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Is Hell exothermic (gives off heat) or endothermic (absorbs heat)?

Posted 30 May 2002, 5.04 pm by Craig


That question was actually used in a University of Washington engineering mid term.
Visit Site.

I Have Nothing to Say

Posted 29 May 2002, 6.50 am by Berly

I’m not feeling very postastic lately. Writing about having nothing to write about is overdone and predictable. And so goes my latest offering to the site I love so much.

I’ve gone through my notes, looking for inspiration. Instead, I find fragments which entertain me for a split second - but fail to blossom into anything I’d be satisfied with. I’m going to post the pieces here - perhaps someone reading them can adopt them and use them as their own.

“The air is thick with dust, but I don’t know that until it settles on my car.”

“That is about as productive as washing the bubbles off of soap.”

“Even a scar fades over time”

A friend of mine called me one night, he was going to kill himself:
Him: “I am just tired of life being so empty. There is nothing here that I want.”
Me: “Ok. I should call the authorities because I believe you might take your own life.”
Him: “NO, DON’T! I have too much to lose!”

Overheard in my very own office:
“Ah ha! And THAT is why the aliens don’t land here on Earth!”

Driving home late one night - so late that I had most of the freeway to myself - I saw something off to the side I had never seen before. It was a giant cross, lit up with many lights. And next to it, was a giant disco ball. I don’t know if it was for some outdoor Christian boogie fest or what, but it surely struck me as an odd sight.

I met a lady one day who went in for a facelift and came out with a pulmonary aneurysm.

My friend Rebecca has been convicted of drunk driving twice now. She currently spends her weekends in jail - serving her debt to society piecemeal. Her last weekend of jail time is approaching. There will be “a huge bar-b-que and plenty of drinking” to celebrate.

One day I was walking down the sidewalk, in a town I don’t live in. I could see ahead, there was a kid fiddling with his skate board. He had jet black hair. I could only see that particular feature of his, until I nearly reached my destination. I turned to walk up the stairs at the same moment he looked up from his skateboard. He had the bluest, most captivating eyes I’ve ever seen. They were quite simply - beautiful. I quickly looked away, so I wouldn’t stare. I heard him ride his skateboard a ways down the sidewalk, away from me. I turned to look after him, and he turned back to look at me. I smiled and walked through the door. I couldn’t believe how a child’s eyes had taken my breath away.

The meaning of li.. your name.

Posted 28 May 2002, 11.01 pm by Villager

This site gives interesting definitions and histories of thousands of names.

My name means Valley. Beat that ..

First Aid

Posted 27 May 2002, 10.15 pm by Jake

It's a dark and rainy night in the heart of the city. A light fog surrounds all of the ratty dark buildings so that the lights inside shine a dull, blurry yellow.

A young man pulls his car into the nearly deserted parking lot of Big Bob's Porno/Novelty Hut. It's not hard to find a space, there are only about 4 cars surrounding the building. He looks out the window at the spattering rain as it dribbles down the windshield, and watches a couple more customers arrive. He pulls the hood of his poncho over his head. He takes a deep breath, opens the door, and makes a mad dash for the building.

Once inside, he removes his hood. The patrons stare at him and whisper. One man turns to another and quips, "It's that retard janitor from the high school. I wonder if he's here to buy fag porn." The young man just steels his gaze forward to the new releases section. Only if people understood. He wasn't ALWAYS like this. It's not his fault that the wreck had caused his mother to almost have a miscarriage. The impact from the drunk driver's car jolted his brain while he was in the womb and he came out mentally retarded.

The door-chime jingles, and an older, bearded guy with a pissed-off expression walks into the store. The young man glances at him and keeps on perusing the aisle. He's looking for "Bukkake Queens Part II" and is dismayed at the fact that he hasn't come upon it yet.

Suddenly, there's a disturbance up near the register. It's the pissed-off guy with a beard. He's brandishing a pistol and demanding the money. The woman at the register, presumably Big Bob's wife, stares at the attacker with a horrified gaze. She opens the register, almost mechanically. One man near the register steps forward as if to disarm the bearded, shouting man, yet the bearded man wheels around and presses the gun to the side of his head. "No fuckin' heroes in here, Chief.", the robber quips and glances back at the woman. He snarls, "Get that money in there, you cunt!"

The young man is near the back of the store, and he thinks that he might have a chance at getting away. He slinks along the side wall, around the bondage toys and chains, past the lubricants and lotions, and he is stopped dead in his tracks.
BOOM.
The bullet tears through the side of his neck. The retarded young man gasps and gurgles as he claps his hand to his jugular vein. The blood rushes forth like a fountain.
In a panic, the bearded robber tears the sack from the woman's jittery grasp and bolts out the door. A man near the retarded boy yells out, "We got an injury!"

Big Bob yells from the back, "I called 9-1-1, an ambulance will be here in 40 minutes. They can't hoof it in this weather!" The man walks up to the retarded boy and says, "Jesus, Bob! This little bastard's gonna die in 40 minutes!" He looks to the shelves and a grin breaks out on his face. "Got any duct-tape, Bob? I got a plan."

The retarded boy looks up drowsily at the few men crowded around him. Another man is next to him on the floor. He's sponging blood away from the wound. He picks up something in his hand, and in the dull light the boy can't figure out what it is. As it gets closer to his neck, he realizes.
It's a dildo.
The man inserts the dildo into the gaping wound. It's large enough to fit inside and block a majority of the blood flow. Big Bob hands the man a roll of duct tape, and the man wraps it around the shaft of the dildo to keep the blood from leaking out. He wraps it several more times to block the leakage...and they wait for the ambulance.

Star Wars - Gangsta Style

Posted 27 May 2002, 12.46 am by Alexander

This is extremely well done. I've seen other flash animations by the same people and they're always great. It's a constant wonder to me how much time and effort goes into these things -

CLICK HERE BIOTCH

Most amusing....

happy happy happy

Posted 26 May 2002, 11.19 pm by Villager

What of happiness? What of timeless serenity and joy? What of the warm contented feeling that graces those who can embrace it? I'm long learned that such a thing is beyond my grasp; human frailties and harsh realities prevent that, but what of an equivalent? What of my pinnacle of happiness? When will I be happy? I don't ask for fairytale glee or ignorant bliss - I'd rather not feel compelled to ask at all - but life seems so very ill fitting of my person. Are any but the ignorant meant to be truly happy? Are the rest of us meant to be left to juggle what joy we can find with the lives we cannot escape? I find those I would first grant happiness the least likely to ever achieve it, those who have the greatest capacity for joy seem to spend the most time in sorrow. Self pity? Self indulgence?

Or is the glass really half full? Does the unrelenting challenge of keeping your head above water and successfully balancing those joys and troubles elevate our satisfaction to a more fulfilling level? Is striving for something you never quite know exists worth foregoing immediate satisfaction and pleasure? Can achieving personal goals and carving your own portion of happiness be more rewarding than the blissfully ignorant could know?

Occasionally I remind myself the futility of asking such questions. Wallowing on the unpromising greater picture necessitates missing out detail - detail which redeems this life to existence and hope. I am happy, broadly. I'm just not satisfied. And that satisfaction may have to wait until wisdom of years and experience untold breaks the mould which brings me so blindly into adulthood. Are you happy? Could you be happier? Are you happy enough? How do you know? What will you do with this if and when you realise? Is happiness not striving to be happy and smiling whilst doing it?


Maybe in 60 years I'll have the answer.

Rock, Paper, Scissors

Posted 26 May 2002, 4.11 pm by Craig

This game is addictive.

Visit Site.

It's Not a Test

Posted 25 May 2002, 9.56 am by Berly

You will need a fast connection and a lot of free time to get the most out of this site.

Why Are You Createive Dot Com. Go on, give it a poke.....

TELL ME WHY

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I took this photograph in North Vancouver, by the water. These birds are everywhere, all the time. If you are standing in the middle of a crowd of these birds, you realize just how horrid they are. The photo I took actually makes the birds look respectable and that's why I like it.

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Hmph

80s candy bars were pretty good

only because i traded it for a candy bar in the 80's.

lol we all know you don't have a soul ghoti

my soul for some carbs...

But of course!

Yo ! Does this work ?

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