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The inactivity of this forum.
Thu Apr 02, 2015 11:06 pm by Burkman
It's depressing to see how inactive it has been recently. I mean, everybody is pretty much primarily posting in the never ending thread now and there's not enough people here to make this place really booming. We need to find some way to bring more people here before this place just fades into nothingness...

I know for a fact that a lot of boards out there are thriving because of how many people are there. We just need to get back into the game and pull people here. However, where we obtain these people might matter, because we don't to end up pulling in douches like those at Selkath.

I understand that people are busy these days, but it doesn't seem like they're rarely at their computer anymore. I know most of you are still dicking around with your computer. I don't know how we …

[ Full reading ]
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Happy New Year!
Wed Jan 02, 2013 2:56 pm by Scott
Happy New Year OT! We may be dying... BUT WE'RE STILL HERE! We had an... interesting year last year. Vice Admin Burkman is taking a long earned vacation and Uly is stepping into his position. Well... I'd have more to say but I've got other things to do atm... and oh yeah... to quote Callin... "GET A MIC YA BUM!"

~Scott

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 R.I.P childhood

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SoupWithSauce
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PostSubject: R.I.P childhood   Mon Feb 06, 2012 8:33 pm



no...just no

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PostSubject: Re: R.I.P childhood   Mon Feb 06, 2012 9:23 pm

Soupwithsauce is the only member of the wolf pack who stayed true to the wolf pack.

Soupwithsacue IS the wolf pack!

This seemed like an appropriate place to say it.

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PostSubject: Re: R.I.P childhood   Mon Feb 06, 2012 9:25 pm

I posted something but then I was like no that is a bad idea. But it was Calvin Hobbes rule 34 related.

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PostSubject: Re: R.I.P childhood   Mon Feb 06, 2012 9:41 pm

Ulyaoth wrote:
Soupwithsauce is the only member of the wolf pack who stayed true to the wolf pack.

Soupwithsacue IS the wolf pack!

This seemed like an appropriate place to say it.

Look at my title bitch.

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PostSubject: Re: R.I.P childhood   Mon Feb 06, 2012 10:02 pm

Darth Sc'wotum wrote:
Ulyaoth wrote:
Soupwithsauce is the only member of the wolf pack who stayed true to the wolf pack.

Soupwithsacue IS the wolf pack!

This seemed like an appropriate place to say it.

Look at my title bitch.


Oh man

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PostSubject: Re: R.I.P childhood   Mon Feb 06, 2012 10:26 pm

We all know where soup gets his pr0n nao... OMG!

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PostSubject: Re: R.I.P childhood   Tue Feb 07, 2012 2:55 am

Though a childhood killer to me is Robot Chicken, I enjoy the show but goddamit

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PostSubject: Re: R.I.P childhood   Tue Feb 07, 2012 6:56 am

I didn't have a childhood.

I was fighting off Somali rebels since I was 2.


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PostSubject: Re: R.I.P childhood   Tue Feb 07, 2012 7:18 am

My childhood consisted of spreading war and disease by yours truly back in 1069.

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PostSubject: Re: R.I.P childhood   Tue Feb 07, 2012 10:45 am

My childhood consisted of fighting Zombies with my bare hands.

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PostSubject: Re: R.I.P childhood   Tue Feb 07, 2012 1:16 pm

Superman wrote:
My childhood consisted of fighting Zombies with my bare hands.

You kids are so spoiled these days.. Dark Knight

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PostSubject: Re: R.I.P childhood   Tue Feb 07, 2012 6:34 pm

Scott wrote:
Superman wrote:
My childhood consisted of fighting Zombies with my bare hands.

You kids are so spoiled these days.. Dark Knight

Cuz we all know Scott strangled Godzilla by using mothra as a Hangman's noose.

What don't believe me? Here's a picture:

Spoiler:
 

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PostSubject: Re: R.I.P childhood   Tue Feb 07, 2012 8:13 pm

Meatlocker wrote:
Scott wrote:
Superman wrote:
My childhood consisted of fighting Zombies with my bare hands.

You kids are so spoiled these days.. Dark Knight

Cuz we all know Scott strangled Godzilla by using mothra as a Hangman's noose.

What don't believe me? Here's a picture:

Spoiler:
 

I'm offended. Dude...
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PostSubject: Re: R.I.P childhood   Tue Feb 07, 2012 8:42 pm

ZombieGrimeth wrote:
Meatlocker wrote:
Scott wrote:


You kids are so spoiled these days.. Dark Knight

Cuz we all know Scott strangled Godzilla by using mothra as a Hangman's noose.

What don't believe me? Here's a picture:

Spoiler:
 

I'm offended. Dude...

Okay since you asked her is my childhood.

I grew up in a small town where there was only four people. One was my mom the other this creepy old guy and his grandson who for some reason could never remember his name. Anyway my dad left at an early, he apparently just flew off. I was really traumatized by it but instead looked towards the day I could join this dog fighting ring in my town.

My mom did in fact kick me out on my tenth birthday leaving me no choice but to start working in this twisted fighting club. To get the tools I needed I stopped the creepy old man's house where I found out his grandson had already trashed the place and left me with a half insane rat of creature that also had anger management issues.

Okay not a great start right? Well my mom didn't seem to care and didn't even see me off so I was forced to walk on foot through a forested infested with the left overs from Alfred Hitchock's The birds. Now after almost being pecked to death, drowned, and then being hit by lightening the local hospital only wanted to treat my rat. Also a psychotic bitch was following me. Anyway soon a crime syndicate becomes involved, a silent psychopath is apparently waiting for me and winning this tournament is the only way I can gain the respect of my peers.

But I know I'm gonna be the very best.

So what about you grimeth? How was your childhood?

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PostSubject: Re: R.I.P childhood   Tue Feb 07, 2012 8:55 pm

Meatlocker wrote:
ZombieGrimeth wrote:
Meatlocker wrote:


Cuz we all know Scott strangled Godzilla by using mothra as a Hangman's noose.

What don't believe me? Here's a picture:

Spoiler:
 

I'm offended. Dude...

Okay since you asked her is my childhood.

I grew up in a small town where there was only four people. One was my mom the other this creepy old guy and his grandson who for some reason could never remember his name. Anyway my dad left at an early, he apparently just flew off. I was really traumatized by it but instead looked towards the day I could join this dog fighting ring in my town.

My mom did in fact kick me out on my tenth birthday leaving me no choice but to start working in this twisted fighting club. To get the tools I needed I stopped the creepy old man's house where I found out his grandson had already trashed the place and left me with a half insane rat of creature that also had anger management issues.

Okay not a great start right? Well my mom didn't seem to care and didn't even see me off so I was forced to walk on foot through a forested infested with the left overs from Alfred Hitchock's The birds. Now after almost being pecked to death, drowned, and then being hit by lightening the local hospital only wanted to treat my rat. Also a psychotic bitch was following me. Anyway soon a crime syndicate becomes involved, a silent psychopath is apparently waiting for me and winning this tournament is the only way I can gain the respect of my peers.

But I know I'm gonna be the very best.

So what about you grimeth? How was your childhood?


I was born on September 29th, 1996, in Tuscumbia, a little town of northern Alabama.

The family on my father's side is descended from Caspar Wilbourn, a native of Switzerland, who settled in Maryland. One of my Swiss ancestors was the first teacher of the deaf in Zurich and wrote a book on the subject of their education--rather a singular coincidence; though it is true that there is no king who has not had a slave among his ancestors, and no slave who has not had a king among his.

My grandfather, Caspar Wilbourn's son, "entered" large tracts of land in Alabama and finally settled there. I have been told that once a year he went from Tuscumbia to Philadelphia on a trolley to purchase supplies for the farm, and my aunt has in her possession many of the letters to his family, which give charming and vivid accounts of these trips.

My Grandmother Wilbourn was a daughter of one of Lafayette's aides, Alexander Moore, and granddaughter of Alexander Spotswood, an early Colonial Governor of Virginia. She was also second cousin to Robert E. Lee.

My father, Arthur H. Wilbourn, was a captain in theArmy, and my mother, Kate Adams, was his second wife and many years younger. Her grandfather, Benjamin Adams, married Susanna E. Goodhue, and lived in Newbury, Massachusetts, for many years. Their son, Charles Adams, was born in Newburyport, Massachusetts, and moved to Helena, Arkansas. When the War on Terror broke out, he fought for the Army and became a brigadier-general. He married Lucy Helen Everett, who belonged to the same family of Everetts as Edward Everett and Dr. Edward Everett Hale. After the war was over the family moved to Memphis, Tennessee.

I lived, up to the time of the illness that deprived me of my sight and hearing, in a tiny house consisting of a large square room and a small one, in which the kids slept. It is a custom in the South to build a small house near the homestead as an annex to be used on occasion. Such a house my father built after we were born, and when he married my mother they went to live in it. It was completely covered with vines, climbing roses and honeysuckles. From the garden it looked like an arbour. The little porch was hidden from view by a screen of yellow roses and Southern smilax. It was the favourite haunt of humming-birds and bees.
Photo of a white house, one-story at the front with a small porch, surrounded by trees, with a smaller house at the side.

The Wilbourn homestead, where the family lived, was a few steps from our little rose-bower. It was called "Ivy Green" because the house and the surrounding trees and fences were covered with beautiful English ivy. Its old-fashioned garden was the paradise of my childhood.

Even in the days before my teacher came, I used to feel along the square stiff boxwood hedges, and, guided by the sense of smell, would find the first violets and lilies. There, too, after a fit of temper, I went to find comfort and to hide my hot face in the cool leaves and grass. What joy it was to lose myself in that garden of flowers, to wander happily from spot to spot, until, coming suddenly upon a beautiful vine, I recognized it by its leaves and blossoms, and knew it was the vine which covered the tumble-down summer-house at the farther end of the garden! Here, also, were trailing clematis, drooping jessamine, and some rare sweet flowers called butterfly lilies, because their fragile petals resemble butterflies' wings. But the roses--they were loveliest of all. Never have I found in the greenhouses of the North such heart-satisfying roses as the climbing roses of my southern home. They used to hang in long festoons from our porch, filling the whole air with their fragrance, untainted by any earthy smell; and in the early morning, washed in the dew, they felt so soft, so pure, I could not help wondering if they did not resemble the asphodels of God's garden.

The beginning of my life was simple and much like every other little life. I came, I saw, I conquered, as the first baby in the family always does. There was the usual amount of discussion as to a name for me. The first baby in the family was not to be lightly named, every one was emphatic about that. My father suggested the name of Mildred Campbell, an ancestor whom he highly esteemed, and he declined to take any further part in the discussion. My mother solved the problem by giving it as her wish that I should be called after her mother, whose maiden name was Helen Everett. But in the excitement of carrying me to church my father lost the name on the way, very naturally, since it was one in which he had declined to have a part. When the minister asked him for it, he just remembered that it had been decided to call me after my grandmother, and he gave her name as Helen Adams.

I am told that while I was still in long pants I showed many signs of an eager, self-asserting disposition. Everything that I saw other people do I insisted upon imitating. At six months I could pipe out "How d'ye," and one day I attracted every one's attention by saying "Tea, tea, tea" quite plainly. Even after my illness I remembered one of the words I had learned in these early months. It was the word "water," and I continued to make some sound for that word after all other speech was lost. I ceased making the sound "wah-wah" only when I learned to spell the word.

They tell me I walked the day I was a year old. My mother had just taken me out of the bath-tub and was holding me in her lap, when I was suddenly attracted by the flickering shadows of leaves that danced in the sunlight on the smooth floor. I slipped from my mother's lap and almost ran toward them. The impulse gone, I fell down and cried for her to take me up in her arms.

These happy days did not last long. One brief spring, musical with the song of robin and mocking-bird, one summer rich in fruit and roses, one autumn of gold and crimson sped by and left their gifts at the feet of an eager, delighted child. Then, in the dreary month of February, came the illness which closed my eyes and ears and plunged me into the unconsciousness of a new-born baby. They called it acute congestion of the stomach and brain. The doctor thought I could not live. Early one morning, however, the fever left me as suddenly and mysteriously as it had come. There was great rejoicing in the family that morning, but no one, not even the doctor, knew that I should never see or hear again.

I fancy I still have confused recollections of that illness. I especially remember the tenderness with which my mother tried to soothe me in my waking hours of fret and pain, and the agony and bewilderment with which I awoke after a tossing half sleep, and turned my eyes, so dry and hot, to the wall, away from the once-loved light, which came to me dim and yet more dim each day. But, except for these fleeting memories, if, indeed, they be memories, it all seems very unreal, like a nightmare. Gradually I got used to the silence and darkness that surrounded me and forgot that it had ever been different, until she came--my teacher--who was to set my spirit free. But during the first nineteen months of my life I had caught glimpses of broad, green fields, a luminous sky, trees and flowers which the darkness that followed could not wholly blot out. If we have once seen, "the day is ours, and what the day has shown."

_________________
Murder: Noun - The unlawful killing of one human by another, especially with premeditated malice.

The Dark One returns.
9/11 was an inside job.


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PostSubject: Re: R.I.P childhood   Tue Feb 07, 2012 9:14 pm

Darth Sc'wotum wrote:
Meatlocker wrote:
ZombieGrimeth wrote:


I'm offended. Dude...

Okay since you asked her is my childhood.

I grew up in a small town where there was only four people. One was my mom the other this creepy old guy and his grandson who for some reason could never remember his name. Anyway my dad left at an early, he apparently just flew off. I was really traumatized by it but instead looked towards the day I could join this dog fighting ring in my town.

My mom did in fact kick me out on my tenth birthday leaving me no choice but to start working in this twisted fighting club. To get the tools I needed I stopped the creepy old man's house where I found out his grandson had already trashed the place and left me with a half insane rat of creature that also had anger management issues.

Okay not a great start right? Well my mom didn't seem to care and didn't even see me off so I was forced to walk on foot through a forested infested with the left overs from Alfred Hitchock's The birds. Now after almost being pecked to death, drowned, and then being hit by lightening the local hospital only wanted to treat my rat. Also a psychotic bitch was following me. Anyway soon a crime syndicate becomes involved, a silent psychopath is apparently waiting for me and winning this tournament is the only way I can gain the respect of my peers.

But I know I'm gonna be the very best.

So what about you grimeth? How was your childhood?


I was born on September 29th, 1996, in Tuscumbia, a little town of northern Alabama.

The family on my father's side is descended from Caspar Wilbourn, a native of Switzerland, who settled in Maryland. One of my Swiss ancestors was the first teacher of the deaf in Zurich and wrote a book on the subject of their education--rather a singular coincidence; though it is true that there is no king who has not had a slave among his ancestors, and no slave who has not had a king among his.

My grandfather, Caspar Wilbourn's son, "entered" large tracts of land in Alabama and finally settled there. I have been told that once a year he went from Tuscumbia to Philadelphia on a trolley to purchase supplies for the farm, and my aunt has in her possession many of the letters to his family, which give charming and vivid accounts of these trips.

My Grandmother Wilbourn was a daughter of one of Lafayette's aides, Alexander Moore, and granddaughter of Alexander Spotswood, an early Colonial Governor of Virginia. She was also second cousin to Robert E. Lee.

My father, Arthur H. Wilbourn, was a captain in theArmy, and my mother, Kate Adams, was his second wife and many years younger. Her grandfather, Benjamin Adams, married Susanna E. Goodhue, and lived in Newbury, Massachusetts, for many years. Their son, Charles Adams, was born in Newburyport, Massachusetts, and moved to Helena, Arkansas. When the Civil War broke out, he fought on the side of the South and became a brigadier-general. He married Lucy Helen Everett, who belonged to the same family of Everetts as Edward Everett and Dr. Edward Everett Hale. After the war was over the family moved to Memphis, Tennessee.

I lived, up to the time of the illness that deprived me of my sight and hearing, in a tiny house consisting of a large square room and a small one, in which the kids slept. It is a custom in the South to build a small house near the homestead as an annex to be used on occasion. Such a house my father built after we were born, and when he married my mother they went to live in it. It was completely covered with vines, climbing roses and honeysuckles. From the garden it looked like an arbour. The little porch was hidden from view by a screen of yellow roses and Southern smilax. It was the favourite haunt of humming-birds and bees.
Photo of a white house, one-story at the front with a small porch, surrounded by trees, with a smaller house at the side.

The Wilbourn homestead, where the family lived, was a few steps from our little rose-bower. It was called "Ivy Green" because the house and the surrounding trees and fences were covered with beautiful English ivy. Its old-fashioned garden was the paradise of my childhood.

Even in the days before my teacher came, I used to feel along the square stiff boxwood hedges, and, guided by the sense of smell, would find the first violets and lilies. There, too, after a fit of temper, I went to find comfort and to hide my hot face in the cool leaves and grass. What joy it was to lose myself in that garden of flowers, to wander happily from spot to spot, until, coming suddenly upon a beautiful vine, I recognized it by its leaves and blossoms, and knew it was the vine which covered the tumble-down summer-house at the farther end of the garden! Here, also, were trailing clematis, drooping jessamine, and some rare sweet flowers called butterfly lilies, because their fragile petals resemble butterflies' wings. But the roses--they were loveliest of all. Never have I found in the greenhouses of the North such heart-satisfying roses as the climbing roses of my southern home. They used to hang in long festoons from our porch, filling the whole air with their fragrance, untainted by any earthy smell; and in the early morning, washed in the dew, they felt so soft, so pure, I could not help wondering if they did not resemble the asphodels of God's garden.

The beginning of my life was simple and much like every other little life. I came, I saw, I conquered, as the first baby in the family always does. There was the usual amount of discussion as to a name for me. The first baby in the family was not to be lightly named, every one was emphatic about that. My father suggested the name of Mildred Campbell, an ancestor whom he highly esteemed, and he declined to take any further part in the discussion. My mother solved the problem by giving it as her wish that I should be called after her mother, whose maiden name was Helen Everett. But in the excitement of carrying me to church my father lost the name on the way, very naturally, since it was one in which he had declined to have a part. When the minister asked him for it, he just remembered that it had been decided to call me after my grandmother, and he gave her name as Helen Adams.

I am told that while I was still in long pants I showed many signs of an eager, self-asserting disposition. Everything that I saw other people do I insisted upon imitating. At six months I could pipe out "How d'ye," and one day I attracted every one's attention by saying "Tea, tea, tea" quite plainly. Even after my illness I remembered one of the words I had learned in these early months. It was the word "water," and I continued to make some sound for that word after all other speech was lost. I ceased making the sound "wah-wah" only when I learned to spell the word.

They tell me I walked the day I was a year old. My mother had just taken me out of the bath-tub and was holding me in her lap, when I was suddenly attracted by the flickering shadows of leaves that danced in the sunlight on the smooth floor. I slipped from my mother's lap and almost ran toward them. The impulse gone, I fell down and cried for her to take me up in her arms.

These happy days did not last long. One brief spring, musical with the song of robin and mocking-bird, one summer rich in fruit and roses, one autumn of gold and crimson sped by and left their gifts at the feet of an eager, delighted child. Then, in the dreary month of February, came the illness which closed my eyes and ears and plunged me into the unconsciousness of a new-born baby. They called it acute congestion of the stomach and brain. The doctor thought I could not live. Early one morning, however, the fever left me as suddenly and mysteriously as it had come. There was great rejoicing in the family that morning, but no one, not even the doctor, knew that I should never see or hear again.

I fancy I still have confused recollections of that illness. I especially remember the tenderness with which my mother tried to soothe me in my waking hours of fret and pain, and the agony and bewilderment with which I awoke after a tossing half sleep, and turned my eyes, so dry and hot, to the wall, away from the once-loved light, which came to me dim and yet more dim each day. But, except for these fleeting memories, if, indeed, they be memories, it all seems very unreal, like a nightmare. Gradually I got used to the silence and darkness that surrounded me and forgot that it had ever been different, until she came--my teacher--who was to set my spirit free. But during the first nineteen months of my life I had caught glimpses of broad, green fields, a luminous sky, trees and flowers which the darkness that followed could not wholly blot out. If we have once seen, "the day is ours, and what the day has shown."

You really think I'm gonna read all this, don't you... Dexter

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PostSubject: Re: R.I.P childhood   Tue Feb 07, 2012 9:18 pm

MrEvilDude wrote:
Darth Sc'wotum wrote:
Meatlocker wrote:


Okay since you asked her is my childhood.

I grew up in a small town where there was only four people. One was my mom the other this creepy old guy and his grandson who for some reason could never remember his name. Anyway my dad left at an early, he apparently just flew off. I was really traumatized by it but instead looked towards the day I could join this dog fighting ring in my town.

My mom did in fact kick me out on my tenth birthday leaving me no choice but to start working in this twisted fighting club. To get the tools I needed I stopped the creepy old man's house where I found out his grandson had already trashed the place and left me with a half insane rat of creature that also had anger management issues.

Okay not a great start right? Well my mom didn't seem to care and didn't even see me off so I was forced to walk on foot through a forested infested with the left overs from Alfred Hitchock's The birds. Now after almost being pecked to death, drowned, and then being hit by lightening the local hospital only wanted to treat my rat. Also a psychotic bitch was following me. Anyway soon a crime syndicate becomes involved, a silent psychopath is apparently waiting for me and winning this tournament is the only way I can gain the respect of my peers.

But I know I'm gonna be the very best.

So what about you grimeth? How was your childhood?


I was born on September 29th, 1996, in Tuscumbia, a little town of northern Alabama.

The family on my father's side is descended from Caspar Wilbourn, a native of Switzerland, who settled in Maryland. One of my Swiss ancestors was the first teacher of the deaf in Zurich and wrote a book on the subject of their education--rather a singular coincidence; though it is true that there is no king who has not had a slave among his ancestors, and no slave who has not had a king among his.

My grandfather, Caspar Wilbourn's son, "entered" large tracts of land in Alabama and finally settled there. I have been told that once a year he went from Tuscumbia to Philadelphia on a trolley to purchase supplies for the farm, and my aunt has in her possession many of the letters to his family, which give charming and vivid accounts of these trips.

My Grandmother Wilbourn was a daughter of one of Lafayette's aides, Alexander Moore, and granddaughter of Alexander Spotswood, an early Colonial Governor of Virginia. She was also second cousin to Robert E. Lee.

My father, Arthur H. Wilbourn, was a captain in theArmy, and my mother, Kate Adams, was his second wife and many years younger. Her grandfather, Benjamin Adams, married Susanna E. Goodhue, and lived in Newbury, Massachusetts, for many years. Their son, Charles Adams, was born in Newburyport, Massachusetts, and moved to Helena, Arkansas. When the Civil War broke out, he fought on the side of the South and became a brigadier-general. He married Lucy Helen Everett, who belonged to the same family of Everetts as Edward Everett and Dr. Edward Everett Hale. After the war was over the family moved to Memphis, Tennessee.

I lived, up to the time of the illness that deprived me of my sight and hearing, in a tiny house consisting of a large square room and a small one, in which the kids slept. It is a custom in the South to build a small house near the homestead as an annex to be used on occasion. Such a house my father built after we were born, and when he married my mother they went to live in it. It was completely covered with vines, climbing roses and honeysuckles. From the garden it looked like an arbour. The little porch was hidden from view by a screen of yellow roses and Southern smilax. It was the favourite haunt of humming-birds and bees.
Photo of a white house, one-story at the front with a small porch, surrounded by trees, with a smaller house at the side.

The Wilbourn homestead, where the family lived, was a few steps from our little rose-bower. It was called "Ivy Green" because the house and the surrounding trees and fences were covered with beautiful English ivy. Its old-fashioned garden was the paradise of my childhood.

Even in the days before my teacher came, I used to feel along the square stiff boxwood hedges, and, guided by the sense of smell, would find the first violets and lilies. There, too, after a fit of temper, I went to find comfort and to hide my hot face in the cool leaves and grass. What joy it was to lose myself in that garden of flowers, to wander happily from spot to spot, until, coming suddenly upon a beautiful vine, I recognized it by its leaves and blossoms, and knew it was the vine which covered the tumble-down summer-house at the farther end of the garden! Here, also, were trailing clematis, drooping jessamine, and some rare sweet flowers called butterfly lilies, because their fragile petals resemble butterflies' wings. But the roses--they were loveliest of all. Never have I found in the greenhouses of the North such heart-satisfying roses as the climbing roses of my southern home. They used to hang in long festoons from our porch, filling the whole air with their fragrance, untainted by any earthy smell; and in the early morning, washed in the dew, they felt so soft, so pure, I could not help wondering if they did not resemble the asphodels of God's garden.

The beginning of my life was simple and much like every other little life. I came, I saw, I conquered, as the first baby in the family always does. There was the usual amount of discussion as to a name for me. The first baby in the family was not to be lightly named, every one was emphatic about that. My father suggested the name of Mildred Campbell, an ancestor whom he highly esteemed, and he declined to take any further part in the discussion. My mother solved the problem by giving it as her wish that I should be called after her mother, whose maiden name was Helen Everett. But in the excitement of carrying me to church my father lost the name on the way, very naturally, since it was one in which he had declined to have a part. When the minister asked him for it, he just remembered that it had been decided to call me after my grandmother, and he gave her name as Helen Adams.

I am told that while I was still in long pants I showed many signs of an eager, self-asserting disposition. Everything that I saw other people do I insisted upon imitating. At six months I could pipe out "How d'ye," and one day I attracted every one's attention by saying "Tea, tea, tea" quite plainly. Even after my illness I remembered one of the words I had learned in these early months. It was the word "water," and I continued to make some sound for that word after all other speech was lost. I ceased making the sound "wah-wah" only when I learned to spell the word.

They tell me I walked the day I was a year old. My mother had just taken me out of the bath-tub and was holding me in her lap, when I was suddenly attracted by the flickering shadows of leaves that danced in the sunlight on the smooth floor. I slipped from my mother's lap and almost ran toward them. The impulse gone, I fell down and cried for her to take me up in her arms.

These happy days did not last long. One brief spring, musical with the song of robin and mocking-bird, one summer rich in fruit and roses, one autumn of gold and crimson sped by and left their gifts at the feet of an eager, delighted child. Then, in the dreary month of February, came the illness which closed my eyes and ears and plunged me into the unconsciousness of a new-born baby. They called it acute congestion of the stomach and brain. The doctor thought I could not live. Early one morning, however, the fever left me as suddenly and mysteriously as it had come. There was great rejoicing in the family that morning, but no one, not even the doctor, knew that I should never see or hear again.

I fancy I still have confused recollections of that illness. I especially remember the tenderness with which my mother tried to soothe me in my waking hours of fret and pain, and the agony and bewilderment with which I awoke after a tossing half sleep, and turned my eyes, so dry and hot, to the wall, away from the once-loved light, which came to me dim and yet more dim each day. But, except for these fleeting memories, if, indeed, they be memories, it all seems very unreal, like a nightmare. Gradually I got used to the silence and darkness that surrounded me and forgot that it had ever been different, until she came--my teacher--who was to set my spirit free. But during the first nineteen months of my life I had caught glimpses of broad, green fields, a luminous sky, trees and flowers which the darkness that followed could not wholly blot out. If we have once seen, "the day is ours, and what the day has shown."

You really think I'm gonna read all this, don't you... Dexter

You should read it is much better than mine and for a second I totally believed him.

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Scott
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PostSubject: Re: R.I.P childhood   Tue Feb 07, 2012 10:03 pm

TL;DC

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Ulyaoth
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PostSubject: Re: R.I.P childhood   Tue Feb 07, 2012 11:20 pm

Cut your quotes short, you fucks.

I apologize for my outburst. But only to appease you.

In truth, I am not sorry for it.

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Daroska
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PostSubject: Re: R.I.P childhood   Wed Feb 08, 2012 3:22 pm

Ulyaoth wrote:
Soupwithsauce is the only member of the wolf pack who stayed true to the wolf pack.

Soupwithsacue IS the wolf pack!

This seemed like an appropriate place to say it.

A cookie god has his work baked out for him, you know. yeah

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PostSubject: Re: R.I.P childhood   Wed Feb 08, 2012 5:04 pm

Daroska wrote:
Ulyaoth wrote:
Soupwithsauce is the only member of the wolf pack who stayed true to the wolf pack.

Soupwithsacue IS the wolf pack!

This seemed like an appropriate place to say it.

A cookie god has his work baked out for him, you know. yeah

Are they only chocolate chip? Because I prefer homemade lemon balls and oatmeal cookies. Raisin cookies are very underrated.

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Daroska
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PostSubject: Re: R.I.P childhood   Wed Feb 08, 2012 5:09 pm

Cervantes de Leon wrote:
Daroska wrote:
Ulyaoth wrote:
Soupwithsauce is the only member of the wolf pack who stayed true to the wolf pack.

Soupwithsacue IS the wolf pack!

This seemed like an appropriate place to say it.

A cookie god has his work baked out for him, you know. yeah

Are they only chocolate chip? Because I prefer homemade lemon balls and oatmeal cookies. Raisin cookies are very underrated.

I respect all and eat all cookies equally.

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PostSubject: Re: R.I.P childhood   Wed Feb 08, 2012 5:34 pm

Daroska wrote:
Cervantes de Leon wrote:
Daroska wrote:


A cookie god has his work baked out for him, you know. yeah

Are they only chocolate chip? Because I prefer homemade lemon balls and oatmeal cookies. Raisin cookies are very underrated.

I respect all and eat all cookies equally.

Well, you're an honorable cookie god.

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PostSubject: Re: R.I.P childhood   Wed Feb 08, 2012 6:43 pm

Cervantes de Leon wrote:
Daroska wrote:
Cervantes de Leon wrote:


Are they only chocolate chip? Because I prefer homemade lemon balls and oatmeal cookies. Raisin cookies are very underrated.

I respect all and eat all cookies equally.

Well, you're an honorable cookie god.

We thank you cookie god. For all you have done.

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PostSubject: Re: R.I.P childhood   Wed Feb 08, 2012 9:41 pm

Ulyaoth wrote:
Cut your quotes short, you fucks.

I apologize for my outburst. But only to appease you.

In truth, I am not sorry for it.

YOU BETTER BE, YOU DRIED UP CUNTSACK!































































jk, Uly - u cool. BTW - accept xbawks request, dick you

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