Oh god, I am turned into a pedant. I am shamed by this, SHAMED, but:
1. Whale testicles are internal, thus making them unsuckable;
2. They can't be sweaty for the same reason; and
3. Even if they WERE external, whales live in the sea! Therefore, no sweat.
Therefore: even metaphorically, it is COMPLETELY IMPOSSIBLE for anyone (or thing) to suck sweaty whale balls. Though they are, I grant you, huge.
GOD I'M SORRY. I just had to say that. Clearly living among philosophers has turned me into a madwoman. By way of compensation, here's a video of a barking cat:
I have a secret, but I'm not sure it quite qualifies as something you'd like per se. How about this: I was seriously considering telling you something very private, something that I'd never blog about. And right now I'm nearly crying at the almost-relief of being able to talk about it. So close...
Fingers crossed you make it to Swancon as planned. I drink gin these days.
It may not be something I'd like but given my belief that secrets eat us, and your reactions to almost talking about it, I think a chat may be a good thing.
I nearly split up with one of me ex's over a secret. I knew about something secret that I'd been told not to tell, she knew I knew. We had several big arguments about it because she wanted to know what it was. Got to the point where it looked like we were going to split up because I refused to break the confidence.
Complete opposite of Shaz in that regard. I tell her I've been told something in confidence, she won't bring it up. Married the right woman, eh?
Anyway, should be at Swancon, so if you feel like yakking, let me know.
Say not the Struggle Naught availeth
Say not the struggle naught availeth,
The labour and the wounds are vain,
The enemy faints not, nor faileth,
And as things have been they remain.
If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;
It may be, in yon smoke conceal'd,
Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers,
And, but for you, possess the field.
For while the tired waves, vainly breaking,
Seem here no painful inch to gain,
Far back, through creeks and inlets making,
Comes silent, flooding in, the main.
And not by eastern windows only,
When daylight comes, comes in the light;
In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly!
But westward, look, the land is bright!
Arthur Hugh Clough
Or may the second last verse of my favourite poem is more appropriate:
Brother mine, and of misfortune! times are hard, but do not fret,
Keep your courage up and struggle, and we'll laugh at these things yet,
Though there is no corn in Egypt, surely Africa has some —
Keep your smile in working order for the better days to come!
We shall often laugh together at the hard times that we know,
And get measured by the tailor when our pants begin to go.
- Henry Lawson When your pants begin to goEdited at 2012-03-29 12:34 am (UTC)