hossegor

http://www.hm.com/us/product/22893?article=22893-A

http://imgur.com/a/dQFvm

http://msn.foxsports.com/mlb/story/numbers-don-t-lie-the-decline-of-pujols-is-stunning-040914

It's about baseball. Typical.

http://thechive.com/2014/04/09/sweet-dreams-31-photos/

RimJobberhttp://imgur.com/a/dQFvm

Damn. Whos car?

http://www.skydivingflaps.com/

https://vimeo.com/85345036

**This post was edited on Apr 9th 2014 at 2:08:55pm

http://www.watchcartoononline.com/rick-and-morty-episode-1-pilot

Ya right, i dont wanna get banned

http://www.pinkbike.com/news/fox-36-2015-34-32-first-look.html#commentform

Works Cited

Martin, Fran, and Larissa Heinrich. Embodied Modernities: Corporeality, Representation, and Chinese Cultures. Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi, 2006. Print.

Zagoria, Donald S. "Review: China's Transition to Industrialism." Foreign Affairs 59.1 (1980): 227. JSTOR. Web. 01 Apr. 2014. .

Mr. Spatz made a deliberate show of looking at his watch while shaking his head. He removed a pen from his shirt pocket and began tapping it on the edge of the clipboard he held. "Well, Mister Jenkins, it looks as if you are late again."

Our eyes met for a moment, and I then looked down toward my ten-dollar pleather shoes, as if to say, yes, I am tardy again, and I apologize for my stupidity and pray for compassion and understanding on your part, oh exalted manager of Peachy Burroughs Terrace, Fine Dining at the P.B. Country Club.

"I cut myself shaving and it wouldn't stop bleeding. I practically bled to death. See?" I said, pointing to my shirt.

Mr. Spatz looked at my shirt suspiciously, raising his eyebrows as if it was an elaborate hoax. I knew that he was filling out an EDF (Employee Disciplinary Form) that would require my signature when finished.

I continued with my excusplanation. "I was trying to get the bleeding to stop, which it wouldn't, and when I realized what time it was I rushed over here and in the process forgot my employee identification card." I put my hand to the cut on my chin. The little piece of TP was gone and it still bled ever so slightly. Mr. Spatz shook his head again, his favorite gesture, as if his world was just filled with one unbelievable disappointment after the other.

"I know you know this, but I'm telling you this so that you will know I know you know this. You are on some seriously thin ice around here, Mister Jenkins. This is your third strike. Normally we terminate employees on their third strike, but in your case I am going to make an exception." Mr. Spatz scribbled on his clipboard as he spoke. "I am not going to fire you. I am putting you on probation. You are a good busboy, you work hard, but you are late for work far too often." Spatz stopped writing for a moment and shot a glance in my direction. He eyed my crotch and shook his head again.

< 2 >

I looked down and noticed my pants were unzipped, which explained the draft. "It won't happen again," I said, waiting until Spatz returned his attention to his clipboard before reaching for my open fly.

"Each time I have been assured that it will not happen again. This is your fourth tardy in two months. Look, Mister Jenkins, I'm not here to give you a hard time. I want you to succeed. I want you to have a long, happy employment here at Peachy Burroughs." Mr. Spatz flashed me his trademarked unctuous smile as he handed me the clipboard. "Please sign here."

I'd been accused of being late, of forgetting my employee identification card, of having a dirty uniform, and of improper hygiene (not shaving completely). I informed Mr. Spatz that I was growing a mustache. The employee handbook stated that mustaches were the only facial hair employees were allowed to cultivate. Goatees, beards, sideburns lower than the earlobe, or any other creative types of facial hair were strictly verboten, as were visible tattoos, piercings, and unnatural hair colors, but the employee handbook said I could have a mustache.

Mr. Spatz looked even more disappointed than usual. "I don't know if I would call that a mustache, but very well. I'll strike that comment from the record." I signed the form. He handed me my pink copy that said For Employees Records at the bottom. "Now, chop chop," Spatz said, clapping his hands. "Clean your face off and get your vest on. There is a dining room to set up." Mr. Spatz turned to leave but paused a moment. "I will be studying your performance closely this afternoon, Mister Jenkins. Any more mess ups and you'll be no longer employed here at Peachy Burroughs." Then he was gone.

I went into the employee bathroom and washed my face but my cut still bled. I grabbed the vest from my locker and went down to the first aid kit in the kitchen for a Band-Aid. The only bandages were the size of a large butterfly. I had no choice. My little black and gold vest almost but not quite covered the blood on my shirt.

< 3 >

The other busboy, Cirilo, was already busy setting the tables. Cirilo was never late. He never forgot his employee identification card or arrived with blood all over his white shirt. Plus Cirilo was so fast and efficient he made everyone else seem incompetent. Cirilo already had half the dining room set up. He'd wiped down the tables with a damp towel, spread out the tablecloths, set the salt, pepper and candles. Now he was setting out the side plates. I grabbed a rack of wine glasses. The wine glasses were tricky. Leaving fingerprints meant signing an EDF for mishandling of glassware.

When Cirilo finished the plates, he wheeled a cart full of silverware around the dining room. At each seat he placed two forks, two spoons and two knives. Fine dining meant using extra plates and silverware. Instead of polishing the silverware before he set it, Cirilo somehow palmed all the utensils in a way that left no mark. He shuffled them out like cards, only stopping occasionally to polish ones that weren't shining quite enough. And damn he was fast. Even though he had to place six pieces of silverware for every wineglass, he was still catching up to me. Pretty soon we stood at the same table.

"Buenos dias," I said.

"Hola, amigo," he said. We shook hands with a slide and a snap, and then bumped our fists together. "Amigo," he said, "you do the coffee and iced tea. Do the sopas. I'll do this." He pointed to the rack of wineglasses I held.

"Okay," I said, and went to the rear corner of the dining room. I brewed coffee and iced tea. I brewed some decaf. I ate a package of oyster crackers and sucked on an ice cube. I went into the kitchen and got two soup pots from the cooks, the clam chowder we had every night and salmon bisque, the soup du jour. One of the cooks asked me what happened, pointing to the bandage on my chin. I looked at the cook whose name I didn't know, studying his bushy mustache and the toothpick hanging from the corner of his mouth. I wanted to tell him that I had cut myself because I was distracted by my decision to grow a mustache, but knew any man with such a healthy mustache would never understand.

< 4 >

I shrugged my shoulders. "Muy borracho," I said, and everybody in the kitchen burst out laughing, even the dishwasher with the lazy eye and the broken teeth. I couldn't tell whether they thought I was funny or stupid. I wasn't even sure what I thought myself.

I took the soup pots into the dining room. I filled the bread warmer with a few bags of sourdough rolls, and then took one out and gnawed on a corner of it like a caged rodent. Mr. Spatz suddenly swept into the room, inspecting the table setup and the general appearance of everything. He didn't have his EDF clipboard with him, but I knew it was probably close at hand. I quickly tossed the roll I was eating into the garbage. Eating rolls was grounds for an EDF.

Spatz stalked through the dining room with his hands behind his back and his sharp eye searching for any flaw in the dining aesthetic. He paused and leaned in close at one table in particular. He carefully picked a wine glass up by the stem and held it toward the window. He wanted to know who had set the wine glasses out. Spatz stared me down, and I became painfully aware of the background muzak.

Of course it was one of the wineglasses I'd set out. I wanted to confess my mishandling of glassware, but still had a mouthful of sourdough and could not immediately speak. Cirilo approached Spatz and said that he had set the tables. Spatz set the wineglass back on the table and told him he had done an excellent job. Superb, he said. He patted Cirilo on the shoulder and then looked back at me. He told me he hoped I was taking notes. I didn't know whether to feel relieved that I wasn't in trouble or angry that Cirilo had stolen a tiny piece of praise that could have been mine.

Cirilo carried a bucket of ice over to the rear of the dining room, and poured it into the extra large ice bin next to the ice tea machine. When the ice bin was nearly empty in the morning it was possible to read a warning label attached to the side near the bottom of it. It read this ice chest is not intended to store ice for human consumption. One of our most important jobs as busboys was to keep this ice bin filled, brimming so the label was always covered with the ice we used for waters and ice teas. Not intended to store ice for human consumption. I always felt confused in the face of it, paralyzed by this moral dilemma.

< 5 >

I walked over to where Cirilo was filling the ice bin. I thanked him for telling Spatz that he had set the tables. I was glad he had taken the focus off of me.

"I thought he was being very mad. I think he want to fire you." Cirilo began pouring ice tea into a few portable pitchers, for refills.

"He told me one more mess up and I'm gone." I suddenly realized what a long day it was going to be, with Spatz watching my every move, waiting for any mistake at all. I hated long days, so I tried to let it go. Just pretend I didn't even care anymore. Maybe I'd even try to get fired.

"Mister Jenkins, please clean the windows before we open." I turned around and found Spatz behind me, holding a squeegee. "You know where the Windex is."

I took the squeegee and retrieved the window cleanser. As I sprayed and squeegeed the windows, I decided that whole quitting and/or getting fired on purpose line of logic I had been exploring was a little premature. No reason to rush things. Just because I didn't care whether I got fired or not didn't mean termination should be an immediate goal. The money at Peachy Burroughs was good, so good that I was often left speechless while counting the pile of twenty-dollar bills I had been stashing under my mattress at home. It was enough to make me forget all the bad things and focus on the good.

Having that much money just lying around made me believe I was well on my way toward the illustrious world of success and notoriety. I was thinking about going to Vegas, thinking of rolling seven after seven at the craps table. I would have a big baggy mustache. The dealer would call me Mr. Jenkins, or maybe he would call me Mr. Mustache, which would become my nickname because of my amazing facial amendment. The busty cocktail waitress would slip me her phone number while eyeing my stack of chips. Smoking a Chesterfield and sipping on my complimentary Long Island iced tea, I would laugh remembering my days as a lowly busboy at Peachy Burroughs.

< 6 >

"Mister Jenkins, chop chop." Spatz clapped his hands behind me. I dropped the squeegee mid squeeg. "I do believe that window is clean." I had cleaned the same window about ten times in a row, leaving it so spotless it had practically vanished.

I moved on to the next window. Spray, squeegee, wipe. Spray, squeegee, wipe. I had found my rhythm. I was a lean, mean squeegee machine.

A few people in suits and dresses milled around outside the front door. It was five minutes until the dining room opened for business, and usually there were a few tables worth of people waiting to bust the doors down and commence their fine dining experience. The first diners of the day always had a hurried immediacy to them, engulfing their basket of rolls and polishing off their beverages as if they had been waiting for weeks. And boy were they cranky if you didn't refill their ice teas and coffees before they were halfway finished. Boy did they let you know when they needed more bread and butter. They liked to snap their fingers and say, Garçon, more bread and butter, toot sweet.

Candy pulled up in her little Honda Civic just as I was cleaning the very last window. Candy was the opening waitress, and had signed her fair share of EDFs. She was late. I saw her spring from the car with her hair confused, her white shirt halfway buttoned, the cigarette hanging from her lips one drag away from the filter. Mr. Spatz unlocked the front door to let the extravagant loiterers into the Peachy Burroughs Terrace, and the line of customers spilling into the dining room blocked my view.

Mr. Spatz sat three tables. He flashed the same pained smile while explaining the daily specials and soup that he did while extolling the virtues of proper dining etiquette to trainees, or pointing out someone's failure to perform within the expected parameters. His smile made Spatz look like he suffered from a painful and extended constipation.

Because Candy wasn't ready to take tables yet, Mr. Spatz pulled Andrew out of the bar and made him take drink orders from these people. Andrew the bartender was big in every way. He had at one time been an offensive lineman at some collegiate level, and now was bald as an onion and unpredictably emotional. He was known to throw bar patron's tips back at them at high velocity when they left him coins and break down into hysterics while watching college football. Today Andrew was smiling huge, each of his teeth many inches wide.

< 7 >

"Hey, you," he said to me. Andrew never remembered my name. Charlie I told him. "Charlie? Yeah, Charlie. Will you take some bread out?" I shrugged and told him I guessed so. His smile faded and he gave me a dark look like take the bread or else. So I took the bread. Some people have no sense of humor.

Cirilo dropped the water. I dropped the bread. Andrew walked out from the cocktail lounge with a tray full of martinis and cocktails, and also a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket. Appetizers, anyone want appetizers? he asked. One table ordered the crab cakes. Another table ordered the artichoke picata. The last table just wanted to sip on their champagne for a while.

A group of three people walked in the front door and stood next to the Please wait to be seated sign. Since Mr. Spatz was nowhere to be seen, I took the initiative. It was a younger couple with an older man. The couple wore matching tennis outfits that made them look like some freaky combination of sibling and spouse, with feathered blond hair and sparkling teeth. The older man wore a blue blazer with a tiny insignia like a coat of arms on one side and a white captain's hat, as if he had sailed to Peachy Burroughs in his yacht, even though the nearest marina was about two hundred miles away. I gave them some menus. Cirilo dropped some water. I dropped some bread. We stood around in the rear of the dining room with our hands clasped together behind our backs like we'd been trained to do, waiting for something to happen.

After a minute or so Mr. Spatz stormed in from the kitchen. His hair was gone. I hadn't even known that Mr. Spatz wore a hairpiece. Without it he looked diminished, frail, a mere stick figure compared to his former self. He turned to face Cirilo and me. The fury wrinkling his extended forehead and the glint in his eyes gave me the urge to drop to the ground and go fetal to protect my vital organs.

< 8 >

"Dios mio," Cirilo muttered.

"Mister Jenkins, I've changed my mind about you. You are no longer on probation. You are fired. You can pick up your final paycheck tomorrow morning." Mr. Spatz looked down at his suit, ever so slightly ruffled by whatever force of nature had removed his toupee. He pulled on the bottom of his silvery jacket, sweeping a hand over its surface in an attempt to smooth over any discrepancies. Mr. Spatz was accustomed to making discrepancies disappear with a wave of his hand. He looked back at Cirilo and me. Neither of us had moved. We both stared at Mr. Spatz with our mouths hanging open. "Is there a problem, Mister Jenkins?"

"What happened to your hair?" I asked, since I was fired anyway.

Mr. Spatz' eyes pointed quickly up toward his forehead, as if he could inspect his hair though the top of his head. Then he returned his gaze to me, as cold and hard as an ice cube. "Please leave the premises." He waved me off with a pass of his hand, as if I were just another discrepancy needing a quick fix. He told Cirilo to follow him, and the two of them left me standing alone next to the two-way door to the kitchen. As Spatz walked past me I noticed that one side of his face was red, a slightly swollen discoloration about the size of an open hand.

I wanted to throw a tantrum. I wanted to scream Fuck You Asshole at Mr. Spatz. I wanted to tell him that bussing tables was the worst job I'd ever had, and I'd had some horrible jobs. I'd cleaned stables. I'd cleaned toilets. I'd worked the graveyard shift at an all night donut shop. I'd done horrible things and this had been the most horrible, the king of all royally screwed up occupations. I wanted to rip my stupid vest off and throw it into Spatz' stupid face.

I did none of those things. I walked through the door into the kitchen and past the cooks and the lazy-eyed dishwasher. I walked up the stairs to the employee break room, taking one slow step at a time and unbuttoning my vest as I went. As I reached the top of the stairs I removed my vest and crumpled it into a wad of material. I had visions of slamming it down in the trashcan in the employee break room. But then I decided I would keep the vest as collateral, until I got my paycheck. It felt almost like I was taking a hostage.

< 9 >

I found Candy in the break room applying a coat of lipstick with the help of a small mirror. She had straight blonde hair and a quick smile, and when she spoke her voice sounded like it was filtering through gravel lodged in her throat. When she turned and saw me, her face lit up. "Hey, Charlie. How you doing?"

I wanted to tell her it was going crappy, but instead I said I was okay.

"Hey, look at you. Growing a mustache, huh?"

At that moment I loved Candy. Candy was always telling me I reminded her of her son. Sometimes at the end of our shift she would pull me aside and slide me five extra bucks, telling me I was the best-damned water pourer she had ever seen. She was the oldest waitress at Peachy Burroughs, a single mother with a teenager, and she was prone to long, tired sighs. She once told me she had ventured to the dark end of the street that mothers warned their children about. She had hit the dead end sign at full speed and somehow bounced back to the land of streetlights and sidewalks.

"Yeah. My new nickname is going to be Mister Mustache." Candy smiled at me and I smiled back. When the smile faded off her face I noticed the redness of her eyes, and she was sniffling.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"Oh, what's not the matter?" She smacked her lips together and put her tiny mirror back in her purse. She began tucking her shirt in. "My son is going to send me to an early grave. Either that, or I'll kill myself trying to get away from him."

"What'd he do now?"

"He's in the hospital. He ODed on heroin last night. Fifteen years old and a junkie. Can you believe it? Supposedly he's very lucky to be alive. I guess I'm the unlucky one."

< 10 >

I'd seen pictures of her son before, bright blue eyes magnified by his glasses and straight brown hair parted down the middle. I tried to picture her son with a needle in his arm. I couldn't. "Oh my God," I said. "That sucks."

"Of course, Mister Spatz was very understanding. We all know how understanding Mister Spatz is." Candy rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, tell me about it. He just decided to fire me out of nowhere. He told me I could pick up my paycheck tomorrow."

"Ah, honey. I'm sorry to hear that."

I slammed the vest into the wastebasket, knocking it over and sending paper cups and napkins spilling across the floor.

"You're lucky, Charlie. You're young. You've got your whole life in front of you. You don't need this place. You don't need Spatz breathing down your neck every day. I wish I could get the hell out of here." Candy smoothed the wrinkles out of her shirt with a few gentle passes of her hands. "Someday you're not going to be able to walk away. Believe me, if I could I would quit right now. I'd tell Spatz to take his EDFs and shove them up his ass."

Candy tied her apron around her waist and tucked her purse into her locker. When she turned around I caught a glimpse of something furry nestled in one of her apron pockets. It looked like it might spring from her apron any moment and scurry away. She reached down and stroked it once, and then stuffed it further into the pocket so it was out of sight. I wanted to ask her how she had ended up with Spatz's toupee in her possession, but I didn't really want to know. Candy reached into her apron held the toupee out toward me by the scruff of its neck.

"Would you like a souvenir of your stay here at Peachy Burroughs?"

I studied the tangle of hair in her hands, wondering what I could do with it. I thought about holding it for ransom. I considered whether I might be able to construct some sort of fake mustache with it, something so manly that people would have no choice but to stare and think, who is that guy?

< 11 >

"I better not, but thanks anyway. Not just for that, but for everything. You know, for being so nice to me."

"Don't mention it, Mister Mustache." Candy flashed a smile while she tucked the hairpiece back into her apron, and then gave me a hug. "Take care of yourself." She turned and exited the break room, leaving only the scent of her flowery perfume mingled with hair spray.

I reached up and touched my upper lip absent-mindedly, surprised by the proliferation of bristles there. No doubt about it — my mustache was filling in nicely.

http://www.businessinsider.com/best-college-campuses-2013-8?utm_content=buffer98bec&utm_medium=social&utm_source=facebook.com&utm_campaign=buffer#19-pomona-college-2

"l've just found out l've been cheated on for the past 5 months"

HOLY SHIT! I'm on a school computer....

Raised pink or red bumps (papules), which break out over several days

Fluid-filled blisters (vesicles), forming from the raised bumps over about one day before breaking and leaking

Crusts and scabs, which cover the broken blisters and take several more days to heal

http://pembertonmusicfestival.com/

http://www.seshday.com/Event.aspx?l=00010010087100000000

REPOST

Ethan Crispell

Mrs. Brown

Pre-IB Composition

March 25, 2014

A Comparison of Joe Starks and Tea Cake

American writer James Baldwin once said, “Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. Love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up” (BrainyQuote). This truth of this fascinating quote is demonstrated in the novel Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Hurston which takes place in Florida during the mid 1930’s. The story is centered around, an African-American woman, Janie Mae Crawford’s life and relationships with various men. In particular, two of Janie’s husbands, Joe Starks and Tea Cake, treat her very differently. Chiefly, though both Joe Starks and Tea Cake strive to create an appealing life for Janie, their contrasting methods of doing so display the effect that a relationship can have on a woman’s inner peace.

To begin, when Jody and Janie first meet, Joe seems to care extremely about/admire her feelings and beauty her feelings and places her on a pedestal. When Janie mentions that Logan Killicks, her current husband, is purchasing a mule for her to work, Joe Starks responds, “You behind a plow! You ain’t got no mo’ business wid uh plow than uh hog is got wid uh holiday! You ain’t got no business cuttin’ up no seed p’taters neither. A pretty doll-baby lak you is made to sit on de front porch and rock and fan yo’self and eat p’taters dat other folks plant just special for you” (29). Seemingly, Jody is romantic, sweet, and caring. By not even desiring for her to perform manual labor, Joe deceives the inexperienced Janie into believing that he truly has feelings for her, deeper than just beauty. This is for the simple reason that Janie has no choice in her first marriage. As a result, she is trapped with a husband she posses no emotion for. In turn, every man following Logan seems to be her innamorato and in this case, Jody Starks. However, as Janie and Joe’s relationship grows older, his feelings of contempt and dominance towards women are revealed. After Janie misplaces the last bill of of lading, Joe lectures, “..you need tellin..It would be pitiful if Ah didn’t. Somebody got to think for women and chillun and chickens and cows. I god, they sho don’t think none theirselves” (71). Undoubtedly, Joe Starks is convinced that not only Janie, but all women, are incompetent and could not survive without a male figure. Moreover, Joe believes the opposite gender cannot even process basic information. Finally, he compares them to chicken and cows, animals generally prized only for their meat. With this, Hurston is exemplifying Joe’s focus on the physical attractiveness of females and ignorance of any beauty by personality. These degradations by Joe impact Janie’s compassion toward him negatively.

Furthermore, Joe Starks restricts Janie’s freedom by forcing her against her will. One day while in Jody’s store, he says to her, “All you got to do is mind me. How come you can’t do lak Ah tell yuh?” (71). Janie immediately responds, “You sho loves to tell me whut to do, but Ah can’t tell you nothin’ Ah see!” (71). Joe prohibits Janie from being with the other citizens because of their wealth disparity in comparison to the rich Stark couple. This is displayed when he refuses to let Janie go to the funeral of the town mule or to chat with the porch sitters. Along with preventing contact with the common folk of the town, Joe requires Janie to work his store which she dreads. In addition, while in public, Joe forces Janie to tie up her long, beautiful hair to prevent other men from looking at her. Without a doubt, Joe is overly controlling of her, and Janie even confronts him about it. However, this argument does not change his attitude towards Janie; instead, his lust for popularity overrules Janie’s will. When Janie asks Joe if he believes that they are compatible together, because Joe is always working and Janie is restricted in her actions, Joe replies, "Ah told you in de very first beginnin’ dat Ah aimed tuh be uh big voice. You oughta be glad, ‘cause dat makes uh big woman outa you" (46). Jody’s strives to obtain high status and control throughout the town and in doing so, takes extreme measures. For example, when Joe Starks overpays Matt for his old mule just to set it free, it is not because he pities the mule; rather, Jody does it in order to gain public admiration. He does not treat his wife nearly this well. Joe Starks constantly abuses her by making cynical comments about her age and gender, and restrains Janie’s ability to speak. Also, Jody proves to be physically abusive to Janie after she cooks a subpar meal ultimately turning her into an object. To add, when a very poor family comes in the store asking for free meat, Joe gives it to them seemingly for free. However, as they begin to thank him, he tells the family that he charge it to their ongoing tab. Clearly, Joe Starks lacks many morals due to his overwhelming desire for power. Conclusively, Joe’s dominance and prestige contrast with Janie’s dreams of true love and ultimately, put her in a state of depression.

WHAT TRANSITION TO USE?, Janie’s third and final husband, Tea Cake, shares distinct traits with Joe Starks. For example, Tea Cake is quick to capture Janie’s heart while she has the influence of another man. In this case, the recent death of Jody—her husband of over twenty years. After he teaches Janie how to play checkers, she thinks to herself in awe, “Somebody wanted her to play. Somebody thought it natural for her to play. That was even nice. She looked him over and got thrills from every one of his good points” (96). Here the reader observes that all of Janie’s feelings on how she will “take it slow” are abandoned. Tea Cake rapidly accomplishes Janie’s interest by giving her opportunities she had never had before, in this example checkers. Moreover, the board game illustrates his compassion and patience as he must spend time instructing Janie. In the same way, Joe and Janie actually fall in love while Janie is still technically married to Logan Killicks. On top of this, Jody Starks uses a similar method to Tea Cake is his attempt to attain Janie. Joe comes off very respectful and selfless compared to her current husband by acting disgusted that Logan would make her perform manual labor. Resultingly, Janie rids of her different independences much sooner than even she thought she would?. To continue, Tea Cake has subliminal stereotypes regarding women. He offers to walk Janie home and says, “Jes lak uh lil girl wid her Easter dress on. Even nice!" He locked the door and shook it to be sure and handed her the key. "Come on now, Ah’ll see yuh inside yo’ door and git on down de Dixie" (98). When examined closely, Tea Cake believes that Janie must be walked home, otherwise, being a woman, she is too vulnerable. Additionally, Tea Cake here describes the generalization of a young girl’s attire during Christian holiday of Easter. While this is, by no means, a depiction of male dominance, the color of Janie’s dress he is referring to must not be forgotten—blue. Tea Cake convinces her that she looks best in it, so “[She looked] like some young girl, always in blue because Tea Cake told her to wear it (110)”. Similarly, Joe is also sexist in similar ways, although much more severe. He directs Janie to look mediocre around town: only letting her in a white dress and with her hair down at the Stark residence. He demands that a wife knows how to cook and clean. With the help of physical and verbal belittlement, Joe oppresses Janie to the point where she just begins to agree with him. Finally, on different occasions he preaches that Janie in specific, but all women, cannot speak, or even think for themselves without the help of a man. Obviously, both Joe and Tea Cake posses similar qualities as lovers of Janie.

also though much more severe

cook and clean

WHAT TRANSITION TO USE?, Janie’s relationship with her third and final husband, Tea Cake, shares characteristics of her partnership with Joe OPPOSITE THIS

Turns out to be an object dont use that exact words

Topic Sentence: OR AT LEAST SEEM/PRETEND Shared between Jody and Tea Cake is the desire to love Janie and treat her well.

[Tea Cake]: "Put dat two hundred back wid de rest, Janie. Mah dice. Ah no need no assistance tuh help me feed mah woman. From now on, you gointuh eat whutever mah money can buy uh and wear de same. When Ah ain’t got nothin’ you don’t git nothin’."

[Janie]: "Still and all you went off and left me all day and all night."

[Tea Cake]: "Twasn’t ‘cause Ah wanted tuh stay off lak day, and it sho Lawd, wuzn’t no woman. If you didn’t have de power tuh hold me and hold me tight, Ah wouldn’t be callin’ yuh Mis’ Woods. Ah met plenty women before Ah knowed you tuh talk tuh. You’se de onliest woman in de world Ah ever even mentioned gittin married tuh. You bein’ older don’t make no difference. Don’t never consider dat no mo’. If Ah ever gits tuh messin’ round another woman it won’t be on account of her age. It’ll be because she got me in de same way you got me – so Ah can’t help mahself." (13.26-27)

COMPARE:

feelings about women

how their relationships start--janie is very nervous with tea cake because joe

Contrast:

freedoms they let Janie have

values of status v.

http://www.carthrottle.com/mercedes-f1s-genius-split-turbo-technology-explained/

Some pretty cray technology if your into that kinda thing

120.58x − 124.6

- Stefan Curtis

- Vincent Charette

- David Pauzé

- Chris Bolduc

Post the last thing you copied pretty simple.

http://www.officialnintendomagazine.co.uk/57603/five-new-smash-bros-fighters-announced/

my penis is so small it isn't even funny. Just medically fascinating

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Works Cited

Martin, Fran, and Larissa Heinrich. Embodied Modernities: Corporeality, Representation, and Chinese Cultures. Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi, 2006. Print.

Zagoria, Donald S. "Review: China's Transition to Industrialism." Foreign Affairs 59.1 (1980): 227. JSTOR. Web. 01 Apr. 2014. .

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Mr. Spatz made a deliberate show of looking at his watch while shaking his head. He removed a pen from his shirt pocket and began tapping it on the edge of the clipboard he held. "Well, Mister Jenkins, it looks as if you are late again."

Our eyes met for a moment, and I then looked down toward my ten-dollar pleather shoes, as if to say, yes, I am tardy again, and I apologize for my stupidity and pray for compassion and understanding on your part, oh exalted manager of Peachy Burroughs Terrace, Fine Dining at the P.B. Country Club.

"I cut myself shaving and it wouldn't stop bleeding. I practically bled to death. See?" I said, pointing to my shirt.

Mr. Spatz looked at my shirt suspiciously, raising his eyebrows as if it was an elaborate hoax. I knew that he was filling out an EDF (Employee Disciplinary Form) that would require my signature when finished.

I continued with my excusplanation. "I was trying to get the bleeding to stop, which it wouldn't, and when I realized what time it was I rushed over here and in the process forgot my employee identification card." I put my hand to the cut on my chin. The little piece of TP was gone and it still bled ever so slightly. Mr. Spatz shook his head again, his favorite gesture, as if his world was just filled with one unbelievable disappointment after the other.

"I know you know this, but I'm telling you this so that you will know I know you know this. You are on some seriously thin ice around here, Mister Jenkins. This is your third strike. Normally we terminate employees on their third strike, but in your case I am going to make an exception." Mr. Spatz scribbled on his clipboard as he spoke. "I am not going to fire you. I am putting you on probation. You are a good busboy, you work hard, but you are late for work far too often." Spatz stopped writing for a moment and shot a glance in my direction. He eyed my crotch and shook his head again.

< 2 >

I looked down and noticed my pants were unzipped, which explained the draft. "It won't happen again," I said, waiting until Spatz returned his attention to his clipboard before reaching for my open fly.

"Each time I have been assured that it will not happen again. This is your fourth tardy in two months. Look, Mister Jenkins, I'm not here to give you a hard time. I want you to succeed. I want you to have a long, happy employment here at Peachy Burroughs." Mr. Spatz flashed me his trademarked unctuous smile as he handed me the clipboard. "Please sign here."

I'd been accused of being late, of forgetting my employee identification card, of having a dirty uniform, and of improper hygiene (not shaving completely). I informed Mr. Spatz that I was growing a mustache. The employee handbook stated that mustaches were the only facial hair employees were allowed to cultivate. Goatees, beards, sideburns lower than the earlobe, or any other creative types of facial hair were strictly verboten, as were visible tattoos, piercings, and unnatural hair colors, but the employee handbook said I could have a mustache.

Mr. Spatz looked even more disappointed than usual. "I don't know if I would call that a mustache, but very well. I'll strike that comment from the record." I signed the form. He handed me my pink copy that said For Employees Records at the bottom. "Now, chop chop," Spatz said, clapping his hands. "Clean your face off and get your vest on. There is a dining room to set up." Mr. Spatz turned to leave but paused a moment. "I will be studying your performance closely this afternoon, Mister Jenkins. Any more mess ups and you'll be no longer employed here at Peachy Burroughs." Then he was gone.

I went into the employee bathroom and washed my face but my cut still bled. I grabbed the vest from my locker and went down to the first aid kit in the kitchen for a Band-Aid. The only bandages were the size of a large butterfly. I had no choice. My little black and gold vest almost but not quite covered the blood on my shirt.

< 3 >

The other busboy, Cirilo, was already busy setting the tables. Cirilo was never late. He never forgot his employee identification card or arrived with blood all over his white shirt. Plus Cirilo was so fast and efficient he made everyone else seem incompetent. Cirilo already had half the dining room set up. He'd wiped down the tables with a damp towel, spread out the tablecloths, set the salt, pepper and candles. Now he was setting out the side plates. I grabbed a rack of wine glasses. The wine glasses were tricky. Leaving fingerprints meant signing an EDF for mishandling of glassware.

When Cirilo finished the plates, he wheeled a cart full of silverware around the dining room. At each seat he placed two forks, two spoons and two knives. Fine dining meant using extra plates and silverware. Instead of polishing the silverware before he set it, Cirilo somehow palmed all the utensils in a way that left no mark. He shuffled them out like cards, only stopping occasionally to polish ones that weren't shining quite enough. And damn he was fast. Even though he had to place six pieces of silverware for every wineglass, he was still catching up to me. Pretty soon we stood at the same table.

"Buenos dias," I said.

"Hola, amigo," he said. We shook hands with a slide and a snap, and then bumped our fists together. "Amigo," he said, "you do the coffee and iced tea. Do the sopas. I'll do this." He pointed to the rack of wineglasses I held.

"Okay," I said, and went to the rear corner of the dining room. I brewed coffee and iced tea. I brewed some decaf. I ate a package of oyster crackers and sucked on an ice cube. I went into the kitchen and got two soup pots from the cooks, the clam chowder we had every night and salmon bisque, the soup du jour. One of the cooks asked me what happened, pointing to the bandage on my chin. I looked at the cook whose name I didn't know, studying his bushy mustache and the toothpick hanging from the corner of his mouth. I wanted to tell him that I had cut myself because I was distracted by my decision to grow a mustache, but knew any man with such a healthy mustache would never understand.

< 4 >

I shrugged my shoulders. "Muy borracho," I said, and everybody in the kitchen burst out laughing, even the dishwasher with the lazy eye and the broken teeth. I couldn't tell whether they thought I was funny or stupid. I wasn't even sure what I thought myself.

I took the soup pots into the dining room. I filled the bread warmer with a few bags of sourdough rolls, and then took one out and gnawed on a corner of it like a caged rodent. Mr. Spatz suddenly swept into the room, inspecting the table setup and the general appearance of everything. He didn't have his EDF clipboard with him, but I knew it was probably close at hand. I quickly tossed the roll I was eating into the garbage. Eating rolls was grounds for an EDF.

Spatz stalked through the dining room with his hands behind his back and his sharp eye searching for any flaw in the dining aesthetic. He paused and leaned in close at one table in particular. He carefully picked a wine glass up by the stem and held it toward the window. He wanted to know who had set the wine glasses out. Spatz stared me down, and I became painfully aware of the background muzak.

Of course it was one of the wineglasses I'd set out. I wanted to confess my mishandling of glassware, but still had a mouthful of sourdough and could not immediately speak. Cirilo approached Spatz and said that he had set the tables. Spatz set the wineglass back on the table and told him he had done an excellent job. Superb, he said. He patted Cirilo on the shoulder and then looked back at me. He told me he hoped I was taking notes. I didn't know whether to feel relieved that I wasn't in trouble or angry that Cirilo had stolen a tiny piece of praise that could have been mine.

Cirilo carried a bucket of ice over to the rear of the dining room, and poured it into the extra large ice bin next to the ice tea machine. When the ice bin was nearly empty in the morning it was possible to read a warning label attached to the side near the bottom of it. It read this ice chest is not intended to store ice for human consumption. One of our most important jobs as busboys was to keep this ice bin filled, brimming so the label was always covered with the ice we used for waters and ice teas. Not intended to store ice for human consumption. I always felt confused in the face of it, paralyzed by this moral dilemma.

< 5 >

I walked over to where Cirilo was filling the ice bin. I thanked him for telling Spatz that he had set the tables. I was glad he had taken the focus off of me.

"I thought he was being very mad. I think he want to fire you." Cirilo began pouring ice tea into a few portable pitchers, for refills.

"He told me one more mess up and I'm gone." I suddenly realized what a long day it was going to be, with Spatz watching my every move, waiting for any mistake at all. I hated long days, so I tried to let it go. Just pretend I didn't even care anymore. Maybe I'd even try to get fired.

"Mister Jenkins, please clean the windows before we open." I turned around and found Spatz behind me, holding a squeegee. "You know where the Windex is."

I took the squeegee and retrieved the window cleanser. As I sprayed and squeegeed the windows, I decided that whole quitting and/or getting fired on purpose line of logic I had been exploring was a little premature. No reason to rush things. Just because I didn't care whether I got fired or not didn't mean termination should be an immediate goal. The money at Peachy Burroughs was good, so good that I was often left speechless while counting the pile of twenty-dollar bills I had been stashing under my mattress at home. It was enough to make me forget all the bad things and focus on the good.

Having that much money just lying around made me believe I was well on my way toward the illustrious world of success and notoriety. I was thinking about going to Vegas, thinking of rolling seven after seven at the craps table. I would have a big baggy mustache. The dealer would call me Mr. Jenkins, or maybe he would call me Mr. Mustache, which would become my nickname because of my amazing facial amendment. The busty cocktail waitress would slip me her phone number while eyeing my stack of chips. Smoking a Chesterfield and sipping on my complimentary Long Island iced tea, I would laugh remembering my days as a lowly busboy at Peachy Burroughs.

< 6 >

"Mister Jenkins, chop chop." Spatz clapped his hands behind me. I dropped the squeegee mid squeeg. "I do believe that window is clean." I had cleaned the same window about ten times in a row, leaving it so spotless it had practically vanished.

I moved on to the next window. Spray, squeegee, wipe. Spray, squeegee, wipe. I had found my rhythm. I was a lean, mean squeegee machine.

A few people in suits and dresses milled around outside the front door. It was five minutes until the dining room opened for business, and usually there were a few tables worth of people waiting to bust the doors down and commence their fine dining experience. The first diners of the day always had a hurried immediacy to them, engulfing their basket of rolls and polishing off their beverages as if they had been waiting for weeks. And boy were they cranky if you didn't refill their ice teas and coffees before they were halfway finished. Boy did they let you know when they needed more bread and butter. They liked to snap their fingers and say, Garçon, more bread and butter, toot sweet.

Candy pulled up in her little Honda Civic just as I was cleaning the very last window. Candy was the opening waitress, and had signed her fair share of EDFs. She was late. I saw her spring from the car with her hair confused, her white shirt halfway buttoned, the cigarette hanging from her lips one drag away from the filter. Mr. Spatz unlocked the front door to let the extravagant loiterers into the Peachy Burroughs Terrace, and the line of customers spilling into the dining room blocked my view.

Mr. Spatz sat three tables. He flashed the same pained smile while explaining the daily specials and soup that he did while extolling the virtues of proper dining etiquette to trainees, or pointing out someone's failure to perform within the expected parameters. His smile made Spatz look like he suffered from a painful and extended constipation.

Because Candy wasn't ready to take tables yet, Mr. Spatz pulled Andrew out of the bar and made him take drink orders from these people. Andrew the bartender was big in every way. He had at one time been an offensive lineman at some collegiate level, and now was bald as an onion and unpredictably emotional. He was known to throw bar patron's tips back at them at high velocity when they left him coins and break down into hysterics while watching college football. Today Andrew was smiling huge, each of his teeth many inches wide.

< 7 >

"Hey, you," he said to me. Andrew never remembered my name. Charlie I told him. "Charlie? Yeah, Charlie. Will you take some bread out?" I shrugged and told him I guessed so. His smile faded and he gave me a dark look like take the bread or else. So I took the bread. Some people have no sense of humor.

Cirilo dropped the water. I dropped the bread. Andrew walked out from the cocktail lounge with a tray full of martinis and cocktails, and also a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket. Appetizers, anyone want appetizers? he asked. One table ordered the crab cakes. Another table ordered the artichoke picata. The last table just wanted to sip on their champagne for a while.

A group of three people walked in the front door and stood next to the Please wait to be seated sign. Since Mr. Spatz was nowhere to be seen, I took the initiative. It was a younger couple with an older man. The couple wore matching tennis outfits that made them look like some freaky combination of sibling and spouse, with feathered blond hair and sparkling teeth. The older man wore a blue blazer with a tiny insignia like a coat of arms on one side and a white captain's hat, as if he had sailed to Peachy Burroughs in his yacht, even though the nearest marina was about two hundred miles away. I gave them some menus. Cirilo dropped some water. I dropped some bread. We stood around in the rear of the dining room with our hands clasped together behind our backs like we'd been trained to do, waiting for something to happen.

After a minute or so Mr. Spatz stormed in from the kitchen. His hair was gone. I hadn't even known that Mr. Spatz wore a hairpiece. Without it he looked diminished, frail, a mere stick figure compared to his former self. He turned to face Cirilo and me. The fury wrinkling his extended forehead and the glint in his eyes gave me the urge to drop to the ground and go fetal to protect my vital organs.

< 8 >

"Dios mio," Cirilo muttered.

"Mister Jenkins, I've changed my mind about you. You are no longer on probation. You are fired. You can pick up your final paycheck tomorrow morning." Mr. Spatz looked down at his suit, ever so slightly ruffled by whatever force of nature had removed his toupee. He pulled on the bottom of his silvery jacket, sweeping a hand over its surface in an attempt to smooth over any discrepancies. Mr. Spatz was accustomed to making discrepancies disappear with a wave of his hand. He looked back at Cirilo and me. Neither of us had moved. We both stared at Mr. Spatz with our mouths hanging open. "Is there a problem, Mister Jenkins?"

"What happened to your hair?" I asked, since I was fired anyway.

Mr. Spatz' eyes pointed quickly up toward his forehead, as if he could inspect his hair though the top of his head. Then he returned his gaze to me, as cold and hard as an ice cube. "Please leave the premises." He waved me off with a pass of his hand, as if I were just another discrepancy needing a quick fix. He told Cirilo to follow him, and the two of them left me standing alone next to the two-way door to the kitchen. As Spatz walked past me I noticed that one side of his face was red, a slightly swollen discoloration about the size of an open hand.

I wanted to throw a tantrum. I wanted to scream Fuck You Asshole at Mr. Spatz. I wanted to tell him that bussing tables was the worst job I'd ever had, and I'd had some horrible jobs. I'd cleaned stables. I'd cleaned toilets. I'd worked the graveyard shift at an all night donut shop. I'd done horrible things and this had been the most horrible, the king of all royally screwed up occupations. I wanted to rip my stupid vest off and throw it into Spatz' stupid face.

I did none of those things. I walked through the door into the kitchen and past the cooks and the lazy-eyed dishwasher. I walked up the stairs to the employee break room, taking one slow step at a time and unbuttoning my vest as I went. As I reached the top of the stairs I removed my vest and crumpled it into a wad of material. I had visions of slamming it down in the trashcan in the employee break room. But then I decided I would keep the vest as collateral, until I got my paycheck. It felt almost like I was taking a hostage.

< 9 >

I found Candy in the break room applying a coat of lipstick with the help of a small mirror. She had straight blonde hair and a quick smile, and when she spoke her voice sounded like it was filtering through gravel lodged in her throat. When she turned and saw me, her face lit up. "Hey, Charlie. How you doing?"

I wanted to tell her it was going crappy, but instead I said I was okay.

"Hey, look at you. Growing a mustache, huh?"

At that moment I loved Candy. Candy was always telling me I reminded her of her son. Sometimes at the end of our shift she would pull me aside and slide me five extra bucks, telling me I was the best-damned water pourer she had ever seen. She was the oldest waitress at Peachy Burroughs, a single mother with a teenager, and she was prone to long, tired sighs. She once told me she had ventured to the dark end of the street that mothers warned their children about. She had hit the dead end sign at full speed and somehow bounced back to the land of streetlights and sidewalks.

"Yeah. My new nickname is going to be Mister Mustache." Candy smiled at me and I smiled back. When the smile faded off her face I noticed the redness of her eyes, and she was sniffling.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"Oh, what's not the matter?" She smacked her lips together and put her tiny mirror back in her purse. She began tucking her shirt in. "My son is going to send me to an early grave. Either that, or I'll kill myself trying to get away from him."

"What'd he do now?"

"He's in the hospital. He ODed on heroin last night. Fifteen years old and a junkie. Can you believe it? Supposedly he's very lucky to be alive. I guess I'm the unlucky one."

< 10 >

I'd seen pictures of her son before, bright blue eyes magnified by his glasses and straight brown hair parted down the middle. I tried to picture her son with a needle in his arm. I couldn't. "Oh my God," I said. "That sucks."

"Of course, Mister Spatz was very understanding. We all know how understanding Mister Spatz is." Candy rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, tell me about it. He just decided to fire me out of nowhere. He told me I could pick up my paycheck tomorrow."

"Ah, honey. I'm sorry to hear that."

I slammed the vest into the wastebasket, knocking it over and sending paper cups and napkins spilling across the floor.

"You're lucky, Charlie. You're young. You've got your whole life in front of you. You don't need this place. You don't need Spatz breathing down your neck every day. I wish I could get the hell out of here." Candy smoothed the wrinkles out of her shirt with a few gentle passes of her hands. "Someday you're not going to be able to walk away. Believe me, if I could I would quit right now. I'd tell Spatz to take his EDFs and shove them up his ass."

Candy tied her apron around her waist and tucked her purse into her locker. When she turned around I caught a glimpse of something furry nestled in one of her apron pockets. It looked like it might spring from her apron any moment and scurry away. She reached down and stroked it once, and then stuffed it further into the pocket so it was out of sight. I wanted to ask her how she had ended up with Spatz's toupee in her possession, but I didn't really want to know. Candy reached into her apron held the toupee out toward me by the scruff of its neck.

"Would you like a souvenir of your stay here at Peachy Burroughs?"

I studied the tangle of hair in her hands, wondering what I could do with it. I thought about holding it for ransom. I considered whether I might be able to construct some sort of fake mustache with it, something so manly that people would have no choice but to stare and think, who is that guy?

< 11 >

"I better not, but thanks anyway. Not just for that, but for everything. You know, for being so nice to me."

"Don't mention it, Mister Mustache." Candy flashed a smile while she tucked the hairpiece back into her apron, and then gave me a hug. "Take care of yourself." She turned and exited the break room, leaving only the scent of her flowery perfume mingled with hair spray.

I reached up and touched my upper lip absent-mindedly, surprised by the proliferation of bristles there. No doubt about it — my mustache was filling in nicely.

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Raised pink or red bumps (papules), which break out over several days

Fluid-filled blisters (vesicles), forming from the raised bumps over about one day before breaking and leaking

Crusts and scabs, which cover the broken blisters and take several more days to heal

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REPOST

Ethan Crispell

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Pre-IB Composition

March 25, 2014

A Comparison of Joe Starks and Tea Cake

American writer James Baldwin once said, “Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. Love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up” (BrainyQuote). This truth of this fascinating quote is demonstrated in the novel Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Hurston which takes place in Florida during the mid 1930’s. The story is centered around, an African-American woman, Janie Mae Crawford’s life and relationships with various men. In particular, two of Janie’s husbands, Joe Starks and Tea Cake, treat her very differently. Chiefly, though both Joe Starks and Tea Cake strive to create an appealing life for Janie, their contrasting methods of doing so display the effect that a relationship can have on a woman’s inner peace.

To begin, when Jody and Janie first meet, Joe seems to care extremely about/admire her feelings and beauty her feelings and places her on a pedestal. When Janie mentions that Logan Killicks, her current husband, is purchasing a mule for her to work, Joe Starks responds, “You behind a plow! You ain’t got no mo’ business wid uh plow than uh hog is got wid uh holiday! You ain’t got no business cuttin’ up no seed p’taters neither. A pretty doll-baby lak you is made to sit on de front porch and rock and fan yo’self and eat p’taters dat other folks plant just special for you” (29). Seemingly, Jody is romantic, sweet, and caring. By not even desiring for her to perform manual labor, Joe deceives the inexperienced Janie into believing that he truly has feelings for her, deeper than just beauty. This is for the simple reason that Janie has no choice in her first marriage. As a result, she is trapped with a husband she posses no emotion for. In turn, every man following Logan seems to be her innamorato and in this case, Jody Starks. However, as Janie and Joe’s relationship grows older, his feelings of contempt and dominance towards women are revealed. After Janie misplaces the last bill of of lading, Joe lectures, “..you need tellin..It would be pitiful if Ah didn’t. Somebody got to think for women and chillun and chickens and cows. I god, they sho don’t think none theirselves” (71). Undoubtedly, Joe Starks is convinced that not only Janie, but all women, are incompetent and could not survive without a male figure. Moreover, Joe believes the opposite gender cannot even process basic information. Finally, he compares them to chicken and cows, animals generally prized only for their meat. With this, Hurston is exemplifying Joe’s focus on the physical attractiveness of females and ignorance of any beauty by personality. These degradations by Joe impact Janie’s compassion toward him negatively.

Furthermore, Joe Starks restricts Janie’s freedom by forcing her against her will. One day while in Jody’s store, he says to her, “All you got to do is mind me. How come you can’t do lak Ah tell yuh?” (71). Janie immediately responds, “You sho loves to tell me whut to do, but Ah can’t tell you nothin’ Ah see!” (71). Joe prohibits Janie from being with the other citizens because of their wealth disparity in comparison to the rich Stark couple. This is displayed when he refuses to let Janie go to the funeral of the town mule or to chat with the porch sitters. Along with preventing contact with the common folk of the town, Joe requires Janie to work his store which she dreads. In addition, while in public, Joe forces Janie to tie up her long, beautiful hair to prevent other men from looking at her. Without a doubt, Joe is overly controlling of her, and Janie even confronts him about it. However, this argument does not change his attitude towards Janie; instead, his lust for popularity overrules Janie’s will. When Janie asks Joe if he believes that they are compatible together, because Joe is always working and Janie is restricted in her actions, Joe replies, "Ah told you in de very first beginnin’ dat Ah aimed tuh be uh big voice. You oughta be glad, ‘cause dat makes uh big woman outa you" (46). Jody’s strives to obtain high status and control throughout the town and in doing so, takes extreme measures. For example, when Joe Starks overpays Matt for his old mule just to set it free, it is not because he pities the mule; rather, Jody does it in order to gain public admiration. He does not treat his wife nearly this well. Joe Starks constantly abuses her by making cynical comments about her age and gender, and restrains Janie’s ability to speak. Also, Jody proves to be physically abusive to Janie after she cooks a subpar meal ultimately turning her into an object. To add, when a very poor family comes in the store asking for free meat, Joe gives it to them seemingly for free. However, as they begin to thank him, he tells the family that he charge it to their ongoing tab. Clearly, Joe Starks lacks many morals due to his overwhelming desire for power. Conclusively, Joe’s dominance and prestige contrast with Janie’s dreams of true love and ultimately, put her in a state of depression.

WHAT TRANSITION TO USE?, Janie’s third and final husband, Tea Cake, shares distinct traits with Joe Starks. For example, Tea Cake is quick to capture Janie’s heart while she has the influence of another man. In this case, the recent death of Jody—her husband of over twenty years. After he teaches Janie how to play checkers, she thinks to herself in awe, “Somebody wanted her to play. Somebody thought it natural for her to play. That was even nice. She looked him over and got thrills from every one of his good points” (96). Here the reader observes that all of Janie’s feelings on how she will “take it slow” are abandoned. Tea Cake rapidly accomplishes Janie’s interest by giving her opportunities she had never had before, in this example checkers. Moreover, the board game illustrates his compassion and patience as he must spend time instructing Janie. In the same way, Joe and Janie actually fall in love while Janie is still technically married to Logan Killicks. On top of this, Jody Starks uses a similar method to Tea Cake is his attempt to attain Janie. Joe comes off very respectful and selfless compared to her current husband by acting disgusted that Logan would make her perform manual labor. Resultingly, Janie rids of her different independences much sooner than even she thought she would?. To continue, Tea Cake has subliminal stereotypes regarding women. He offers to walk Janie home and says, “Jes lak uh lil girl wid her Easter dress on. Even nice!" He locked the door and shook it to be sure and handed her the key. "Come on now, Ah’ll see yuh inside yo’ door and git on down de Dixie" (98). When examined closely, Tea Cake believes that Janie must be walked home, otherwise, being a woman, she is too vulnerable. Additionally, Tea Cake here describes the generalization of a young girl’s attire during Christian holiday of Easter. While this is, by no means, a depiction of male dominance, the color of Janie’s dress he is referring to must not be forgotten—blue. Tea Cake convinces her that she looks best in it, so “[She looked] like some young girl, always in blue because Tea Cake told her to wear it (110)”. Similarly, Joe is also sexist in similar ways, although much more severe. He directs Janie to look mediocre around town: only letting her in a white dress and with her hair down at the Stark residence. He demands that a wife knows how to cook and clean. With the help of physical and verbal belittlement, Joe oppresses Janie to the point where she just begins to agree with him. Finally, on different occasions he preaches that Janie in specific, but all women, cannot speak, or even think for themselves without the help of a man. Obviously, both Joe and Tea Cake posses similar qualities as lovers of Janie.

also though much more severe

cook and clean

WHAT TRANSITION TO USE?, Janie’s relationship with her third and final husband, Tea Cake, shares characteristics of her partnership with Joe OPPOSITE THIS

Turns out to be an object dont use that exact words

Topic Sentence: OR AT LEAST SEEM/PRETEND Shared between Jody and Tea Cake is the desire to love Janie and treat her well.

[Tea Cake]: "Put dat two hundred back wid de rest, Janie. Mah dice. Ah no need no assistance tuh help me feed mah woman. From now on, you gointuh eat whutever mah money can buy uh and wear de same. When Ah ain’t got nothin’ you don’t git nothin’."

[Janie]: "Still and all you went off and left me all day and all night."

[Tea Cake]: "Twasn’t ‘cause Ah wanted tuh stay off lak day, and it sho Lawd, wuzn’t no woman. If you didn’t have de power tuh hold me and hold me tight, Ah wouldn’t be callin’ yuh Mis’ Woods. Ah met plenty women before Ah knowed you tuh talk tuh. You’se de onliest woman in de world Ah ever even mentioned gittin married tuh. You bein’ older don’t make no difference. Don’t never consider dat no mo’. If Ah ever gits tuh messin’ round another woman it won’t be on account of her age. It’ll be because she got me in de same way you got me – so Ah can’t help mahself." (13.26-27)

COMPARE:

feelings about women

how their relationships start--janie is very nervous with tea cake because joe

Contrast:

freedoms they let Janie have

values of status v.

I told her I didn't want to do the project, and she said that she would do the entire thing if i railed her up the ass, smackers and all. ~Midget.

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Some pretty cray technology if your into that kinda thing

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its a picture so i will add img tags

anyone who can tell me what that is will get super bonus points!

Logical/Evidential Problem of Evil

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Anchorman Script - Dialogue Transcript

Voila! Finally, the Anchorman script is here for all you quotes spouting fans of the movie starring Will Ferrell, Steve Carell, Paul Rudd, Christina Applegate, yadda yadda.. This script is a transcript that was painstakingly transcribed using the screenplay and/or viewings of Anchor Man. I know, I know, I still need to get the cast names in there and I'll be eternally tweaking it, so if you have any corrections, feel free to drop me a line. You won't hurt my feelings. Honest.

Swing on back to Drew's Script-O-Rama afterwards for more free movie scripts!

Anchorman Script

There was a time,

a time before cable,

when the local anchorman

reigned supreme,

when people believed

everything they heard on TV.

This was an age when only men

were allowed to read the news.

And in San Diego, one anchorman

was more man than the rest.

His name was Ron Burgundy.

He was like a god

walking amongst mere mortals.

He had a voice that could

make a wolverine purr,

and suits so fine

they made Sinatra

look like a hobo.

In other words,

Ron Burgundy was the balls.

Mmm. I look good.

I mean, really good.

Hey, everyone!

Come and see how good I look!

Mm, ehh, mm.

Ribs. I had ribs for lunch.

That's why I'm doing this.

How now brown cow.

How now brown cow.

How now brown cow.

How are you?

You look awfully nice tonight. Hmm?

Maybe don't wear

a bra next time.

No, I was talking to you.

No, not her.

I don't know her name.

What is it?

Lanolin?

La-lanolin?

Like sheep's wool?

Unique New York.

Unique New York.

Mm, I love Scotch.

I love Scotch.

Scotchy, Scotch, Scotch.

Here it goes down.

Down into my belly.

Mm-mm-mm.

The arsonist

has oddly shaped feet.

How much time?

? seconds?

- You are on.

- I'm on right now?

I don't believe you.

Ron!

Oh, come on. Audrey.

I look like hell.

I got bags under my eyes.

What's that?

If you were a man,

I'd punch you right

in the mouth.

That's bush.

Bush league.

The human torch was denied

a bank loan.

You hear me?

Audrey, look at me!

I'm sorry.

All right?

I'm sorry.

Ha ha!

Ha ha ha ho!

Ha ha ho.

Ha oh!

All right, we're on.

Ready, Phil.

We're on in five, four...

When the clock struck :

it meant one thing

for Ron Burgundy

and his news team:

Go time.

Channel News,

Channel News,

with five-time

Emmy award-winning anchor

Ron Burgundy.

Champ Kind, sports.

Ooh! Hoo-hoo!

Brick Tamland, weather.

And your reporter in the field,

Brian Fantana.

It's Channel News

at :.

Good evening.

I'm Ron Burgundy,

and this is what's happening

in your world tonight.

A La Jolla man clings to life

at a university hospital

after being viciously attacked

by a pack of wild dogs

in an abandoned pool.

Hey, everybody! Shut the hell up!

Ron Burgundy's on!

Authorities are still

uncertain as to why the man

- was loitering...

- Ron Burgundy.

Oh, my gosh!

She said her first words!

Right now it's *

in our fair city,

and compare that to *

in the upper Northwest

and *

in the Middle East.

Off the coast

of Tampa Bay yesterday,

one lucky cameraman

happened to catch

an unusual

aquatic daredevil.

What you're about to see

is a Channel News exclusive.

His name is

Nutty the Squirrel,

and he's three years old.

How 'bout that?

That squirrel

can water-ski.

- Man, that's hilarious.

- Yeah, that's good.

For all of us here

at News Center

I'm Ron Burgundy.

You stay classy,

San Diego.

You stay classy, San Diego.

Listen up.

The ratings just came in for last month.

We are number one.

We just grabbed every key demographic.

- Super-duper, gang!

- Yeah! Yeah!

Super-duper!

That's nice!

Way to go!

Neat-o, gang.

- Yes!

- Boy, Ed.

That is good news.

I gotta be honest.

- Congrats, congrats.

- That is good news!

- All right!

- Stick around.

Make sure these guys

don't party too much.

- They don't really ever listen to me.

- Just get it done.

Ladies and gentlemen,

can I please have your attention?

Ladies and gentlemen,

can I please have your attention?

I've just been handed

an urgent

and horrifying news story.

I need all of you

to stop what you're doing

and listen.

Cannonball!

Yes, these fellas were a real news team.

Burgundy, of course,

was the foundation, the rock.

But each member brought their own

special something to the equation.

People call me

the Bri-man.

I'm the stylish one

of the group.

I know what

you're asking yourself,

and the answer is yes,

I have a nickname for my penis.

It's called the Octagon.

But I also nicknamed

my testes.

My left one

is James Westfall,

and my right one is

Dr. Kenneth Noisewater.

You ladies play your cards right,

you might get to meet the whole gang.

Bang, boom, they were

showing lasers

every Friday night.

Champ here.

I'm all about havin' fun.

You know, get a couple

of cocktails in me,

start a fire

in someone's kitchen.

Maybe go to SeaWorld,

take my pants off.

Anyway, I've become

kind of famous

for my signature catchphrase,

"Whammy!"

As in, "Gene Tenace

at the plate...

and whammy!"

Whammy!

I'm Brick Tamland.

People seem to like me

because I am polite

and I'm rarely late.

I like to eat ice cream,

and I really enjoy

a nice pair of slacks.

Years later,

a doctor will tell me

that I have an IQ of

and am what some people call

"mentally retarded."

Hello!

- Whoo! Marco!

- Polo!

- Brian.

- You having a good time?

- I'm having a great time.

- That makes two of us.

You've gotta meet this girl.

She used to be a Charger cheerleader,

but she broke her pelvis.

Sherri,

meet Ron Burgundy.

- Hey, Ron.

- Hello.

- I've got a big story for you.

- Mm-hmm.

And it's right here.

Well, hello.

You pointed to your boobies.

Oh, my God, you did!

- Ron Burgundy?

- Yes?

I have had a crush on you

since I was a little girl.

Let's go somewhere.

I'm telling you, it don't

get no better than this.

We've been coming

to the same party for years,

and in no way

is that depressing.

Ahh.

By the beard of Zeus!

Excuse me.

Ron, where you going?

What, are you crazy? Ron!

If you're coming down the baseline,

you gotta take home plate from me!

So there I go,

head first, boom!

I've lost her.

Ohh.

Hello.

Hello.

Hope I'm not disturbing

you, but, uh,

I saw you from across

the party, and, uh,

I don't usually do this, but I felt

compelled to tell you something.

You have...

an absolutely

breathtaking...

heinie.

I mean, that thing is good.

I want to be friends with it.

Well, you certainly know

how to compliment a woman.

Now, if you'll excuse me.

Do you know who I am?

No, I can't say that I do.

I don't know how to put this,

but I'm kind of a big deal.

Really?

People know me.

I've very happy for you.

I'm very important.

I have...

many leather-bound books,

and my apartment

smells of rich mahogany.

I... I'm friends

with Merlin Olsen, too.

He comes over on occasion.

That's stupid.

No, no, that's...

very exciting.

Listen, can I...

can I start over again?

Sure.

I wanna say something.

I'm gonna put it out there.

If you like it,

you can take it.

If you don't,

send it right back.

Mm-hmm.

I wanna be on you.

Wait. Wait, wait,

wait, wait, wait.

I...

I wanna be on you.

Yoo-hoo!

Baxter!

Papa's home.

There he is.

There's my little man.

You're okay?

Of course I met

a lady tonight.

This one was different.

I have to be honest.

Quite different.

What...

I'm lonely?

I'm not lonely!

I'm beloved by everyone

in San Diego.

Wow.

You know how to cut

to the core of me, Baxter.

You're so wise.

You're like

a miniature Buddha

covered in hair.

Come again?

You know I don't speak Spanish.

In English, please.

Huh?

You pooped in the refrigerator?

And you ate a whole wheel of cheese?

How'd you do that?

I'm not even mad.

That's amazing.

I forgive you.

What do you say we get you

in your pj's and hit the hay?

Bedtime. Okay, come on.

Let's go. Come on.

Oh, that was one

crazy party.

I am hung over.

Tell me about it.

I woke up this morning

and I shit a squirrel.

I mean it.

Literally.

Hell of it is,

damn thing's still alive.

So I got this

shit-covered squirrel

down there in the office.

Don't know what to name it.

I'm sorry, Champ.

I think I ate

your chocolate squirrel.

All right, guys.

Let's focus up.

Morning, everyone.

Here are the stories

we're going to be chasing today.

It looks like Ling Wong,

the rare panda

at the San Diego Zoo, is pregnant.

This is a big one.

This could be the big

story of the summer.

Network is gonna be wanting

plenty of coverage.

And speaking of network,

word on the street is

they're looking

for a new anchor.

- So, Ron...

- Huh? Network?

Are they here?

A lot of you have been hearing

the affiliates complaining

about a lack of diversity

on the news team.

What in the hell's diversity?

Well, I could be wrong,

but I believe diversity

is an old, old wooden ship

that was used

during the Civil War era.

I would be surprised

if the affiliates were concerned

about the lack

of an old wooden ship,

but nice try.

Diversity means

that times are changing,

and with that in mind...

- Ron, are you paying attention?

- Nope.

- This concerns all of us.

- Okay.

Keeping that in mind, I'd like

to introduce the latest addition

to the KVWN News Team,

directly from WYPN

in Asheville, North Carolina,

Ms. Veronica Corningstone.

Hello.

Hello, everyone.

- Oh!

- I just want you all to know

that I look forward

to contributing

to this news station's

already sterling reputation.

I mean, come on, Ed!

It's bullcrap!

Don't get me wrong.

I love the ladies.

They rev my engine,

but they don't belong in the newsroom!

It is anchorman,

not anchorlady!

- And that is a scientific fact!

- Uh-huh.

I don't know

what we're yelling about!

Ron, what do you think?

She... sh...

it's terrible!

She has beautiful eyes,

and her hair smells like cinnamon!

Mm-hmm.

Loud noises!

All right, everyone relax.

She's not gonna take anyone's airtime.

I read somewhere that

their periods attract bears.

Bears can smell

the menstruation.

Well, that's just great.

You hear that, Ed?

Bears. Now you're putting

the whole station in jeopardy.

I will say

one thing for her, Ed,

she does have a nice,

big old behind.

I'd like to put some

barbecue sauce on that butt

and just bite, bite, bite, bite,

munch, munch, munch!

- Ah-whoo!

- Stop it! Oh, Jeez.

Look at the full-moon butt!

Champ! Champ!

Champ, Champ!

Mr. Harken, I was just wondering

if you knew when my office

would be ready.

Well, that might

take some time.

For now, why don't you just

grab a desk in the bullpen?

You can use my office! Then afterwards

maybe we can go to lunch!

Lower your voice, Ron.

Mm-hmm!

All right.

Thank you, Mr. Harken.

I'll go get

my desk set up.

Oh, she is a saucy mama!

I mean, I would...

Here we go again.

Every station

it's the same.

Women ask me

how I put up with it.

Well, the truth is,

I don't really have a choice.

This is definitely

a man's world.

But while they're laughing

and grab-assing,

I'm chasing down leads

and practicing

my nonregional diction.

Because the only way to win

is to be the best.

The very best.

Touchy situation.

I think the best thing

to do with this Corningstone,

to keep her in line,

is bed her quick.

Oh, that behind

is driving me loco!

I'm like a night wolf.

Guys, take it easy.

Just take it easy!

- She's got feelings, too.

- Oh, my God!

Listen to Burgundy.

He's gone soft on us,

like some schoolboy bitch.

You sound like a gay.

Hey! Come on!

It's me, Papa Burgundy,

all right?

As far as I'm concerned,

Corningstone's fair game.

Huh?

Let the games begin!

Hi-ohhh!

There he is.

There he is.

I'm very aroused.

What's this?

Well, well, well.

Ron Burgundy and the Channel

News Team.

Hello, Wes Mantooth.

Hello,

Evening News Team.

Nice clothes, gentlemen.

I didn't know the Salvation Army

was having a sale.

Am I right?

Look at these guys.

Hey, where did you

get those clothes?

At the toilet store?

What are you doing

on our station's turf, Burgundy?

You're about to get

a serious beat-down.

I will smash your face

into a car windshield

and then take your mother,

Dorothy Mantooth,

out for a nice seafood dinner

and never call her again!

Dorothy Mantooth is a saint!

You understand me?

- Dorothy Mantooth is a saint!

- Hey.

Leave the mothers

out of this, all right?

It's unnecessary.

Besides, I'm sure Wes here

is just upset over finishing

second in the ratings again.

Ooh!

That's completely

uncalled for, Burgundy.

You know those

rating systems are flawed.

They don't take into account

houses that have

more than two television sets

and other things of that nature.

I guess I have to take you

at your word,

Number Two.

You have

a great day, fellas.

We'll see you around the bend.

Son of a bitch!

Excusez-moi, Numero Two.

Hey, Burgundy.

You know those sample audiences

aren't big enough!

Stop hiding behind those phony numbers,

Burgundy! I'm coming after you!

I hate you, Ron Burgundy.

I hate you!

You can't say one word?

Even the guy who can't

think says something!

You guys just stand

there? Come on!

Right, but I think my son

is just going through a phase.

I have no idea where

he would have gotten ahold

of German pornography.

But you and I

are mature adults.

We've both seen our share

of pornographic materials.

Oh, you never have?

Of course you haven't,

how stupid of me. Neither have I.

I was just speaking

in generalities.

I'll stop by the school

a little later, Sister Margaret. Bye.

Ed, she insisted

on coming in.

Mr. Harken, sir,

I will not have my first story

at this news station

be about a cat fashion show.

Miss Corningstone, ma'am,

you will do the stories

to which you are assigned.

Mr. Harken, I am

a damn good journalist,

and this cat show thing

is grade-A baloney.

It is not baloney.

Now, go do your job, missy!

It is baloney!

Hey, Ron,

I'm gonna take a run

at the new girl.

Let the games begin.

Oh, Champ, Champ,

we're not really gonna actually do that.

- We were just flapping our gums.

- Oh, yeah.

You kill me, Burgundy.

Let me just grab this.

Oh, sorry about that.

- Whammy.

- Hmm.

- Uh, Champ?

- Yeah.

You're trying to touch

my breasts, aren't you?

What can I say?

I like the way you're put together.

What do you say

we go out on a date?

Have some chicken,

maybe some sex.

You know,

see what happens?

Oh, let me get this

over here.

Sorry.

Oh, there it is.

I'll give this

little cookie an hour

before we're doing

the no-pants dance.

Time to musk up.

Wow.

It never ceases to amaze me.

What cologne

you gonna go with?

London Gentleman, or...

wait. No, no, no.

Hold on.

Blackbeard's Delight.

No, she gets

a special cologne.

It's called Sex Panther

by Odeon.

It's illegal in nine countries.

Yep, it's made with bits

of real panther.

- So you know it's good.

- It's quite pungent.

Oh yeah.

It's a formidable scent.

It stings the nostrils.

- In a good way.

- Yep.

I'll be honest with you.

That smells like pure gasoline.

They've done studies,

you know.

That doesn't make sense.

Well...

let's go see if we can

make this little kitty purr.

Hey, sweet cheeks. Got an invite

I'd like to extend your way.

My God.

What is that smell?

Oh!

That's the smell

of desire, milady.

God, no, it smells like...

like a used diaper

filled with Indian food.

Oh!

Excuse me.

Desire smells like that

to some people.

What is that? Smells like a turd

covered in burnt hair!

It smells like

Bigfoot's dick!

Oh.

Oh, hell, that's rank!

Oh, what's that smell?

This is worse than the time

the raccoon got in the copier.

Yeah.

It's very distracting.

- When we get to the pet shop...

- Cough!

Look over here.

Excuse me, Veronica.

Yes, what is it, Brick?

I would like

to extend to you

an invitation

to the pants party.

Excuse me?

The party.

The pants...

With the pants.

Party with pants?

Brick, are you saying

that there's a party in

your pants and I'm invited?

That's it.

Hmm. Did Brian tell you

to say this, Brick?

No...

yes, he did.

Okay. No, I don't want to go

to a party in your pants.

Very well.

Ian?

Would you like to go

to a party in my pants?

No, Brick.

All right. Let's go!

All right, now...

I'm telling you,

she is a real ball-buster.

A real ice queen.

Mm. I just

burned my tongue.

The only way

to bag a classy lady

is to give her two tickets

to the gun show...

and see if she likes

the goods.

.

.

- Uh, Mr. Burgundy?

- .

Helen said that you

needed to see me?

Oh, Miss Corningstone.

I wasn't expecting company.

Just doing my workout.

Tuesday's arms and back.

- You asked me to come by, sir.

- Oh, did I?

Yes.

Oh, it's the deep burn!

Oh, it's so deep.

I can barely lift my right

arm 'cause I did so many.

I don't know if you heard me counting.

I did over .

You have your ubulus muscle

that connects

to the upper dorsinus.

It's boring,

but it's part of my life.

I'm just gonna grab this shirt,

if you don't mind.

Just watch out for the guns.

They'll get you.

You are pathetic.

This has to be

the feeblest

pickup attempt

that I have ever encountered.

I expected it from the rest of them,

Mr. Burgundy, but not from you.

Wait a minute!

I... pickup attempt?

I'm offended.

I have little time

to get to the gym,

so I have to sculpt

my guns at the office.

Oh, stop calling

your arms "guns."

Look.

My plan was to ask you

if I could squire you

about town

as one professional

helping another professional,

because I know what it's like

to be lonely in a new city.

- Really?

- Yes.

But now I am too hurt.

And shocked and offended

and... and hurt.

I could do that.

Really?

Well, yes.

As a journalist,

I should get to know

the city

that I'm covering.

- But this is not a date.

- No, of course not.

- Strictly professional.

- Wonderful.

- Hmm.

- Great.

Shall I pick you up

:?

Mm, :.

Downstairs?

Mr. Burgundy, you have

a massive erection.

Really?

Yes, I do.

Um...

I'm sorry, it's the...

- it's the pleats.

- Mm.

It's actually

an optical illusion.

It's the pattern

on the pants.

It's not flattering

in the crotchal region.

I'm actually

taking them back right now.

Taking them back

to the pants store.

Oh, this is awkward.

I'm gonna walk...

I'm gonna walk

this situation off

and I will see you later.

Nothing to look at.

Go back to work, everyone.

Don't act like

you're not impressed.

Don't look at me right now.

I'm walking around the office.

My new walk.

I have a situation right now

I'm trying to walk off.

Frame up two.

- Let's go to Brian Fantana live...

- Gimme a tighter one on two.

...with a Channel

News exclusive.

Brian?

Panda watch.

The mood is tense.

I have been on some

serious, serious reports,

but nothing like this.

I... I... Ching...

King is inside now.

I tried to get an interview,

but they said, "You can't.

He's a live bear. He will

literally rip your face off."

Hey! You're making me

look stupid!

Get out here!

Panda jerk!

Great story.

Compelling and rich.

That's gonna do it for all

of us at Channel News.

You stay classy,

San Diego.

I'm Ron Burgundy?

Damn it! Who typed a question mark

on the Teleprompter?

For the last time, anything

you put on that prompter,

Burgundy will read.

Oh, God,

this is a mistake.

This is a mistake.

He's very cute. Very cute.

No, he's not. He's hairy.

There she is!

Veronica!

My little China doll.

I am full of it tonight.

Oh, silly. Hi.

You look ravishing.

It truly is beauty

and the beast.

I might add

a handsome beast at that.

Are you ready

for our rendezvous?

It's not a date.

No, strictly professional.

Doesn't mean

we can't have fun.

- Shall we?

- Yes.

San Diego.

Mm! Drink it in.

It always

goes down smooth.

What a beautiful view,

Mr. Burgundy.

I know. I love this city.

It's a...

it's a fact.

It's the greatest city

in the history of mankind.

Discovered by the Germans

in .

They named it San Diago,

which of course in German

means a whale's vagina.

N... no, there's

no way that's correct.

I'm sorry.

I was trying to impress you.

Oh.

I don't know what it means.

I'll be honest. I don't think anyone

knows what it means anymore.

Scholars maintain that

the translation was lost

hundreds of years ago.

Doesn't it mean

Saint Diego?

No. No.

No, that's...

that's what it means.

Really.

Well, agree to disagree.

May I take your order?

Yes, I am going to have

three fingers of Glenlivet

with a little bit of pepper,

and, uh, some cheese.

Very good.

A Manhattan,

and kick the vermouth

in the side with a pair

of steel-toed boots.

- Certainly.

- Thank you, Scott.

Thank you.

Wow.

Quite a drink order.

Oh, well, when in Rome.

Yes?

Please, go on.

Uh, do as the Romans do?

It's an old expression.

Oh! I've never heard of it.

- Oh.

- It's wonderful, though.

Mr. Burgundy.

- Tino! How are you?

- So good to see you.

You're looking fantastic.

Tino, Veronica.

Veronica.

What a pretty girlfriend.

- Drinks are on Tino tonight.

- No, no, no.

We're work associates.

I work at the station.

- I'm a journalist.

- Oh, okay. This is a good guy.

Tino's the finest

club owner in the city.

- My best friend, right?

- Yes.

Yes, we have a saying

in my country about people like him.

"The coyote of the desert

always likes to eat

the heart of the young,

where the blood drips down to children

for breakfast, lunch and dinner,

- only the ribs will be broken in two."

- Tino.

Okay. Well, Mr. Burgundy,

we will be honored

if you will play

"yazz" flute for us.

- I can't.

- Please.

You play jazz flute?

- I dabble.

- Oh.

Would everyone love to hear

Ron Burgundy play "yazz" flute?

- Get it goin', Ronnie!

- Yes! Please.

You, on stage now.

Okay, I guess I can play

a little ditty.

- Honestly, I'm...

- Come on.

- Give him a hand.

- I'm not prepared. Not at all.

- Yeah!

- This is a surprise, I'll tell you.

Guys, "East Harlem

Shakedown," E flat?

Keep the cymbals splashy,

and, Jay, let's take

the bass line for a walk.

Hold on.

I'm not hearing it right.

Hold on.

We got it now.

It's all right.

Fire up, Ronnie!

Little "Ham and Eggs" comin' at you.

Hope you got your griddles.

That's baby-makin' music,

that's what that is.

- Let's go!

Hey, Aqualung!

Thank you.

Thank you!

You were amazing.

Mm. Thank you.

Where did you learn

to play like that?

Well, jazz flute

has always been a small

passion of mine.

So what other passions

do you have, Mr. Burgundy?

Well, I have one

great passion that...

that lives deep

within my loins, like a...

like a flaming golden hawk:

To one day

become a network anchor.

Well, believe it or not,

we share the same dream.

I too want to be

an network anchor.

God, you are so beautiful.

We really

should be going.

I swore that I would never

get involved with a coworker.

Wait.

What if, just for tonight,

we weren't coworkers?

We were co-people?

- I don't...

- Shh.

You be a woman.

I'll be a man.

That's all.

Oh.

You continue to surprise

me, Mr. Burgundy.

Oh, I'm storming your castle

on my steed, milady.

Oh, mi corazón

es en fuego!

Julio, fuego,

fuego, fuego!

Wait, stop.

Stop talking like that.

- I can't understand you.

- Sorry.

Take me to Pleasure Town!

- Oh, we're going there!

- Oh!

I friggin' love you!

I friggin' love you back!

Look! The most glorious

rainbow ever!

Oh, do me on it!

Whee!

Mmm.

Well done, sir.

Tip of the cap to you as well,

Miss Corningstone.

I'm having very strong feelings

for you, Mr. Burgundy.

Mm.

But it's very important to me

that I be viewed as a professional.

- Right.

- Hmm.

When in Rome.

Yeah.

That, uh, expression

doesn't really apply

to what I'm talking about.

- Oh, I'm...

- What I was saying.

I still don't quite

understand what it means.

Oh, no.

You'll find it.

No, I was saying that,

if we continue

seeing each other,

that we should keep it

relatively quiet around the station.

Absolutely,

my wild love tigress.

Tasteful discretion

is the name of the game.

Mm-hmm.

Veronica Corningstone

and I had sex,

and now we are in love!

Did I say that loud?

Yeah, you pretty much

yelled it.

Well, I can't help it.

It's fantastic!

- What's it like, Ron?

- The intimate times?

Outta sight, my man!

No. The other thing.

Love.

Yeah.

What is that?

Well, it's tough to explain.

- I think I was in love once.

- Really, what was her name?

I don't remember.

That's not a good start,

but keep going.

She was Brazilian.

Or Chinese,

or something weird.

I met her in the bathroom

of a K-mart,

and we made out for hours.

Then we parted ways,

never to see each other again.

I'm pretty sure

that's not love.

Damn it!

I love...

carpet.

I love desk.

Are you just looking at things

in the office and saying you love them?

I love lamp.

Do you really love the lamp,

or are you saying it because you saw it?

I love lamp!

I love lamp.

You really want to know

what love is?

- Yeah.

- Yes, tell us.

More than anything

in the world.

Well, it's really

quite simple.

It's kind of like...

- Whoop!

- You guys have it, I think.

I don't know, Ron.

That sounds kinda crazy.

Sounds like you have

mental problems, man.

- Yeah, you got mental problems, man.

- Yeah, he really does.

Man.

- Wanna make a phone call.

- Freshen this up.

Oh, look out.

Next up, it's Whiskerus Maximus.

He's ready to do battle

in the arena

against the tiniest lion

you've ever imagined.

I'm getting some great stuff,

Miss Corningstone.

Shut up.

Oh, I hate cats.

Let's just do my sign-off

and get outta here.

It was quite a show

down here at the Pet Shack.

Just for today, fashion curiosity

did not kill the cat.

I'm Veronica Corningstone

for Channel News.

That was our newest reporter,

Veronica Corningstone.

She's really great.

I'd also like to share with you

that we are currently dating

and that she is quite

a handful in the bedroom.

Uh...

That's gonna do it

for all of us here at :.

For the Channel News Team,

I'm Ron Burgundy.

You stay classy,

San Diego.

All clear.

Uh-oh.

I might be in trouble

on that one.

I can't believe that you said

that we were dating on the air.

Mmm! Mmm.

That is good fondue.

Don't you get it, Ron?

I wanna be an anchor.

That is never gonna happen

if everyone in San Diego

thinks that I'm

your bimbo gal pal.

I don't know what to say.

I just...

I got excited.

I just wanted to shout it

from on top of a mountain.

But I didn't have a mountain.

I had a newsroom and a camera.

Look.

I report the news.

That's what I do.

And today's top story,

in Ron Burgundy's world,

read something like this:

I love Veronica Corningstone.

Oh, Ron.

This is nice, gang, sittin' here.

- Oh, yeah.

- Brown baggin' it.

The team pancake breakfast is tomorrow

morning at : instead of :.

Oh! Almost forgot.

I won't be able

to make it, fellas.

Veronica and I are trying

this new fad called,

uh, jogging.

I believe it's jogging or yogging.

It might be a soft "J."

I'm not sure,

but apparently you just run

for an extended period

of time.

- It's supposed to be wild.

- So Ron's not coming?

No, Ron's coming.

It's the pancake breakfast.

We do it every month.

I realize that.

Sometimes you gotta look yourself

in the mirror and say, "When in Rome."

The bottom line is,

you've been spending

a lot of time with this lady.

You're a member of

the Channel News Team.

- That's a given.

- We need you.

Hell, I need you.

I'm a mess without ya.

I miss you

so damn much.

I miss being with you.

I miss being near you.

I miss your laugh.

I miss...

I miss your scent.

I miss your musk.

When this all gets sorted out,

I think you and me should

get an apartment together.

Just take it easy, Champ.

Why don't you stop talking

for a while?

Maybe sit the next

couple of plays out.

You know what I mean?

Yeah, I'm gonna quit

sayin' things

when they crop up

in the ol' skull, huh?

See what it's like

when you're not here?

You're our leader.

Look what you're doing to the group.

Champ's been a mess.

Brick can't sleep at night.

Here's the thing,

I don't trust this chick.

We need you around,

and she is just using you.

Everyone, just relax.

All right?

Believe me, if there's one thing

Ron Burgundy knows, it's women.

Okay, and Veronica Corningstone,

she's just...

she's just dying

to quit her job

so that she can take care

of me and have babies.

Hey, gang.

Papa's home.

Oh, honey.

I am so glad you're home.

My alabaster doll.

Gentlemen.

You look great.

No eye contact!

Oh, darling.

I've spent all day

cleaning your Emmys

and preparing dinner

in the nude.

Oh, let's make whoopie.

And then I'm going to go drinking

with the news team for two days.

Wonderful.

Wonderful!

Ow!

Bite it!

Bite it!

- Oh, yes!

- Oh, yeah!

You are a bad boy.

I'm bad. I need to go

to the principal's office.

I love my life.

I don't know, Ron.

Guess what.

I do.

I know that one day, Veronica

and I are gonna get married

on top of a mountain.

And there's going

to be flutes playing

and trombones and flowers

and garlands of fresh herbs.

And we will dance

till the sun rises.

And then our children

will form a family band.

And we will tour

the countryside,

and you won't be invited!

I'm telling you, this lady has really

crawled into Ron's head.

Good.

Good one!

Oh, okay.

I understand.

You have a nice day,

sir. Bye.

Um, I could come back

later, Mr. Harken.

No, no, no.

It's just parent stuff.

It seems that our youngest,

Chris, was

on something called acid

and was firing

a bow and arrow into a crowd.

- Mm.

- You know how kids are.

Oh. Right.

Anyhoo, what can

I do you for?

Well, Mr. Harken,

I feel like I have proven

myself as a journalist

and that I deserve

the opportunity

to take on more

challenging stories.

Well, ask

and you shall receive.

Ah, yes, this just

came across my desk.

Here is a story

of a -year-old woman

who claims to have a recipe

for the world's greatest meat loaf.

Ooh, now that's

a hot lead.

It was very hard for Veronica.

But she was a pro

and hung tough.

But soon, with a simple act

of littering,

everyone's life

would change forever.

This burrito is delicious,

but it is filling.

Whoa!

Antony and Cleopatra!

Goddamn son of...

What the hell, bro'?

Hello, neighbor.

Did you just throw a burrito

out your window?

I believe I did.

Are you high or something?

Did you see what happened?

I did. That was a terrific spill.

That's quite a raspberry.

That's my chopper

you just thrashed, Broseph.

Easy, compadre. I'm your

friend out here, all right?

I want you to fix my chopper

before I stomp your goofy ass!

If you want

to throw down, fine.

I've got Jack Johnson

and Tom O'Leary waiting for you.

You destroyed

the only thing I love.

All right? There it is.

What do you love?

I love poetry.

And a glass of Scotch.

And, of course,

my friend Baxter here.

Well, guess what.

Now this is happenin'.

Excuse me. Excuse me.

What are you doing?

That's how I roll.

Baxter!

No...!

- Where the hell is he?

- He'll be here.

- I thought he was Mr. Dependable.

- It's not like Ron.

I'd put Brick on, but unless he's

tracking a storm front, he's useless.

- Excuse me, gentlemen.

- Oh. Hello.

Just want you to know if Ron does not

show up, I am ready to go on.

You and I have had this discussion

a million times.

There's never been

a woman anchor.

Mr. Harken,

- this city needs its news.

- Oh.

You're gonna deprive them

of that because I have breasts?

Exquisite breasts?

I am gonna go on,

and if you want to stop me, bring it on.

Because I am good

at three things:

Fighting, screwing

and reading the news.

I've already done one of those today,

so what's the other one gonna be?

Uh...

Screwing?

I will be in makeup.

Jesus, she's terrifying!

Fantana.

Ron, are you okay?

The man punted Baxter!

Calm down.

Breathe, Ron,

breathe.

The man that loved

the motorcycle!

What did the bad man do?

The motorcycle on the bridge!

I hit him with a burrito!

- Ron!

- He took him!

He took him with his foot

and he kicked him!

That's what he did!

Someone punted him?

No, wait. Wait.

Let me say something.

Let me say something.

What?

I... I don't... I didn't

understand one word you said.

Ron, are you okay?

Ron?

Ron.

Where are you?

I'm in a glass case

of emotion!

He's gonna put

Corningstone on.

He's gonna

put Corningstone on!

I've got to do the news!

You're not Ron.

We're on in .

Good luck, lady.

Ready the announce.

- Power.

- Roll in.

Power.

Power.

One slip,

and you're gone.

Whammy.

And your reporter in the field,

Brian Fantana.

It's Channel News

at :.

Good evening.

Ron Burgundy is off tonight.

I'm Veronica Corningstone.

Tonight's top story:

- Okay, we're off and running.

- Three armed men

wearing ski masks made off with over

$ from an area bank

in a daring

early morning robbery.

Hey!

And the winner of the frog-leaping

contest was Hoppy,

with a jump

of seven feet, inches.

Hmm.

I used to date a guy named Hoppy down

in Alabama. He was quite a jumper, too.

That will do it

for us at :.

From all of us here

at Channel News,

I'm Veronica Corningstone,

and thanks

for stopping by, San Diego.

All clear!

Yes! Yes!

Lady! Lady!

Not bad, Miss Corningstone.

Not bad at all.

Thank you, Mr. Harken.

That felt good.

- That felt really good.

- I liked your sign-off line, too.

You did? It just came through me.

It was so organic.

Thank you.

Oh, Ron! Ron!

Ron, darling!

I'm so glad you're

all right. Oh, God.

I have something

magnificent to tell you.

I'm here.

We can do the news now.

It's all right, everyone!

We can do the news.

Hold on. Why are we all standing around?

Let's go!

Ron, we did it.

Veronica filled in for you.

What?

Sweetheart, we were

so worried about you,

and we waited as long

as we could, but...

Darling, I did the news,

and I nailed it. I nailed it.

Wait, wait! Veronica, please,

tell me this is some kind

of sick, tasteless joke.

You weren't here.

Why are you being this way?

Why can't you

be proud of me

as a peer and as

my gentleman lover?

Oh, Jeez.

I can't believe

you did this to me!

You read my news!

I told you that I wanted

to be an anchor.

I told you that.

I thought you were kidding!

I thought it was a joke!

I even wrote it down

in my diary!

"Veronica had

a very funny joke today."

I laughed at it

later that night!

I can't believe

that I cared for you.

Get out! Just go!

We are through!

Through!

Because of your actions,

you scorpion woman!

You have broken my heart,

Mr. Burgundy.

You have broken my heart.

From there on out,

things just got worse

for Ron Burgundy.

Corningstone was a star,

and everything started

to move awfully fast

- after her big break.

- Where's Ian? Ian!

All right, I got a call from network.

It looks like

our broadcast last night

received a two-point

ratings boost,

and the decision

has been passed down

to make Veronica

our co-anchor.

- What?

- No. No!

No!

- No!

- No!

- No!

- This is wonderful.

Ed, come here,

you big silly man. You big silly man.

- We did it.

- What is this, amateur hour?

- That's great.

- Thank you.

Damn it!

What Brian didn't tell you

was that those

were not real pirates.

- They looked convincing, though.

- Oh, yes.

Well, for all of us here

at Channel News,

I'm Ron Burgundy.

You stay classy,

San Diego.

And thanks

for stopping by.

But mainly stay classy.

- Thanks for stopping by.

- Stay classy, I'm Ron Burgundy.

- Thanks for stopping by.

- Stay classy.

Ron Burgundy.

You are a real hooker,

and I'm gonna slap you in public.

You have way

too much pubic hair.

Actually, that's a point of pride.

I'm very proud of my mane

of pubic hair, so thank you.

You have man boobs.

You've got a dirty,

whorish mouth.

I'm gonna punch you

in the ovary.

- A straight shot.

- Ooh, ow.

Right to the baby-maker.

Ah, jazz flute

is for little fairy boys.

Okay, you know what?

That's uncalled for.

I can't work with this woman.

It's terrible.

It's ringing.

Veronica Corningstone.

Hello, Veronica,

this is Mike Rithjin

from the network.

You've just been promoted.

You're gonna need to move

to Moscow.

Start cleaning up your desk.

See you in the morning.

We'll pick you up in a van.

What did you say

your name was?

Mike Ritnitjun.

It's not important.

Start cleaning your desk,

and we'll pick you up

in the morning.

Tell her she might

want to get a coat.

Hold on. Veronica?

What was it?

Tell her to get a coat.

Also, I don't know if you know Moscow.

It's pretty cold.

You might want

to buy a coat.

Are you and Champ

having a good time, Ron?

Are we what?

I can see you, Ron.

What?

I can see you.

Okay. Bye-bye.

- What happened?

- She knew it was me.

You're watching Channel News

with five-time

Emmy award-winning anchor

Ron Burgundy

and Tits McGee.

Good evening, San Diego.

I'm Veronica Corningstone.

Tits McGee is on vacation.

And I'm Tits...

I'm Ron Burgundy.

- Veronica Corningstone.

- This is your doctor.

I have your pregnancy

report here, and guess what.

You got knocked up.

You should probably get out of news.

- Who is this?

- This is Dr. Chim.

- Dr. Chim Richalds.

- Ron, is this you?

I'm a professional doctor.

You saw me.

You don't remember.

We... you should move.

- Get out of the business.

- This is pathetic.

You're pathetic.

What'd she say?

She... I don't...

I think she bought it.

She's looking this way.

- Oh, uh-oh. Whoa!

- Here she comes.

I'll tell you what,

it's just not working.

She's making us look like

a bunch of fools.

Ellen, where's the party?

Children, grow up.

Son of a bee sting.

She's turning

the entire office against us.

- This is grim. Real grim.

- What are we gonna do?

There's only one thing

a man can do

when he's suffering from a spiritual

and existential funk.

Go to the zoo,

flip off the monkeys?

No. Buy new suits.

Yea!

Where's the suit store?

We've been walking for minutes.

Where's the suit store?

We've been walking for minutes.

Brick, I thought you said

this was a shortcut.

Fantastic.

- Is it a shortcut or not?

- Okay.

Jeez.

Hey.

Uh-oh.

Here comes trouble.

Burgundy and the ladies

went out for a stroll, huh?

You boys walkin' around

and talkin' things through?

Keep a tight perimeter.

Yes, sirree.

Well, well, well.

Ron Burgundy

and the Channel

News Team.

Where's your mommy?

You back off,

Evening News Team.

You know,

I understand that, uh,

they had to bring

a female in.

Change your diapers.

Wipe the dribble away

from your bubblin' lips.

Rub Vaseline

all over your heinie

and tell you that it's special

and different from everyone else's.

He said "heinie"!

Brick, get back over here!

Heinie!

Does she tuck you in, Ronnie?

Give you a little kiss

on your forehead?

Tell you everything's

gonna be okay?

I've had enough

of you, Mantooth.

This is gonna end

right here, right now.

Let's dance, dickweed.

You wanna dance, Ronnie?

I wanna polka.

Come get a taste.

Brick, where'd you get

a hand grenade?

I don't know.

All right.

Let's do this!

Hey!

If you're gonna have a fight,

then don't forget

Channel News with me,

lead anchor Frank Vitchard.

You dirtbags have been

in third place for five years.

Yeah? Well, you're about

to be in dead place.

Not so fast, you ingrates!

Public News Team is taking

a break from its pledge drive

to kick some ass.

No commercials!

No mercy!

Cómo están, pinches!

Spanish Language News is here.

Tonight's top story:

The sewers run red

with Burgundy's blood.

Hyah! Hyah!

Well looks like we got

ourselves a bilingual bloodfest.

Now, before we do this,

let's go over the ground rules.

Rule number one:

No touching

of the hair or face.

Of course.

And that's it!

Now let's do this!

Begin!

I'm gonna straight-up

murder your ass!

- Blade!

- Here you go, mate!

Ahh! God!

Oh! I did not

see that coming!

Oh! Aaah!

- Now I'll be number one.

- No, you won't!

Policía!

Boy, that escalated quickly.

I mean, that really

got out of hand fast.

- It jumped up a notch.

- It did, didn't it?

Yeah, I stabbed

a man in the heart.

I saw that.

Brick killed a guy.

- Did you throw a trident?

- Yeah.

There were horses and a man on fire

and I killed a guy with a trident.

I've been meaning

to talk to you about that.

Find yourself a safe house

or a relative close by.

Lay low for a while, because you're

probably wanted for murder.

I'm proud of you fellas.

You kept your head

on a swivel.

That's what you gotta do when

you're in a vicious cockfight.

Can you believe Mantooth and

the Channel Evening News Team?

"Where's your mommy?

Someone's gotta change your diapers."

This Corningstone business

is really hurting our rep.

I know exactly

what you mean, Brian.

Every newsman in this city's

laughing at us.

- And I don't like it.

- I don't like the put-downs.

We're gonna do

something about it.

It is time to put

an end to this!

Last time I looked, my name's Ron

Burgundy. What's your name?

- Brian Fantana.

- Champ Kind.

- Brian Fantana.

- No, you're Brick.

- Brian.

- I'm Brian.

Veronica.

And I've shown you, old man!

Garth, I need to look at these tapes

for a potential lead.

Ron's using the machine

to play his local Emmy

acceptance speech from last year.

I tried to ask her

out on a date.

Turn the music off!

I'm still talking!

- This is ridiculous!

- I don't remember doing it.

- Excuse me.

- What are you doing?

I need this machine so I can

watch a tape for a story.

I'm using the tape.

I'm showing Jeffrey

my Emmy tape.

We are watching history.

Mr. Burgundy,

I'm a professional,

and I would like

to be able to do my job.

Big deal!

I am very professional!

Mr. Burgundy,

you are acting like a baby.

I'm not a baby, I am a man.

I am an anchorman!

You are not a man.

You are a big fat joke!

I'm a man

who discovered the wheel

and built the Eiffel Tower

out of metal and brawn.

That's what

kind of man I am.

You're just a woman

with a small brain.

With a brain a third the size of us.

It's science.

I will have you know

that I have more talent

and more intelligence

in my little finger

than you do

in your entire body, sir!

You are a smelly

pirate hooker!

You look like a blueberry.

Why don't you go back

to your home on Whore Island?

Well, you have bad hair.

What did you say?

I said

your hair

looks stupid.

- Let 'em work it out!

- It's between the two of them!

They're just talking.

Just talking.

- I hate you!

- I hate you more!

Ow!

Shut up! Shut up!

All right, stop!

Stop what you're doing

right now!

I will not have

my newsroom be divided.

Ah! Knights of Columbus,

that hurts!

I was like, "Who is that guy?"

I just can't believe

what Ron did to you.

It is so awful.

Yes.

Have you ever thought

about fighting fire

with fire?

What do you mean?

I have some information

that you can choose to use or not use.

Up to you.

Ron Burgundy

will read anything

that is put on that Teleprompter.

And when I say anything,

I mean an-y-thing.

Arnold, cue one.

After the FotoMat

was destroyed,

the bear scampered

back into the woods.

Apparently he wasn't too happy

with his color prints.

Oh.

From the entire

Channel News Team,

I'm Veronica Corningstone.

And I'm Ron Burgundy.

Go fuck yourself,

San Diego.

What in the name...

No!

Nobody talks about

my city that way!

Ron Burgundy's ass

is grass!

Nice work, everyone.

Sharp broadcast.

Really good.

Everyone on the floor as well.

Really a lot of hustle.

I liked it.

Dump out! Dump out!

Hello, Edward.

- Ron, I've got to fire you.

- I've got to fire you.

Bing, bong, bong.

You're fired, Ed.

Do you even know

what you just said?

Great Odin's raven!

Are you happy, Ron?

Veronica.

She put that in the Teleprompter.

You're probably right,

but this is bad, Ron. Real bad.

My hands are tied. I...

I gotta fire you.

Ed, let's hold on.

Let's count to .

That's a rash decision.

Is this about something else?

Ed, there's

very angry San Diego-ites.

San Diego-ins.

San Diego-uns.

- San Dieg-ons.

- San Diegans.

San Diegans out

in front of the station.

They want Ron's blood.

They want to hurt you.

Why did you say that? Why?

Why, Ron? Why?

You're my hero, Ron.

Garth, I...

And you come out

with stink like that poop!

You poop mouth!

Get all the poop out of your mouth!

If I were to give you money out

of my wallet, would that ease the pain?

I hate you, Ron Burgundy!

I hate you!

Ron? Ron! I never

wanted it to be like this.

I can't believe you did this to me!

Are you happy?

No, Ron, I'm not!

It was supposed to be a joke.

I mean, it's still kind of funny.

But it's not.

I have nothing left!

Nothing!

I've been reduced to rubble!

Don't you know I would

never say the word fuck?

I would never fucking

ever fucking say that!

Ever!

Let's go. These people

are about to pull you apart.

I'm sorry. Get your hands

off him, you bastards!

Don't you know I would

never say fuck?

- Fuck!

- Move.

No! No!

1. Well #1 (Confined Aquifer):

2. Well #2 (Lower Unconfined Aquifer):

3. Well #3 (Upper Unconfined Aquifer):

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Boogie with Stu

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Haha, I had no clue what it was gonna be. Could have been bad.

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If I could be in the headlines I would just want it to say something along the lines of “ She is still alive, you can go on with your lives”. I wouldn’t ever really want to be in the newspaper. So people would probably see that and think “what? okay whatever”, it wouldn’t be anything important, so it wouldn’t stick in their minds

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Spelunky

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