Your threads are always soo dope

just fuck off already. troll threads arent even fun anymore. its just pure unoriginal drek.

can someone besides these jerk offs let me know if Pharmacies carry STD testing kits..... before i go to a city clinic

can someone besides these jerk offs let me know if Pharmacies carry STD testing kits..... before i go to a city clinic

(insert AIDS joke here)

generally, you get symptoms of chlamydia and gonorrhea (they usually come as a package, or at least they're treated as a package deal). pain with discharge, foul smelling discharge, colorful, etc. a clinician will most likely just give you a one time dose of ceftriaxone (shot) and azythromycin (pill) and call it a day. usually I wouldn't bother with a test because they're diagnosed symptomatically for the most part if I remember correctly

Let's start, and end, with the shirts. Dressing is a big deal to me -- ever since I (a) became single, and (b) lost 60 pounds, I've become something of a clotheshorse. I don't know the etymology of that expression, but it's such a neat word I wanted to use it. (Am I like a sawhorse, but for clothing instead of sawing?)

At any rate, I've started shopping at the smallest, snottiest, exclusiviest (I know, not a word) little men's boutiques I can find. At first I was content merely having the guys at Nordstrom all know me by name (and call me when they got a new season's worth of fashions), but that was merely a gateway (like marijuana in the eyes of conservatives) to littler shops, where each individual thread in a garment has a value measured in dollars, not pennies.

Sadly, these kinds of shirts require dry-cleaning, which requires that I make it to the dry-cleaner. This is something of an issue for me, because I'm wont to keep odd hours, and because when I'm awake I'm usually working (c.f. "being single, the suckiness inherent therein"). So, for the last week, in preparation for WWDC, I've been driving around with a big blue laundry bag full of dirty shirts in the passenger seat of my pimp ride.

I should mention that, when I was a wee lad, I had visions of one day getting a pimp ride, so that when I passed pretty women on the side of the street who were forlornly walking somewhere, I could pull up and say, "Hey, mamasita, you want a ride?" I've since been informed that women find this, in fact, really creepy, so I've never actually done it, but I have to mention that every guy has a fantasy of one day doing this, even while admitting this fantasy is in direct opposition to any possible reality.

[I should also mention that should I wish to Jackson out and hit on 12-year-old boys, instead of women, a pimp ride is the perfect way to go. The number of times I've had 12-year-old boys yell out "pimp-de-pimp-pimp-pimp!" to me when I drive by is surprisingly high, considering I had previously never heard the "pimp-de-pimp-pimp-pimp" call and have no idea what it means. But for 12-year-olds it's some kind of lingua franca.]

At any rate, you can imagine how cool it is to drive by a pretty woman walking in the rain and think, "Hey, I should offer her a ride... wait, then she'd have to have my big bag of stinky shirts in her lap... that'd probably strike her as pretty strange... possibly even frightening."

--

So it is that, when packing for WWDC 2005, I only took one good shirt with me. Mind you, this was a really good shirt. This shirt was made in London by a guy named Ted or James or some such, which to me lends instant credibility to it, because as much as I love (the blue states in) my country, when I think of America I think of rebels, I think of individualists, I think of can-do spirit and an indomitable dedication to individual freedoms and happiness. But I don't think, "nice shirts!"

London, on the other hand, has class and panache, and Ted/James clearly was the latest in a long line of shirt-makers who had, for generations, been making shirts for discerning gentlemen, not carrying guns, and/or shipping off criminals to unsettled countries.

Nor is the cotton in this shirt simply from normal cotton plants, oh no. It's grown someplace exotic, like Morocco, and it seems to carry a slight scent of the spices of distant lands on it. Bury your face in this shirt and you can almost hear Bogey whispering, "Listen, kid, this shirt is bigger than the both of us..."

I've received about five or so unsolicited compliments in this shirt, which is five more than I have in any other shirt. Guys don't get complimented on shirts a lot, unless they say, "Hey, look at this shirt," which I admit I've done a couple times, but I'm saying I've been complimented on this shirt without fishing for it, five times.

--

And so I wore this shirt on Tuesday at WWDC 2005, because Tuesday was the day of the Apple Design Awards. My previous company had won a number of these when I was running it, and so this award had a personal meaning to me. This was the first time my new company had entered, and I had high hopes. And, should I win, I wanted to be up on that stage smiling at the crowd while looking fine in my shirt that combined the best parts of London and Morocco.

And here's where the story take a tragic turn, because, in their unknowable yet infallible wisdom, Apple suddenly decided the Design Awards would be on Wednesday. I found this out late Tuesday, and spent the day grousing to all and sundry about how this messed up my plans vis-a-vis the shirt. And everyone agreed that it was, in fact, a very nice shirt, but I should note that I didn't count these compliments towards my previously-mentioned total of five, because I was really fishing.

For a moment I thought this mishap might end up for the best, because that night several of us nerds ended up at a bar, and in my mildly drunken state I started talking with a pretty lady about... well, I don't remember. Something, I'm sure. We'll call her Laurie Anderson, because she looks just like a young Laurie Anderson, and it'll be more evocative this way. I didn't exactly hit on Laurie, per se, but I will say I was glad I was wearing a nice shirt. It wasn't until the next night that one of her friends let me know, in a very friendly manner, that if I had intentions towards Ms. Anderson I might reconsider them, because she was, in fact, as interested in women as I was.

Which was a nice thing to do, frankly, because it's good to know the boundaries of your relationship with someone right at the start -- I like it when women I'm talking to let it be known they have a steady boyfriend, for example, not because I can then cut bait and run, but because I can adjust my expectations and demeanor accordingly, and not embarrass myself or her. For example, you don't say, "I want to nibble your neck," to a woman with a boyfriend. Instead, you'd use the more coy, "If you didn't have a boyfriend, I would certainly be interested in your neck, vis-a-vis the nibbling thereof." See, it's all about delivery.

But, upon reflection later that night, I felt I hadn't made very effective use of my shirt, and so it was with a heavy heart that I finally took it off, realizing that it had been sullied for naught. Actually, I was pretty drunk when I got back to the hotel, so all I remember is thinking how much effort it was to take clothes off and put them in a pile.

--

It was the next afternoon (morning having been lost to C2H5OH), while I was putting on one of my t-shirts and again mentioning how unhappy I was to be thus dressed for the Design Awards, that Mike said, with that clarity of vision associated with the genius, "Hey, you could, like, go buy a new shirt."

T2 and I looked at each other, and although it may have been that we were both still under the affects of chemicals, we instantly agreed this was why Mike was The Smart One. My day had a purpose now, and my step had a spring to it.

I asked the concierge where I might find a fancy, fashion-forward shirt in downtown San Francisco. I figured this would be a slam-dunk. Here's a city whose culture ranks up there with New York and Paris. Here's a city where the rich scions of industry have nothing to do with their money but impress each other with their fancy baubles and ornaments.

She pulled out a map and circled a block. "Here's a Nordstrom's!" Wrong, wrong, wrong. First off, Nordstrom's is NOT fashion-forward, even if they do try to sell orange shirts to golfers in the winter. Second, if I wanted to go to freaking Nordstrom's, I'd GO TO THE ORIGINAL ONE, RIGHT NEXT TO WHERE I LIVE. I'm in San Francisco. The city by the bay! Wow me with your culture!

"There's a Saks on 3rd?" NO! No no no no no! You are not getting me. I want a boutique. "Well, Nordstrom's has different departments, they're kind of like boutiques..." No! How'd we get back here? Seriously, no!

Then, suddenly, she saw. "Oh, there's a little place called Pink, you might check that out, if you're not freaked out by the name." Lady, I'm a true metrosexual. I'm not worried about my masculinity when I shop. You could tell me the store is called "Sweaty Men in a Bathhouse" and I'd go there if it had Moroccan cotton.

T2 and I jumped into a cab and I immediately bought two "slim-fit" shirts from Thomas Pink, of London. The gentlemen who helped us were classy and helpful without the slightest trace of condescension, which was nice considering I came in wearing a WWDC polo shirt and T2 had what appeared to be an original 1970s "Dark Side of the Moon" T-shirt on.

--

This year was the 10th anniversary of the Apple Design awards, and as such they decided to celebrate by gussing the whole event up, in an homage/parody of the Academy Awards. This struck me as entirely apropos, as I estimate to the 1,000 of us nerds who were there, this was our Academy Awards. This was our Nobel prize. This was our moment.

At the start of the evening one of the high mucky-mucks of Developer Relations, who happens to be a very pretty lady, floated onstage in a drop-dead gorgeous gown. We'll call her Natasha Richardson because she looks like a Natasha's younger sister might. (Yes, I know Natasha already has a younger sister.)

There's another fact you should know at this point, which is that nerds are not, inherently, asexual. We don't have much success with women, but that doesn't mean we are immune to their charms. Quite the opposite. We fall under such a spell that we are unable to function, and this renders us so unattractive that it creates a self-perpetuating cycle of desperate singlehood.

So, in that first moment, 1,000 nerds fell in love with Natasha. Well, 996 nerd guys fell in love with her, and the four women in the crowd thought, "Wow, I wonder where she got that dress?" (Laurie Anderson was out partying elsewhere, but I think it's safe to assume she would have been crushing, too, had she been present.)

As she started to speak a strange calm came over the crowd, as if we were cavemen seeing fire for the first time, or rats hearing a certain piper. There was also some guy in a tux on stage with her, I think. I don't know if anyone remembers. Maybe he was tall?

Immediately my mind was no longer on whether I won the award, but on what I would say to her if I did. When the first award was given, the guy who won it kept whispering things to her as his product was described to the crowd, and I noticed that her lapel mic was sensitive enough that we could all hear what he was saying. This dashed somewhat my plans to hit on her on-stage, because everyone in the crowd would be able to hear me saying, "So, uh, want to ride in my car sometime, uh, assuming I move the laundry? I've been led to understand that it's, uh, pimp-de-pimp-pimp-pimp."

--

When Natasha called out the name of our company for Best User Experience the four of us ran onstage, and I shook her hand as she handed me the cool glowing cube, hand-designed by Jonathan Ives. I think she said, "Congratulations," and if I recall I replied, coyly, "Thanks." Playing it smooth... way to go Wil. Don't tip your hand yet, old boy. Best to slip in under RADAR. Way under RADAR.

Afterwards, the winners all had to come up front to sign a ton of forms in exchange for our phat loot. Natasha was there amongst us, and I recognized that, if ever I would had a chance, this was it. Time to shine!

I strode up to her confidently. Ok, well, I didn't stride, really, because I pinched a nerve in my neck last month, and ever since I've had to walk kind of hunched over, with my head forward, as if I were a cro-magnan man, or possibly just suffered from osteoporosis. Check it out, ladies! I'm unevolved and/or very old!

The problem is, if I stand up straight, the nerve gets pinched and I lose all feeling in my left arm, and the ability to move it. On the other hand, I knew being hunched over was unattractive, so I kept sort of bending my lower torso backwards to compensate for my bent-forward neck, the end effect being that I bobbed along like a pigeon when I walked.

So I coo-cooed up to her and gave her my most winning wince (because I had tweaked the nerve in the bobbing motion). While I admit this isn't a word-for-word transcript, this is, I feel, an accurate depiction of what went down:

Natasha: "Congratulations on your win!"

Me: "Nice dress! So pretty! Where dress come from?"

Natasha: "Oh, an assistant and I just ran out to Saks today to get it." [Note to four women in audience: question answered!] "Anyways, we're all very excited about Delicious Library..."

Me: "Dress soft! Girl pretty!"

Natasha: "Yes... uh, so, it's great to have strategic partners like Delicious Monster on our platform..."

Me: "Dress for dancing. Pretty girl go dancing with me?"

Natasha: "Um, I have to go over... there... now."

A few moments later she had magically changed into an absolutely gorgeous set of matching coordinates to go to dinner. I overheard her say she was going to schmooze some developers. I kind of felt sorry for them, because they really didn't stand much of a chance. "Pretty girl want us port to Macintosh? Us make pretty girl happy!"

--

The next night we celebrated our win in style, inviting everyone we met from the conference to get free drinks on us at Captain Eddie Rickenbacker's bar, within stumbling distance of Moscone center. Laurie and her entourage came with us, as well as various other new best friends I'd met at the conference. One guy we'd met while out carousing looked and acted almost exactly like Brad Pitt (circa Ocean's 11), so we actually called him Brad to make our lives easy. In fact, a lot of us got celebrity names; our crazy Australian friend was dubbed "Robert Downey, Jr," and it was a title that fit both his looks and his personality perfectly -- I don't think I ever saw him sober during the conference. (I was later dubbed "George Clooney," but I think at this point they were stretching the conceit.)

Robert Downey and I had seen a couple of very pretty, very young German "au pairs" on our way to the bar, and had convinced them to come along because, well, partying with forty guys and one lesbian is only so much fun. I talked to them for a while at the bar, but it soon became clear they were much too young for me, so I grabbed an extra chair and called Brad Pitt over, and they quickly turned their full attention to him. My work done, I wandered outside with a couple drinks, and sat with Laurie while she smoked her "American Spirit"s.

Laurie thought I might be down after getting passed over by the 20-year-olds. "You know, you're much cuter than Brad Pitt," she said, lying in that sweet motherly way that makes you feel good not because you believe it, but because you appreciate the sentiment behind the lie. "Look at you: you're smart, successful, handsome, and very intriguing." Her friend nodded agreement.

And, seriously, whatever liberties I'm taking with the truth elsewhere in this tale, I'm not making this part up:

"Also, you have totally great taste in shirts."

You have aids.

Granite_StateLet's start, and end, with the shirts. Dressing is a big deal to me -- ever since I (a) became single, and (b) lost 60 pounds, I've become something of a clotheshorse. I don't know the etymology of that expression, but it's such a neat word I wanted to use it. (Am I like a sawhorse, but for clothing instead of sawing?)

At any rate, I've started shopping at the smallest, snottiest, exclusiviest (I know, not a word) little men's boutiques I can find. At first I was content merely having the guys at Nordstrom all know me by name (and call me when they got a new season's worth of fashions), but that was merely a gateway (like marijuana in the eyes of conservatives) to littler shops, where each individual thread in a garment has a value measured in dollars, not pennies.

Sadly, these kinds of shirts require dry-cleaning, which requires that I make it to the dry-cleaner. This is something of an issue for me, because I'm wont to keep odd hours, and because when I'm awake I'm usually working (c.f. "being single, the suckiness inherent therein"). So, for the last week, in preparation for WWDC, I've been driving around with a big blue laundry bag full of dirty shirts in the passenger seat of my pimp ride.

I should mention that, when I was a wee lad, I had visions of one day getting a pimp ride, so that when I passed pretty women on the side of the street who were forlornly walking somewhere, I could pull up and say, "Hey, mamasita, you want a ride?" I've since been informed that women find this, in fact, really creepy, so I've never actually done it, but I have to mention that every guy has a fantasy of one day doing this, even while admitting this fantasy is in direct opposition to any possible reality.

[I should also mention that should I wish to Jackson out and hit on 12-year-old boys, instead of women, a pimp ride is the perfect way to go. The number of times I've had 12-year-old boys yell out "pimp-de-pimp-pimp-pimp!" to me when I drive by is surprisingly high, considering I had previously never heard the "pimp-de-pimp-pimp-pimp" call and have no idea what it means. But for 12-year-olds it's some kind of lingua franca.]

At any rate, you can imagine how cool it is to drive by a pretty woman walking in the rain and think, "Hey, I should offer her a ride... wait, then she'd have to have my big bag of stinky shirts in her lap... that'd probably strike her as pretty strange... possibly even frightening."

--

So it is that, when packing for WWDC 2005, I only took one good shirt with me. Mind you, this was a really good shirt. This shirt was made in London by a guy named Ted or James or some such, which to me lends instant credibility to it, because as much as I love (the blue states in) my country, when I think of America I think of rebels, I think of individualists, I think of can-do spirit and an indomitable dedication to individual freedoms and happiness. But I don't think, "nice shirts!"

London, on the other hand, has class and panache, and Ted/James clearly was the latest in a long line of shirt-makers who had, for generations, been making shirts for discerning gentlemen, not carrying guns, and/or shipping off criminals to unsettled countries.

Nor is the cotton in this shirt simply from normal cotton plants, oh no. It's grown someplace exotic, like Morocco, and it seems to carry a slight scent of the spices of distant lands on it. Bury your face in this shirt and you can almost hear Bogey whispering, "Listen, kid, this shirt is bigger than the both of us..."

I've received about five or so unsolicited compliments in this shirt, which is five more than I have in any other shirt. Guys don't get complimented on shirts a lot, unless they say, "Hey, look at this shirt," which I admit I've done a couple times, but I'm saying I've been complimented on this shirt without fishing for it, five times.

--

And so I wore this shirt on Tuesday at WWDC 2005, because Tuesday was the day of the Apple Design Awards. My previous company had won a number of these when I was running it, and so this award had a personal meaning to me. This was the first time my new company had entered, and I had high hopes. And, should I win, I wanted to be up on that stage smiling at the crowd while looking fine in my shirt that combined the best parts of London and Morocco.

And here's where the story take a tragic turn, because, in their unknowable yet infallible wisdom, Apple suddenly decided the Design Awards would be on Wednesday. I found this out late Tuesday, and spent the day grousing to all and sundry about how this messed up my plans vis-a-vis the shirt. And everyone agreed that it was, in fact, a very nice shirt, but I should note that I didn't count these compliments towards my previously-mentioned total of five, because I was really fishing.

For a moment I thought this mishap might end up for the best, because that night several of us nerds ended up at a bar, and in my mildly drunken state I started talking with a pretty lady about... well, I don't remember. Something, I'm sure. We'll call her Laurie Anderson, because she looks just like a young Laurie Anderson, and it'll be more evocative this way. I didn't exactly hit on Laurie, per se, but I will say I was glad I was wearing a nice shirt. It wasn't until the next night that one of her friends let me know, in a very friendly manner, that if I had intentions towards Ms. Anderson I might reconsider them, because she was, in fact, as interested in women as I was.

Which was a nice thing to do, frankly, because it's good to know the boundaries of your relationship with someone right at the start -- I like it when women I'm talking to let it be known they have a steady boyfriend, for example, not because I can then cut bait and run, but because I can adjust my expectations and demeanor accordingly, and not embarrass myself or her. For example, you don't say, "I want to nibble your neck," to a woman with a boyfriend. Instead, you'd use the more coy, "If you didn't have a boyfriend, I would certainly be interested in your neck, vis-a-vis the nibbling thereof." See, it's all about delivery.

But, upon reflection later that night, I felt I hadn't made very effective use of my shirt, and so it was with a heavy heart that I finally took it off, realizing that it had been sullied for naught. Actually, I was pretty drunk when I got back to the hotel, so all I remember is thinking how much effort it was to take clothes off and put them in a pile.

--

It was the next afternoon (morning having been lost to C2H5OH), while I was putting on one of my t-shirts and again mentioning how unhappy I was to be thus dressed for the Design Awards, that Mike said, with that clarity of vision associated with the genius, "Hey, you could, like, go buy a new shirt."

T2 and I looked at each other, and although it may have been that we were both still under the affects of chemicals, we instantly agreed this was why Mike was The Smart One. My day had a purpose now, and my step had a spring to it.

I asked the concierge where I might find a fancy, fashion-forward shirt in downtown San Francisco. I figured this would be a slam-dunk. Here's a city whose culture ranks up there with New York and Paris. Here's a city where the rich scions of industry have nothing to do with their money but impress each other with their fancy baubles and ornaments.

She pulled out a map and circled a block. "Here's a Nordstrom's!" Wrong, wrong, wrong. First off, Nordstrom's is NOT fashion-forward, even if they do try to sell orange shirts to golfers in the winter. Second, if I wanted to go to freaking Nordstrom's, I'd GO TO THE ORIGINAL ONE, RIGHT NEXT TO WHERE I LIVE. I'm in San Francisco. The city by the bay! Wow me with your culture!

"There's a Saks on 3rd?" NO! No no no no no! You are not getting me. I want a boutique. "Well, Nordstrom's has different departments, they're kind of like boutiques..." No! How'd we get back here? Seriously, no!

Then, suddenly, she saw. "Oh, there's a little place called Pink, you might check that out, if you're not freaked out by the name." Lady, I'm a true metrosexual. I'm not worried about my masculinity when I shop. You could tell me the store is called "Sweaty Men in a Bathhouse" and I'd go there if it had Moroccan cotton.

T2 and I jumped into a cab and I immediately bought two "slim-fit" shirts from Thomas Pink, of London. The gentlemen who helped us were classy and helpful without the slightest trace of condescension, which was nice considering I came in wearing a WWDC polo shirt and T2 had what appeared to be an original 1970s "Dark Side of the Moon" T-shirt on.

--

This year was the 10th anniversary of the Apple Design awards, and as such they decided to celebrate by gussing the whole event up, in an homage/parody of the Academy Awards. This struck me as entirely apropos, as I estimate to the 1,000 of us nerds who were there, this was our Academy Awards. This was our Nobel prize. This was our moment.

At the start of the evening one of the high mucky-mucks of Developer Relations, who happens to be a very pretty lady, floated onstage in a drop-dead gorgeous gown. We'll call her Natasha Richardson because she looks like a Natasha's younger sister might. (Yes, I know Natasha already has a younger sister.)

There's another fact you should know at this point, which is that nerds are not, inherently, asexual. We don't have much success with women, but that doesn't mean we are immune to their charms. Quite the opposite. We fall under such a spell that we are unable to function, and this renders us so unattractive that it creates a self-perpetuating cycle of desperate singlehood.

So, in that first moment, 1,000 nerds fell in love with Natasha. Well, 996 nerd guys fell in love with her, and the four women in the crowd thought, "Wow, I wonder where she got that dress?" (Laurie Anderson was out partying elsewhere, but I think it's safe to assume she would have been crushing, too, had she been present.)

As she started to speak a strange calm came over the crowd, as if we were cavemen seeing fire for the first time, or rats hearing a certain piper. There was also some guy in a tux on stage with her, I think. I don't know if anyone remembers. Maybe he was tall?

Immediately my mind was no longer on whether I won the award, but on what I would say to her if I did. When the first award was given, the guy who won it kept whispering things to her as his product was described to the crowd, and I noticed that her lapel mic was sensitive enough that we could all hear what he was saying. This dashed somewhat my plans to hit on her on-stage, because everyone in the crowd would be able to hear me saying, "So, uh, want to ride in my car sometime, uh, assuming I move the laundry? I've been led to understand that it's, uh, pimp-de-pimp-pimp-pimp."

--

When Natasha called out the name of our company for Best User Experience the four of us ran onstage, and I shook her hand as she handed me the cool glowing cube, hand-designed by Jonathan Ives. I think she said, "Congratulations," and if I recall I replied, coyly, "Thanks." Playing it smooth... way to go Wil. Don't tip your hand yet, old boy. Best to slip in under RADAR. Way under RADAR.

Afterwards, the winners all had to come up front to sign a ton of forms in exchange for our phat loot. Natasha was there amongst us, and I recognized that, if ever I would had a chance, this was it. Time to shine!

I strode up to her confidently. Ok, well, I didn't stride, really, because I pinched a nerve in my neck last month, and ever since I've had to walk kind of hunched over, with my head forward, as if I were a cro-magnan man, or possibly just suffered from osteoporosis. Check it out, ladies! I'm unevolved and/or very old!

The problem is, if I stand up straight, the nerve gets pinched and I lose all feeling in my left arm, and the ability to move it. On the other hand, I knew being hunched over was unattractive, so I kept sort of bending my lower torso backwards to compensate for my bent-forward neck, the end effect being that I bobbed along like a pigeon when I walked.

So I coo-cooed up to her and gave her my most winning wince (because I had tweaked the nerve in the bobbing motion). While I admit this isn't a word-for-word transcript, this is, I feel, an accurate depiction of what went down:

Natasha: "Congratulations on your win!"

Me: "Nice dress! So pretty! Where dress come from?"

Natasha: "Oh, an assistant and I just ran out to Saks today to get it." [Note to four women in audience: question answered!] "Anyways, we're all very excited about Delicious Library..."

Me: "Dress soft! Girl pretty!"

Natasha: "Yes... uh, so, it's great to have strategic partners like Delicious Monster on our platform..."

Me: "Dress for dancing. Pretty girl go dancing with me?"

Natasha: "Um, I have to go over... there... now."

A few moments later she had magically changed into an absolutely gorgeous set of matching coordinates to go to dinner. I overheard her say she was going to schmooze some developers. I kind of felt sorry for them, because they really didn't stand much of a chance. "Pretty girl want us port to Macintosh? Us make pretty girl happy!"

--

The next night we celebrated our win in style, inviting everyone we met from the conference to get free drinks on us at Captain Eddie Rickenbacker's bar, within stumbling distance of Moscone center. Laurie and her entourage came with us, as well as various other new best friends I'd met at the conference. One guy we'd met while out carousing looked and acted almost exactly like Brad Pitt (circa Ocean's 11), so we actually called him Brad to make our lives easy. In fact, a lot of us got celebrity names; our crazy Australian friend was dubbed "Robert Downey, Jr," and it was a title that fit both his looks and his personality perfectly -- I don't think I ever saw him sober during the conference. (I was later dubbed "George Clooney," but I think at this point they were stretching the conceit.)

Robert Downey and I had seen a couple of very pretty, very young German "au pairs" on our way to the bar, and had convinced them to come along because, well, partying with forty guys and one lesbian is only so much fun. I talked to them for a while at the bar, but it soon became clear they were much too young for me, so I grabbed an extra chair and called Brad Pitt over, and they quickly turned their full attention to him. My work done, I wandered outside with a couple drinks, and sat with Laurie while she smoked her "American Spirit"s.

Laurie thought I might be down after getting passed over by the 20-year-olds. "You know, you're much cuter than Brad Pitt," she said, lying in that sweet motherly way that makes you feel good not because you believe it, but because you appreciate the sentiment behind the lie. "Look at you: you're smart, successful, handsome, and very intriguing." Her friend nodded agreement.

And, seriously, whatever liberties I'm taking with the truth elsewhere in this tale, I'm not making this part up:

"Also, you have totally great taste in shirts."

You have aids.

great read, 10/10

no i hope your dick falls off for being dumb

piss in your own mouth if it tastes funny you have chlamydia

youre an idiot.

go to the doctors, pee in a cup, doctor sends pee to lab, finds out if you have aids.

its that easy.

and if your peen doesnt hurt, isnt discharging, and it generally doesnt non stop feel like you have been kicked in the dick, than you dont have an sti.

kids these days

first_rodeocan someone besides these jerk offs let me know if Pharmacies carry STD testing kits..... before i go to a city clinic

Why would you not just look online or even call the pharmacy.. that is why this thread sucks balls

Its hard to say, lets have them tell you

Why would you rather tell everyone that you have chlamydia, than either go to a pharmacy yourself and check, or go to a doctor?

You're not very bright, OP.

MiomoYou're not very bright, OP.

Which is why he got chlamydia.

Dude just go to a clinic for christ sakes. You're really asking kids on NS about this? Fuck, man.

If I were you I would just stick my dick in a blender. Whether or not you have an std the world will be a better place.

WU TANG IS 4 THA CHILDREN

Instead of making a thread you couldve just simply googled the issue or called a CVS. In my opinion, don't risk it man, just go to a doctor.

tusken_assraiderpiss in your own mouth if it tastes funny you have chlamydia

THATS FUCKING RETARDED!!!! Are you an idiot? JEsus fucking christ.

What good will it do if he doesn't know what normal piss tastes like? Def should have a friend piss in his mouth before he does so he can compare the too. Actually you wouldn't know if that friend has weird tasting piss so you'd probably have to get a bunch of friends. I think 5 would work but even more would be better. Just rotate between your piss and there's until you've come to a conclusion. If you still aren't sure or want to be thorough he should piss in his friends mouths as well so they can compare their own with his and as a group come to a proper conclusion.

Going to a doctor about std's could be awkward and embarrassing. That's why I think the above is the best solution to OP's problem.

CVS Rite Aid and Walgreens websites didn't have any adult care products on them.........

The student health center wouldn't test for STDs

I wasn't in a huge rush to pay $35 and wait 3 hours in a city clinic since I didn't have any symptoms. (where I ended up)

The doctors and RNs all thought I was a scumbag btw......

And besides like 6 of you, NS has no clue who steezecoast is

Yeah theres a little test kit where you jizz in a plastic bag and if it turns blue youve got the hiv

ACT I

SCENE I. Athens. The palace of THESEUS.

Enter THESEUS, HIPPOLYTA, PHILOSTRATE, and Attendants

THESEUS

Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour

Draws on apace; four happy days bring in

Another moon: but, O, methinks, how slow

This old moon wanes! she lingers my desires,

Like to a step-dame or a dowager

Long withering out a young man revenue.

HIPPOLYTA

Four days will quickly steep themselves in night;

Four nights will quickly dream away the time;

And then the moon, like to a silver bow

New-bent in heaven, shall behold the night

Of our solemnities.

THESEUS

Go, Philostrate,

Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments;

Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth;

Turn melancholy forth to funerals;

The pale companion is not for our pomp.

Exit PHILOSTRATE

Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword,

And won thy love, doing thee injuries;

But I will wed thee in another key,

With pomp, with triumph and with revelling.

Enter EGEUS, HERMIA, LYSANDER, and DEMETRIUS

EGEUS

Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke!

THESEUS

Thanks, good Egeus: what's the news with thee?

EGEUS

Full of vexation come I, with complaint

Against my child, my daughter Hermia.

Stand forth, Demetrius. My noble lord,

This man hath my consent to marry her.

Stand forth, Lysander: and my gracious duke,

This man hath bewitch'd the bosom of my child;

Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes,

And interchanged love-tokens with my child:

Thou hast by moonlight at her window sung,

With feigning voice verses of feigning love,

And stolen the impression of her fantasy

With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gawds, conceits,

Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats, messengers

Of strong prevailment in unharden'd youth:

With cunning hast thou filch'd my daughter's heart,

Turn'd her obedience, which is due to me,

To stubborn harshness: and, my gracious duke,

Be it so she; will not here before your grace

Consent to marry with Demetrius,

I beg the ancient privilege of Athens,

As she is mine, I may dispose of her:

Which shall be either to this gentleman

Or to her death, according to our law

Immediately provided in that case.

THESEUS

What say you, Hermia? be advised fair maid:

To you your father should be as a god;

One that composed your beauties, yea, and one

To whom you are but as a form in wax

By him imprinted and within his power

To leave the figure or disfigure it.

Demetrius is a worthy gentleman.

HERMIA

So is Lysander.

THESEUS

In himself he is;

But in this kind, wanting your father's voice,

The other must be held the worthier.

HERMIA

I would my father look'd but with my eyes.

THESEUS

Rather your eyes must with his judgment look.

HERMIA

I do entreat your grace to pardon me.

I know not by what power I am made bold,

Nor how it may concern my modesty,

In such a presence here to plead my thoughts;

But I beseech your grace that I may know

The worst that may befall me in this case,

If I refuse to wed Demetrius.

THESEUS

Either to die the death or to abjure

For ever the society of men.

Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires;

Know of your youth, examine well your blood,

Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice,

You can endure the livery of a nun,

For aye to be in shady cloister mew'd,

To live a barren sister all your life,

Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon.

Thrice-blessed they that master so their blood,

To undergo such maiden pilgrimage;

But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd,

Than that which withering on the virgin thorn

Grows, lives and dies in single blessedness.

HERMIA

So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord,

Ere I will my virgin patent up

Unto his lordship, whose unwished yoke

My soul consents not to give sovereignty.

THESEUS

Take time to pause; and, by the next new moon--

The sealing-day betwixt my love and me,

For everlasting bond of fellowship--

Upon that day either prepare to die

For disobedience to your father's will,

Or else to wed Demetrius, as he would;

Or on Diana's altar to protest

For aye austerity and single life.

DEMETRIUS

Relent, sweet Hermia: and, Lysander, yield

Thy crazed title to my certain right.

LYSANDER

You have her father's love, Demetrius;

Let me have Hermia's: do you marry him.

EGEUS

Scornful Lysander! true, he hath my love,

And what is mine my love shall render him.

And she is mine, and all my right of her

I do estate unto Demetrius.

LYSANDER

I am, my lord, as well derived as he,

As well possess'd; my love is more than his;

My fortunes every way as fairly rank'd,

If not with vantage, as Demetrius';

And, which is more than all these boasts can be,

I am beloved of beauteous Hermia:

Why should not I then prosecute my right?

Demetrius, I'll avouch it to his head,

Made love to Nedar's daughter, Helena,

And won her soul; and she, sweet lady, dotes,

Devoutly dotes, dotes in idolatry,

Upon this spotted and inconstant man.

THESEUS

I must confess that I have heard so much,

And with Demetrius thought to have spoke thereof;

But, being over-full of self-affairs,

My mind did lose it. But, Demetrius, come;

And come, Egeus; you shall go with me,

I have some private schooling for you both.

For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself

To fit your fancies to your father's will;

Or else the law of Athens yields you up--

Which by no means we may extenuate--

To death, or to a vow of single life.

Come, my Hippolyta: what cheer, my love?

Demetrius and Egeus, go along:

I must employ you in some business

Against our nuptial and confer with you

Of something nearly that concerns yourselves.

EGEUS

With duty and desire we follow you.

Exeunt all but LYSANDER and HERMIA

LYSANDER

How now, my love! why is your cheek so pale?

How chance the roses there do fade so fast?

HERMIA

Belike for want of rain, which I could well

Beteem them from the tempest of my eyes.

LYSANDER

Ay me! for aught that I could ever read,

Could ever hear by tale or history,

The course of true love never did run smooth;

But, either it was different in blood,--

HERMIA

O cross! too high to be enthrall'd to low.

LYSANDER

Or else misgraffed in respect of years,--

HERMIA

O spite! too old to be engaged to young.

LYSANDER

Or else it stood upon the choice of friends,--

HERMIA

O hell! to choose love by another's eyes.

LYSANDER

Or, if there were a sympathy in choice,

War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it,

Making it momentany as a sound,

Swift as a shadow, short as any dream;

Brief as the lightning in the collied night,

That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth,

And ere a man hath power to say 'Behold!'

The jaws of darkness do devour it up:

So quick bright things come to confusion.

HERMIA

If then true lovers have been ever cross'd,

It stands as an edict in destiny:

Then let us teach our trial patience,

Because it is a customary cross,

As due to love as thoughts and dreams and sighs,

Wishes and tears, poor fancy's followers.

LYSANDER

A good persuasion: therefore, hear me, Hermia.

I have a widow aunt, a dowager

Of great revenue, and she hath no child:

From Athens is her house remote seven leagues;

And she respects me as her only son.

There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee;

And to that place the sharp Athenian law

Cannot pursue us. If thou lovest me then,

Steal forth thy father's house to-morrow night;

And in the wood, a league without the town,

Where I did meet thee once with Helena,

To do observance to a morn of May,

There will I stay for thee.

HERMIA

My good Lysander!

I swear to thee, by Cupid's strongest bow,

By his best arrow with the golden head,

By the simplicity of Venus' doves,

By that which knitteth souls and prospers loves,

And by that fire which burn'd the Carthage queen,

When the false Troyan under sail was seen,

By all the vows that ever men have broke,

In number more than ever women spoke,

In that same place thou hast appointed me,

To-morrow truly will I meet with thee.

LYSANDER

Keep promise, love. Look, here comes Helena.

Enter HELENA

HERMIA

God speed fair Helena! whither away?

HELENA

Call you me fair? that fair again unsay.

Demetrius loves your fair: O happy fair!

Your eyes are lode-stars; and your tongue's sweet air

More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear,

When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear.

Sickness is catching: O, were favour so,

Yours would I catch, fair Hermia, ere I go;

My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye,

My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody.

Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated,

The rest I'd give to be to you translated.

O, teach me how you look, and with what art

You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart.

HERMIA

I frown upon him, yet he loves me still.

HELENA

O that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill!

HERMIA

I give him curses, yet he gives me love.

HELENA

O that my prayers could such affection move!

HERMIA

The more I hate, the more he follows me.

HELENA

The more I love, the more he hateth me.

HERMIA

His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine.

HELENA

None, but your beauty: would that fault were mine!

HERMIA

Take comfort: he no more shall see my face;

Lysander and myself will fly this place.

Before the time I did Lysander see,

Seem'd Athens as a paradise to me:

O, then, what graces in my love do dwell,

That he hath turn'd a heaven unto a hell!

LYSANDER

Helen, to you our minds we will unfold:

To-morrow night, when Phoebe doth behold

Her silver visage in the watery glass,

Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass,

A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal,

Through Athens' gates have we devised to steal.

HERMIA

And in the wood, where often you and I

Upon faint primrose-beds were wont to lie,

Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet,

There my Lysander and myself shall meet;

And thence from Athens turn away our eyes,

To seek new friends and stranger companies.

Farewell, sweet playfellow: pray thou for us;

And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius!

Keep word, Lysander: we must starve our sight

From lovers' food till morrow deep midnight.

LYSANDER

I will, my Hermia.

Exit HERMIA

Helena, adieu:

As you on him, Demetrius dote on you!

Exit

HELENA

How happy some o'er other some can be!

Through Athens I am thought as fair as she.

But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so;

He will not know what all but he do know:

And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes,

So I, admiring of his qualities:

Things base and vile, folding no quantity,

Love can transpose to form and dignity:

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind;

And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind:

Nor hath Love's mind of any judgement taste;

Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste:

And therefore is Love said to be a child,

Because in choice he is so oft beguiled.

As waggish boys in game themselves forswear,

So the boy Love is perjured every where:

For ere Demetrius look'd on Hermia's eyne,

He hail'd down oaths that he was only mine;

And when this hail some heat from Hermia felt,

So he dissolved, and showers of oaths did melt.

I will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight:

Then to the wood will he to-morrow night

Pursue her; and for this intelligence

If I have thanks, it is a dear expense:

But herein mean I to enrich my pain,

To have his sight thither and back again.

Exit

SCENE II. Athens. QUINCE'S house.

Enter QUINCE, SNUG, BOTTOM, FLUTE, SNOUT, and STARVELING

QUINCE

Is all our company here?

BOTTOM

You were best to call them generally, man by man,

according to the scrip.

QUINCE

Here is the scroll of every man's name, which is

thought fit, through all Athens, to play in our

interlude before the duke and the duchess, on his

wedding-day at night.

BOTTOM

First, good Peter Quince, say what the play treats

on, then read the names of the actors, and so grow

to a point.

QUINCE

Marry, our play is, The most lamentable comedy, and

most cruel death of Pyramus and Thisby.

BOTTOM

A very good piece of work, I assure you, and a

merry. Now, good Peter Quince, call forth your

actors by the scroll. Masters, spread yourselves.

QUINCE

Answer as I call you. Nick Bottom, the weaver.

BOTTOM

Ready. Name what part I am for, and proceed.

QUINCE

You, Nick Bottom, are set down for Pyramus.

BOTTOM

What is Pyramus? a lover, or a tyrant?

QUINCE

A lover, that kills himself most gallant for love.

BOTTOM

That will ask some tears in the true performing of

it: if I do it, let the audience look to their

eyes; I will move storms, I will condole in some

measure. To the rest: yet my chief humour is for a

tyrant: I could play Ercles rarely, or a part to

tear a cat in, to make all split.

The raging rocks

And shivering shocks

Shall break the locks

Of prison gates;

And Phibbus' car

Shall shine from far

And make and mar

The foolish Fates.

This was lofty! Now name the rest of the players.

This is Ercles' vein, a tyrant's vein; a lover is

more condoling.

QUINCE

Francis Flute, the bellows-mender.

FLUTE

Here, Peter Quince.

QUINCE

Flute, you must take Thisby on you.

FLUTE

What is Thisby? a wandering knight?

QUINCE

It is the lady that Pyramus must love.

FLUTE

Nay, faith, let me not play a woman; I have a beard coming.

QUINCE

That's all one: you shall play it in a mask, and

you may speak as small as you will.

BOTTOM

An I may hide my face, let me play Thisby too, I'll

speak in a monstrous little voice. 'Thisne,

Thisne;' 'Ah, Pyramus, lover dear! thy Thisby dear,

and lady dear!'

QUINCE

No, no; you must play Pyramus: and, Flute, you Thisby.

BOTTOM

Well, proceed.

QUINCE

Robin Starveling, the tailor.

STARVELING

Here, Peter Quince.

QUINCE

Robin Starveling, you must play Thisby's mother.

Tom Snout, the tinker.

SNOUT

Here, Peter Quince.

QUINCE

You, Pyramus' father: myself, Thisby's father:

Snug, the joiner; you, the lion's part: and, I

hope, here is a play fitted.

SNUG

Have you the lion's part written? pray you, if it

be, give it me, for I am slow of study.

QUINCE

You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring.

BOTTOM

Let me play the lion too: I will roar, that I will

do any man's heart good to hear me; I will roar,

that I will make the duke say 'Let him roar again,

let him roar again.'

QUINCE

An you should do it too terribly, you would fright

the duchess and the ladies, that they would shriek;

and that were enough to hang us all.

ALL

That would hang us, every mother's son.

BOTTOM

I grant you, friends, if that you should fright the

ladies out of their wits, they would have no more

discretion but to hang us: but I will aggravate my

voice so that I will roar you as gently as any

sucking dove; I will roar you an 'twere any

nightingale.

QUINCE

You can play no part but Pyramus; for Pyramus is a

sweet-faced man; a proper man, as one shall see in a

summer's day; a most lovely gentleman-like man:

therefore you must needs play Pyramus.

BOTTOM

Well, I will undertake it. What beard were I best

to play it in?

QUINCE

Why, what you will.

BOTTOM

I will discharge it in either your straw-colour

beard, your orange-tawny beard, your purple-in-grain

beard, or your French-crown-colour beard, your

perfect yellow.

QUINCE

Some of your French crowns have no hair at all, and

then you will play bare-faced. But, masters, here

are your parts: and I am to entreat you, request

you and desire you, to con them by to-morrow night;

and meet me in the palace wood, a mile without the

town, by moonlight; there will we rehearse, for if

we meet in the city, we shall be dogged with

company, and our devices known. In the meantime I

will draw a bill of properties, such as our play

wants. I pray you, fail me not.

BOTTOM

We will meet; and there we may rehearse most

obscenely and courageously. Take pains; be perfect: adieu.

QUINCE

At the duke's oak we meet.

BOTTOM

Enough; hold or cut bow-strings.

Exeunt

ACT II

SCENE I. A wood near Athens.

Enter, from opposite sides, a Fairy, and PUCK

PUCK

How now, spirit! whither wander you?

Fairy

Over hill, over dale,

Thorough bush, thorough brier,

Over park, over pale,

Thorough flood, thorough fire,

I do wander everywhere,

Swifter than the moon's sphere;

And I serve the fairy queen,

To dew her orbs upon the green.

The cowslips tall her pensioners be:

In their gold coats spots you see;

Those be rubies, fairy favours,

In those freckles live their savours:

I must go seek some dewdrops here

And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.

Farewell, thou lob of spirits; I'll be gone:

Our queen and all our elves come here anon.

PUCK

The king doth keep his revels here to-night:

Take heed the queen come not within his sight;

For Oberon is passing fell and wrath,

Because that she as her attendant hath

A lovely boy, stolen from an Indian king;

She never had so sweet a changeling;

And jealous Oberon would have the child

Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild;

But she perforce withholds the loved boy,

Crowns him with flowers and makes him all her joy:

And now they never meet in grove or green,

By fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen,

But, they do square, that all their elves for fear

Creep into acorn-cups and hide them there.

Fairy

Either I mistake your shape and making quite,

Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite

Call'd Robin Goodfellow: are not you he

That frights the maidens of the villagery;

Skim milk, and sometimes labour in the quern

And bootless make the breathless housewife churn;

And sometime make the drink to bear no barm;

Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm?

Those that Hobgoblin call you and sweet Puck,

You do their work, and they shall have good luck:

Are not you he?

PUCK

Thou speak'st aright;

I am that merry wanderer of the night.

I jest to Oberon and make him smile

When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile,

Neighing in likeness of a filly foal:

And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl,

In very likeness of a roasted crab,

And when she drinks, against her lips I bob

And on her wither'd dewlap pour the ale.

The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale,

Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me;

Then slip I from her bum, down topples she,

And 'tailor' cries, and falls into a cough;

And then the whole quire hold their hips and laugh,

And waxen in their mirth and neeze and swear

A merrier hour was never wasted there.

But, room, fairy! here comes Oberon.

Fairy

And here my mistress. Would that he were gone!

Enter, from one side, OBERON, with his train; from the other, TITANIA, with hers

OBERON

Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania.

TITANIA

What, jealous Oberon! Fairies, skip hence:

I have forsworn his bed and company.

OBERON

Tarry, rash wanton: am not I thy lord?

TITANIA

Then I must be thy lady: but I know

When thou hast stolen away from fairy land,

And in the shape of Corin sat all day,

Playing on pipes of corn and versing love

To amorous Phillida. Why art thou here,

Come from the farthest Steppe of India?

But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon,

Your buskin'd mistress and your warrior love,

To Theseus must be wedded, and you come

To give their bed joy and prosperity.

OBERON

How canst thou thus for shame, Titania,

Glance at my credit with Hippolyta,

Knowing I know thy love to Theseus?

Didst thou not lead him through the glimmering night

From Perigenia, whom he ravished?

And make him with fair AEgle break his faith,

With Ariadne and Antiopa?

TITANIA

These are the forgeries of jealousy:

And never, since the middle summer's spring,

Met we on hill, in dale, forest or mead,

By paved fountain or by rushy brook,

Or in the beached margent of the sea,

To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind,

But with thy brawls thou hast disturb'd our sport.

Therefore the winds, piping to us in vain,

As in revenge, have suck'd up from the sea

Contagious fogs; which falling in the land

Have every pelting river made so proud

That they have overborne their continents:

The ox hath therefore stretch'd his yoke in vain,

The ploughman lost his sweat, and the green corn

Hath rotted ere his youth attain'd a beard;

The fold stands empty in the drowned field,

And crows are fatted with the murrion flock;

The nine men's morris is fill'd up with mud,

And the quaint mazes in the wanton green

For lack of tread are undistinguishable:

The human mortals want their winter here;

No night is now with hymn or carol blest:

Therefore the moon, the governess of floods,

Pale in her anger, washes all the air,

That rheumatic diseases do abound:

And thorough this distemperature we see

The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts

Far in the fresh lap of the crimson rose,

And on old Hiems' thin and icy crown

An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds

Is, as in mockery, set: the spring, the summer,

The childing autumn, angry winter, change

Their wonted liveries, and the mazed world,

By their increase, now knows not which is which:

And this same progeny of evils comes

From our debate, from our dissension;

We are their parents and original.

OBERON

Do you amend it then; it lies in you:

Why should Titania cross her Oberon?

I do but beg a little changeling boy,

To be my henchman.

TITANIA

Set your heart at rest:

The fairy land buys not the child of me.

His mother was a votaress of my order:

And, in the spiced Indian air, by night,

Full often hath she gossip'd by my side,

And sat with me on Neptune's yellow sands,

Marking the embarked traders on the flood,

When we have laugh'd to see the sails conceive

And grow big-bellied with the wanton wind;

Which she, with pretty and with swimming gait

Following,--her womb then rich with my young squire,--

Would imitate, and sail upon the land,

To fetch me trifles, and return again,

As from a voyage, rich with merchandise.

But she, being mortal, of that boy did die;

And for her sake do I rear up her boy,

And for her sake I will not part with him.

OBERON

How long within this wood intend you stay?

TITANIA

Perchance till after Theseus' wedding-day.

If you will patiently dance in our round

And see our moonlight revels, go with us;

If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts.

OBERON

Give me that boy, and I will go with thee.

TITANIA

Not for thy fairy kingdom. Fairies, away!

We shall chide downright, if I longer stay.

Exit TITANIA with her train

OBERON

Well, go thy way: thou shalt not from this grove

Till I torment thee for this injury.

My gentle Puck, come hither. Thou rememberest

Since once I sat upon a promontory,

And heard a mermaid on a dolphin's back

Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath

That the rude sea grew civil at her song

And certain stars shot madly from their spheres,

To hear the sea-maid's music.

PUCK

I remember.

OBERON

That very time I saw, but thou couldst not,

Flying between the cold moon and the earth,

Cupid all arm'd: a certain aim he took

At a fair vestal throned by the west,

And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow,

As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts;

But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft

Quench'd in the chaste beams of the watery moon,

And the imperial votaress passed on,

In maiden meditation, fancy-free.

Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell:

It fell upon a little western flower,

Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound,

And maidens call it love-in-idleness.

Fetch me that flower; the herb I shew'd thee once:

The juice of it on sleeping eye-lids laid

Will make or man or woman madly dote

Upon the next live creature that it sees.

Fetch me this herb; and be thou here again

Ere the leviathan can swim a league.

PUCK

I'll put a girdle round about the earth

In forty minutes.

Exit

OBERON

Having once this juice,

I'll watch Titania when she is asleep,

And drop the liquor of it in her eyes.

The next thing then she waking looks upon,

Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull,

On meddling monkey, or on busy ape,

She shall pursue it with the soul of love:

And ere I take this charm from off her sight,

As I can take it with another herb,

I'll make her render up her page to me.

But who comes here? I am invisible;

And I will overhear their conference.

Enter DEMETRIUS, HELENA, following him

DEMETRIUS

I love thee not, therefore pursue me not.

Where is Lysander and fair Hermia?

The one I'll slay, the other slayeth me.

Thou told'st me they were stolen unto this wood;

And here am I, and wode within this wood,

Because I cannot meet my Hermia.

Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more.

HELENA

You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant;

But yet you draw not iron, for my heart

Is true as steel: leave you your power to draw,

And I shall have no power to follow you.

DEMETRIUS

Do I entice you? do I speak you fair?

Or, rather, do I not in plainest truth

Tell you, I do not, nor I cannot love you?

HELENA

And even for that do I love you the more.

I am your spaniel; and, Demetrius,

The more you beat me, I will fawn on you:

Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me,

Neglect me, lose me; only give me leave,

Unworthy as I am, to follow you.

What worser place can I beg in your love,--

And yet a place of high respect with me,--

Than to be used as you use your dog?

DEMETRIUS

Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit;

For I am sick when I do look on thee.

HELENA

And I am sick when I look not on you.

DEMETRIUS

You do impeach your modesty too much,

To leave the city and commit yourself

Into the hands of one that loves you not;

To trust the opportunity of night

And the ill counsel of a desert place

With the rich worth of your virginity.

HELENA

Your virtue is my privilege: for that

It is not night when I do see your face,

Therefore I think I am not in the night;

Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company,

For you in my respect are all the world:

Then how can it be said I am alone,

When all the world is here to look on me?

DEMETRIUS

I'll run from thee and hide me in the brakes,

And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts.

HELENA

The wildest hath not such a heart as you.

Run when you will, the story shall be changed:

Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase;

The dove pursues the griffin; the mild hind

Makes speed to catch the tiger; bootless speed,

When cowardice pursues and valour flies.

DEMETRIUS

I will not stay thy questions; let me go:

Or, if thou follow me, do not believe

But I shall do thee mischief in the wood.

HELENA

Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field,

You do me mischief. Fie, Demetrius!

Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex:

We cannot fight for love, as men may do;

We should be wood and were not made to woo.

Exit DEMETRIUS

I'll follow thee and make a heaven of hell,

To die upon the hand I love so well.

Exit

OBERON

Fare thee well, nymph: ere he do leave this grove,

Thou shalt fly him and he shall seek thy love.

Re-enter PUCK

Hast thou the flower there? Welcome, wanderer.

PUCK

Ay, there it is.

OBERON

I pray thee, give it me.

I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,

Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,

Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,

With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine:

There sleeps Titania sometime of the night,

Lull'd in these flowers with dances and delight;

And there the snake throws her enamell'd skin,

Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in:

And with the juice of this I'll streak her eyes,

And make her full of hateful fantasies.

Take thou some of it, and seek through this grove:

A sweet Athenian lady is in love

With a disdainful youth: anoint his eyes;

But do it when the next thing he espies

May be the lady: thou shalt know the man

By the Athenian garments he hath on.

Effect it with some care, that he may prove

More fond on her than she upon her love:

And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow.

PUCK

Fear not, my lord, your servant shall do so.

Exeunt

can't sleep

note to self 'do not take afternoon naps'

tusken_assraidercan't sleep

note to self 'do not take afternoon naps'

wrong thread..

They do, you just have to ask

tusken_assraidercan't sleep

note to self 'do not take afternoon naps'

tusken_assraiderwrong thread..

Is it? What if I told you there's a reason you were brought here? What if I told you there's a reason for your existence? What if I told you there's a God you loves you and created you? Don't worry I'm not going to tell you anything like that.