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Torturedevice
PostPosted: Sat Feb 10, 2007 1:16 am  Reply with quote
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shameless self promotion ftw!
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Imortalee
PostPosted: Sun Feb 11, 2007 11:15 am  Reply with quote
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I love you Aud
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Dark Applepolisher
PostPosted: Mon Feb 12, 2007 6:33 pm  Reply with quote
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I'd secks Aud up right about now if I didn't get lost in his eyes.

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Audhumla
PostPosted: Wed May 23, 2007 1:52 pm  Reply with quote
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audhumla hates calculus
off with the second derivative of its head!

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Imortalee
PostPosted: Wed May 23, 2007 6:33 pm  Reply with quote
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aud should pokebattle morty!

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Chance!
PostPosted: Wed May 23, 2007 10:45 pm  Reply with quote
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Audhumla wrote:
audhumla hates calculus
off with the second derivative of its head!

solve for y
(dy^2/dx) - 5(dy/dx) + 6y = xe^(5x)
Smile
also, marry me.

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Audhumla
PostPosted: Wed May 23, 2007 10:57 pm  Reply with quote
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y = who gives a hoot

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The Crimson King
PostPosted: Wed May 23, 2007 11:13 pm  Reply with quote
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Audhumla wrote:
audhumla hates calculus
off with the second derivative of its head!


yeah, even though i almost failed pre-calc, i took the placement exam and i'd get into calc 106 at U of nebraska in lincoln. first time i've ever heard a teacher say 'what the f@#k!'

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Audhumla
PostPosted: Mon Mar 17, 2008 12:17 am  Reply with quote
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“Stifle, Edith!”, he yelled. I knew he wasn't going to take this seriously. He always made that same stupid joke.
“I'm not joking, Frank. I deserve better.” He swirled his cheap California brandy and ashed his cigar into my carpet.
“The hell you mean, better? I'm the one with the pension coming in, I'm the one who built this damn house, and I'm the one who still screws ya sometimes! You can't get no better than me, woman!”
“Yes, I can. And I'm going to. We're done, Frank.”
“We ain't done. I'll tell you when we're -- ”
“No, we're done. You treat me like --”
“I treat you like a wife!”
“Men are supposed to love their wives.” He threw his brandy at me, but he missed, hitting the empty ceramic candy dish I picked up at the flea market last weekend instead, shattering it and his brandy snifter.
“The hell you think you're doing? You can't just leave!” He took off his glasses and was staring at me with his angry blue eyes. “You're 67 years old, for Christ's sake! Nobody's going to want you now! You're all dried up! You're a wrinkly old prune!”
I started to cry. “That's... that's not true. I met someone at my Scrabble club the other day. He just moved here after losing his wife. Frank, he played PLUMBERS across two triple word scores! It scored 203 points! I can't remember the last time I felt so alive! I think... I think I'm in love with...”
“Love? The **** do you know about love? I haven't seen any real love from you, any emotion in years. It's like... it's like you've just run out of it.” He relit his cigar.
“I'm not out! I was talking to Herb about you, and he was saying--” He cut me off again.
“Herb?! His name is Herb? You think you're leaving me for some pansy named Herb?”. His cigar had gone out. “Jesus Edith, the hell are you thinking? You're old! It's too late for your little romantic fantasies! You ain't leaving me. I'm getting another brandy, it's time for bed.” He sat upright in his recliner, reaching for his oak cane.
“I am leaving you, Frank. You're not the man I married.”
He sat back down, and put his cane across his lap, gripping it tightly. I noticed a bit of light reflecting off his wedding band.
“Of course I'm not, Edith. People change. It's been 45 years since we got married, and 48 since we met. You've changed too you know! You used to like to do thing with me, you used to be happy just being around me. We'd be totally content just going to movies, watching football, drinking beer, or camping. God knows I loved being around you back then! We didn't need to try all these grand friggin' adventures you cooked up for us.”
“Frank, the Grand Canyon thing was your idea!”
“No it wasn't! You were the one who went behind my back to buy that RV, especially since I was still working at the plant at the time. I only suggested Arizona so we could stop by and see Mort in Flagstaff, and – you do remember what happened with my old Army buddy Mort, right?”
“Yes”, I lied.
“Don't take that tone with me. It's your damn fault I didn't get to see him again before he died.” He put on some sort of shrill, faux-feminine whine. “Ohhh, don't worry Frank. Morty will be there on our way back. I've heard the yuccas are in bloom this time of year, let's take the scenic route so we can look at them!” He was gripping his cane so hard, his stubby fingers were turning beet-red. “Well, guess what Edith?” His voice lowered. “Morty wasn't there on our way back. He died, and he died thinking I stood him up. I'd never, never betray him, not after what he did for me in the war, but you made me do it.”
“Frank, you can't honestly think I'd have known that would happen. I'm sorry about Mort, but I... I...”
“There ya go again, Edith! I, I, I! Christ, you're selfish. Hell, you wouldn't even marry me until you graduated college. I was workin' my ass off to pay our rent, to buy your textbooks, sacrificing my shot at a damn degree, while you go and get one in art history of all things, and on top of that you wouldn't even accept my damn proposal. This wouldn't even have been that big of a deal if you'd have just screwed me, but no, little proper Edith had to save herself. Hell, we were engaged and in love! What more did you want?” His white remnants of hair were dripping with sweat.
“Frank, I had you... You were young, sweet, really cute... what more could I want?”
“Oh, you disingenuous little biatch”. He snapped his cigar in half. “Plenty more. You always wanted more, Edith. You were never satisfied with what you had. You'd just take whatever you wanted, use it up, suck the life out of it, until it didn't satisfy you anymore, and then you'd throw it away. I guess it just took 48 years for you to do that with me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“What am I talking about? You're a quitter, Edith! You always have been. You gave up on acting, you gave up on that bakery you tried to open, you gave up on that pathetic excuse for a garden, and you gave up on the child we decided to have, before he was even born! And you used the same damn excuse each time: “Oh, it just isn't working!””
“How could you possibly bring up my ab... you... you son of a biatch!”
“It's a damn good example of something you said you wanted for us, and then gave up on. And you didn't even give a s**t about what I wanted. I never got to have a son because you were so damn selfish. Though if we did have it, and you treated it like your bakery, we'd both probably be in jail, so maybe it's a good thing you killed it.”
“Frank, Peigh St. Pastries went under because you didn't call that exterminator like I asked you to, and then the rats --”
“Give me a break. You know damn well I was on a respirator the whole month. You could have called him”
“But he had that accent... I think he was from the Ukraine or something; I could never understand him”
He was speechless.
“Besides, listen...”
“I'm through listening, Edith. I've listened to you whine and moan about damn near everything. In fact, I've done more than listen. I've looked. I've been looking and all I can see anymore is Edith Keaton – or would you prefer I use Herb's last name, probably Goldstein or something, knowing you, God I can't believe you're doing this to me--” He tried to relight his cigar, but all four matches left in the book didn't hold a flame, “All I see is Edith Keaton, the burnt-out old hag who is tired of her life, and looking for yet another thing to spice it up, willing to look anywhere but with her damn husband. I don't see Edith Müller anymore, the spunky young blonde I fell in love with. And I don't think I've seen her in a long time. You wanna leave, you wanna leave me alone here, you wanna quit, pack up, and run away then go, get out, but don't think you're taking some moral high ground, that you're liberating yourself from the terrible oppression of marriage. You're quitting, Edith. Again.
“How dare y--”
“Shut up and get the hell out of my house”
“What? No, I'm not just going to up and leave, not when you're saying all this nonsense about-”
“Oh, so now you're staying? Coulda sworn a few minutes ago you were all fired up, and ready to go, ready to get on out of here. You prepared this whole little speech, talked about how you were gettin' outta here, about how I wasn't treatin' ya right. 'Course, I thought you were jokin', that's why I told ya to stifle, and now it seems I was right. You don't wanna leave, you just drama, you want tension, you want disagreement. You don't even know what you want, do you? You don't know anything. I do know something though, Edith. I know this ain't Casablanca, I know I ain't Humphrey Bogart, and I know you sure as hell ain't Ingrid Bergman. I don't got any special letters of transit to give ya, so you can run away and start all over again. It's too late for that, Edith. It's too late for this argument. I'm going to bed. If you leave, don't wake me up. If you stay, I'll take my coffee black and Irish”
He didn't get his goddamned coffee.

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Audhumla
PostPosted: Mon Mar 17, 2008 12:17 am  Reply with quote
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Audhumla wrote:
“Stifle, Edith!”, he yelled. I knew he wasn't going to take this seriously. He always made that same stupid joke.
“I'm not joking, Frank. I deserve better.” He swirled his cheap California brandy and ashed his cigar into my carpet.
“The hell you mean, better? I'm the one with the pension coming in, I'm the one who built this damn house, and I'm the one who still screws ya sometimes! You can't get no better than me, woman!”
“Yes, I can. And I'm going to. We're done, Frank.”
“We ain't done. I'll tell you when we're -- ”
“No, we're done. You treat me like --”
“I treat you like a wife!”
“Men are supposed to love their wives.” He threw his brandy at me, but he missed, hitting the empty ceramic candy dish I picked up at the flea market last weekend instead, shattering it and his brandy snifter.
“The hell you think you're doing? You can't just leave!” He took off his glasses and was staring at me with his angry blue eyes. “You're 67 years old, for Christ's sake! Nobody's going to want you now! You're all dried up! You're a wrinkly old prune!”
I started to cry. “That's... that's not true. I met someone at my Scrabble club the other day. He just moved here after losing his wife. Frank, he played PLUMBERS across two triple word scores! It scored 203 points! I can't remember the last time I felt so alive! I think... I think I'm in love with...”
“Love? The **** do you know about love? I haven't seen any real love from you, any emotion in years. It's like... it's like you've just run out of it.” He relit his cigar.
“I'm not out! I was talking to Herb about you, and he was saying--” He cut me off again.
“Herb?! His name is Herb? You think you're leaving me for some pansy named Herb?”. His cigar had gone out. “Jesus Edith, the hell are you thinking? You're old! It's too late for your little romantic fantasies! You ain't leaving me. I'm getting another brandy, it's time for bed.” He sat upright in his recliner, reaching for his oak cane.
“I am leaving you, Frank. You're not the man I married.”
He sat back down, and put his cane across his lap, gripping it tightly. I noticed a bit of light reflecting off his wedding band.
“Of course I'm not, Edith. People change. It's been 45 years since we got married, and 48 since we met. You've changed too you know! You used to like to do thing with me, you used to be happy just being around me. We'd be totally content just going to movies, watching football, drinking beer, or camping. God knows I loved being around you back then! We didn't need to try all these grand friggin' adventures you cooked up for us.”
“Frank, the Grand Canyon thing was your idea!”
“No it wasn't! You were the one who went behind my back to buy that RV, especially since I was still working at the plant at the time. I only suggested Arizona so we could stop by and see Mort in Flagstaff, and – you do remember what happened with my old Army buddy Mort, right?”
“Yes”, I lied.
“Don't take that tone with me. It's your damn fault I didn't get to see him again before he died.” He put on some sort of shrill, faux-feminine whine. “Ohhh, don't worry Frank. Morty will be there on our way back. I've heard the yuccas are in bloom this time of year, let's take the scenic route so we can look at them!” He was gripping his cane so hard, his stubby fingers were turning beet-red. “Well, guess what Edith?” His voice lowered. “Morty wasn't there on our way back. He died, and he died thinking I stood him up. I'd never, never betray him, not after what he did for me in the war, but you made me do it.”
“Frank, you can't honestly think I'd have known that would happen. I'm sorry about Mort, but I... I...”
“There ya go again, Edith! I, I, I! Christ, you're selfish. Hell, you wouldn't even marry me until you graduated college. I was workin' my ass off to pay our rent, to buy your textbooks, sacrificing my shot at a damn degree, while you go and get one in art history of all things, and on top of that you wouldn't even accept my damn proposal. This wouldn't even have been that big of a deal if you'd have just screwed me, but no, little proper Edith had to save herself. Hell, we were engaged and in love! What more did you want?” His white remnants of hair were dripping with sweat.
“Frank, I had you... You were young, sweet, really cute... what more could I want?”
“Oh, you disingenuous little biatch”. He snapped his cigar in half. “Plenty more. You always wanted more, Edith. You were never satisfied with what you had. You'd just take whatever you wanted, use it up, suck the life out of it, until it didn't satisfy you anymore, and then you'd throw it away. I guess it just took 48 years for you to do that with me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“What am I talking about? You're a quitter, Edith! You always have been. You gave up on acting, you gave up on that bakery you tried to open, you gave up on that pathetic excuse for a garden, and you gave up on the child we decided to have, before he was even born! And you used the same damn excuse each time: “Oh, it just isn't working!””
“How could you possibly bring up my ab... you... you son of a biatch!”
“It's a damn good example of something you said you wanted for us, and then gave up on. And you didn't even give a s**t about what I wanted. I never got to have a son because you were so damn selfish. Though if we did have it, and you treated it like your bakery, we'd both probably be in jail, so maybe it's a good thing you killed it.”
“Frank, Peigh St. Pastries went under because you didn't call that exterminator like I asked you to, and then the rats --”
“Give me a break. You know damn well I was on a respirator the whole month. You could have called him”
“But he had that accent... I think he was from the Ukraine or something; I could never understand him”
He was speechless.
“Besides, listen...”
“I'm through listening, Edith. I've listened to you whine and moan about damn near everything. In fact, I've done more than listen. I've looked. I've been looking and all I can see anymore is Edith Keaton – or would you prefer I use Herb's last name, probably Goldstein or something, knowing you, God I can't believe you're doing this to me--” He tried to relight his cigar, but all four matches left in the book didn't hold a flame, “All I see is Edith Keaton, the burnt-out old hag who is tired of her life, and looking for yet another thing to spice it up, willing to look anywhere but with her damn husband. I don't see Edith Müller anymore, the spunky young blonde I fell in love with. And I don't think I've seen her in a long time. You wanna leave, you wanna leave me alone here, you wanna quit, pack up, and run away then go, get out, but don't think you're taking some moral high ground, that you're liberating yourself from the terrible oppression of marriage. You're quitting, Edith. Again.
“How dare y--”
“Shut up and get the hell out of my house”
“What? No, I'm not just going to up and leave, not when you're saying all this nonsense about-”
“Oh, so now you're staying? Coulda sworn a few minutes ago you were all fired up, and ready to go, ready to get on out of here. You prepared this whole little speech, talked about how you were gettin' outta here, about how I wasn't treatin' ya right. 'Course, I thought you were jokin', that's why I told ya to stifle, and now it seems I was right. You don't wanna leave, you just drama, you want tension, you want disagreement. You don't even know what you want, do you? You don't know anything. I do know something though, Edith. I know this ain't Casablanca, I know I ain't Humphrey Bogart, and I know you sure as hell ain't Ingrid Bergman. I don't got any special letters of transit to give ya, so you can run away and start all over again. It's too late for that, Edith. It's too late for this argument. I'm going to bed. If you leave, don't wake me up. If you stay, I'll take my coffee black and Irish”
He didn't get his goddamned coffee.


what?

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Demasu
PostPosted: Mon Mar 17, 2008 1:13 am  Reply with quote
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You missed a couple of grammar spots in there.

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Chance!
PostPosted: Mon Mar 17, 2008 7:34 am  Reply with quote
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tl;dr

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Audhumla
PostPosted: Mon Mar 17, 2008 10:46 am  Reply with quote
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Chance! wrote:
tl;dr
iagree

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Foxtrot
PostPosted: Mon Mar 17, 2008 7:52 pm  Reply with quote
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You would bump your own thread.

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Dark Applepolisher
PostPosted: Thu Mar 20, 2008 8:52 pm  Reply with quote
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Aud's writing was better when he was in highschool, tbh.

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