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until they get it right.
-- Billy Jean King

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SpanishOmelette
23 Aug - 21:53
Praise God for this day... nice warm weather

SpanishOmelette
20 Aug - 23:10
NP sweet mumkin. Your company is lovely. I apologize again for late respons!

Mim
15 Aug - 18:03
sorry for slow reesponses on forum..I am back

SpanishOmelette
15 Aug - 17:48
Hewwo Sorry about VERY late reply, but thankyou for these quotes

I shall contribute. Can't remember who wrote this...

"Your religion should be less of a theory, and more of a love affair."

Mim
15 Aug - 17:43
“Success is nothing more than a few simple disciplines, practiced every day.”
― Jim Rohn

Mim
11 Aug - 20:12
“Don't ever give up.
Don't ever give in.
Don't ever stop trying.
Don't ever sell out.
And if you find yourself succumbing to one of the above for a brief moment,
pick yourself up, brush yourself off, whisper a prayer, and start where you left off.
But never, ever, ever give up.”
― Richelle E. Goodrich

Mim
11 Aug - 13:55
“Fall seven times, stand up eight.” – Japanese Proverb


Mim
27 Jul - 01:37
I love you

Mim
15 Jul - 02:38
here's to a new day xxxx

Mim
05 Jul - 17:51
birthday was great



Indogo articles

Thee Weather
Find more about Weather in Maldon, UK

22 - The Squeewee Chronicles - The Journey, the Return, and the Beginning
Finn C. M. Beauchamp
Sat 05 Mar 16
 




"Ooooooooooosch! A yife on the open wavesh! Ooooh,
what a yife!" sang Squeewee whilst the other passengers slept.
It was almost 10'o'clock at night, and he was singing sea shanties.

"Shqueewee, we're on a pyane." whispered an
exhausted Squiglet. He had only just managed to get back onto his
seat after a little turbulence knocked him off.

"Sho what? They're aren't any AIR shantiesh, are
there?" snapped Squeewee, returning to his long list of
anonymous sea shanties, many involving the tragedy of a cheesecake
falling overboard and risking his life to save it.

However, after a while, he drifted to sleep, and when
he woke up, they were there, in Delhi. Carried through the airport by
a team of miniature VIP escorts, they were in one of the major Indian
cities of the world.

After almost fainting at the thick aroma of curry, they
took out the address of the Squeebrew In Need. It said "walk to
the first tiny house outside the airport."

Looking around, they saw the tiny house. Only 3/4 of a
meter high and half round, they slowly inched forward, enchanted by
the smell of aniseed and cinnamon .

When they eventually got there after 45 minutes, they
knocked of the door. Whistling for a minute, they waited.

And waited. And waited a little bit more. It had been
20 minutes. Squiglet was the first to speak.

"Mayhbe hesh out?" he inquired,
inquisitively.

"Perhapsh. Or mayhbe..." Squeewee sat up, his
mind filled with heroic visions of him in a cape.

"Mayhbe hesh been capshured by a rooflesh
anti-shqueebrew gang, intent on removing his buttons and ranshoming
him to the King of the Shqueebrews, my dadh! Mayhbe we're the onyy
onesh who can shave him! Perhapsh he's tied up in there, with no-one
to get him the the hoshpituw! Quickly, Shquigyet!"

"What?"

"Break down the door!" summoning up a master
knowledge of the Art of Gluttony, Squeewee let fly the Muay Pie Kick,
launching himself and his belly towards the door.

Muay Pie is a curious art, developed by Squeebrews in
order to compensate for their diminutive size and large weight. Muay
Pie is able to focus the fat of the user, and multiply it many times
over, channeling it into velocity. It has been known to be able to
knock down elephants, prevent steam-rollers from moving, and stop
steam trains in full speed.

No Squeebrew has ever revealed the secrets of this art
to any human being. For, in the words of the current king "Squeeven
Seagull";

"Muay pie ish the producht of intenshe ushage of
artishtic yishensh. Therefore, if we were to reveuw it, it would be
usheyessh, as it doesh not truly exshisht. It was made for
Shqueebrewsh by a shtrange, shtrange thirteen-year-old, whoshe
identity I shall not dishcloshe."

So, enough of that, long story short they broke down
the door, and investigated. A red bean and tomato curry had spilled
on the table, and Squeewee nearly fainted.

"Thee... carnagshe...."

"Hewwo?" came a strange, unfamiliar voice.

They turned around and saw a Squeebrew, wearing a
turban, carrying his shopping.

"If I knew you were comingh, I'd have baked a
cake!"

After an embarrassing incident and a quick donation,
they left for the airport and took the next plane to London,
Heathrow.

On the way home, Squeewees head began to boggle with
ideas and possibilities. Inspiration had struck! He took out his
notebook, and began to doodle.

Himself as a superhero. Dances. Concerts. Peace.
Audiences. Cheesecakes the size of skyscrapers. Candles to be blown
out by hairdryers suspended from cranes.

And then, his child was born. CheesyChips. A new
concert, touring the world. Supporting EternallySlippers. The world
would love him. And if they loved him...

they would love the Squeebrews.

"Aft on the poopdeck,

walking about,

There ish the shecond mate,

sho shturdy and shtout..."

He didn't sleep that night. But when they landed, and
was brought home by limousine, he slept like a baby. He slept till
31st December, 2014.

Then he woke up, discovering what he was laid under. It
was a Red, black, and grey blanket. Exactly what he had dreamed off.
He wobbled up, and tied it around himself, fastening it on a bow-tie.

Wobbling to his mirror, he admired himself. Then said
in his most heroic voice,

"Todayh, peopuw of Earf, I am... THE PUDDING!"

Squiglet startled awake. "Shorry! I was making a
carrot cake! I got caught uph!"

"What in the worwd ah you talking abouth,
Shquigyet?"

"Only dreamingh, Shqueewee. New cape?"

"It would sheem sho. And I have had an idea. But
theresh only one way to dishcloth it."

"Dishcloth?" whispered Squiglet, confused.

"In the bath. In a teacuph. To the Proof of the
Pudding!"

And so, they secretly began to fill the sink.





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