O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills, For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding, For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Here Captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head! It is some dream that on the deck, You’ve fallen cold and dead.
Monday, November 3, 2008
"Here I am drinking grape juice and you're saying it interacts with poltergeists?"
Yeah, that's gotta go somewhere (along with a divergence on "haint blue" and how grape juice ain't haint blue).