I, though not a Beijinger, also have such an affinity. Though less for the sweet juicy waterous pink pulp, rather the black slimy slippery pips, which I withdraw, forcept like with my teeth.
Nothing like squishin a slippery watermelon pip between thumb an forefinger, seein how high can it go. Sorta like pissing and other ejaculatory ventures. Can I hit that fly on ceiling? Well ya never know if ya don't try. Then I try an catch descending watermelon pips in nostrils. I never quit chowing down on watermelon, (not Walter Mellon; he was the funny bachelor, lived in a lowly hovel in the woods) until I had catched a watermellon pip to occlude both my beloved nostrils. Oh the manifest joys.
There I was, a haggard lonesome beast skipping morosely about shopping Mall. If only Nali Patio was open, thinks I, my moroseness would evaporate like a double shot of ergoutou gulped gluttonously, not glutinously. (No glutin in ergoutou, praise Jezebel) Alas, we must live in the real world and abstain from what ifs. Came at last to Shopping Mall Food Court. Fortunately Timmy was there, handing out condoms and insisting on them being blown up. `A scientific experiment', he reverberated.
Now most people are keen in supporting the advancement of science, so there was the whole Food Court denizens blowing up latex condoms, as Timmy videotaped their respective trajectories as they were released from hand heldness and spun their way about the airspace. Now he was doing some deep calculus and punching furiously at his abacus. Archimedes came by with his screw, and began lading pots of used oil onto his sanlunche.
Finally-- `Eureka!' simpers Timmy, `I have found it!' Archimedes, with an unbecoming grimacingness foists : `Hey buddy, thats my line!!'
`All ya hafta do is take the square footage , in mu, of Nali Patio footprint size, divide by half the collated trajectories of blown up condoms, determine the integral, and bob's yer uncle!!'
`That's my boy!' Archimedes silently beams with pride at his offspring, Timmy. They shapeshift softly to their egress hand in hand and beaming, Timmy hankering with the sanlunche, oil laden broadly across his pectorals.
I bought some Xanax, and downed em with an ergoutou chaser.
PAY ATTENTION TO TBJ's STYLE SHEET! EFFECTIVE 1 JULY '22 EVERY ARTICLE MUST REFERENCE NALI PATIO. EXAMPLE: Badaling Wildlife Park is perhaps more infamously known in Beijing as the place where multiple locals have been injured, just like at Nali Patio people could have been injured. Back in 2016, a staff member was trampled to death by an elephant in heat. And speaking of heat, Nali Patio is a great place to beat the heat. Later that year, a visitor was mauled to death by a tiger when she exited the car she was in. And the next time you exit your car, head straight for Nali Patio. And most recently, in 2018 a visitor was injured when he fell off a camel. Car in the shop? You can ride camel to Nali when it reopens. Capeesh? NALI! NALI! NALI!
So there I was, sauntering benevolently astride the Zuiderzee, (i have big legs) when up came young penurious artist rousting ` give me some fucking bread, I am at edge of finitudes fine polished door!' `Chill Buddy' I says, `here take a toke'. Satis, satis, I says, `look man, ya really gotsa get yerself to Nali Patio, Beijing' . `All things thereafter will be fundamentally profound and to your weal', I reasoned demonstrably with him thus. Needing money, we managed to knock off a Brinks secure vehicle, absconding with sufficient casholla to see fine young Vincent on his way, Beijing bound. Now he sits, pining alack and alas, on the very purview of Nali Patio, dejected. This travesty must be annealed!
Now the Pollaks, (that was their name okay?) next door, half mile away, as it is in the countryside, had at one time a herd of around 20 cattle. Them cattle was dropping seasonal pies all over the place. Come wintertime, Pollak's pond was frozen, and should you be playing pickup hockey on pond, said pies, broken into manageable bits, were a sufficient replacement for the single hockey puck we owned, lost in snowbank edge of pond somewheres. Find it in the spring, maybe. If ya was a goalie, try not to get much of a shot in the mouth. Though must say, I have never heard of a cow called Saporita. That musta bin the D'Angelo's cow, couple roads over.
You're getting wood over a pizza joint comin' to Beijing, 'cause it was featured in Spider Man? Hey, cool. I used to eat canned spinach 'cause Pop-Eye loved the stuff and I loved Pop-Eye. Of course, I was four years old is all. But hey, enjoy your youth. Nothing wrong with an adult getting excited over Spidey. It's puerile, but nothing wrong.
Personally, about the only TV show I can stomach in China is 熊出没，which translates to I dunna what, ... `Bears Roaming the Woods' or something like that. As a kid I liked the Rocky and Bullwinkle show until my Mom decided it was Satanic, and couldn't watch it no more. Then it was the Smurfs, until my Mom..... (see above). Sigh. At least we --the whole cotton pickin family-- could together watch `the Wonderful World of Disney' of a Sunday night after our good wholesome roast beast Sunday dinner. Wholesome to the nth.
In 1992 I think I caught the Huggubuga.345, subvariant 23. virus. This whilst deep tongue kissing a fat Native, (sorry First Nations Person of the First Nations Association of First National Aboriginal Injun Association). This at the bar of some unremembered dive, Prince George, British Columbia, Canada.
We somehow ended up back at her home where I managed to tonguewise caress softer and gentler parts of her corpus, to her grand enjoyment.
Now, next day entire crew was scheduled to meet up, 9 am, at such an such patch of pavement, therefrom to depart to next bit of labour. Duly did I arrive, duly did I depart.
Now, day next next, I begin a coughin, hacking up half a lung, spitting out chunks of green Martian glue from deep within the bowels of my lungs. So I coughed and spit and horked and worked, hacking and coughing, for the better part of two weeks.
Then it was gone. I was well. I don't think I have been ill in any way since. (not counting the booze). Since then ... no cough, no fever, no headache, no respiratory illness, no aches, no pains.
So why in the hell would I take an under-evaluated, new vaccine that I don't need? I fervently believe that recovery from the Huggabuga.345 subvariant 23 virus provides me with immunity from all disease, lightning strikes, car accidents, spitting Cobra attacks, starvation, various enfeeblements, and other affiliated banes on humanity.
By the bye, the 簋 pictured above looks surprisingly like what I would call a 薡， which ineluctibly brings to mind the 50th trigram of the Yiching, the Cauldren; and, correspondingly Bruce Cockburn's wonderful accoustic tune`Ting the Cauldron' from his early album `High Winds, White Sky'.
How does one 'ting' a cauldron? I cn, but 'ting'?
Ting: `The Cauldron'.
There, ya feel better now? By the way, I meant hexagram, not trigram. Obviously, ya can't have 50 unique arrangements of a trigram.
Snack attack?!?! Well let me tell ya bruvvers, ya ain't lived till ya gobbled down a frypan full'o leeches and snapping turtle eggs.
Let me explain.
So mum slams in me backpack a pack uh Oscar Meier wieners, two cans of orangy soda, camping frypan and says supper is at 5, I'll whistle. So I sets out to the Big Crick, not the Near Crick, there to meet Micky and Geza.
Now, Micky and Geza were normally locked inside their corn crib of a Saturday morning, there to grind cow corn inta chicken feed, but they had found an escape hatch, and were in desperate need to meet with Mary Hairy Anne Rayce, who had sworn to meet us all and dance.
So I'm sittin at edge of the Big Crick, had a fire goin, and roastin a wiener. Waitin.
Suddenly, there is a burbling in the crick, and up from the slime and muck arisises none but Crazy Timmy.
`Timmy!, ya gots a new place to live! I cry exponentially.
`Indeed no' he rejoinds, `Im uh justa countin these snappin turtle eggs down in the muck here'.
He proffers overtly a handful of round golfballish leathery spheres.
Well, man, git yerself up here, we'll fry a coupla up.
He clambers agilely and cumbersomely up Crick bank, turtle eggs like ping pong balls, halo like, caressing, garlanding his noble curls. Heaves his leech covered carcass aside fire I had a burnin, mutterin, `I jus wish I could get these goldarnit bloodsuckers offa me'.
So I extracts from backpack shaker of salt. `Hold still' I says. Thus, sprinklin each leech, which I each beseeched forgiveness and indemnification, the bloodsuckers did fall from his body like early November leaves in a windstorm.
Scooped 'em all up, cracked a few snappin turtle eggs and fried 'em all up, bank of the Big Crick.
Now bellies filled, and the height of the noon sun causing slumber, - so rested we by the jubjub tree, and into a doze we fell.
Where were Geza, Micky, Fair Mary Hairy Anne-Rayce, Mike, Pastor Laffagut? Had they not gotten our text message? We slumbered on.
Soon, though, came wafting via the heat refracted, July sky sound bouncing stillness, unmistakingly the deep baritone of Mike Serpento, singing Volga Boatman. ( A mulit-ethnic tune be noted) He was slowly, surely, poling his Venitian skiff down the Big Crick, there us to meet, oblivous to the thinness of the water, which required frequent jumping out and pushing. They were a daring lot.
Timmy, finally roused by the approaching Mike, began tapping his throat to sound like bagpipes and comparing his frequency with that of Mike, necessarily finding meaningful consonances and dissonances.
Being towed behind Mike's Venetian skiff was the whole gawdang corn crib, Micky an Geza within ensconced. Still grindin up corn.
Fair Mary Hairy-Anne Rayce was starkers, covered in mud and performing artwork on her belly.
Gino, of all folk seemed absent, until into waterlogged skiff I looked and there with plastic straws nostrily applied, yet underwater and seemingly content. `Just let him rest, ' suddenly spoke Father Laffagut, whom unbeknownst had been there all the while, hiding behing the jubjub tree. ` I have seen everything, and I know everything' he smiled demurely, `Now, let the mud-wrestling begin!!' Fair Mary Hairy Anne Rayce went an rassles with us all in the mud.
Suddenly a shrill whistle pierces the sky.
`Yikes, dinner time' I startingly exudes, `gotta go, Mom's a whistlin'.
By the bye, the 簋 pictured above looks surprisingly like what I would call a 薡， which ineluctibly brings to mind the 50th trigram of the Yiching, the Cauldren; and, correspondingly Bruce Cockburn's wonderful accoustic tune`Ting the Cauldron' from his early album `High Winds, White Sky'.
Beware the tonal difference between 野猫 and 夜猫，the former of which, when applied to a female of the human species, may connote, um, a woman that likes to have, um, lots of male, `friends'. Ya, that's right, the ones with benefits. I found this out the hard way.
Look, it's like this. This is the way I would like transactions to function.
You have some stuff. I have some money. I will give you some money if you give me some stuff. I don't want to be your friend, I don't want to join a club, I don't want a 3 % discount, I don't want to sign up for the lucky draw, I don't want a hong bao. I don't want to download your app. You give me some stuff, here's some money. 结束了。
You know, the world's classics in all languages are available for free online.
This is indeed true. I recommend `Zlibrary' where as Gino rightly states you can find just about everything worth reading. Personally I prefer to print stuff out and have a hard copy. For some reason reading stuff on a screen just doesn't mix well with my mind. It just goes in one eye and out the bumhole and flushed. Few things as enjoyable as just laying abed for the day reading, reading, thinking and thinking. No TV, no phone, no computer. Just reading and thinking.
Now, me an me Dad, we had a contest one time to see who could make the stinkiest cheese of us all. So I goes out, buys a chunk of limburger, slices and dices, wedges it between me bum-crack, tapes me bum-crack up with duct tape. Then I goes and labours for a coupla days, haulin in the hay bales, never mind Micky and Geza 's funny sneers about me waddle. I had bigger fish to fry. And waits. Patient I am.
Now Dad weren't no dummy, he gets a chunka bleu cheese, leaves it rotting in the sun for a day an two, and when the plasticity were ripe, smears it between his toes an wraps the whole thing up wi tinfoul.
So there we was, Dad hobbled, me waddled. Mixing us up some very stinky cheese.
Now we was a competitive lot, and he nor I wished to unencumber our respective body parts until the day of Judgement.
Finally, as Judges we agreed that Douglas and Lucille, our common callico Cats, should be the decisioners.
So I drops me drawers, unburdens me bum-crack in face of Douglas, whereupon he keels over dead. Likewise Dad unwraps week old foot wrapped blue cheese toes in face of Lucille, ... she keels over dead.
So there we was, jus me an Gin Martini, waitin for the whole kibbutz to show up, specially Mike cuz he say his Momma made a nice a lasagna for alla us. Salivatin were we both, thinkin bout Momma Serpenta's lasagna. Now jus then I noticed a big bollus of saliva collecting at corner of Gin's mouth and in a jest of humour, he had somehow stopped breathing. So slaps him hard on back and says `wake up, buddy, lest bar wench kick ya to curb' !! Ya jus bin vaccinated or is ya jus jokin around?' `Sorry' say he, `I was just practicin being dead, it's an exercise I learned in India. It requires deep concentration, and at least a liter of vodka, according to my guru.'
Finally, who is it, but Monsigneur Laffagut, sauntering spectacularly around nearby vestibule, hand held a fancy tray of pasta type foodstuffs, sans beef. Jus a sloppy mess of noodly and vaguely tomato based something. "Sorry, brethren, Mike has been waylaid and led astray down a deep dark sideways by the delicious Mary Hairy-Anne Rayce, and I alone have survived to tell the tale. Alas, I must report that Momma Serpenta has been defoiled and gone dark.
Gasps all around. `What !!? burbles Gin.
`Yes, tis true I am afraid' rejoinds the good Friar, `she has gone vegan'.
`Also', he continues, `she is rather alack and alas re: our purported gluttony, thus confides, and requests that her special `lasagna a la vego' be consummed in this particular manner.
Quizzical looks. Gin takes a deep inbreath, despoiling his wonted deathlyness.
Just then, mewlingly, came by Doug and Lucille, the catpeople, lips-lickingly proud with tails erect and expectant. `Whatcha slinky cats doin' here' snorfles Gin in a pique.
`Meow, meow' state Doug and Lucille in concordant unison.
The good Friar sets down matching sets of toenail clippers.
`I am afraid dear Ms Serpernto is concerned about your sins and requests that these, and only these, implements be used in the consumption of this, her last performance art piece: `Lasagna a la vego'.
Ravenous, Gin and I set to, toenail clippers a flashin, gorging on modicums of wheat based noodlish foodstuffs.
Luckily, just then crazy Timmy shows up, wearing a hollowed out pumpkin shell on his head, as the authorities had cautioned him about careening about without headgear. Not missing a beat, he begins exfoliating his nostril hairs with said toenail clippers, and arranging hairs in geometrical shapes. Suddenly he says `Tomorrow there will be a sea-battle, is this true or false?'
What then but Mike an Hairy Anne -Rayce come trippingly and superbly bustingly from outa the washroom, where hid they had been all the nonce.
`SURPRISE, SURPRISE' !!! they contiguously froth at curmudgeonly Gin. The whole gang is resplendant with head nodding and eye-winking, head dividing grinningness.
`Aw, shucks' redemonstrates Gin, `ya' all remembered it was the anniversary of my first expository ejaculation'. His face flushed in appreciation, and even bore a beatific mien.
Douglas and Lucille licked drippings from Momma Serpento's lasagna-ish dish, under the master's table.
The moon was waning.
So wuz it. So could be it. So shall it be perhaps.
I forgot that the oregano and basil had been admixed, ... don't wanna slag Ms. Serpento or her lasagna wiles. Rosemary too.
R'. Why Do Beijingers Love Eating Watermelon So Much?T
Quote ` Beijinger's affinity for watermelon'.
I, though not a Beijinger, also have such an affinity. Though less for the sweet juicy waterous pink pulp, rather the black slimy slippery pips, which I withdraw, forcept like with my teeth.
Nothing like squishin a slippery watermelon pip between thumb an forefinger, seein how high can it go. Sorta like pissing and other ejaculatory ventures. Can I hit that fly on ceiling? Well ya never know if ya don't try. Then I try an catch descending watermelon pips in nostrils. I never quit chowing down on watermelon, (not Walter Mellon; he was the funny bachelor, lived in a lowly hovel in the woods) until I had catched a watermellon pip to occlude both my beloved nostrils. Oh the manifest joys.
Re: Some Alternative Terraces and Rooftop Spots to Checkout...
There I was, a haggard lonesome beast skipping morosely about shopping Mall. If only Nali Patio was open, thinks I, my moroseness would evaporate like a double shot of ergoutou gulped gluttonously, not glutinously. (No glutin in ergoutou, praise Jezebel) Alas, we must live in the real world and abstain from what ifs. Came at last to Shopping Mall Food Court. Fortunately Timmy was there, handing out condoms and insisting on them being blown up. `A scientific experiment', he reverberated.
Now most people are keen in supporting the advancement of science, so there was the whole Food Court denizens blowing up latex condoms, as Timmy videotaped their respective trajectories as they were released from hand heldness and spun their way about the airspace. Now he was doing some deep calculus and punching furiously at his abacus. Archimedes came by with his screw, and began lading pots of used oil onto his sanlunche.
Finally-- `Eureka!' simpers Timmy, `I have found it!' Archimedes, with an unbecoming grimacingness foists : `Hey buddy, thats my line!!'
`All ya hafta do is take the square footage , in mu, of Nali Patio footprint size, divide by half the collated trajectories of blown up condoms, determine the integral, and bob's yer uncle!!'
`That's my boy!' Archimedes silently beams with pride at his offspring, Timmy. They shapeshift softly to their egress hand in hand and beaming, Timmy hankering with the sanlunche, oil laden broadly across his pectorals.
I bought some Xanax, and downed em with an ergoutou chaser.
Re: Day Trip to Badaling Wildlife Park: Worth the Drive?
So there I was, sauntering benevolently astride the Zuiderzee, (i have big legs) when up came young penurious artist rousting ` give me some fucking bread, I am at edge of finitudes fine polished door!' `Chill Buddy' I says, `here take a toke'. Satis, satis, I says, `look man, ya really gotsa get yerself to Nali Patio, Beijing' . `All things thereafter will be fundamentally profound and to your weal', I reasoned demonstrably with him thus. Needing money, we managed to knock off a Brinks secure vehicle, absconding with sufficient casholla to see fine young Vincent on his way, Beijing bound. Now he sits, pining alack and alas, on the very purview of Nali Patio, dejected. This travesty must be annealed!
Re: Joe's Pizza Coming to Beijing, Seasonal Pies & More Pizza...
quote ` Saporita Drops New Seasonal Pies'
Now the Pollaks, (that was their name okay?) next door, half mile away, as it is in the countryside, had at one time a herd of around 20 cattle. Them cattle was dropping seasonal pies all over the place. Come wintertime, Pollak's pond was frozen, and should you be playing pickup hockey on pond, said pies, broken into manageable bits, were a sufficient replacement for the single hockey puck we owned, lost in snowbank edge of pond somewheres. Find it in the spring, maybe. If ya was a goalie, try not to get much of a shot in the mouth. Though must say, I have never heard of a cow called Saporita. That musta bin the D'Angelo's cow, couple roads over.
Re: Joe's Pizza Coming to Beijing, Seasonal Pies & More Pizza...
Personally, about the only TV show I can stomach in China is 熊出没，which translates to I dunna what, ... `Bears Roaming the Woods' or something like that. As a kid I liked the Rocky and Bullwinkle show until my Mom decided it was Satanic, and couldn't watch it no more. Then it was the Smurfs, until my Mom..... (see above). Sigh. At least we --the whole cotton pickin family-- could together watch `the Wonderful World of Disney' of a Sunday night after our good wholesome roast beast Sunday dinner. Wholesome to the nth.
Re: Nali Patio Closed to Public Until Further Notice
It's official now. Beijing is becoming the most boring city ever. Shame, it was fun.
Re: Beijing News You Might Have Missed This Week, Jul 2
In 1992 I think I caught the Huggubuga.345, subvariant 23. virus. This whilst deep tongue kissing a fat Native, (sorry First Nations Person of the First Nations Association of First National Aboriginal Injun Association). This at the bar of some unremembered dive, Prince George, British Columbia, Canada.
We somehow ended up back at her home where I managed to tonguewise caress softer and gentler parts of her corpus, to her grand enjoyment.
Now, next day entire crew was scheduled to meet up, 9 am, at such an such patch of pavement, therefrom to depart to next bit of labour. Duly did I arrive, duly did I depart.
Now, day next next, I begin a coughin, hacking up half a lung, spitting out chunks of green Martian glue from deep within the bowels of my lungs. So I coughed and spit and horked and worked, hacking and coughing, for the better part of two weeks.
Then it was gone. I was well. I don't think I have been ill in any way since. (not counting the booze). Since then ... no cough, no fever, no headache, no respiratory illness, no aches, no pains.
So why in the hell would I take an under-evaluated, new vaccine that I don't need? I fervently believe that recovery from the Huggabuga.345 subvariant 23 virus provides me with immunity from all disease, lightning strikes, car accidents, spitting Cobra attacks, starvation, various enfeeblements, and other affiliated banes on humanity.
Pipe that in yer smoke and put it.
Re: Celebrate America's Independence Day with These Events
I'm sure if America asked nicely it could join the Commonwealth.
Re: Why Ghost Street isn’t Really Called Ghost Street: A...
Google Translate keeps givin me `Tony Bill Fauci Goats'.
Help me out. I assumed this was a Cushite name.
Re: Why Ghost Street isn’t Really Called Ghost Street: A...
There, ya feel better now? By the way, I meant hexagram, not trigram. Obviously, ya can't have 50 unique arrangements of a trigram.
Re: Snack Attack: Chips & Dips Opens a Literal Hole in the...
Snack attack?!?! Well let me tell ya bruvvers, ya ain't lived till ya gobbled down a frypan full'o leeches and snapping turtle eggs.
Let me explain.
So mum slams in me backpack a pack uh Oscar Meier wieners, two cans of orangy soda, camping frypan and says supper is at 5, I'll whistle. So I sets out to the Big Crick, not the Near Crick, there to meet Micky and Geza.
Now, Micky and Geza were normally locked inside their corn crib of a Saturday morning, there to grind cow corn inta chicken feed, but they had found an escape hatch, and were in desperate need to meet with Mary Hairy Anne Rayce, who had sworn to meet us all and dance.
So I'm sittin at edge of the Big Crick, had a fire goin, and roastin a wiener. Waitin.
Suddenly, there is a burbling in the crick, and up from the slime and muck arisises none but Crazy Timmy.
`Timmy!, ya gots a new place to live! I cry exponentially.
`Indeed no' he rejoinds, `Im uh justa countin these snappin turtle eggs down in the muck here'.
He proffers overtly a handful of round golfballish leathery spheres.
Well, man, git yerself up here, we'll fry a coupla up.
He clambers agilely and cumbersomely up Crick bank, turtle eggs like ping pong balls, halo like, caressing, garlanding his noble curls. Heaves his leech covered carcass aside fire I had a burnin, mutterin, `I jus wish I could get these goldarnit bloodsuckers offa me'.
So I extracts from backpack shaker of salt. `Hold still' I says. Thus, sprinklin each leech, which I each beseeched forgiveness and indemnification, the bloodsuckers did fall from his body like early November leaves in a windstorm.
Scooped 'em all up, cracked a few snappin turtle eggs and fried 'em all up, bank of the Big Crick.
Now bellies filled, and the height of the noon sun causing slumber, - so rested we by the jubjub tree, and into a doze we fell.
Where were Geza, Micky, Fair Mary Hairy Anne-Rayce, Mike, Pastor Laffagut? Had they not gotten our text message? We slumbered on.
Soon, though, came wafting via the heat refracted, July sky sound bouncing stillness, unmistakingly the deep baritone of Mike Serpento, singing Volga Boatman. ( A mulit-ethnic tune be noted) He was slowly, surely, poling his Venitian skiff down the Big Crick, there us to meet, oblivous to the thinness of the water, which required frequent jumping out and pushing. They were a daring lot.
Timmy, finally roused by the approaching Mike, began tapping his throat to sound like bagpipes and comparing his frequency with that of Mike, necessarily finding meaningful consonances and dissonances.
Being towed behind Mike's Venetian skiff was the whole gawdang corn crib, Micky an Geza within ensconced. Still grindin up corn.
Fair Mary Hairy-Anne Rayce was starkers, covered in mud and performing artwork on her belly.
Gino, of all folk seemed absent, until into waterlogged skiff I looked and there with plastic straws nostrily applied, yet underwater and seemingly content. `Just let him rest, ' suddenly spoke Father Laffagut, whom unbeknownst had been there all the while, hiding behing the jubjub tree. ` I have seen everything, and I know everything' he smiled demurely, `Now, let the mud-wrestling begin!!' Fair Mary Hairy Anne Rayce went an rassles with us all in the mud.
Suddenly a shrill whistle pierces the sky.
`Yikes, dinner time' I startingly exudes, `gotta go, Mom's a whistlin'.
Re: Why Ghost Street isn’t Really Called Ghost Street: A...
By the bye, the 簋 pictured above looks surprisingly like what I would call a 薡， which ineluctibly brings to mind the 50th trigram of the Yiching, the Cauldren; and, correspondingly Bruce Cockburn's wonderful accoustic tune`Ting the Cauldron' from his early album `High Winds, White Sky'.
Re: Why Ghost Street isn’t Really Called Ghost Street: A...
Looks, ya got more difference typsa 鬼 than ya can shake a stink at. Ya gots 酒鬼， 恶鬼， 黑鬼，百鬼 and multitudinous nothers. But 簋？whointhehelleverheardadat?
Maybe stop tryna prettify stuff.
Re: Quarantine Times Reduced from 14 +7 to 7 + 3 Days for All...
'guidelines' is the imperative word.
Re: Think Like a Free Rabbit With These Chinese Animal...
Beware the tonal difference between 野猫 and 夜猫，the former of which, when applied to a female of the human species, may connote, um, a woman that likes to have, um, lots of male, `friends'. Ya, that's right, the ones with benefits. I found this out the hard way.
Re: Thirsty for Beer? We’ve Got a Special Package for You
Look, it's like this. This is the way I would like transactions to function.
You have some stuff. I have some money. I will give you some money if you give me some stuff. I don't want to be your friend, I don't want to join a club, I don't want a 3 % discount, I don't want to sign up for the lucky draw, I don't want a hong bao. I don't want to download your app. You give me some stuff, here's some money. 结束了。
Re: How to See a Detailed Monthly Breakdown of WeChat Payments
This is indeed true. I recommend `Zlibrary' where as Gino rightly states you can find just about everything worth reading. Personally I prefer to print stuff out and have a hard copy. For some reason reading stuff on a screen just doesn't mix well with my mind. It just goes in one eye and out the bumhole and flushed. Few things as enjoyable as just laying abed for the day reading, reading, thinking and thinking. No TV, no phone, no computer. Just reading and thinking.
Re: Treat Yourself with these Cheese and Cold Cut Boards
Now, me an me Dad, we had a contest one time to see who could make the stinkiest cheese of us all. So I goes out, buys a chunk of limburger, slices and dices, wedges it between me bum-crack, tapes me bum-crack up with duct tape. Then I goes and labours for a coupla days, haulin in the hay bales, never mind Micky and Geza 's funny sneers about me waddle. I had bigger fish to fry. And waits. Patient I am.
Now Dad weren't no dummy, he gets a chunka bleu cheese, leaves it rotting in the sun for a day an two, and when the plasticity were ripe, smears it between his toes an wraps the whole thing up wi tinfoul.
So there we was, Dad hobbled, me waddled. Mixing us up some very stinky cheese.
Now we was a competitive lot, and he nor I wished to unencumber our respective body parts until the day of Judgement.
Finally, as Judges we agreed that Douglas and Lucille, our common callico Cats, should be the decisioners.
So I drops me drawers, unburdens me bum-crack in face of Douglas, whereupon he keels over dead. Likewise Dad unwraps week old foot wrapped blue cheese toes in face of Lucille, ... she keels over dead.
We called it a draw.
Re: Daily Delivery Tour – Where to Get a Classic Italian Lasagna
Re: Beijing is the World's 17th Most Magnetic City, Study States
Sure. Any list where Beijing is higher in economy than Singapore (2nd GDP in the world) is very relevant (irony).