The other day, as we were waiting for the very late bus and we endured the marvelous temperature of -38C (which at this level is basically the same in Farenheit), a young man next to me, as he was taking his boarding pass out of his jacket pocket, had the bad fortune to lose a finger.
It is well known by everyone that if you take the severed part and immediately position it to its missing place on the body, the edges will weld without further predicament.
The Quixote even mentions this maxim, “and so when I make it and give it to thee thou hast nothing to do when in some battle thou seest they have cut me in half through the middle of the body- as is wont to happen frequently,- but neatly and with great nicety, ere the blood congeal, to place that portion of the body which shall have fallen to the ground upon the other half which remains in the saddle, taking care to fit it on evenly and exactly.”
However, this young man had the calamity, due perhaps to fear and urgency, that he situated his finger with the fingernail looking down and this has welded so well that from that moment on he became dyslexic.
Es mostren els missatges amb l'etiqueta de comentaris destruction. Mostrar tots els missatges
Es mostren els missatges amb l'etiqueta de comentaris destruction. Mostrar tots els missatges
2/1/09
Storms, pft!
So, they tell me a storm is coming. Beware, storm! State Warning, Storm! Classes cancelled, Storm! Be prepared, Storm! Someone Save Us, Storm!
My previous experience has prepared me to face a storm: if the storm has a name then you must prepare a survival kit of wine, tequila, beer and rum, cans of tuna and bottles of water. If the storm does not have a name, your survival kit is mostly liquor and crackers. So with this unnamed storm, I sat with my friend MCG to wait for the arrival of the help help storm.
This is definitely NOT a STORM!
So listen well, linguists, if there is no hollering and screaming and broken windows, no violent destruction of valued property… you need to change the name.
My previous experience has prepared me to face a storm: if the storm has a name then you must prepare a survival kit of wine, tequila, beer and rum, cans of tuna and bottles of water. If the storm does not have a name, your survival kit is mostly liquor and crackers. So with this unnamed storm, I sat with my friend MCG to wait for the arrival of the help help storm.
And the hours went by between libation and monologues, I had even forgotten about the help help storm.
When her roommate arrived, covered in snow and hair, looking like a distressed yeti, I asked him has the storm had been postponed until further notice. He said, nay, it has been going on for the last hour or so. So I grabbed my coat and walked home. Snowflakes softly fell, in great proportions they floated down. Sound was muffled. I could hear my boots crunching as I walked, but that was it. No cars on the street, only glittery specks whispering down to earth.
This is definitely NOT a STORM!
Storms are fierce, vicious and brutal, full of sound and fury. They uproot trees, incinerate homes, hurl vehicles and cows through walls of concrete. This tender descent of endearing snow is more like a murmur than a roar.
Ok, for some a visual identification is clearer, STORM:
Not Storm:
So listen well, linguists, if there is no hollering and screaming and broken windows, no violent destruction of valued property… you need to change the name.
Storm, pft.
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