Slade
is a Frocobo
300dpi in a 72dpi zone

I wonder if his new year wish was for figs. Figs and honey buns.

DID YOUR NEW YEAR WISH CAME TRUE?

You are all poets.

Happy New Year, Slade.

I used to recite a mantra every night while I lay in bed; a mantra that I thought would prevent the nuclear war. Now I could not care less.

I voted for Armageddon, but it never happened.

I dashed down the street, as flecks of rain crashed into my face, dampening not only my skin, but my mood also. The oxygen tent would soon be erected, and I certainly did not want to be absent - not again. The succulent watermelon chunks were rapidly vanishing, gone forever and the bone china with them. Missing out a final time was not how I wanted this all to end. Not at all.

There was no one else in the room with me, therefore there was no one to hit. The idea was to have people on this very forum duck for cover in the hopes that my fist would miss and hit the wall, resulting in the immediate breaking of one, or more, of my fingers and thus, making me unable to upload another picture in my gallery for quite some time.

It doesn’t look like you are about to give a kiss. It looks like you are about to hit me. Am I right, Slade? That is what New Zealanders look like when they are about to hit someone. Foreigners find it bizarre. I do, too, but that doesn’t stop me hitting like that.

Must be the termites.

I found a violin in the garbage, and I have been plucking it for several days now. The strings are black, the sound is horrible, and every time I touch it I feel extremely sick. But there is something magical about it, Slade. Something