Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate - we can not consecrate - we can not hallow - this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us - that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion - that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain - that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom - and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

My father died when I was 6. You knew that, right? Yeah. He had Huntington's Disease. It's-- destroys portions of the brain, affects muscle control, leads to dementia. It's just a nasty disease. It's genetic. It terrified my mother that I might have it, so they ran tests on me when I was a kid, but I came up clean. My father fell very ill when I was 4 or 5. He spent a lot of time in the hospital. My-- My mother would tell me so many stories about my father. She would talk about him all the time. I knew about his personality, how he treated people. I even knew how he liked his steaks cooked-- medium rare. Just like you. I knew things about my father. I had a lot of information. It's because people would tell me these things. They would paint this picture of my father for me, and I always pretended that was who I saw, too, who I remembered, but it was a lie. In truth, I only have one real, actual memory of my father. It must've been right before he died. My mother would take me to the hospital to visit him, and I remember the smell in there, the chemicals. It was as if they use up every single cleaning product they could find in a 50-mile radius... like they didn't want you smelling the sick people. Oh, there was this stench of Lysol and bleach. You could just feel it coating your lungs. Anyway, there, lying on the bed, is my father. He's all-- He's all twisted up. And my mom, she puts me on her lap. She's sitting on the bed next to him so I can get a good look at him... but really he just scares me... and he's looking right at me... but I can't even be sure that he knows who I am. And your grandmother is talking, trying to be cheerful, you know, as she does, but the only thing I could remember is him breathing. Oh, th-- this-- this rattling sound, like if you were shaking an empty spray-paint can. Like there was nothing in him. Anyway... that is the only real memory that I have of my father. I don't want you to think of me the way I was last night. I don't want that to be the memory you have of me when I'm gone.

I have something to say. So shut the fuck up and listen. I spent thirteen years half-cut up to my eyeballs. Drunk, to put it mildly. Then suddenly I saw it, a streetlight shining in my face. 500 Gigawatts of the power of God. A vision of my bloated body found in some ditch. Scared me straight. So I got a collar shirt, mortgage and a credit card. All the things that make a good man. I hoped I could raise my children to be better than their old man. I wanted to believe I was never one setback away from my worst self. But the truth is. Discipline. Drive. Routine. The endless fucking desperation to get shit done. A loving wife? Great kids? Sobriety? I'm telling you. You. Accomplishments I'd been chasing all my life. Never felt as good as I expected when I crossed the finish line. ... So now that we're at the end. Takin' inventory. Those nights spinning out of my head, sinking into the sofa. Broken glass in my palms. Bleeding dry the funniest thing ever. Old dogs laughing and snarling on a waterbed floor, mocking the moon for daring to show its face. All nausea and wreckage and vomit and ugly cruelty. The only problem in the world an empty bottle. Those were the best days of my life. Yeah. ...Those were the best days of my life. I got nothing to hide. Ready to face the music. I can see myself for what I am. But you? A cowardly, selfish motherfucker and you can't even see it. ...I should've been able to protect the kid. If I could have done one thing right, I wish it had been to give him one small chance off this goddamned rock.

The box is there for a reason. I like thinking inside of it; I feel safe in there.

'HOWL HOWL GARGLE HOWL gargle howl howl howl gargle howl gargle howl howl gargle gargle howl gargle gargle gargle howl slurrp uuuurgh should have a good time. Message repeats.

Broadly speaking, inselbergs are elevated rock outcrops embedded in a lowland habitat matrix. Sometimes the matrix itself may occur at some elevation such as the campos de altitude in Brazil. They have a summit area and flanks that can be barren or vegetated. Typically, a lateral fringe or apron of vegetation is present that extends some distance from the rock into the landscape matrix. Navigating through the intricate and sometimes conflicting nomenclature used to describe different types of rocky outcrops can be challenging. Geomorphologists have coined several different names. Bornhardts or sugarloaves are isolated, steep-sided, dome-shaped outcrops commonly formed in granites and gneisses. They are the archetypical inselbergs and many authors tend to reserve the name inselberg for this specific type only. The South African term koppies or kopjes refers to large accumulations of boulders and rocks forming hills. Among these, castle or castellated koppies have vertical sides covered with large angular blocks, while nubbins are smaller conical hills composed of large blocks and boulders.

In old Rome, the thermae were large bath complexes; while many Roman villas and palaces had private, heated baths, the thermae were public, open to all harried, dirty citizens who needed to relax and get clean. Although layout varied greatly from Roman city to Roman city, in general each had an atrium for relaxation and exercise, a caldarium (hot bath), a tepidarium (warm bath), a frigidarium (cool bath), as well as apodyterium (dressing room) and the like. The really nice ones also had a sudatorium (moist steam bath) and laconium (dry steam bath). The women's baths were almost as elaborate, and more highly decorated with murals and mosaics. After a long day at the Colosseum watching the slaughter, there must have been nothing as luxurious as a visit to the local thermae.

Her blood-curdling snoring, with its gargling and squawking and its terrifying pauses is like the sound the devil might make if he were alternately relishing and strangling on a pound of human flesh.

So the whole war is because we can't talk to each other.

To make power, people try to put pieces of this metal close enough together that they make heat fast, but not so close that they go out of control and blow up. This is very hard, but there is so much heat and power stored in this metal that some people have wanted to try anyway.

Let's talk goblinoids. Your standard goblin is well-armoured and conniving, and while not the best strategists, they are deadly in bigger groups. Hobgoblins are where the species get disciplined. Smarter, stronger, and as mean as a bag of hedgehogs, hobgoblins are natural leaders for their kin. Bugbears are as tough as ogres, only shrewder, and they can be unnervingly quiet when they want to. Avoid these sleuthy bruisers.

We knew the world would not be the same. A few people laughed, a few people cried. Most people were silent. I remembered the line from the Hindu scripture, the Bhagavad-Gita; Vishnu is trying to persuade the Prince that he should do his duty, and to impress him, takes on his multi-armed form and says, 'Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.' I suppose we all thought that, one way or another.

There is something about yourself that you don't know.

You speak in abbreviations because real life conversation moves too slowly. You're the media's creation, yeah, your free will has been taken and you don't know.

Someday a real rain will come and wash all this scum off the streets.

I could be brown, I could be blue, I could be violet sky I could be hurtful, I could be purple, I could be anything you like Gotta be green, gotta be mean, gotta be everything more Why don't you like me, why don't you like me? Walk out the door!

Linked to lipid abnormalities in approximately half of adult cases, its occurrence may signify underlying dyslipidemia, such as familial hypercholesterolemia or hyperapobetalipoproteinemia, especially in younger individuals.

SEVEN TWENTY SEVEN, SEVEN TWENTY SEVEN, WHEN YOU SEE IT! WHEN YOU FUCKING SEE IT! SEVEN TWENTY SEVEN, SEVEN TWENTY SEVEN! When you fucking see it, when you fucking, see it! when you see it, when you see it, oh my god. When you see it, when you see it, when you see it.

Only godless savages eschew the series comma. No sentence has ever been harmed by a series comma, and many a sentence has been improved by one.

In old Rome, the thermae were large bath complexes; while many Roman villas and palaces had private, heated baths, the thermae were public, open to all harried, dirty citizens who needed to relax and get clean. Although layout varied greatly from Roman city to Roman city, in general each had an atrium for relaxation and exercise, a caldarium (hot bath), a tepidarium (warm bath), a frigidarium (cool bath), as well as apodyterium (dressing room) and the like. The really nice ones also had a sudatorium (moist steam bath) and laconium (dry steam bath). The women's baths were almost as elaborate, and more highly decorated with murals and mosaics. After a long day at the Colosseum watching the slaughter, there must have been nothing as luxurious as a visit to the local thermae.

Linked to lipid abnormalities in approximately half of adult cases, its occurrence may signify underlying dyslipidemia, such as familial hypercholesterolemia or hyperapobetalipoproteinemia, especially in younger individuals.

My father died when I was 6. You knew that, right? Yeah. He had Huntington's Disease. It's-- destroys portions of the brain, affects muscle control, leads to dementia. It's just a nasty disease. It's genetic. It terrified my mother that I might have it, so they ran tests on me when I was a kid, but I came up clean. My father fell very ill when I was 4 or 5. He spent a lot of time in the hospital. My-- My mother would tell me so many stories about my father. She would talk about him all the time. I knew about his personality, how he treated people. I even knew how he liked his steaks cooked-- medium rare. Just like you. I knew things about my father. I had a lot of information. It's because people would tell me these things. They would paint this picture of my father for me, and I always pretended that was who I saw, too, who I remembered, but it was a lie. In truth, I only have one real, actual memory of my father. It must've been right before he died. My mother would take me to the hospital to visit him, and I remember the smell in there, the chemicals. It was as if they use up every single cleaning product they could find in a 50-mile radius... like they didn't want you smelling the sick people. Oh, there was this stench of Lysol and bleach. You could just feel it coating your lungs. Anyway, there, lying on the bed, is my father. He's all-- He's all twisted up. And my mom, she puts me on her lap. She's sitting on the bed next to him so I can get a good look at him... but really he just scares me... and he's looking right at me... but I can't even be sure that he knows who I am. And your grandmother is talking, trying to be cheerful, you know, as she does, but the only thing I could remember is him breathing. Oh, th-- this-- this rattling sound, like if you were shaking an empty spray-paint can. Like there was nothing in him. Anyway... that is the only real memory that I have of my father. I don't want you to think of me the way I was last night. I don't want that to be the memory you have of me when I'm gone.

Broadly speaking, inselbergs are elevated rock outcrops embedded in a lowland habitat matrix. Sometimes the matrix itself may occur at some elevation such as the campos de altitude in Brazil. They have a summit area and flanks that can be barren or vegetated. Typically, a lateral fringe or apron of vegetation is present that extends some distance from the rock into the landscape matrix. Navigating through the intricate and sometimes conflicting nomenclature used to describe different types of rocky outcrops can be challenging. Geomorphologists have coined several different names. Bornhardts or sugarloaves are isolated, steep-sided, dome-shaped outcrops commonly formed in granites and gneisses. They are the archetypical inselbergs and many authors tend to reserve the name inselberg for this specific type only. The South African term koppies or kopjes refers to large accumulations of boulders and rocks forming hills. Among these, castle or castellated koppies have vertical sides covered with large angular blocks, while nubbins are smaller conical hills composed of large blocks and boulders.

There is something about yourself that you don't know.