From the cowcatcher hung the outrigger of the tricycle, leaping about as though in the grip of death itself, beating against the iron that had shattered it, striking the road, sending the gravel flying.
He has too many balls in the air. He can't stay on top of initiatives from people who report to him. He's a terrible manager.
Get an Esky, fill it full of cans, get your dope, go down to the beach, roll a big spliff about that long sit on the beach at sunset, have a few cans, and watch what they call up in Darwin the Refugee Regatta.
And yet, apart and distinct from, although at the root of this abnormal neuterdom, wherein the traits of one sex are so antagonised by those of the other that the finest powers of both are nullified— […]
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DiQt
Free
★★★★★★★★★★
