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  1. On being a Barbarian

    I want to be a Visigoth.
    Don’t get me wrong. There is nothing truly great about Visigoth-ness per se, it is just a desire to be a bit more uncivilized. More brutal. A true desire to settle issues in a barbaric way, since I have to admit that lately any and all subjects, when debated like true gentlemen, have remained undecided.
    A Visigoth, a Huguenot, perhaps just a simple, run of the mill illiterate Viking. But certainly a young, strong brute used to settle things with a sword weighting ...
  2. Selling a love

    I sold my house.
    After finishing the verbal negotiations, I sat in my chair and finally let the whole moment engulf me. For there was too much to feel, and those feelings were certainly conflicting.
    Because if there is one feeling that I am not confused about is the fact that I love my house.
    I still remember the craziness when I bought it, still halfway under construction. I had set out to buy a centrally located apartment, only to end up buying a small house in the outskirts ...
  3. The Suicide Pool. I Demand Changes

    Enough of this SP Torture. I demand changes to this game.
    Mind you, I don’t mean to say that it is not fun. Or fair. Bear in mind that this has been written by a person that lost because he (allegedly) did not submit a pick. I know, I know, you have your beautiful system, but who are you going to trust more, me or some high faluting technological website that would put BIG BLUE to shame? I rest my case, it was your fault and I forgive you for that.
    Which doesn’t mean I don’t want changes. ...
  4. Uncle Tony's Nightmare

    Rafa walks into the kitchen. Uncle Tony is having breakfast, reading the newspaper.
    “What time is it?” Rafa asks.
    “It’s 9 o’clock, Rafa. Plenty of time before the match.”
    “Wow, it’s like too much time, you know?”
    “Yeah. Why don’t you have breakfast?”
    “I already did”.
    Uncle Tony looks up from the newspaper.
    “What time did you wake up, Rafa”.
    “Ah, I don’t know. Around 5 in the morning. What time is it now?”
    “I told you, it is 9 o’clock. ...

    Updated 05-17-2010 at 01:17 PM by ponchi101 (Grammar)

  5. The match from hell

    For reasons that I should try to maintain clearer in my head, I stopped playing interleague tennis a long time ago. I had grown tired of the movable lines, the 30-40 that suddenly became 15-30 after I won the break point and the appreciation by my opponents of how lucky I was, which, seeing as all of them make that point after I had won a match, made it a statistically valid statement.
    Stupid creature that I am, my friends at the club recruited me for one more interleague match. Come join ...