We were schooner-rigged and rakish, With a long and lissome hull, And we flew the pretty colours of the crossbones and the skull; We’d a big black Jolly Roger flapping grimly at the fore, And we sailed the Spanish Water in the happy days of yore.
We’d a long brass gun amidships, like a well-conducted ship, We had each a brace of pistols and a cutlass at the hip; It’s a point which tells against us, and a fact to be deplored, But we chased the goodly merchant-men and laid their ships aboard.
Then the dead men fouled the scuppers and the wounded filled the chains, And the paint-work all was spatter-dashed with other people’s brains, She was boarded, she was looted, she was scuttled till she sank. And the pale survivors left us by the medium of the plank.
O! then it was (while standing by the taffrail on the poop) We could hear the drowning folk lament the absent chicken coop; Then, having washed the blood away, we’d little else to do Than to dance a quiet hornpipe as the old salts taught us to.
O! the fiddle on the fo'c'sle, and the slapping naked soles, And the genial “Down the middle, Jake, and curtsey when she rolls!” With the silver seas around us and the pale moon overhead, And the look-out not a-looking and his pipe-bowl glowing red.
Ah! the pig-tailed, quidding pirates and the pretty pranks we played, All have since been put a stop to by the naughty Board of Trade; The schooners and the merry crews are laid away to rest, A little south the sunset in the islands of the Blest.
her thoughts are capsized by tsunami waves of trepidation and apprehension, her emotions parlous as a tremulous exhale elicited from her lips. it had been years since she was in the elder males presence — months since she had last thought of him, and a couple of days since she had made a feeble attempt of approaching him. cerulean hues were fixated on the male standing before her, heart pounding erratically against her chest ; she was certain he could hear it. the only thing she wanted to do was launch herself at him, become familiarized with the scent that used to cling to nearly everything she owned. the temptation to slot her lips against his own and get lost in the taste that lingered on his tongue was overwhelming… but she refrained. instead, she lifted a diminutive hand, lissome digits tracing along his defined jaw. this wasn’t another hallucination — he was real. it was him. ❛ it’s really you. you’re… you’re alive. ❜
arches, lissome, from the coffee table over which he’d previously been slumped, something of the phoenix burning whorl of hellish red into the staccato - tumult of torpid heart born of disdain, he hisses, eve’s serpent of whorish vagrancy twined taut ‘twixt ivory bleach. ` not your charon. ’ (what mercy does he dare spare for the DEAD AND BURIED? )
Vintage & original 1957 gelatin silver photograph of tragic, Hollywood B-movie starlet Jean Wallace. A slinky bombshell pin-up portrait of the lissome beauty, which captures her in full body femme fatale pose from her appearance in The Devil’s Hairpin. Wallace first found work as an Earl Caroll’s Vanities showgirl upon her arrival in Hollywood, her acting career was overshadowed by her unfortunate and calamitous personal life which included three failed marriages (one to the much older Hollywood leading man Franchot Tone) and two suicide attempts.
a slow EXHALE of smoke curls between lissome fingers, dispelling upwards; coal lashes fluttering in a moment of surprise whilst his gaze sets upon Stark in the doorway. perhaps he expected more FANFARE to accompany the entrance, to compensate the lack of disclosure regarding the task Loki sent the man on. briskly, he FLICKS at cigarette ashes.
❛ that took longer than I anticipated. did our little friend give you trouble ? ❜
(Måtte bare spise taco før jeg spurte det viktige spørsmålet) HVA ER ØYENFARGEN TIL DOMKNIC SHERWOOD??? ER DET ENE ØYET BLÅTT OG DET ANDRE BRUNT??? ELLER ER BEGGE BLÅ??? LISSOM JEG SET MASSE GIFS AV HAN OG ØYENFARGENE ER FORSKKJELLIG OG JEG BARE ???
Det ene er blått og det andre er brunt ! Vet ikke hvem som er hvem , men det kan du se på Style videoen til Taylor Swift!
WASHINGTON, D.C. (The New York Times) – The Green Bay Packers’ agile, lissome safety, Willie Wood, snatched the wobbly pass thrown by the Kansas City Chiefs’ quarterback, Len Dawson, and zigzagged to the doorstep of the Chiefs’ end zone, setting up an easy Packers touchdown. Green Bay never looked back in a 25-point rout of Kansas City in the first Super Bowl.
Wood’s interception is one of the most famous plays in Super Bowl history.
Fifty football seasons later, Dawson, who played 19 years of pro football, recalls it well.
“Maybe the No. 1 play I wish I could have back,” he said.
Wood remembers nothing of the play.
He does not even recollect playing in the first Super Bowl, on Jan. 15, 1967, or ever being on an N.F.L. roster.
Wood, who spends most of his time in a wheelchair, has been at an assisted living center in his hometown, Washington, for the last nine years, first for physical woes — debilitating neck, hip and knee operations — and later because dementia robbed him of many cognitive functions.
Nonetheless, Wood, 79, likes to wear a green Packers cap most days now as he sits in his sunny room listening to jazz and 1950s doo-wop. Wordlessly and impassively, he will point to the logo on the cap as if he knows it has some shadowy meaning in his life. But specifics elude him.
When asked about various photographs on the walls next to him — pictures of his wedding or the day in 1989 when he was inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame — Wood stares vacantly.
“Do you remember going into the Hall of Fame, Willie?” Dee Dee Daniels, an assistant living coordinator at the center where Wood lives, asked one morning last month.
Wood cast his eyes downward and shook his head side to side: no.
“You were the best of the best,” Daniels said.
Wood, who sometimes goes days without speaking, suddenly looked up, his eyes glistening as he raised an eyebrow as if to say, “I was?”