Silicon Investor (SI) -- The First Internet Community

STOCKTALK

We've detected that you're using an ad content blocking browser plug-in or feature. Ads provide a critical source of revenue to the continued operation of Silicon Investor. We ask that you disable ad blocking while on Silicon Investor in the best interests of our community. If you are not using an ad blocker but are still receiving this message, make sure your browser's tracking protection is set to the 'standard' level.

Pastimes : Don't Ask Rambi -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: Rambi who wrote (29693)	6/22/1999 7:59:00 PM
From: nihil	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 71178

Dan was right to carb load before the race -- even a 5 K. Poor CW starved himself -- he should have loaded up the last night before. He wasn't trying to make his weight but needed a full liver to provide energy in the last 4600 meters.

To: Rambi who wrote (29693)	6/22/1999 10:12:00 PM
From: Gauguin	Read Replies (3) \| Respond to of 71178

In Dan's honor I just went in and weighed myself. I think I way way way more than I ever have, due to a few pretty buff declining reclining years here. 193. That is some poundage. I think it's a personal record. A hundred and ninety three pounds. Do you really need all those? What are they doing? I mean they're all attached here; they must be doing something. Otherwise how could they get added? They're needed. For food processing, maybe. It can't be organs I was born without. Can it? Once your body has everything it needs, why does it add more? What good is that? And why not make hair? Make stuff that's missing? Eyeballs and muscles? >>>Dan finished ordering a large marguarita and chicken friend steak and fries.<<< That is very sad. You're not supposed to eat your friends, no matter how depressed you are. Contrary to primitive belief, we do not take on the characteristics of the animals we eat. Or I would recommend duck. Fly or float. I can't run, and my legs look pretty much like those of a freezer burned chicken. They have draped flesh; like old-lady-arm. My bones don't have muscles, they have skin tarps. It's inspiring. My rotunda belly has a big scar all the way up the front, like they had to open it, to get something out, I stuffed in there, maybe from a trough. Something teddy-bear sized. It's bigger than a Caesarean scar; and no swimsuit is going to cover it up. Did you see Alien? When I get my other hip, I will have seven large, "crayon-flesh" colored scars. They show up like Magic Marker railroads against my pearly spam. Picture an aged biker, in flesh colored zipper-leathers, with a little wienie in front, bifocals, and squirrel-tail hair. It's "The Transition;" from Studmuffin, to Muffin. Or Stuffin. American Doughboy. Taffy Man. Must stay doughy white, or die of skin cancer immediately. Oh ~ and balding. PS: You can tell you're getting big, when you're hovering over a woman and your tummy touches first, like a pirogue hitting a sandbar. Had enough?