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Originally posted by DoubleD:
Originally posted by wine+art:
All teachers now have a way to earn a little bit of a bonus.

Yup ... and add friendly-fire to the body count

Or a teacher that feels like they're in harms way from a student (not armed) and decides to 'defend' themselves. Just a whole world of different problems, this idea.
Originally posted by mangiare:
Originally posted by Rob_Sutherland:
Originally posted by Jcocktosten:
Originally posted by KSC02:
Originally posted by gigabit:
The Oxford comma: I think it should be used consistently, proudly, and appropriately.

I thought that the comma never proceeded "and"

Google Oxford comma - the Oxford comma is a stylistic form where a comma is used for the item preceding the and. Some people are very passionate over this for some reason.

We invited the strippers, JFK, and Stalin.
We invited the strippers, JFK and Stalin.

One room has some strippers, a president asking what he can do for the strippers as opposed to what they can do for him, and a Russian mass murderer. The other room has Stalin and Kennedy in thigh-highs and pasties. Which room do YOU want?

Thanks for the clarity Rob. Always knew I could count on you.

Just read about K's leg. Shitty. I guess ski season is over.

I hope she is feeling better now.

I love the stillness of the wood:
I love the music of the rill:
I love to couch in pensive mood
Upon some silent hill.

Scarce heard, beneath you arching trees,
The silver-crested ripples pass;
And, like a mimic brook, the breeze
Whispers among the grass.

Here from the world I win release,
Nor scorn of men, nor footstep rude,
Break in to mar the holy peace
Of this great solitude.

Here may the silent tears I weep
Lull the vexed spirit into rest,
As infants sob themselves to sleep
Upon a mother’s breast.

But when the bitter hour is gone,
And the keen throbbing pangs are still,
Oh, sweetest then to couch alone
Upon some silent hill!

To live in joys that once have been,
To put the cold world out of sight,
And deck life’s drear and barren scene
With hues of rainbow-light.

For what to man the gift of breath,
If sorrow be his lot below;
If all the day that ends in death
Be dark with clouds of woe?

Shall the poor transport of an hour
Repay long years of sore distress —
The fragrance of a lonely flower
Make glad the wilderness?

Ye golden hours of Life’s young spring,
Of innocence, of love and truth!
Bright, beyond all imagining,
Thou fairy-dream of youth!

I’d give all wealth that years have piled,
The slow result of Life’s decay,
To be once more a little child
For one bright summer-day.

March 16, 1853.

Official post 100th page -)

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