*is happy*
by V.E. on March 28th, 2008
filed under beauty, favorite, politics
To counteract the ugly tentacle post, I’m linking to this AWESOME video about who feminists are. YAY.
“Free by Error”—WTF?
by V.E. on March 28th, 2008
Free by Error, Ex-Radical Back in Prison via the Associated Press.
Um, is it just me, but isn’t this seriously unfair? I mean, I know that people are put in prison for doing bad things, and this one was bad (not to mention seriously politically charged), but COME ON.
Shouldn’t there be like a “bank error in your favor” kind of thing here? Like, if they let you out early, it’s their own damn fault and they have to live with it??? They can’t just say, “Oh, oops. Our bad. You have to go back to prison now”—can they? Is that allowed?
Seriously, this just seems cruel and unusual. It’s like dangling a steak cooked to perfection in front of a starving man. Sheesh.
*shiver*
*shiver*by V.E. on March 28th, 2008
filed under sex
“Princes and Frogs” lyrics
by V.E. on March 27th, 2008
SONG: Princes and Frogs
BY: Superchic[k]
All princes start as frogs
and all gentlemen as dogs
Just wait ’til its plain to see
What we’re growing up to be
‘Cause some frogs will still be frogs
And some dogs will still be dogs
Some boys could become men
Just don’t kiss us ’til then.
You hate men is what you say
and I understand how you feel that way
All girls dream of a fairy tale
But what you’ve got’s like a used car salesman
Trying to conceal what’s wrong behind a smile and a song
And I’m not saying that boys are not like that
But I think you should know (you should know)
That some of us will grow; because…
All princes start as frogs
and all gentlemen as dogs
Just wait ’til its plain to see
What we’re growing up to be
Some frogs will still be frogs
And some dogs will still be dogs
But some boys will become men
Just don’t kiss us ’til then.
You found him is what you say
And we all want you to feel that way
But the frog you’ve got seems cute enough to kiss
And maybe frogs seem like that’s all there is
But just because you haven’t found your prince yet
Doesn’t mean you’re still not a princess
And what if your prince comes riding in
While you’re kissin’ a frog; what’s he gonna think then?
So look into his eyes
Are you a princess or a fly?
All princes start as frogs
and all gentlemen as dogs
Just wait till its plain to see
What we’re growing up to be
Cause some frogs will still be frogs
And some dogs will still be dogs
But some boys will become men
Just don’t kiss us ’til then.
Clothing of the American Mind
by V.E. on March 27th, 2008
filed under beauty, entertainment, finances, personal, politics
I [heart] civil liberties.
That’s what one of the shirts (available in men’s and women’s sizes) at cotam.org says, and it’s awesome.
I couldn’t resist. I tried, really, I did. But when I found the shirts that say “Stop Wars” in the original Star Wars print, I just couldn’t resist. So, I got one in blue and one in grey.
I’m so so SO sorry, Pocketbook! I really am! But it’s shirts! And not just any shirts; they’re 100% American-made and sweatshop-free AND 100% organic cotton!!! How can I turn down something like that, especially when it’s anti-war/pro-peace AND has to do with Star Wars, fer Christsakes?? It’s like they’re t-shirts made out of pure awesome.
“The Highwayman” lyrics
by V.E. on March 25th, 2008
filed under lyrics
SONG: The Highwayman
BY: Loreena McKennitt
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon the cloudy seas
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor
And the highwayman came riding, riding, riding,
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
He’d a French cocked hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark innyard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
“One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I’m after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by the moonlight, watch for me by the moonlight,
I’ll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell shall bar the way.
He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand
But she loosened her hair in the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of the perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet waves in the moonlight!)
He tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.
He did not come at the dawning; he did not come at noon,
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise o’ the moon,
When the road was a gypsy’s ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching, marching, marching
King George’s men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
Two of them knelt at the casement, with muskets at their side!
there was death at every window, hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through the casement,
The road that he would ride.
They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
“now keep good watch!” And they kissed her.
She heard the dead man say
“Look for me by the moonlight, watch for me by the moonlight
I’ll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell shall bar the way!”
She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness and the hours crawled by like years!
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight, cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
Tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horses hoofs ring clear
Tlot-tlot, in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding, riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming!
She stood up straight and still!
Tlot in the frosty silence! Tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment! She drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight, her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him with her death.
He turned; he spurred to the west; he did not know she stood
bowed, with her head o’er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it; his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord’s daughter, the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
And back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were the spurs in the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,
when they shot him down on the highway, down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.
Still of a winter’s night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon, tossed upon the cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding, riding, riding,
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Day Three hundred two
by V.E. on March 25th, 2008
filed under powerof5
