It matters not what you do... so long as you maintain an air of perfect calm and dignity.

We would be lords and ladies but for our circumstances.

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This is not the Thread of Great Ceremony. I don't want to see any rituals performed here!

This is not the Thread of Great Dignity in the Sense of the Philosophical Meaning of the Word. I don't want any treatises on the worth of this or that. Intrinsic or no. I hardly trust you to tie your shoes in the morning let alone to attempt to write great treatises while stoned, drunk, or merely horny from the weemen.

No what I want from you is dignity in the common usuage while in this thread. Nothing more. Nothing less.

I want no jokes about doggities. I want nothing written in falsetto. Keep in focused. Keep it clean.

And do what you will...



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One's dignity may be assaulted, vandalized and cruelly mocked, but it can never be taken away unless it is surrendered.

*Raises imaginary hat* Ciao for tonight ladies and gents! Quote

�One's dignity may be assaulted, vandalized and cruelly mocked, but it can never be taken away unless it is surrendered.�
― Michael J. Fox


rOOtbeer and cOOkies for all Quote

One's dignity may be assaulted, vandalized and cruelly mocked, but it can never be taken away unless it is surrendered.

*Raises imaginary hat* Ciao for tonight ladies and gents!


Ah good, good. This is in the right vein.

*Salutes* A good night...





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�One's dignity may be assaulted, vandalized and cruelly mocked, but it can never be taken away unless it is surrendered.�
― Michael J. Fox


rOOtbeer and cOOkies for all


How nice. Cheers.

Remember to take these little napkins and clean up after yourselves. Chew slowly and thoroughly. It is difficult to maintain your bearing while coughing on those crumbs.
Those of you with mustaches, especially, be sure to take small bites.

No root beer to Snoopy please. He is on the program and still having those flashbacks to the skies over Germany.






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We all have our favorite examples from the past, but someone should tell the tale of Coach Phillips. The coach was a pillar of dignity. His most difficult job, I think, was coaching the junior high tennis team. This was not the team from some big city. It was not in an era of internets or even a large number of TV stations. It was a rural area where no one had any tennis courts. Or knew the names of the professionals. Most had never picked up a racquet before.

He would dress in a color coordinated warm up suit that was immaculately maintained without a wrinkle or loose thread. He would patiently spend hours teaching very simple strokes and strategies. His approach was to stress simplicity. One could say, to remove all possible reason for the student not to hit the ball cleanly and consistently.

Yet the creativity and energy of his students was beyond belief. They were anything but consistent. Rarely hitting the ball cleanly. Those who had watched a little TV invariably mimicked the most eccentric habits of the pros. Turning their bodies at impossible angles. Flailing out arms at weird angles and adhering to weird grips. Each would passionately defend their technique while the coach patiently counseled them to do it the simple way, the easy way, the consistent way.

When the coach taught the students to serve, he stood at the line, toes square to it. Tossing the ball in a perfect line, allowing his body only to shift and lift but not the jump or jerk, he would execute a tight swing of minimal extent and efficient wrist snap that would send the ball careening into the court at great velocity and with great consistency. This was his first serve. His second was similar except his body was angled more to the side and his racquet consequently met the ball at a brushing angle that would impart considerable spin. His efficient effort now caused the ball to arc with high precision wherever he desired to place it, kicking off to one side or the other depending upon details of his deceptively simple stroke.

His students? They would stand with toes pointing aft of the line, twisting their torsos through great angles, and taking complicated long swings that would change in detail each time to follow their random ball tosses. Their second serves were a repeat of the first with some attempt to graze the ball or were mere taps that begged an opponent to end their lives prematurely with the return. Neither consistent nor effective.

So of course when they played the big city schools, being bused in a long long ways, they were destroyed. Meet after meet. It wasn't close. And this would repeat for each wave of boys year after year until they graduated. A never ending cycle.

Yet the coach would never fuss or complain. He would take the jabs and jibes of the big city coaches with a smile. He kept his warmup suit immaculate and his mustache neatly trimmed. The only time he would lose his cool was the deliberate heat he'd show when one of his frustrated charges would briefly veer into the realm of unsportsmanlike conduct.

He would write the reams of endorsement letters. Watch for the One who never came. And figure out how to make his strokes even simpler. To make his motions more efficient.

He's probably still out there now. A little slower. But just as deadly efficient. As unruffled by the winds of Fate.



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Marcus Palmyraus had an ancestor many generations ago who was a centurion in one of Julius Caesar's famous legions, and he knew it. He'd be damned if he'd move at any other pace than a dignified walk through the intersection. No matter how long the cross walk light had been blinking. No matter how hot and irritated the motorists were. No matter that it was in fact the Ides of March. One could almost hear the march drums beating as he strode confidently out, with his coins in pants pockets jangling like armor link on link. Nose up. Chin out. Eyes slits.

Unfortunately for him one of the motorists was Vic Nevair Getingoverix, who also had an ancestor that was well remembered, a great gaulish chieften from the heroic village that would one day become the Roman garrison outpost of Compendium.

He saw the move by the Roman foot and swung his nostalgic, in another sense, VW bus into a thunderous charge. With the wind making his hair to fly out behind him wildly, with whoops that had not been heard in centuries, he blasted into the flank of his foe and scattered it.

Now I am a believer in free will. This event did not have to occur. Yet we all must agree that even the ancient sense of dignity is alive and well and playing a role in our lives that we neglect to observe at our peril.

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Now before we get to the next stage of development, patient reader, I must dispose of an obvious fallacy. There are some professionals with such a low opinion of their clients that they will attempt to impress by classification. In other words they will scratch only the surface of their great expertise and merely assign a long latin string of words to a condition, or a newly discovered thing, taking it out of the public's domain, who never dream of making such assignments themselves, and sit back lapping up the admiration without having done or discovered anything. Classification in and of itself is nothing but keeping your mental desk neat and tidy. But not even your boss is fooled by an employee whose only output for the day is a neat and tidy desk.

It does not help to add a nasal tone to this strategy. It does not help to wear a suit and tie. Or gold rimmed glasses. We see it. Heeeeeelllllloooooooooo, not actually fooling anybody.

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*passes the empty lecture hall and hears the echoes of a solitary exasperated voice*

. Av .




*blue ermin loop� "All the If�" a man's scent of temporizing http://www.flirt4free.com/forums * Quote

* ddddddroooooooooollllllllllllllllllllllllll *

* BAAAAAA BAAAAAA BAAAAAA BAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH DO DO DOOOOOOO DOOOOOOOOOOO DO DO DO DO DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOYEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAH*

And now DooooooRiiiiiiiide Theatres, in homage to our friends in the East, brings you:

THE DIGNITY OF THE BEGGAR

Portia: Oh this is horrible. Father's boss has his eye on me. Me! Oh how do I get out of it? He is so horrible. And so clingy.

( enter beggar with relish and I don't mean the condiment )

Beggar: What is wrong? You look so worried.

Portia: Maybe you can help me. My father's boss wants to marry me. Can you pretend to be my boyfriend?

Beggar: That will be 50 dollars!

Portia: Why so much? Ohhh here he comes, here here it's a deal. ( throws 50 dollars into his hands)

(enter a very strange looking man. large. fat. crafty looking. sweating. hair dyed... purple i think, you have to see it to beeeeeeelieve it man)

Beggar: 100 dollars more! 100 dollars more!

Portia: Why? (sobbing) Why are you blackmailing meeeeeeeee?

Beggar: You see him. It is going to be very difficult.

Boss: Hello Portia. So very glad to see you. You are looking positively deeeeeeevine. (smiles big smile showing a lot of platinum in his teeth)

Beggar: 200 dollars more! 200 dollars more!

Portia: *sob* *sob* Ohhhhhhhh heeeeeere.

Beggar: Now see here sir this woman is going to be my wife!

Boss: You? Really? But don't you see, I am so wealthy, nobody can take better care of her than me.

Portia: What do you like about meeeeeee?

Boss: I love your long, lustrous dark hair. I love your petite form. I...

Beggar: That's me! That's me! Take care of me! Look at my hair! Look at my form!

Boss: Get away from me beggar! (pushes him away. knocking over a water pitcher) Oh are you wet my dear? I can have a whole new outfit custom made for you immediately.

Portia: Well I....

Beggar: I am wet too! I am wet too! I'd love a new suit and ....

Boss: Shut up beggar! She is coming with me!

Beggarette: (enter running) Golddigger! Golddigger! GOOOOOOOOOOOOOLDDIGGER!!!!!!

Portia: Where? Where's the golddigger?

Beggarette: There is only you... (to beggar) Why oh why do you follow her around? I've been to the shoe salesman to get new shoes to impress you.

Portia: Those look like baguettes.

Beggarette: Maybe so but they fit real well and if I get hungry I can take a bite or two. (takes a big bite of her shoe)

Portia: Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww that's soooooooo dirty.

Beggarette: Don't you remember when we shared that churro. We put the ends in our mouths and munched and munched until we met at the center.

Beggar: Well I....

Portia: (breaking in) That sounds great. I have one here. I hate the sugar on them though.

Beggar: (takes it from her, wipes it in his armpit ) That should take care of it honey!

Portia: Ewwwwwwwwww it's so dirty. (throws it away)

Beggarette: (picks it up and puts an end in her mouth) Ready?

(They munch and munch and munch coming closer together. just before they meet she rips it out of his mouth and steals a big kiss)

Portia: Dirty beggars! (kicking them)

Beggars (together): Not just beggars! Gnaaaaaaarly Beggars!

* Fini *








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*passes the empty lecture hall and hears the echoes of a solitary exasperated voice* *



The sound fades away... It is quiet, featureless, except for the fog. She has never heard the city this quiet.

Her footsteps make a muffled sound that is disquieting. There is something very odd about the streets this night. Familiar but foreign somehow too.

Then she hears it. A sound that she has never heard before. But knows it can't be good. It can't be right.

Echoing off the walls of the closed in street. Deadend by the fog. She hears:
*tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap *

The sound of many hard somethings contacting something else hard. In a very regular way.

*tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap *

She decides to walk the other way. Her footsteps hurrying now.

She notices with relief that she can put as much distance as she likes between herself and that alien sound. It is a short lived relief though. Very short. Painfully short. Though who knows how long it really was that she hurried along this way before she heard in front of her:

*tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap *

We will leave her in this state. And go off on our own journey to another time and place. I wonder if she will make it out of this... mad universe... all right.

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And so we come to it...

The Great Treatise that Fills in the Last Chink in the Ultimate Argument for Human Dignity

The human species has evolved biologically and socially to reach this current point in the continuum through great trials and with some notable victories. We have in the very recent past unleashed Reason and applied it to the fundamental problems with building success. It can come as no surprise therefore that on this day the Great Struggle finally will come to a close with an undisputed victory brought about by the purest abstract reasoning standing upon the shoulders of the previous arguments, discarding the chaff, keeping the wheat.

We must first start with the following premiss.... wait a minute... what are you doing here?!? Go away! Begone! Not now! By all that is sacred not just ye.... AIGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM HUMAN GOOD WITH OR WITHOUT DIGNITY HA HA HA HA HA HA

ALL HAIL THE V'HLURG AND MAY THEIR EMPIRE LAST A MILLION YEARS!!!!!!!!!

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"I have a hat. It is graceful and feminine and give me a certain dignity, as if I were attending a state funeral or something. Someday I may get up enough courage to wear it, instead of carrying it."

Erma Bombeck

. the threat of great dignity .




*blue ermin loop� For when your pomposity exceeds others appetites http://www.flirt4free.com/forums * Quote

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Post 14 was on the edge but Post 15 was too much! Too much I say!


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LOL!!!

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Hey! Entirely off topic but there was somebody in my room last night named dudleydo_wrong. That wouldn't happen to be you would it? If not, you would appear to have an evil twin. Quote

Hey! Entirely off topic but there was somebody in my room last night named dudleydo_wrong. That wouldn't happen to be you would it? If not, you would appear to have an evil twin.



Thanks for the information my ch1ld... It would appear that not only the white Comanche has a ying for his yang... that apparently there are those so depraved, with no sense of History nor Justice, that they would dare to don in mock fashion the mountie garb... or could it be that somewhere in the dark past a thread of anti-mountie DNA was synthesized in some tortured backward cell.... Say a prayer... Do 18 good deeds... For some fiend walks among us...



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wudden't me ... last fing i'd want to be fought over was a dutterly_do_bob ...


. NOT .




*blue ermin loop� Black matter eunichverses and alternated realikties Ltd. http://www.flirt4free.com/forums * Quote