How many posts until you graduate from Puritanboard Freshman?

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Athaleyah

Puritan Board Sophomore
don't worry about "catching up". that's what any logical, rational person would do, which of course detracts from the meaninglessness of the "is" that is the thread.

Potato chips.




Since this thread is illogical...

It is only illogical until we get our Unifying Thread Theory is completed, then it will all fall into place as high level reasoning about the nature of God and the universe.
 

Whitefield

Puritan Board Junior
we mentioned Star Wars? I don't remember that.

BTW, we are going to have to divide this thread into chapters and verses for future indexing. We can say, "Hey, remember chpt 4, post 5 of 'the thread' where we discussed..."

The CT or the TR version of "the thread"?
 

Theognome

Burrito Bill
But have we brought the Ed Wood masterpiece, 'Plan Nine From Outer Space' into it's proper lack of focus?

Theognome
 

Whitefield

Puritan Board Junior
I thought I would bring some literary redemption to this thread:

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
 

Theognome

Burrito Bill
THIS is literary redemption!

The Cremation of Sam McGee

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where
the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam
'round the Pole' God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed
to hold him like a spell;
Though he'd often say in his homely way that
"he'd sooner live in hell."


On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way
over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! Through the parka's fold it
stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till
sometimes we couldn't see;
It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper
was Sam MaGee.
And that very night, as we lay packed tight in
our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead
were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash
in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my
last request."

Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no;
then he says with a sort of moan:
"It's the cursed cold, and it's got right hold till
I'm chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet 'tain't being dead--it's my awful dread of
the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair,you'll
cremate my last remains."
A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore
I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn; but
God! he looked ghastley pale.
He crouched on the sleigh , and he raved all day
of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corspe was all that was
left of Sam McGee.

There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and
I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corspe half hid that I couldn't get rid,
because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say:
"You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it's up to you to
cremate those last remains.
Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the
trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb,
in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight,
while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows
--O God! how I loathed the thing.

And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy
and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent and
the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I
swore I would not give in;
And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it
hearkened with a grin.
Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and
a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I was in a trice it
was called the "Alice May."
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I
looked at my frozen chum;
Then "Here." said I, with a sudden cry, "is
my cr-ma-tor-eum."

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor and I
lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I
heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared
--such a blaze you seldom see;
And I burrowed a hole in the flowing coal, and I stuffed Sam McGee.
Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him
sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies
howled, and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold; but the hot sweat rolled down my
cheeks, and I don't know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went
streaking down the sky.

I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled
with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about
ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said; "I'll
just take a peep inside.
I quess he's cooked, and it's time I looked";...
then the door opened wide.
And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the
heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see for a mile, and
he said: "please close the door.
It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in
the cold and storm--
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's
the first time I've been warm."

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Artic trail have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was the night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
 

Whitefield

Puritan Board Junior
Next time, put the lids on the paint buckets.

 

Theognome

Burrito Bill
Thank you.

Theognome

-----Added 3/11/2009 at 10:47:23 EST-----

Oh... and here is someone that The Emergent must not forget...


[video=youtube;z52uxxyEy0E]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z52uxxyEy0E[/video]


Theognome
 

Grymir

Puritan Board Graduate
According to Leonard Maltin, this thread is every bit as good as Laserblast.
 
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charliejunfan

Puritan Board Senior
The answer to your question is...that...the best baptism debates ordered from 1(best) to 6(least best) are:
1. Dr.Strimple vs. Fred Malone
2. David Vandrunen vs. Thomas Shreiner
3. Paul Manata vs. Gene Cook
4. Greg Strawbridge vs. James White
5. William Shishko vs. James White
6. Dr.Strimple and partner vs. James White and partner

Does anyone know of any other debates available anywhere? between Presbyterian and RB?
 

apaleífo̱

Puritan Board Freshman
What in Heaven's name has this thread degenerated into, my brethren? Why, what if the Quakers found about this -- or, worse, the Puseyites? On behalf of the good name of Calvinism, I am thoroughly scandalized!
 
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