Sunday, November 23, 2014


One of the members of our clan, Vukdawg, sibling of Philistine, celebrates a birthday today.

 The common folk are uneasy when he sleeps within the gates of their cities. This is as it should be. The Spillers of Soup cause men to tremble, women to moan, babies to cry and horses to rear in wild-eyed fright.

This fierce knight has walked through fire, swam through mud, snatched the feathers from an eagle, drank panther blood. Emblazoned on his shield is dpjk.

We hail him as a warrior, noble and true.

He abides in a strange land. Barren waste as far as the eye can see. Which would tend to keep him fierce, I reckon.

Praise not the day until evening has come;
a woman until she is burnt;
a sword until it is tried;
a maiden until she is married;
ice until it has been crossed;
beer until it has been drunk. 

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