Tell me about your mother....
I can think of no worse torture than to have to experience the trauma of dying over and over again. Ethics all aside.
BTW the title got a chuckle out of me... other MINOR diversions. So clever you are. But you knew that.
I must be on the mend, though it sure doesn't feel like it.
Blah.
I can think of no worse torture than to have to experience the trauma of living over and over again, Square1.
Either alternative really sux.
Good thing the Big Guy designed each to happen only once.
Tell that to the doc's, miguel.
The thought of an endless Paris Hilton...
I've had better...
oops!
did i type that OUTLOUD?
m'bad!
No, not m'bad. M'insane, maybe, but not m'bad.
By the way, look for me end of July- if I can survive this flu.
Chili soup tonight- not one of my smarter ideas.
yes well as far as living vs. dying... better the bitch whose bite you know right?
oh... you'll be ok...
Allah likes to keep people like you and me around to torture His faithful followers...
To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.--
OR, the 23rd Psalm takes on a whole new meaning:
"The Lord is my Shepard, I shall not want...
Yea, though I walk through the Valley of Death, I shall no fear no evil.."
Kind of has a whole new meaning, now.
I am curious as to who would volunteer when they start these experiments on humans. I know i won't. And another thought: according to the Bible, if you are not in the body, you are with the Lord. Do you suppose he would be willing to let you go back, in the interests of science?
What a breakthrough.
Sounds like there's hope for teenagers after all.
Me!
Me!
Pick me!
does that mean that there is hope for Michael Jackson?
Oh, wait... he is not dead... he just looks like he is.
I know a few people I'd like to volunteer for the experiment! *evil grin*
Commenting by HaloScan
