"i
am
a
lib-ril an' i cannot lie
you other brothers may deny
when christ walks in with an itty bitty grin and a big thing in your face you get
spun
You have FUN!
You're a comedy buff
Cuz you notice them feathers are fluffed.

Deep in the Down he's swearing
with his googly eyes all astaring
Oh, Bush Bird I wanna play wit ya
finger-paint your picture.

the media - it really spooks me
when it pokes more than it's kooky
and when it waves more when the tide is turned
and it makes me want to burn

so link me
think me
tell me where to stick me--"

"To post, or not to post: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action. - Soft you now!
The fair Metachat! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd."