The Workers on the S. P. line to strike sent out a call;
But Casey Jones, the engineer, he wouldn’t strike at all;
His boiler it was leaking, and its drivers on the bum,
And his engine and its bearings, they were all out of plumb.

Casey Jones kept his junk pile running;
Casey Jones was working double time;
Casey Jones got a wooden medal,
For being good and faithful on the S. P. line.

The workers said to Casey: «Won’t you help us win this strike?»
But Casey said: «Let me alone, you’d better take a hike.»
Then some one put a bunch of railroad ties across the track,
And Casey hit the river bottom with an awful crack.

Casey Jones hit the river bottom;
Casey Jones broke his blessed spine;
Casey Jones was an Angelino,
He took a trip to heaven on the S. P. line.

When Casey Jones got up to heaven, to the Pearly Gate,
He said: «I’m Casey Jones, the guy that pulled the S. P. freight.»
"You’re just the man, " said Peter, «our musicians went on strike;
You can get a job a’scabbing any time you like.»

Casey Jones got up to heaven;
Casey Jones was doing mighty fine;
Casey Jones went scabbing on the angels,
Just like he did to workers of the S. P. line.

They got together, and they said it wasn’t fair,
For Casey Jones to go around a’scabbing everywhere.
The Angels' Union No. 23, they sure were there,
And they promptly fired Casey down the Golden Stairs.

Casey Jones went to Hell a’flying;
"Casey Jones, " the Devil said, "Oh fine:
Casey Jones, get busy shovelling sulphur;
That’s what you get for scabbing on the S. P. Line

Your Heart is Blue and Green

Your heart is open and dynamic. You are flexible, optimistic, and expressive. You bring honesty and intimacy to relationships. You're good at expressing your needs to your partner.

What Are the Colors of Your Heart?

Your Spelling is Good

You got 8/10 correct. Your spelling is generally pretty decent. You are prone to a few mistakes, but the mistakes you make are pretty forgivable.

How's Your Spelling?

+1

ПЛЮЮ ПРОТИВ ВЕТРА, или ПОПЫТКА ОСКОРБИТЬ ВИРТУАЛА


Эй вы, там, в Европах!
У вас тоже праздник сегодня?

В последней войне вы проявили себя равнодушными трусами, и ваши новые поколения, народившиеся за полвека мира, недалеко упали от хиреющих яблонь - своих отцов.

Пятьдесят лет назад грязную работу по уничтожению фашизма сделали за вас другие, и что?
Вы позволили фашизму возродиться. Вы даете ему убежище и хлеб. Выкручиваете руки тем, кто хочет и может справиться с ним.

Я могу понять ваши побуждения: участие в Холокосте лежит грязным пятном на вашей исторической совести, и невозможно его смыть, пока жив народ, ежесекундно помнящий о нем.
Только уничтожение этого народа автоматически смоет и пятно: ибо, если исчезает человек, исчезает и связанная с ним проблема.
Вот и науськиваете вы своего бешеного пса, пряча за спинами грязные руки, в шрамах от его же укусов. Ибо ненавидит он и вас не меньше, чем тех, кого он должен загрызть по вашему приказу.

Однажды вы не сумеете справиться со злобным зверем, и он перегрызет вам глотки.

Посеявший ветер пожнет бурю.
И она сметет с лица Земли ваши останки, как мусор, выметет из ваших теплых домов, из паутины уютной жизни, болота бездумья.

И когда-нибудь, через очередные пять тысяч лет, наши потомки прочтут в учебниках истории о слабых племенах, ПО ЛЕГЕНДЕ, населявших в ХХ веке территорию Европы, но не оставивших никаких материальных доказательств своего существования.

Если кто не понял: это я о вчерашнем теракте в Иерусалиме.

You Are a Crossword Puzzle

You are well read, and you have a good head for remembering facts. You are a wordsmith. You have a way with words, and you're very literate. You are a mysterious person who enjoys dropping little clues every now and then.

What Kind of Puzzle Are You?

What These Orchids Say About You

You are exotic and intricately beautiful. You possess a unique grace that's both delicate and strong. You are thoughtful and refined. You are the definition of class.

What Do The Flowers You Pick Say About You?

Putin’s Pariah

By ANDREW MEIER
Published: March 2, 2008
Correction Appended

It began inauspiciously. On a frozen afternoon in late November, as Moscow was draped with blocklong plastic billboards, banners and flags, each proclaiming a variation on a single theme — “POBEDA PUTINA — POBEDA ROSSII!” (“A Victory for Putin Is a Victory for Russia”) — a few thousand Russians converged on the city center for a rare act of political theater. It seemed, at first, like a tableau from the last days of the U.S.S.R., those heady months when glasnost swelled the streets with protesters. A handful of dissidents stood on a flatbed truck; a jumble of loudspeakers were stacked below; the crew of foreign reporters vastly outnumbered the local press; and across the way, the secret policemen with their unseen amplifiers were drowning the protest in canned laughter and Soviet waltzes.