About
Please excuse the lame profile. I have decided to try and make my own once more. It will be a long, slow process.
Forget about talking about myself! You can't be so bored and desperate as to want to read all that stuff. You've got more wonderful things to do. Perhaps the refrigerator needs cleaning out; there're always delightfully unidentifiable items in there! Or I bet, now that you've hit the new low of reading some girl named "P e a c h y" (of all things!)'s random ramblings, you've suddenly realized that your family pet's fur is looking pretty monotone, today. Your mind has, like the trap it is, no doubt immediately turned to that lonely box of do-it-yourself hair highlighters that your mother purchased on a rather delusional whim last month.
...If you've gotten this far, then you, like me, are a truly remarkable sort: a one-in-a-million procrastinator. Capable of accomplishing all manner or feats as long as they aren't the one you'd set out to do. Personally, I set out to share with you a rather delightful, perhaps feministic poem. Of course, by reading the first line, you'll immediately know the author, but for the sake of those unfortunate few among us who were kept in a box until yesterday, I shall reveal him as well as the name of the piece of literature from which it is taken. The poem is from the play
Much Ado About Nothing by our dear friend Mr. William Shakespeare. May he rest in peace.
Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,
Men were deceivers ever;
One foot in sea, and one on shore,
To one thing constant never.
Then sigh not so,
But let them go,
And be you blithe and bonny,
Converting all your sounds of woe
Into Hey nonny, nonny.
Sing no more ditties, sing no mo
Of dumps so dull and heavy;
The fraud of men was ever so,
Since summer first was leavy.
Then sigh not so,
But let them go,
And be you blithe and bonny,
Converting all your sounds of woe
Into Hey nonny, nonny.
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