I was one-upped at my own game. I'm impressed. Touche, Captain. Touche.
WHITE DOVES trained to return home (NE Florida)
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Date: 2010-07-21, 12:24AM EDT
Reply to: xxxxxxxx@bellsouth.net
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Birthdays, Weddings, Funerals, and even a make a wish date dove release. Very low prices. This is a craft that takes years to facilitate. Don't get caught up with the low lifes that take stray white birds and send them to certain death without being trained. White Bird Releases. com is here because we take great care in training our birds to race home. This harnesses the normal ability of a homing bird to haul boogy back to safety of home and family or mate. Retired military, this is what I do. I am proud of the service provided and happy to extend the privilege of the flight of these birds to you. Give me a call for any questions. Captain xxxxxxxxx www.whitebirdreleases.com
My email to the Captain:
Captain XXXXXXXX,
Do your birds, by chance, carry messages? I want to break up with my girlfriend and I think having a letter brought to her by a dove would be a sweet way to end 4 years of abuse and torture from that woman. Please let me know asap. I can't take much more of her crap, so the sooner, the better.
Thanks,
J. Dimsmore
Captain's response to me:
Tell ya what mate, we can make a video and send it to her that you set a bird free... I'll even narrate a video with me or me in it addressing her that you are releasing her devil spirit ass. It's what the release means to you is how it is defined. A release can be your closure. I'll publish a video for the world to see and do a full scale production for ya for $150. Lets hook up and I'll write something real nice and deliver the harpoon. She apparently does not appreciate you so let's get on with it and exclude her from your life. Call me mate it's too easy. This requires about 4-5 hours of time so it'll be $150, you'll be proud of it and I can send it from a blackbag location if you want. Standing by to commence operation get Fu%@!*d Biotch. Make 5 Operations out. 904-xxx-xxxx.
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There are no words.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Friday, July 16, 2010
Book of “Southern Lamentations” by Mark Reasoner
IT CAME TO PASS IN THE TIME OF CAESAR URBANUS
Magnificus that a savior rode from the east to take the field
and lead the warriors in orange. The masses rejoiced in their
great fortune and Urbanus Magnificus ruled that all the peoples
in the land of Gatoria should bow and kneel before the
chosen one. Decrees went out from all of the sporting scribes
and tellers of the truth that all nations should pay homage to
him. And that he shall be anointed with the sacred oils on
the altar of Heisman — not once, but several times.
And thus it was that the chosen and anointed one, the sainted Tebow, would arise and lead the armies of Gatoria into battle against the minions of the other lands. And glory would follow for several years. All was good and righteous in the nation.
In the third cycle of the sainted Tebow’s time, it became known that several nations did not — nor would not — pay the desired homage to the new Messiah. “He hath not the tossing skills,” said the commentator of Ess-Pin land,“Nor doth his height reach to the desired level.” “His fellow fighters are the true carriers of the banners,” another said, “And without them, Tebow cannot deliver his armies from Gatoria unto the BCS finale.” There ensued a great hue and cry from Gatoria when these words were heard and the multitudes looked then to their savior for guidance and deliverance. Even Urbanus Magnificus looked to the chosen one. And when rebel forces hurled back the nation’s forces, the Gatorians again looked to Tebow. “What shall we do?”
they wailed. “I shall work all the harder,” the chosen one spoke unto the ultitudes, “No one shall strive harder than I. I shall hoist the Gatorian armies upon my shoulders and carry them forward unto the Promised Land. For I have been chosen to save this land and to bring glory and honor and crystalline oblongs to lay at the feet of Urbanus Magnificus.” And the people of Gatoria rejoiced and were thence inspired to again take up the banners and follow Tebow once more. They even inscribed his words into stone and placed them where all could look upon them and reflect and take inspiration. The sporting scribes and tellers of truth once more sent out decrees, saying, “Glorify Tebow all ye nations of the gridiron. Render unto him the images in bronze and anoint him with the sacred oils. For Tebow is all that is good and pure.” But the other nations followed not these decrees. Then from the west there came warriors clad in deepest red, to fight the Gatorians for the cycle’s supremacy. The battle was waged long and hard, though in the end, the words of Tebow rang true. He hoisted his followers upon his shoulders and carried them through.
All Gatoria expected their chosen one to be re-anointed with the sacred oils, but
when another was selected in his stead; the people wailed and cried out for justice.
Tebow appeared before them one final time and said, “Fear not. For I shall return again to lead Gatoria’s righteous throng. We shall again go unto the Promised Land.”
And so the time of Gatoria’s savior entered into its fourth cycle. And the people raised Tebow up as more than just their sainted leader. They gave unto him
the mantle of Messiah and chosen one. And the new Messiah led his armies of Gatoria again. From the Rocky Topped mountains unto the Valley of Death they marched. Across the tiger plains where war eagles flew and through the Messiah’s homeland itself, where the sinners imbibed bacchanalian concoctions. And through it all, the people rejoiced — singing “Hosanna to Tim in huddle, and in the polls, first place and a trip to Pasadena.” Once more it was written by the sporting scribes, and spoken by the tellers of truth, that this chosen one — this new Messiah — must be sanctified and deified before the altar of Heisman. “Indeed, let him be canonized,” they cried, “He is a worker of miracles.” Pontifically, though, it was not to be. The scribes and tellers had not considered that Tebow did not meet the other two of three conditions. He was neither Catholic nor deceased. Once more their rantings and laments were not heard for the other lands would not listen. Neither would they follow. Then there rose an ominous tide. Dark crimson in color and led by the evil
Saban. It rolled mightily from out of its western realm, conquering many of the same armies that Tebow and his Gatorians had vanquished. And as the Gatorian forces of light led by Tebow marched on toward their goal, the dark crimson hordes of Saban also marched — calling out unto the Gatorians to stand and fight. So it was that Tebow answered the call and went to do battle with Saban’s evil hordes. Into that Atlantan Cavernous Dome they came. Gatorians clad in raiment of white against the crimson hued forces of the Rolling Tide. As the battle was joined, Tebow exhorted his followers to stand firm and thwart the beasts Saban sent, but they could not. He rallied his minions to stem the blitzing tide of on-rushing fiends, lest those uscaloosans hasten the demise of the Gatorian crusade. But they failed — again and again on third downs. And so once more the chosen one spread his arms wide and lifted up the entire nation to carry them onward into the final onslaught. But when it was over, the crimson hordes had rolled on two and thirty over Tebow’s throng.
From every throat and every breast in Gatoria rose great wailings of despair.
And on the field where the evil Sabanites reveled and cried with joy, there was only
silence from Gatoria’s chosen one. The Messiah wept.
Magnificus that a savior rode from the east to take the field
and lead the warriors in orange. The masses rejoiced in their
great fortune and Urbanus Magnificus ruled that all the peoples
in the land of Gatoria should bow and kneel before the
chosen one. Decrees went out from all of the sporting scribes
and tellers of the truth that all nations should pay homage to
him. And that he shall be anointed with the sacred oils on
the altar of Heisman — not once, but several times.
And thus it was that the chosen and anointed one, the sainted Tebow, would arise and lead the armies of Gatoria into battle against the minions of the other lands. And glory would follow for several years. All was good and righteous in the nation.
In the third cycle of the sainted Tebow’s time, it became known that several nations did not — nor would not — pay the desired homage to the new Messiah. “He hath not the tossing skills,” said the commentator of Ess-Pin land,“Nor doth his height reach to the desired level.” “His fellow fighters are the true carriers of the banners,” another said, “And without them, Tebow cannot deliver his armies from Gatoria unto the BCS finale.” There ensued a great hue and cry from Gatoria when these words were heard and the multitudes looked then to their savior for guidance and deliverance. Even Urbanus Magnificus looked to the chosen one. And when rebel forces hurled back the nation’s forces, the Gatorians again looked to Tebow. “What shall we do?”
they wailed. “I shall work all the harder,” the chosen one spoke unto the ultitudes, “No one shall strive harder than I. I shall hoist the Gatorian armies upon my shoulders and carry them forward unto the Promised Land. For I have been chosen to save this land and to bring glory and honor and crystalline oblongs to lay at the feet of Urbanus Magnificus.” And the people of Gatoria rejoiced and were thence inspired to again take up the banners and follow Tebow once more. They even inscribed his words into stone and placed them where all could look upon them and reflect and take inspiration. The sporting scribes and tellers of truth once more sent out decrees, saying, “Glorify Tebow all ye nations of the gridiron. Render unto him the images in bronze and anoint him with the sacred oils. For Tebow is all that is good and pure.” But the other nations followed not these decrees. Then from the west there came warriors clad in deepest red, to fight the Gatorians for the cycle’s supremacy. The battle was waged long and hard, though in the end, the words of Tebow rang true. He hoisted his followers upon his shoulders and carried them through.
All Gatoria expected their chosen one to be re-anointed with the sacred oils, but
when another was selected in his stead; the people wailed and cried out for justice.
Tebow appeared before them one final time and said, “Fear not. For I shall return again to lead Gatoria’s righteous throng. We shall again go unto the Promised Land.”
And so the time of Gatoria’s savior entered into its fourth cycle. And the people raised Tebow up as more than just their sainted leader. They gave unto him
the mantle of Messiah and chosen one. And the new Messiah led his armies of Gatoria again. From the Rocky Topped mountains unto the Valley of Death they marched. Across the tiger plains where war eagles flew and through the Messiah’s homeland itself, where the sinners imbibed bacchanalian concoctions. And through it all, the people rejoiced — singing “Hosanna to Tim in huddle, and in the polls, first place and a trip to Pasadena.” Once more it was written by the sporting scribes, and spoken by the tellers of truth, that this chosen one — this new Messiah — must be sanctified and deified before the altar of Heisman. “Indeed, let him be canonized,” they cried, “He is a worker of miracles.” Pontifically, though, it was not to be. The scribes and tellers had not considered that Tebow did not meet the other two of three conditions. He was neither Catholic nor deceased. Once more their rantings and laments were not heard for the other lands would not listen. Neither would they follow. Then there rose an ominous tide. Dark crimson in color and led by the evil
Saban. It rolled mightily from out of its western realm, conquering many of the same armies that Tebow and his Gatorians had vanquished. And as the Gatorian forces of light led by Tebow marched on toward their goal, the dark crimson hordes of Saban also marched — calling out unto the Gatorians to stand and fight. So it was that Tebow answered the call and went to do battle with Saban’s evil hordes. Into that Atlantan Cavernous Dome they came. Gatorians clad in raiment of white against the crimson hued forces of the Rolling Tide. As the battle was joined, Tebow exhorted his followers to stand firm and thwart the beasts Saban sent, but they could not. He rallied his minions to stem the blitzing tide of on-rushing fiends, lest those uscaloosans hasten the demise of the Gatorian crusade. But they failed — again and again on third downs. And so once more the chosen one spread his arms wide and lifted up the entire nation to carry them onward into the final onslaught. But when it was over, the crimson hordes had rolled on two and thirty over Tebow’s throng.
From every throat and every breast in Gatoria rose great wailings of despair.
And on the field where the evil Sabanites reveled and cried with joy, there was only
silence from Gatoria’s chosen one. The Messiah wept.
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