I’ll sing you twelve.

Twelve for a dozen cosmonauts
Of whom eleven went to heaven.

Ten for ten Comanches
Nine hung with a noose with thirteen twists.

Eight for April’s foolish
Blessed by the brothers and sisters of fate.

Seven for the six brownshirts
And their high-five symbols at your door.

Four for the bakers of Jesus,
and the quakers of the compass rose.

One, two, three, the rivals.
Do not cross the great water.

Two lily-white boys clothed in green.

DOS bedoyna.

They were bred in the pasture of the future. They were buttered up to no end. They took no thought for the morrow for sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.

When their story first came to light all was darkness upon the land, and slimy creatures swam in the waters, the sky blue waters.

Pretty soon some of them grew balls. And vise-versa, capiche mon ami? Was this article helpful?

When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.

In the mid-20th century the so-called Shrine circuses became both popular and numerous. A Shrine circus is a specially contracted group of circus acts brought together by a promoter or booking agent, usually to appear in an arena-type building. Sometimes the group will be contracted for a full season to play a series of cities, in the manner of the tent shows. Frequently, however, the acts and performers are assembled only for one city’s exhibition; these shows are usually known by the names of the local organizations that sponsor them, often Shrine clubs. When referring to any specific show, showpeople are likely to call it by the name of the sponsor, but when referring to the entire field of such exhibitions, they usually call them Shrine shows.

Those who command resources always need more. It’s in our own best interest, according to their lawyers. It’s an odds on favorite, according to the bootlickers. It’s the end of the line, according to those who execute the code.

All the advance thinkers agree on one thing, but they don’t know what it is.

Check out the true story of old mother Hubbard. You’ll be amazed, or my name’s not Heranimus Botch. It’s not what you think. She didn’t go to the cupboard under her on volition, she was forced. The dog did not dance a jig, it danced a tarantella.

Agents of the electron freedom foundation showed up at the port last night. You couldn’t see them until you looked at ’em, they might be double agents, dopplegangers. They were known only by the spin they could put on the tale.

I almost felt some words coming on that I would write down, as my mother used to say.

Is this the man? Is this the man who shook the earth and made kingdoms tremble?