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A great place to keep your fantastic ideas, like, "Hey! I need to write more sentences about crickets and English gentlemen with unruly beards."
In the face of overwhelming odds, remember this my friends -- the outcome of every battle was decided long before the first heated word was cast or the glimmer of the first-drawn blade shined down upon your enemy; fate waits for every man at the end of the day, you and me alike, so rush towards him with a glad heart and embrace, because here, in this place of death, he alone will be your own true friend; remember, it is kings who march us into battle, but fate who marches us out, every single one of us, both the living and the dead.
Babette employed a bevy of editors (and singlehandedly stimulated the economy of her small city) because of her fate: she was in love with passive verb tense, and couldn’t bear to see it changed.
Jim, having read the latest study which proved that every minute spent walking adds one minute to your life, experienced a great epiphany about this fountain of youth, got up off the couch, tied on his sneakers and headed down the street, feeling good, feeling strong, hearing the chirp of the birds, smiling at the first tulips of spring, his step light and full of hope; he never saw the bus.
Minimalist Jones once had a horrible squabble
With a turkey that’d never quite learned how to gobble,
The turkey just stood there, eyes straight ahead
Understanding not a single word that was said;
It’s Thanksgiving, you see, Minimalist Jones told the bird
Who then fluffed up his feathers, as if maybe he’d heard,
You don’t have to like it, we can just call it fate,
But you, my fine bird, will be served up on a plate;
Some say the turkey pecked Jones on the knees,
Then opened his beak and let out a big sneeze;
Others say he blinked as Jones grabbed his red neck,
Flapping his wings as he screamed, “What the heck!”
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, while the prosecution has just argued a most elegant case, it has been, nonetheless, and argument filled with wild and bold assertions, attempting to have you believe that the man here on trial, the simple man whose fate rests in your hands is a violent, corporate destroying pirate and an aggressive anarchist of the worst kind, whose actions threaten to unravel the very thread of this society, but let me remind you, lest you forget, lest we all forget, that this most ordinary family man, my client Henry, walked into that radio station armed only with an old cassette tape recorder and nothing else, and further, that when the batteries went dead in this antiquated contraption of his did not, I repeat, did not cold-heartedly reload those batteries as the prosecution has suggested, but rather, in a most polite manner, quietly asked the radio station’s receptionist if she had any D-cells in her desk.
Peter, that romantic, called them “Doves of Ambiguity,” but really they were Pigeons of Destiny and the flock that would soon arrive would be of epic, Hitchcockian proprortions.
I long ago accepted how futile it is to worry about a future that we have no real control over, fate being a fickle bastard who changes the spin direction of fortune’s wheel on a whim, but I still spend time everyday wondering whether tomorrow I’ll have reason to ask myself, “How did you not see that coming?”
“Here, Fate, here, Fatey, Fatey, Fatey, Fate - I’ve a great big Biscuit of Trouble-Brewing for you!”
Like the dinosaurs, the hipsters never learned to whistle, sealing their fate.
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