His landlady
had for the last fortnight given up sending him in meals, and he had
not yet thought of expostulating with her, though he went without
his dinner. Nastasya, the cook and only servant, was rather pleased at
the lodger's mood and had entirely given up sweeping and doing his
room, only once a week or so she would stray into his room with a
broom. She waked him up that day.

[subsonic87]

"Get up, why are you asleep!" she called to him. "It's past nine,
I have brought you some tea; will you have a cup? I should think
you're fairly starving?"
Raskolnikov opened his eyes, started and recognized Nastasya.
"From the landlady, eh?" he asked, slowly and with a sickly face
sitting up on the sofa.
"From the landlady, indeed!"
She set before him her own cracked teapot full of weak and stale tea
and laid two yellow lumps of sugar by the side of it.
"Here, Nastasya, take it please," he said, fumbling in his pocket
(for he had slept in his clothes) and taking out a handful of coppers-
"run and buy me a loaf. And get me a little sausage, the cheapest,
at the pork-butcher's."
"The loaf I'll fetch you this very minute, but wouldn't you rather
have some cabbage soup instead of sausage? It's capital soup,
yesterday's. I saved it for you yesterday, but you came in late.
It's fine soup."
When the soup had been brought, and he had begun upon it, Nastasya
sat down beside him on the sofa and began chatting. She was a
country peasant-woman and a very talkative one.
"Praskovya Pavlovna means to complain to the police about you,"
she said.
He scowled.
"To the police? What does she want?"
"You don't pay her money and you won't turn out of the room.
That's what she wants, to be sure."

[subsonic87]

"The devil, that's the last straw," he muttered, grinding his teeth,
"no, that would not suit me... just now. She is a fool," he added
aloud. "I'll go and talk to her to-day."
"Fool she is and no mistake, just as I am. But why, if you are so
clever, do you lie here like a sack and have nothing to show for it?
One time you used to go out, you say, to teach children. But why is it
you do nothing now?"
"I am doing..." Raskolnikov began sullenly and reluctantly.
"What are you doing?"
"Work..."
"What sort of work?"
"I am thinking," he answered seriously after a pause.
Nastasya was overcome with a fit of laughter. She was given to
laughter and when anything amused her, she laughed inaudibly,
quivering and shaking all over till she felt ill.
"And have you made much money by your thinking?" she managed to
articulate at last.
"One can't go out to give lessons without boots. And I'm sick of
it."
"Don't quarrel with your bread and butter."
"They pay so little for lessons. What's the use of a few coppers?"
he answered, reluctantly, as though replying to his own thought.
"And you want to get a fortune all at once?"
He looked at her strangely.
"Yes, I want a fortune," he answered firmly, after a brief pause.
"Don't be in such a hurry, you quite frighten me! Shall I get you
the loaf or not?"
"As you please."
"Ah, I forgot! A letter came for you yesterday when you were out."
"A letter? for me! from whom?"

[subsonic87]

"I can't say. I gave three copecks of my own to the postman for
it. Will you pay me back?"
"Then bring it to me, for God's sake, bring it," cried Raskolnikov
greatly excited- "good God!"
A minute later the letter was brought him. That was it: from his
mother, from the province of R___. He turned pale when he took it.
It was a long while since he had received a letter, but another
feeling also suddenly stabbed his heart.
"Nastasya, leave me alone, for goodness' sake; here are your three
copecks, but for goodness' sake, make haste and go!"
The letter was quivering in his hand; he did not want to open it
in her presence; he wanted to be left alone with this letter. When
Nastasya had gone out, he lifted it quickly to his lips and kissed it;
then he gazed intently at the address, the small, sloping handwriting,
so dear and familiar, of the mother who had once taught him to read
and write. He delayed; he seemed almost afraid of something. At last
he opened it; it was a thick heavy letter, weighing over two ounces,
two large sheets of note paper were covered with very small
handwriting.

[subsonic87]

"My dear Rodya," wrote his mother- "it's two months since I last had
a talk with you by letter which has distressed me and even kept me
awake at night, thinking. But I am sure you will not blame me for my
inevitable silence. You know how I love you; you are all we have to
look to, Dounia and I, you are our all, our one hope, our one stay.
What a grief it was to me when I heard that you had given up the
university some months ago, for want of means to keep yourself and
that you had lost your lessons and your other work! How could I help
you out of my hundred and twenty roubles a year pension? The fifteen
roubles I sent you four months ago I borrowed, as you know, on
security of my pension, from Vassily Ivanovitch Vahrushin a merchant
of this town. He is a kind-hearted man and was a friend of your
father's too. But having given him the right to receive the pension, I
had to wait till the debt was paid off and that is only just done,
so that I've been unable to send you anything all this time. But
now, thank God, I believe I shall be able to send you something more
and in fact we may congratulate ourselves on our good fortune now,
of which I hasten to inform you. In the first place, would you have
guessed, dear Rodya, that your sister has been living with me for
the last six weeks and we shall not be separated in the future.
Thank God, her sufferings are over, but I will tell you everything
in order, so that you may know just how everything has happened and
all that we have hitherto concealed from you. When you wrote to me two
months ago that you had heard that Dounia had a great deal to put up
with in the Svidrigrailovs' house, when you wrote that and asked me to
tell you all about it- what could I write in answer to you? If I had
written the whole truth to you, I dare say you would have thrown up
everything and have come to us, even if you had to walk all the way,
for I know your character and your feelings, and you would not let
your sister be insulted. I was in despair myself, but what could I do?
And, besides, I did not know the whole truth myself then. What made it
all so difficult was that Dounia received a hundred roubles in advance
when she took the place as governess in their family, on condition
of part of her salary being deducted every month, and so it was
impossible to throw up the situation without repaying the debt. This
sum (now I can explain it all to you, my precious Rodya) she took
chiefly in order to send you sixty roubles, which you needed so
terribly then and which you received from us last year.

[subsonic87]

We deceived you then, writing that this money came from Dounia's savings, but that was not so, and now I tell you all about it, because, thank God,
things have suddenly changed for the better, and that you may know how
Dounia loves you and what a heart she has. At first indeed Mr.
Svidrigailov treated her very rudely and used to make disrespectful
and jeering remarks at table.... But I don't want to go into all those
painful details, so as not to worry you for nothing when it is now all
over. In short, in spite of the kind and generous behaviour of Marfa
Petrovna, Mr. Svidrigailov's wife, and all the rest of the
household, Dounia had a very hard time, especially when Mr.
Svidrigailov, relapsing into his old regimental habits, was under
the influence of Bacchus. And how do you think it was all explained
later on? Would you believe that the crazy fellow had conceived a
passion for Dounia from the beginning, but had concealed it under a
show of rudeness and contempt. Possibly he was ashamed and horrified
himself at his own flighty hopes, considering his years and his
being the father of a family; and that made him angry with Dounia. And
possibly, too, he hoped by his rude and sneering behaviour to hide the
truth from others. But at last he lost all control and had the face to
make Dounia an open and shameful proposal, promising her all sorts
of inducements and offering, besides, to throw up everything and
take her to another estate of his, or even abroad. You can imagine all
she went through! To leave her situation at once was impossible not
only on account of the money debt, but also to spare the feelings of
Marfa Petrovna, whose suspicions would have been aroused; and then
Dounia would have been the cause of a rupture in the family. And it
would have meant a terrible scandal for Dounia too; that would have
been inevitable. There were various other reasons owing to which
Dounia could not hope to escape from that awful house for another
six weeks. You know Dounia, of course; you know how clever she is
and what a strong will she has. Dounia can endure a great deal and
even in the most difficult cases she has the fortitude to maintain her
firmness. She did not even write to me about everything for fear of
upsetting me, although we were constantly in communication. It all
ended very unexpectedly. Marfa Petrovna accidentally overheard her
husband imploring Dounia in the garden, and, putting quite a wrong
interpretation on the position, threw the blame upon her, believing
her to be the cause of it all.

[subsonic87]

An awful scene took place between
them on the spot in the garden; Marfa Petrovna went so far as to
strike Dounia, refused to hear anything and was shouting at her for
a whole hour and then gave orders that Dounia should be packed off
at once to me in a plain peasant's cart, into which they flung all her
things, her linen and her clothes, all pell-mell, without folding it
up and packing it. And a heavy shower of rain came on, too, and
Dounia, insulted and put to shame, had to drive with a peasant in an
open cart all the seventeen versts into town. Only think now what
answer could I have sent to the letter I received from you two
months ago and what could I have written? I was in despair; I dared
not write to you the truth because you would have been very unhappy,
mortified and indignant, and yet what could you do? You could only
perhaps ruin yourself, and, besides, Dounia would not allow it; and
fill up my letter with trifles when my heart was so full of sorrow,
I could not. For a whole month the town was full of gossip about
this scandal, and it came to such a pass that Dounia and I dared not
even go to church on account of the contemptuous looks, whispers,
and even remarks made aloud about us. All our acquaintances avoided
us, nobody even bowed to us in the street, and I learnt that some
shopmen and clerks were intending to insult us in a shameful way,
smearing the gates of our house with pitch, so that the landlord began
to tell us we must leave. All this was set going by Marfa Petrovna who
managed to slander Dounia and throw dirt at her in every family. She
knows every one in the neighbourhood, and that month she was
continually coming into the town, and as she is rather talkative and
fond of gossiping about her family affairs and particularly of
complaining to all and each of her husband- which is not at all right-
so in a short time she had spread her story not only in the town,
but over the whole surrounding district. It made me ill, but Dounia
bore it better than I did, and if only you could have seen how she
endured it all and tried to comfort me and cheer me up! She is an
angel! But by God's mercy, our sufferings were cut short: Mr.
Svidrigailov returned to his senses and repented and, probably feeling
sorry for Dounia, he laid before Marfa Petrovna a complete and
unmistakable proof of Dounia's innocence, in the form of a letter
Dounia had been forced to write and give to him, before Marfa Petrovna
came upon them in the garden.

[subsonic87]

This letter, which remained in Mr.
Svidrigailov's hands after her departure, she had written to refuse
personal explanations and secret interviews, for which he was
entreating her. In that letter she reproached him with great heat
and indignation for the baseness of his behaviour in regard to Marfa
Petrovna, reminding him that he was the father and head of a family
and telling him how infamous it was of him to torment and make unhappy
a defenceless girl, unhappy enough already. Indeed, dear Rodya, the
letter was so nobly and touchingly written that I sobbed when I read
it and to this day I cannot read it without tears. Moreover, the
evidence of the servants, too, cleared Dounia's reputation; they had
seen and known a great deal more than Mr. Svidrigailov had himself
supposed- as indeed is always the case with servants. Marfa Petrovna
was completely taken aback, and 'again crushed' as she said herself to
us, but she was completely convinced of Dounia's innocence. The very
next day, being Sunday, she went straight to the Cathedral, knelt down
and prayed with tears to Our Lady to give her strength to bear this
new trial and to do her duty. Then she came straight from the
Cathedral to us, told us the whole story, wept bitterly and, fully
penitent, she embraced Dounia and besought her to forgive her. The
same morning without any delay, she went round to all the houses in
the town and everywhere, shedding tears, she asserted in the most
flattering terms Dounia's innocence and the nobility of her feelings
and her behavior. What was more, she showed and read to every one
the letter in Dounia's own handwriting to Mr. Svidrigailov and even
allowed them to take copies of it- which I must say I think was
superfluous. In this way she was busy for several days in driving
about the whole town, because some people had taken offence through
precedence having been given to others. And therefore they had to take
turns, so that in every house she was expected before she arrived, and
every one knew that on such and such a day Marfa Petrovna would be
reading the letter in such and such a place and people assembled for
every reading of it, even many who had heard it several times
already both in their own houses and in other people's. In my
opinion a great deal, a very great deal of all this was unnecessary;
but that's Marfa Petrovna's character.

[subsonic87]

Anyway she succeeded in
completely re-establishing Dounia's reputation and the whole
ignominy of this affair rested as an indelible disgrace upon her
husband, as the only person to blame, so that I really began to feel
sorry for him; it was really treating the crazy fellow too harshly.
Dounia was at once asked to give lessons in several families, but
she refused. All of a sudden every one began to treat her with
marked respect and all this did much to bring about the event by
which, one may say, our whole fortunes are now transformed. You must
know, dear Rodya, that Dounia has a suitor and that she has already
consented to marry him. I hasten to tell you all about the matter, and
though it has been arranged without asking your consent, I think you
will not be aggrieved with me or with your sister on that account, for
you will see that we could not wait and put off our decision till we
heard from you. And you could not have judged all the facts without
being on the spot. This was how it happened. He is already of the rank
of a counsellor, Pyotr Petrovitch Luzhin, and is distantly related
to Marfa Petrovna, who has been very active in bringing the match
about. It began with his expressing through her his desire to make our
acquaintance. He was properly received, drank coffee with us and the
very next day he sent us a letter in which he very courteously made an
offer and begged for a speedy and decided answer. He is a very busy
man and is in a great hurry to get to Petersburg, so that every moment
is precious to him. At first, of course, we were greatly surprised, as
it had all happened so quickly and unexpectedly. We thought and talked
it over the whole day. He is a well-to-do man, to be depended upon, he
has two posts in the government and has already made his fortune. It
is true that he is forty-five years old, but he is of a fairly
prepossessing appearance and might still be thought attractive by
women, and he is altogether a very respectable and presentable man,
only he seems a little morose and somewhat conceited. But possibly
that may only be the impression he makes at first sight. And beware,
dear Rodya, when he comes to Petersburg, as he shortly will do, beware
of judging him too hastily and severely, as your way is, if there is
anything you do not like in him at first sight.

[subsonic87]

I give you this
warning, although I feel sure that he will make a favourable
impression upon you. Moreover, in order to understand any man one must
be deliberate and careful to avoid forming prejudices and mistaken
ideas, which are very difficult to correct and get over afterwards.
And Pyotr Petrovitch, judging by many indications, is a thoroughly
estimable man. At his first visit, indeed, he told us that he was a
practical man, but still he shares, as he expressed it, many of the
convictions 'of our most rising generation' and he is an opponent of
all prejudices. He said a good deal more, for he seems a little
conceited and likes to be listened to, but this is scarcely a vice. I,
of course, understood very little of it, but Dounia explained to me
that, though he is not a man of great education, he is clever and
seems to be good-natured. You know your sister's character, Rodya. She
is a resolute, sensible, patient and generous girl, but she has a
passionate heart, as I know very well. Of course, there is no great
love either on his side, or on hers, but Dounia is a clever girl and
has the heart of an angel, and will make it her duty to make her
husband happy who on his side will make her happiness his care. Of
that we have no good reason to doubt, though it must be admitted the
matter has been arranged in great haste. Besides he is a man of
great prudence and he will see, to be sure, of himself, that his own
happiness will be the more secure, the happier Dounia is with him. And
as for some defects of character, for some habits and even certain
differences of opinion- which indeed are inevitable even in the
happiest marriages- Dounia has said that, as regards all that, she
relies on herself, that there is nothing to be uneasy about, and
that she is ready to put up with a great deal, if only their future
relationship can be an honourable and straightforward one. He struck
me, for instance, at first, as rather abrupt, but that may well come
from his being an outspoken man, and that is no doubt how it is. For
instance, at his second visit, after he had received Dounia's consent,
in the course of conversation, he declared that before making Dounia's
acquaintance, he had made up his mind to marry a girl of good
reputation, without dowry and, above all, one who had experienced
poverty, because, as he explained, a man ought not to be indebted to
his wife, but that it is better for a wife to look upon her husband as
her benefactor.

[subsonic87]

I must add that he expressed it more nicely and
politely than I have done, for I have forgotten his actual phrases and
only remember the meaning. And, besides, it was obviously not said
of design, but slipped out in the heat of conversation, so that he
tried afterwards to correct himself and smooth it over, but all the
same it did strike me as somewhat rude, and I said so afterwards to
Dounia. But Dounia was vexed, and answered that 'words are not deeds,'
and that, of course, is perfectly true. Dounia did not sleep all night
before she made up her mind, and, thinking that I was asleep, she
got out of bed and was walking up and down the room all night; at last
she knelt down before the ikon and prayed long and fervently and in
the morning she told me that she had decided.
"I have mentioned already that Pyotr Petrovitch is just setting
off for Petersburg, where he has a great deal of business, and he
wants to open a legal bureau. He has been occupied for many years in
conducting civil and commercial litigation, and only the other day
he won an important case. He has to be in Petersburg because he has an
important case before the Senate. So, Rodya dear, he may be of the
greatest use to you, in every way indeed, and Dounia and I have agreed
that from this very day you could definitely enter upon your career
and might consider that your future is marked out and assured for you.
Oh, if only this comes to pass! This would be such a benefit that we
could only look upon it as a providential blessing. Dounia is dreaming
of nothing else. We have even ventured already to drop a few words
on the subject to Pyotr Petrovitch. He was cautious in his answer, and
said that, of course, as he could not get on without a secretary, it
would be better to be paying a salary to a relation than to a
stranger, if only the former were fitted for the duties (as though
there could be doubt of your being fitted!) but then he expressed
doubts whether your studies at the university would leave you time for
work at his office. The matter dropped for the time, but Dounia is
thinking of nothing else now. She has been in a sort of fever for
the last few days, and has already made a regular plan for your
becoming in the end an associate and even a partner in Pyotr
Petrovitch's business, which might well be, seeing that you are a
student of law.

[subsonic87]

I am in complete agreement with her, Rodya, and
share all her plans and hopes, and think there is every probability of
realising them. And in spite of Pyotr Petrovitch's evasiveness, very
natural at present, (since he does not know you) Dounia is firmly
persuaded that she will gain everything by her good influence over her
future husband; this she is reckoning upon. Of course we are careful
not to talk of any of these more remote plans to Pyotr Petrovitch,
especially of your becoming his partner. He is a practical man and
might take this very coldly, it might all seem to him simply a
day-dream. Nor has either Dounia or I breathed a word to him of the
great hopes we have of his helping us to pay for your university
studies; we have not spoken of it in the first place, because it
will come to pass of itself, later on, and he will no doubt without
wasting words offer to do it of himself, (as though he could refuse
Dounia that) the more readily since you may by your own efforts become
his right hand in the office, and receive this assistance not as a
charity, but as a salary earned by your own work. Dounia wants to
arrange it all like this and I quite agree with her. And we have not
spoken of our plans for another reason, that is, because I
particularly wanted you to feel on an equal footing when you first
meet him. When Dounia spoke to him with enthusiasm about you, he
answered that one could never judge of a man without seeing him close,
for oneself, and that he looked forward to forming his own opinion
when he makes your acquaintance. Do you know, my precious Rodya, I
think that perhaps for some reasons (nothing to do with Pyotr
Petrovitch though, simply for my own personal, perhaps old-womanish,
fancies) I should do better to go on living by myself, apart, than
with them, after the wedding. I am convinced that he will be
generous and delicate enough to invite me and to urge me to remain
with my daughter for the future, and if he has said nothing about it
hitherto, it is simply because it has been taken for granted; but I
shall refuse. I have noticed more than once in my life that husbands
don't quite get on with their mothers-in-law, and I don't want to be
the least bit in any one's way, and for my own sake, too, would rather
be quite independent, so long as I have a crust of bread of my own,
and such children as you and Dounia. If possible, I would settle
somewhere near you, for the most joyful piece of news, dear Rodya, I
have kept for the end of my letter: know then, my dear boy, that we
may, perhaps, be all together in a very short time and may embrace one
another again after a separation of almost three years!

[subsonic87]

It is
settled for certain that Dounia and I are to set off for Petersburg,
exactly when I don't know, but very, very soon, possibly in a week. It
all depends on Pyotr Petrovitch who will let us know when he has had
time to look round him in Petersburg. To suit his own arrangements
he is anxious to have the ceremony as soon as possible, even before
the fast of Our Lady, if it could be managed, or if that is too soon
to be ready, immediately after. Oh, with what happiness I shall
press you to my heart! Dounia is all excitement at the joyful
thought of seeing you, she said one day in joke that she would be
ready to marry Pyotr Petrovitch for that alone. She is an angel! She
is not writing anything to you now, and has only told me to write that
she has so much, so much to tell you that she is not going to take
up her pen now, for a few lines would tell you nothing, and it would
only mean upsetting herself; she bids me send you her love and
innumerable kisses. But although we shall be meeting so soon,
perhaps I shall send you as much money as I can in a day or two. Now
that every one has heard that Dounia is to marry Pyotr Petrovitch,
my credit has suddenly improved and I know that Afanasy Ivanovitch
will trust me now even to seventy-five roubles on the security of my
pension, so that perhaps I shall be able to send you twenty-five or
even thirty roubles. I would send you more, but I am uneasy about
our travelling expenses; for though Pyotr Petrovitch has been so
kind as to undertake part of the expenses of the journey, that is to
say, he has taken upon himself the conveyance of our bags and big
trunk (which will be conveyed through some acquaintances of his), we
must reckon upon some expenses on our arrival in Petersburg, where
we can't be left without a halfpenny, at least for the first few days.
But we have calculated it all, Dounia and I, to the last penny, and we
see that the journey will not cost very much. It is only ninety versts
from us to the railway and we have come to an agreement with a
driver we know, so as to be in readiness; and from there Dounia and
I can travel quite comfortably third class. So that I may very
likely be able to send to you not twenty-five, but thirty roubles. But
enough; I have covered two sheets already and there is no space left
for more; our whole history, but so many events have happened! And
now, my precious Rodya, I embrace you and send you a mother's blessing
till we meet. Love Dounia your sister, Rodya; love her as she loves
you and understand that she loves you beyond everything, more than
herself. She is an angel and you, Rodya, you are everything to us- our
one hope, our one consolation.

[subsonic87]

If only you are happy, we shall be
happy. Do you still say your prayers, Rodya, and believe in the
mercy of our Creator and our Redeemer? I am afraid in my heart that
you may have been visited by the new spirit of infidelity that is
abroad to-day! If it is so, I pray for you. Remember, dear boy, how in
your childhood, when your father was living, you used to lisp your
prayers at my knee, and how happy we all were in those days. Good-bye,
till we meet then- I embrace you warmly, warmly, with many kisses.
"Yours till death
"PULCHERIA RASKOLNIKOV."

[subsonic87]

-
Almost from the first, while he read the letter, Raskolnikov's
face was wet with tears; but when he finished it, his face was pale
and distorted and a bitter, wrathful and malignant smile was on his
lips. He laid his head down on his threadbare dirty pillow and
pondered, pondered a long time. His heart was beating violently, and
his brain was in a turmoil. At last he felt cramped and stifled in the
little yellow room that was like a cupboard or a box. His eyes and his
mind craved for space. He took up his hat and went out, this time
without dread of meeting any one; he had forgotten his dread. He
turned in the direction of the Vassilyevsky Ostrov, walking along
Vassilyevsky Prospect, as though hastening on some business, but he
walked, as his habit was, without noticing his way, muttering and even
speaking aloud to himself, to the astonishment of the passers-by. Many
of them took him to be drunk.

[Chapter 4 next!]

[subsonic87]

Oh, and 69.

[Fly04066814]

A fork

/////

[subsonic87]

Dude, sporks are way better.

[this end up]

Dude, sporks are way better.


dude totally

[subsonic87]

I've always wanted to get a stainless steel spork, you know, one that isn't plastic and is a real utensil. That'd be keen.

[this end up]

yhat'd be awesom

[this end up]

ttotmr

[fexnix]

whats a spork?

[chosen]

spoon+fork=spork

[chosen]

whats a spork?
more detailed explanation of aspork (http://members.tripod.com/~sporkk/)

[fexnix]

I have heard of Spifes but not sporks

[Zee]

never heard of spifes, but we have a set of metal sporks. They are pretty cool.

[this end up]

i like chicken

[fexnix]

Spifes are compined spoon/knife.

What I meant was fives. A combination of knife and fork.

[fexnix]

65 posts to 4000

[habbywall]

now its 64, is it alright if i chime in on this thread if I havent hardly read it at all, and just a comment ever once in a while this thread looks like it will over throw most replys then most replys gets bumped so how about we just dont bump most replys?

[Fly04066814]

Spifes are compined spoon/knife.

What I meant was fives. A combination of knife and fork.


:eek:

[fexnix]

thay are usually made out of plastic

[fexnix]

62

[chosen]

fexnix 701
chosen 584
halfbike 506
Fly04066814 390
kapoute 328

[squeegy]

I hurt my pinkster finger!

[subsonic87]

The Moo-Moo Song!

[subsonic87]

More Arlo Guthrie (with slight modifications)!
I don't want a pickle,
I'd rather ride on my unicicle

And I don't want a tickle,
I'd rather ride on my unicicle

And I don't wann die,
I'd rather ride on my unicy... cle

[JVTFm]

rent Nov. 23

[subsonic87]

rent Nov. 23
I'll check into that, but the prices on renting an entire day are outrageous!

[fexnix]

45 posts left

[forrestunifreak]

now its 64, is it alright if i chime in on this thread if I havent hardly read it at all, and just a comment ever once in a while this thread looks like it will over throw most replys then most replys gets bumped so how about we just dont bump most replys?

Uh...Because you guys don't bump MR. "We" do. We being the Peoples Republic of MostReplystTownKingdomShiresVilleWorth, more specifically the dreaded MRIS (Most Replys Inner Scrotum).

You cannot win with your childish turboposting. But have fun trying! :)

[subsonic87]

Ow. I really burned myself on some tea. I'm really in quite a lot of pain.

[subsonic87]

On the upside, I just finished a 15-minute Nimbus ride.

[subsonic87]

You cannot win with your childish turboposting. But have fun trying! :)
That's what they said about Most Replys. Go back and read page one and leave us to our quixotic quest. ;)

[fexnix]

I hate tea burns

[subsonic87]

You cannot win with your childish turboposting. But have fun trying! :)
That's what they said about Most Replys. Go back and read page one and leave us to our quixotic quest. ;)

[fexnix]

tea burns stay on the tung for like 4 days
or maybe 3 at least...

Ok 2 !

[fexnix]

Now i want tea

[fexnix]

What flavour should I pick?

[subsonic87]

I've got this Apple Cinnamon stuff that's pretty dang good, but if you don't have that, you've got to go with "tea, Earl Grey, hot."

[subsonic87]

Qapla'!

[fexnix]

I dont like earl grey.

[fexnix]

I think I got some strwberry/raspberry stuff

[fexnix]

I had the worst tea in my life a couple of days ago.

[subsonic87]

I dont like earl grey.
Aw... how can you ever expect to grow up to be a starship captain then?

[subsonic87]

Oh, and 28!

[kapoute]

ahahahaah i dont have all my head now

jajajajajajajaja.

[kapoute]

lets talk toooo you : DURING THE LAST CONSPIRATION IT WAS NOT GOOOD FOR THE WORLD JAJAJAAJAJ EINSTIN SAID: TWO THING ARE INDEFINITE:THE UNIVERSE AND HUMAN STUPIDITY.

LATER

[manon1wheel]

hey guys. kapout... what are you doing in your avatar?

[fexnix]

looks like unispin

[fexnix]

aaa what the heck

[fexnix]

me turbo post til psot 4000

[fexnix]

some left

[fexnix]

hej hej hej

[fexnix]

20 psots left
the shitziztersdf

[fexnix]

19 psots

[fexnix]

any one wanna join my lemur gang?

[fexnix]

16 psots

[fexnix]

hej hej knürv

[fexnix]

http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2005/08/images/050809_lemur_photo.jpg

[fexnix]

going for the 4000

[fexnix]

Gilby should bump this thread a couple of times for us

[fexnix]

what about 10.000 times?

[fexnix]

10 psots

[fexnix]

croppy cropps

[fexnix]

next post will be a crazy cat

[fexnix]

http://www.brentwood.lib.mo.us/baxter/pic29482.jpg

[fexnix]

6 psots left

[fexnix]

harken harken

[fexnix]

Ronstan Ronstan

[fexnix]

Fredriksen fredriksen

[fexnix]

3998

[fexnix]

3999

[fexnix]

4000, 4k
i´m the master of post 4000 in ttotmr
http://www.bonney.org/Media/Mount.GIF