Twas the night before Christmas, when all through my house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. My apprentice, Mikey, was staying the night, And I put up with his crap, cause the kid is alright. I had drank my last pot of coffee, and the kid had a Coke, caffeine keeping me awake is really a joke.
January 22, at 8: He was the best grandfather one could ever hope to have. A model of what a man is supposed to be, strong yet loving and compassionate.
Some of my earliest memories are sitting on his lap listening to him tell stories of adventure. Grandpa was a sailor. In his youngest years, he traveled the world as a merchant seaman. Later, when the world went to shit, he fought in the war, the big one. He had a lot of photos in his albums from those days.
Posing in is crackerjacks, his dixie-cup askew, he looked like the star of some Hollywood movie, but he was the real deal.
Men laboring on deck, shirts off in the hot equatorial sun. He was a good man, and I missed him. That was his life, it made him what he was, and it was good. That is what made me hate my father as I sat there washing away the night.
I resisted getting in the line to pay my respects for the longest time, but in a lull when the crowds died down I decided to give it a try.
As I walked forward, the lump in the back of my throat made it difficult to breathe.
That is until I spied the familiar old photographs on the table to the side. A way of honoring him. Among them were those old familiar photographs. They were the same photos, but in a way cleansed. Missing was the ever-familiar tattoo. What the hell was going on? Did they feel they needed to clean Grandpa up a bit for the fine sensibilities of the churchgoing crowd?
It made no sense, but it made me furious. I left the line and angrily set off towards my father. What angered me more as I approached him was the knowing grin he had on his face. The sonofabitch was proud of what he did. Are you ashamed of him? The rest of the evening was a blur, resulting in the splitting headache I was now fruitlessly trying to soothe.
I eventually gave up, turning off the water and stepping out onto the damp floor. The room was a thick fog as I grabbed a towel to dry off.By Lt Daniel Furseth. Today, I stopped caring about my fellow man. I stopped caring about my community, my neighbors, and those I serve. I stopped caring today because a once noble profession has become despised, hated, distrusted, and mostly unwanted.
The concept of the at-home date is simple: if you can’t go out on the town, get creative and adaptable and come up with a fun, one-on-one activity you can do with your significant other.
The Purdue University Online Writing Lab serves writers from around the world and the Purdue University Writing Lab helps writers on Purdue's campus. Sovereignty, Supremacy, and Dominance in The Wife of Bath Essay examples Words | 4 Pages Sovereignty, Supremacy, and Dominance in The Wife of Bath When reading the wife of Baths prologue and then her tale one can not help but to see the parallels present.
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The Epic of Gilgamesh (/ ˈ ɡ ɪ l ɡ ə m ɛ ʃ /) is an epic poem from ancient Mesopotamia that is often regarded as the earliest surviving great work of literature. The literary history of Gilgamesh begins with five Sumerian poems about Bilgamesh (Sumerian for "Gilgamesh"), king of Uruk, dating from the Third Dynasty of Ur (c.
BC).These independent stories were later used as source.