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

To: Gauguin who wrote (5872)	1/6/1998 12:22:00 PM
From: BlueCrab	Respond to of 71178

As a child I spent an inordinate amount of time at Da Bitch sending off notes in bottles, 'cause I was a romantic twit in my childhood. Too much RL Stevenson or Mark Twain. Anyways I never received an answer, and now I figure that most of my romanticism ended up in the Ocean City Dump, courtesy of the longshore drift. Had their been spudguns at the time, I would probably be dead by now, or at least parsleyed.

To: Gauguin who wrote (5872)	1/6/1998 12:38:00 PM
From: Rambi	Read Replies (2) \| Respond to of 71178

And speaking of asparagus, which I love, I had this really weird dream. And I want to know what it means. I dreamed that we were still in our old house and when I got out of bed there were frogs all over the floor. Lots of frogs. So I went to the kitchen to get a plastic bag and started picking up frogs and putting them in the bag, only they were coming out of the walls, thousands of little dark green and brown frogs faster than I could pick them up. And I yelled for the boys to come help, but they were upstairs playing with the frogs that were coming out of their walls. I went out front to empty the bags, and our yardman waved at me and smiled as if there weren't hundreds of frogs lining quietly up in neat rows on the lawn. And then some big ugly withery gross white frogs started to eat the little frogs. And I kept going back and forth filling the bag and dumping, filling and dumping, and the ugly white frogs ate and ate. Ammo said it reminded him of Joseph and his dream about the fat cows and the skinnycows. And that maybe the ugly white frogs eating the healthy ones meant something terrible was going to happen to us and so he wasn't going to school today, he wasn't even going to get out of bed. But I made him. I have to go to Barnes and Noble and buy a dream book, because after the frogs, I dreamed that I had a seven year old blonde daughter who slept in a piano. And that my dead mother was yelling at me to take down the Christmas decorations. Please tell me what this means. By the way, someone on Grammar accuses me of being politically correct, making blanket statements, and being just not a very nice person in general. So I guess I have to turn in the Papal mitre and sceptre and head for the confessional. Damn. I really was enjoying my exalted state, though it wasn't quite as good as the time I got to be God.