"Come on, you sons of bitches! Don't you want to live forever?"Gunnery Sergeant Dan Daly, to a pinned-down USMC platoon during the Battle of Belleau Wood, near Paris, France 1st-26th June 1918
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Well. Today's the day to choose the meatbag that'll run the most powerful nation in the world. Too bad my name's not on the ballot. That, and too bad my registration never went through. I suspect I sent it in too late, if it wasn't lost in the mail
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I'm thinking of ending this journal. I haven't seen much good out of writing in this thing anymore. Other than a way of keeping in touch with some of my friends, and that can be easily done through AIM, this journal's purpose has more or less faded a long time ago
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it is three forty three in the morning. i'm waiting for two cups of hazelnut-rich coffee to dissipate. the neighbor downstairs is still playing his damn music. it's been on since 10 am. i really want to tap on his door with a louisville. the tissue between the lower knuckle of the index finger and the thumb-hand joint has been partially crushed. my
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