Suggestoin to LL - Word Tiers

Upon browsing these forums, one thing is obvious - talk is cheap. Well, it doesn't have to be any longer. I propose that LL adopts a new "Word Tier" schedule to help fund Second Life.

Think of the many long, rambling posts here - now imagine each and every word over the allotted limit adding pennies to the bank account. Heck, in some single posts there'd be enough tier fees to support an entire sim for a month. The posts here would be short and sweet and to the point, after all, money talks. (Or doesn't, in this case.) The money earned could be used to fund new and creative areas in-world. Sounds like a win-win situation to me!

And why stop there? Everyone's heard of swearing/cuss jars. Add one to the forum, every time someone swears or becomes abusive to another member, they throw another nickel in. LL would be rolling in money in no time!

Add a limit to the number of posts too - anyone over a certain number loses posting privileges for a year. Believe me, people (and their ISPs, and the internet in general) will thank you for it!

go love go!!

hugz you tight!

When I began writing this letter, I had the notion that I would write about something positive and optimistic instead of going on about how treacherous Carrot Top is. Unfortunately, I couldn't think of anything particularly positive to write about. So, instead, I'll just tell you that Carrot Top is calling for blind, impulsive action for the sake of action, for the sake of making himself feel good. I want to share this with you because Carrot Top has -- not once, but several times -- been able to inflict more death and destruction than Genghis Khan's hordes without anyone stopping him. How long can that go on? As long as his postmodernist witticisms are kept on life support. That's why we have to pull the plug on them and get my message about Carrot Top out to the world.

If we do what needs to be done, then the sea of Maoism, on which he so heavily relies, will begin to dry up. Perhaps Carrot Top can out-reason self-pitying dummkopfs but not anyone else, but remember that his minions are unified under a common goal. That goal is to set up dissident groups and individuals for conspiracy charges and then carry out searches and seizures on flimsy pretexts. He may prevent me from sleeping soundly at night right after he reads this letter. Let him. Faster than you can say "disproportionableness", I myself will stand as a witness in the divine court of the eternal judge and proclaim that Carrot Top's slurs serve only to safeguard his own power and privilege.

Yet there's more to it than that. Woe to the gin-swilling prevaricators who reinforce the impression that tasteless, disloyal misfits -- as opposed to Carrot Top's worshippers -- are striving to force Carrot Top's moral code on the rest of us! Carrot Top publicly disavows his ties to pharisaism while secretly encouraging his allies to hold annual private conferences in which warped troublemakers are invited to present their "research". Even more remarkable, he proclaims at every opportunity that he'd never till the smarmy side of the voyeurism garden. The gentleman doth protest too much, methinks.

I cannot simply sit idly by while sophomoric slobs do the entire country a grave disservice. You may have detected a hint of sarcasm in the way I phrased that last statement, but I assure you that I am not exaggerating the situation. Carrot Top has nothing but contempt for you, and you don't even know it. That's why I feel obligated to inform you that his irrational scribblings are in full flower, and their poisonous petals of extremism are blooming all around us. There is no inconsistency here; he wants to encourage individuals to disregard other people, to become fully self-absorbed. Why he wants that, I don't know, but that's what he wants.

Out of all of the sappy prigs I've ever known, Carrot Top is clearly the most brain-damaged. How does Carrot Top deal with this fascinating piece of information? He utterly ignores it. His cult followers are often caught trying to put the most hostile gits you'll ever see on the federal payroll. Of course, they deny this, but we all know full well that even when the facts don't fit, he sometimes tries to use them anyway. He still maintains, for instance, that inhumane knuckle-draggers are all inherently good, sensitive, creative, and inoffensive.

I may not believe that the best way to reduce cognitive dissonance and restore homeostasis to one's psyche is to take control of a nation and suck it dry, but I unquestionably do insist that to Carrot Top's mind, women are spare parts in the social repertoire -- mere optional extras. So that means that things have never been better, right? No, not right. The truth is that no one likes being attacked by presumptuous marauders. Even worse, Carrot Top exploits our fear of those attacks -- which he claims will evolve one of these days into biological, chemical, or nuclear attacks -- as a pretext to inculcate distasteful ploys. If you think that's scary, then you should remember that when people say that bigotry and hate are alive and well, they're right. And Carrot Top is to blame. Sure, Carrot Top may have a right to ascribe opinions to me that I don't even hold, but we certainly don't have to stand idly by while he exercises that right. He asserts that public opinion is a reliable indicator of what's true and what isn't. Most reasonable people, however, recognize such assertions as nothing more than baseless, if wishful, claims unsupported by concrete evidence. It may seem senseless to say that this is a truth that Carrot Top's goons are told by Carrot Top that they cannot acknowledge, lest they give aid and comfort to the rest of us. Nevertheless, the position can be defended.

He commonly appoints ineffective people to important positions. He then ensures that these people stay in those positions, because that makes it easy for him to turn me, a typically mild-mannered person, into a disagreeable vat of immoralism. For the sake of concreteness: He fervently believes that black is white and night is day. This shows that he is not merely mistaken about one little fact among millions of facts but that there are two types of people in this world. There are those who create a world sunk in the most abject superstition, fanaticism, and ignorance, and there are those who fight for what is right. Carrot Top fits neatly into the former category, of course. This state of affairs demands the direct assault on those blockish opinions that seek to traduce and discredit everyone but froward champions of deceit, lies, theft, plunder, and rapine. Carrot Top broadens his appeal by seeking influence and adherents in the vandalism movement. This position, in large part, parallels civil libertarianism, but with particular emphasis on the fact that this is a free country, and I contend we ought to keep it that way.

Please don't ask me to authorize, promote, celebrate, and legitimize brown-nosing antipluralism. I simply can't do that. To bring the matter closer to home, let me remind you that he will probably respond to this letter just like he responds to all criticism. He will put me down as "useless" or "sadistic". That's his standard answer to everyone who says or writes anything about him except the most fawning praise. Carrot Top's put-downs deserve to be criticized because they create a Frankenstein's monster. We have a dilemma of leviathan proportions on our hands: Should we protect our peace, privacy, and safety, or is it sufficient to draw a picture of what we conceive of under the word "barothermohygrograph"? Well, I asked the question, so I should answer it. Let me start by saying that if a cogent, logical argument entered Carrot Top's brain, no doubt a concussion would result. When Carrot Top tells us that merit is adequately measured by his methods and qualifications, he somehow fails to mention that my personal safety depends upon your starting to eschew viperine fanaticism, just as your personal safety depends upon my doing the same. He fails to mention that if he were to turn a deaf ear to need and suffering, it would be a grave insult to everyone who devoted his or her life's work to helping the less fortunate. And he fails to mention that he keeps saying that he is a perpetual victim of injustice. For some reason, Carrot Top's encomiasts actually believe this nonsense.

His smear tactics were never about tolerance and equality. That was just window dressing for the "innocents". Rather, an armed revolt against Carrot Top is morally justified. However, I assert that it is not yet strategically justified. He has an ego of galactic proportions. So what's the connection between that and his ballyhoos? The connection is that there is no doubt that Carrot Top will accelerate the natural tendency of civilization to devolve from order to chaos, liberty to tyranny, and virtue to vice as soon as our backs are turned. Believe me, I would give everything I own to be wrong on that point, but the truth is that even if one is opposed to hopeless anarchism (and I am), then surely, Carrot Top's slogans are designed to squeeze every last drop of blood from our overworked, overtaxed bodies. And they're working; they're having the desired effect. Guess what? Some people think I'm exaggerating when I say that Carrot Top's slaves fail to recognize that if a modern Dante were to update the Divine Comedy, he would have to create a special circle in Hell for scornful, myopic tricksters who excoriate attempts to bring questions of materialism into the (essentially apolitical) realm of pedagogy in language and writing. But I'm not exaggerating; if anything, I'm understating the situation. Sure, even the most cuckoo fugitives I've ever seen may have some good points, but I have yet to find one.

Post-structuralism is arguably the most frightening and devastating problem facing us all. Now that that's cleared up, I'll continue with what I was saying before, that he is a psychologically defective person. He's what the psychiatrists call a constitutional psychopath or a sociopath. When Carrot Top made his puppy-dog deputies wag their little tails by promising to let them encourage a deadly acceptance of intolerance, I realized for the first time that Carrot Top operates on an international scale to lure the indecent into his camp. It's only fitting, therefore, that we, too, work on an international scale, but to bring strength to our families, power to our nation, and health to our cities. While he has a right to his opinion, he recently went through a cronyism phase in which he tried repeatedly to fix blame for social stress, economic loss, or loss of political power on a target group whose constructed guilt provides a simplistic explanation. In fact, I'm not convinced that this phase of his has entirely passed. My evidence is that when Carrot Top hears anyone say that there are lessons to be learned from history, his answer is to apotheosize naive airheads. That's similar to taking a few drunken swings at a beehive: it just makes me want even more to put to rest the animosities that have kept various groups of people from enjoying anything other than superficial unity. Do not let inflammatory rhetoric and misleading and inaccurate statements decide your position on this issue. If we intend to defend democracy, we had best learn to recognize its primary enemy and not be afraid to stand up and call him by name. That name is Carrot Top.

Realism and Baudrillardist simulation
David S. Parry
Department of English, University of Illinois
1. Capitalist pretextual theory and dialectic sublimation

If one examines Baudrillardist simulation, one is faced with a choice: either reject neocapitalist Marxism or conclude that truth is used to reinforce outmoded, elitist perceptions of society. Thus, Foucault suggests the use of Baudrillardist simulation to challenge capitalism.

"Sexual identity is dead," says Marx. Tilton[1] suggests that the works of Pynchon are not postmodern. However, many theories concerning realism exist.

The subject is interpolated into a postdialectic libertarianism that includes sexuality as a whole. But several dematerialisms concerning a self-falsifying reality may be found.

The characteristic theme of the works of Pynchon is the bridge between sexual identity and society. In a sense, Foucault promotes the use of Baudrillardist simulation to analyse and attack class. The opening/closing distinction prevalent in Pynchon's Gravity's Rainbow emerges again in Mason & Dixon. Therefore, the premise of dialectic sublimation states that the task of the reader is social comment, but only if art is distinct from sexuality; otherwise, we can assume that narrativity serves to exploit the proletariat.

Lacan uses the term 'realism' to denote the role of the artist as participant. It could be said that Sontag suggests the use of dialectic sublimation to challenge sexism.
2. Expressions of paradigm

If one examines realism, one is faced with a choice: either accept Baudrillardist simulation or conclude that the collective is part of the fatal flaw of reality, given that Lyotard's critique of realism is invalid. The subject is contextualised into a capitalist situationism that includes narrativity as a totality. Thus, Bataille uses the term 'Baudrillardist simulation' to denote the common ground between sexual identity and society.

"Class is intrinsically responsible for capitalism," says Foucault. The subject is interpolated into a subdialectic structural theory that includes consciousness as a paradox. It could be said that Bataille promotes the use of dialectic sublimation to read sexual identity.

The premise of Baudrillardist simulation suggests that society, paradoxically, has objective value. Thus, if precapitalist nationalism holds, we have to choose between realism and semioticist postcultural theory.

An abundance of discourses concerning dialectic sublimation exist. It could be said that von Ludwig[2] states that the works of Pynchon are modernistic. Debord's model of semanticist appropriation implies that language may be used to entrench hierarchy, but only if narrativity is interchangeable with culture; if that is not the case, sexuality is unattainable. However, Marx suggests the use of dialectic sublimation to deconstruct the status quo.

The main theme of Dietrich's[3] critique of realism is a subcapitalist whole. Thus, if Baudrillardist simulation holds, we have to choose between realism and Derridaist reading.
3. Baudrillardist simulation and textual postconstructive theory

If one examines textual postconstructive theory, one is faced with a choice: either reject Baudrillardist simulation or conclude that sexual identity has significance, given that the premise of realism is valid. The primary theme of the works of Fellini is not narrative, but prenarrative. It could be said that a number of discourses concerning the difference between class and language may be revealed.

Marx promotes the use of the cultural paradigm of reality to analyse and challenge society. Therefore, the genre, and some would say the futility, of Baudrillardist simulation which is a central theme of Fellini's 8 1/2 is also evident in La Dolce Vita, although in a more self-justifying sense.

Baudrillard uses the term 'realism' to denote not narrative, as Lyotardist narrative suggests, but neonarrative. In a sense, the subject is contextualised into a Baudrillardist simulation that includes reality as a totality.
1. Tilton, N. (1980) The Futility of Society: Baudrillardist simulation and realism. Cambridge University Press

2. von Ludwig, J. F. ed. (1975) Realism in the works of Fellini. Loompanics

3. Dietrich, I. (1996) The Narrative of Absurdity: Realism and Baudrillardist simulation. Yale University Press

Perhaps you'll pardon me if I write this letter in a more personal vein than usual. I want to tell you about some personal perceptions of mine, primarily because Forum Idoits thinks there should be a law prohibiting people from saying any harsh or unkind things against him. With this letter, I hope to begin the debate about Forum's rejoinders. But first, I would like to make the following introductory remark: Forum will probably respond to this letter just like he responds to all criticism. He will put me down as "inimical" or "wily". That's his standard answer to everyone who says or writes anything about him except the most fawning praise. Even when he isn't lying, he's using facts, emphasizing facts, bearing down on facts, sliding off facts, quietly ignoring facts, and, above all, interpreting facts in a way that will enable him to place stumbling blocks in front of those of us who seek value and fulfilment in our personal and professional lives. By and large, if the human race is to survive on this planet, we will have to appeal for comity between us and Forum. Here's an eye-opener for you: He makes it sound like he's some perfect angel of unstained ethical standards. So what's the connection between that and his memoirs? The connection is that Forum takes things out of context, twists them around, and then neglects to provide decent referencing so the reader can check up on him. He also ignores all of the evidence that doesn't support (or in many cases directly contradicts) his position.

Though I, hardheaded cynic that I am, am not a proponent of conflict, we must get us out of the hammerlock that he is holding us in. If we fail in this, we are not failing someone else; we are not disrupting some interest separate from ourselves. Rather, it is we who suffer when we neglect to observe that if Forum wants to complain, he should have an argument. He shouldn't just throw out the word "counterrevolutionary", for example, and expect us to be scared. Would we, as thinking people, believe beggars who tried to tell us we're all bitter? I say "no."

Forum's vaporings are a house of mirrors. How are we to find the opening that leads to freedom? Unfortunately, I can't give a complete answer to that question in this limited space. But I can tell you that once Forum accepts responsibility for the problems he's caused, the focus shifts from who is responsible to what each of us can do about it. Of that I am certain, because no matter what else we do, our first move must be to educate everyone about how Forum wants his cowardice and irresponsibility to be regarded as prudence. That's the first step: education. Education alone is not enough, of course. We must also turn Forum's iconoclastic ramblings to our advantage. It will be objected, to be sure, that Forum doesn't honestly want to foster suspicion -- if not hatred -- of "outsiders". At first glance, this may seem to be true, but when you think about it further, you'll indeed conclude that he says that everyone would be a lot safer if he were to monitor all of our personal communications and financial transactions -- even our library records. Why on Earth does he need to monitor our library records? That is, what will be the next object of attack from his camp? To rephrase that question, what does he hope to achieve by repeatedly applying his lips to the posteriors of ostentatious bohemians? First, I'll give you a very brief answer and then I'll go back and explain my answer in detail. As for the brief answer, he believes that his prophecies are all sweetness and light. Sorry, but I have to call foul on that one. As someone who enjoys brandishing words like "phytopaleontological" and "unextinguishableness" as a smoke screen to hide his ideologies' inherent paradoxes, he must surely be at a loss when someone presents a logical counterargument to his shiftless op-ed pieces. Anyhow, I guess I've run out of things to say, so let me just leave you with one parting wish: Together, may we answer the devious tightwads who resort to underhanded tactics.

Moi Chere Claire!

Whilst thouest havest a greatest ideath, thou sucketh in your spellingeth of "Suggestoin."

Another round of Websters, perchance?

I'll just talk in pictograms

Yannow, we could start charging for spelling mistakes, edits, swears, admin edits, and admin warnings / suspensions. I bet people would pay more attention to what they post then.

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Nulla egestas, tortor in facilisis suscipit, felis magna luctus ligula, in malesuada nulla quam ac sapien. Ut lobortis pretium lectus. Phasellus at lorem at justo tincidunt scelerisque. Aenean tempor, wisi non congue porta, nibh nibh vehicula sem, nec vulputate nisl risus vitae risus. Suspendisse nonummy mi ac enim. Quisque molestie interdum felis. Sed accumsan, odio non nonummy porta, dolor leo faucibus dolor, non blandit lectus nunc id enim. Cras vitae leo sit amet lorem porttitor molestie. Nullam congue consectetuer massa. Etiam arcu erat, suscipit ut, pharetra eget, congue eget, neque. Donec pretium. Nullam mollis convallis enim. Praesent venenatis vulputate diam. Ut euismod mollis metus. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit. Nulla non risus.

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Mutley, you snickering, floppy eared hound. When courage is needed, you're never around. Those medals you wear on your moth-eaten chest should be there for bungling at which you are best. So, stop that pigeon, stop that pigeon, stop that pigeon, stop that pigeon, stop that pigeon, stop that pigeon, stop that pigeon. Howwww! Nab him, jab him, tab him, grab him, stop that pigeon now.

Children of the sun, see your time has just begun, searching for your ways, through adventures every day. Every day and night, with the condor in flight, with all your friends in tow, you search for the Cities of Gold. Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah... wishing for The Cities of Gold. Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah... some day we will find The Cities of Gold. Do-do-do-do ah-ah-ah, do-do-do-do, Cities of Gold. Do-do-do-do, Cities of Gold. Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah... some day we will find The Cities of Gold.

Hong Kong Phooey, number one super guy. Hong Kong Phooey, quicker than the human eye. He's got style, a groovy style, and a car that just won't stop. When the going gets tough, he's really rough, with a Hong Kong Phooey chop (Hi-Ya!). Hong Kong Phooey, number one super guy. Hong Kong Phooey, quicker than the human eye. Hong Kong Phooey, he's fan-riffic!

Ulysses, Ulysses - Soaring through all the galaxies. In search of Earth, flying in to the night. Ulysses, Ulysses - Fighting evil and tyranny, with all his power, and with all of his might. Ulysses - no-one else can do the things you do. Ulysses - like a bolt of thunder from the blue. Ulysses - always fighting all the evil forces bringing peace and justice to all.

Barnaby The Bear's my name, never call me Jack or James, I will sing my way to fame, Barnaby the Bear's my name. Birds taught me to sing, when they took me to their king, first I had to fly, in the sky so high so high, so high so high so high, so - if you want to sing this way, think of what you'd like to say, add a tune and you will see, just how easy it can be. Treacle pudding, fish and chips, fizzy drinks and liquorice, flowers, rivers, sand and sea, snowflakes and the stars are free. La la la la la, la la la la la la la, la la la la la la la, la la la la la la la la la la la la la, so - Barnaby The Bear's my name, never call me Jack or James, I will sing my way to fame, Barnaby the Bear's my name.

Knight Rider, a shadowy fight into the dangerous world of a man who does not exist. Michael Knight, a young loner on a crusade to champion the cause of the innocent, the helpless in a world of criminals who operate above the law.

80 days around the world, we'll find a pot of gold just sitting where the rainbow's ending. Time - we'll fight against the time, and we'll fly on the white wings of the wind. 80 days around the world, no we won't say a word before the ship is really back. Round, round, all around the world. Round, all around the world. Round, all around the world. Round, all around the world.

Thunder, thunder, thundercats, Ho! Thundercats are on the move, Thundercats are loose. Feel the magic, hear the roar, Thundercats are loose. Thunder, thunder, thunder, Thundercats! Thunder, thunder, thunder, Thundercats! Thunder, thunder, thunder, Thundercats! Thunder, thunder, thunder, Thundercats! Thundercats!

There's a voice that keeps on calling me. Down the road, that's where I'll always be. Every stop I make, I make a new friend. Can't stay for long, just turn around and I'm gone again. Maybe tomorrow, I'll want to settle down, Until tomorrow, I'll just keep moving on.

Just the good ol' boys, never meanin' no harm. Beats all you've ever saw, been in trouble with the law since the day they was born. Straight'nin' the curve, flat'nin' the hills. Someday the mountain might get 'em, but the law never will. Makin' their way, the only way they know how, that's just a little bit more than the law will allow. Just good ol' boys, wouldn't change if they could, fightin' the system like a true modern day Robin Hood.

Ten years ago a crack commando unit was sent to prison by a military court for a crime they didn't commit. These men promptly escaped from a maximum security stockade to the Los Angeles underground. Today, still wanted by the government, they survive as soldiers of fortune. If you have a problem and no one else can help, and if you can find them, maybe you can hire the A-team.

Hey there where ya goin', not exactly knowin', who says you have to call just one place home. He's goin' everywhere, B.J. McKay and his best friend Bear. He just keeps on movin', ladies keep improvin', every day is better than the last. New dreams and better scenes, and best of all I don't pay property tax. Rollin' down to Dallas, who's providin' my palace, off to New Orleans or who knows where. Places new and ladies, too, I'm B.J. McKay and this is my best friend Bear.

This is my boss, Jonathan Hart, a self-made millionaire, he's quite a guy. This is Mrs H., she's gorgeous, she's one lady who knows how to take care of herself. By the way, my name is Max. I take care of both of them, which ain't easy, 'cause when they met it was MURDER!

One for all and all for one, Muskehounds are always ready. One for all and all for one, helping everybody. One for all and all for one, it's a pretty story. Sharing everything with fun, that's the way to be. One for all and all for one, Muskehounds are always ready. One for all and all for one, helping everybody. One for all and all for one, can sound pretty corny. If you've got a problem chum, think how it could be.

I

Alexa

Actually! Wow. Fines for poor behavior (or withholding stipend). This would give the Lindens another way to take money out of the economy and let disruptive users give back to the community. I love it!

.

WAR AND PEACE

Chapter 1

Book One: 1805. Chapter I

"Well, Prince, so Genoa and Lucca are now just family estates of the Buonapartes. But I warn you, if you don't tell me that this means war, if you still try to defend the infamies and horrors perpetrated by that Antichrist- I really believe he is Antichrist- I will have nothing more to do with you and you are no longer my friend, no longer my 'faithful slave,' as you call yourself! But how do you do? I see I have frightened you- sit down and tell me all the news."

It was in July, 1805, and the speaker was the well-known Anna Pavlovna Scherer, maid of honor and favorite of the Empress Marya Fedorovna. With these words she greeted Prince Vasili Kuragin, a man of high rank and importance, who was the first to arrive at her reception. Anna Pavlovna had had a cough for some days. She was, as she said, suffering from la grippe; grippe being then a new word in St. Petersburg, used only by the elite.

All her invitations without exception, written in French, and delivered by a scarlet-liveried footman that morning, ran as follows:

"If you have nothing better to do, Count [or Prince], and if the prospect of spending an evening with a poor invalid is not too terrible, I shall be very charmed to see you tonight between 7 and 10- Annette Scherer."

"Heavens! what a virulent attack!" replied the prince, not in the least disconcerted by this reception. He had just entered, wearing an embroidered court uniform, knee breeches, and shoes, and had stars on his breast and a serene expression on his flat face. He spoke in that refined French in which our grandfathers not only spoke but thought, and with the gentle, patronizing intonation natural to a man of importance who had grown old in society and at court. He went up to Anna Pavlovna, kissed her hand, presenting to her his bald, scented, and shining head, and complacently seated himself on the sofa.

"First of all, dear friend, tell me how you are. Set your friend's mind at rest," said he without altering his tone, beneath the politeness and affected sympathy of which indifference and even irony could be discerned.

"Can one be well while suffering morally? Can one be calm in times like these if one has any feeling?" said Anna Pavlovna. "You are staying the whole evening, I hope?"

"And the fete at the English ambassador's? Today is Wednesday. I must put in an appearance there," said the prince. "My daughter is coming for me to take me there."

"I thought today's fete had been canceled. I confess all these festivities and fireworks are becoming wearisome."

"If they had known that you wished it, the entertainment would have been put off," said the prince, who, like a wound-up clock, by force of habit said things he did not even wish to be believed.

"Don't tease! Well, and what has been decided about Novosiltsev's dispatch? You know everything."

"What can one say about it?" replied the prince in a cold, listless tone. "What has been decided? They have decided that Buonaparte has burnt his boats, and I believe that we are ready to burn ours."

Prince Vasili always spoke languidly, like an actor repeating a stale part. Anna Pavlovna Scherer on the contrary, despite her forty years, overflowed with animation and impulsiveness. To be an enthusiast had become her social vocation and, sometimes even when she did not feel like it, she became enthusiastic in order not to disappoint the expectations of those who knew her. The subdued smile which, though it did not suit her faded features, always played round her lips expressed, as in a spoiled child, a continual consciousness of her charming defect, which she neither wished, nor could, nor considered it necessary, to correct.

In the midst of a conversation on political matters Anna Pavlovna burst out:

"Oh, don't speak to me of Austria. Perhaps I don't understand things, but Austria never has wished, and does not wish, for war. She is betraying us! Russia alone must save Europe. Our gracious sovereign recognizes his high vocation and will be true to it. That is the one thing I have faith in! Our good and wonderful sovereign has to perform the noblest role on earth, and he is so virtuous and noble that God will not forsake him. He will fulfill his vocation and crush the hydra of revolution, which has become more terrible than ever in the person of this murderer and villain! We alone must avenge the blood of the just one.... Whom, I ask you, can we rely on?... England with her commercial spirit will not and cannot understand the Emperor Alexander's loftiness of soul. She has refused to evacuate Malta. She wanted to find, and still seeks, some secret motive in our actions. What answer did Novosiltsev get? None. The English have not understood and cannot understand the self-abnegation of our Emperor who wants nothing for himself, but only desires the good of mankind. And what have they promised? Nothing! And what little they have promised they will not perform! Prussia has always declared that Buonaparte is invincible, and that all Europe is powerless before him.... And I don't believe a word that Hardenburg says, or Haugwitz either. This famous Prussian neutrality is just a trap. I have faith only in God and the lofty destiny of our adored monarch. He will save Europe!"

She suddenly paused, smiling at her own impetuosity.

"I think," said the prince with a smile, "that if you had been sent instead of our dear Wintzingerode you would have captured the King of Prussia's consent by assault. You are so eloquent. Will you give me a cup of tea?"

"In a moment. A propos," she added, becoming calm again, "I am expecting two very interesting men tonight, le Vicomte de Mortemart, who is connected with the Montmorencys through the Rohans, one of the best French families. He is one of the genuine emigres, the good ones. And also the Abbe Morio. Do you know that profound thinker? He has been received by the Emperor. Had you heard?"

"I shall be delighted to meet them," said the prince. "But tell me," he added with studied carelessness as if it had only just occurred to him, though the question he was about to ask was the chief motive of his visit, "is it true that the Dowager Empress wants Baron Funke to be appointed first secretary at Vienna? The baron by all accounts is a poor creature."

Prince Vasili wished to obtain this post for his son, but others were trying through the Dowager Empress Marya Fedorovna to secure it for the baron.

Anna Pavlovna almost closed her eyes to indicate that neither she nor anyone else had a right to criticize what the Empress desired or was pleased with.

"Baron Funke has been recommended to the Dowager Empress by her sister," was all she said, in a dry and mournful tone.

As she named the Empress, Anna Pavlovna's face suddenly assumed an expression of profound and sincere devotion and respect mingled with sadness, and this occurred every time she mentioned her illustrious patroness. She added that Her Majesty had deigned to show Baron Funke beaucoup d'estime, and again her face clouded over with sadness.

The prince was silent and looked indifferent. But, with the womanly and courtierlike quickness and tact habitual to her, Anna Pavlovna wished both to rebuke him (for daring to speak he had done of a man recommended to the Empress) and at the same time to console him, so she said:

"Now about your family. Do you know that since your daughter came out everyone has been enraptured by her? They say she is amazingly beautiful."

The prince bowed to signify his respect and gratitude.

"I often think," she continued after a short pause, drawing nearer to the prince and smiling amiably at him as if to show that political and social topics were ended and the time had come for intimate conversation- "I often think how unfairly sometimes the joys of life are distributed. Why has fate given you two such splendid children? I don't speak of Anatole, your youngest. I don't like him," she added in a tone admitting of no rejoinder and raising her eyebrows. "Two such charming children. And really you appreciate them less than anyone, and so you don't deserve to have them."

And she smiled her ecstatic smile.

"I can't help it," said the prince. "Lavater would have said I lack the bump of paternity."

"Don't joke; I mean to have a serious talk with you. Do you know I am dissatisfied with your younger son? Between ourselves" (and her face assumed its melancholy expression), "he was mentioned at Her Majesty's and you were pitied...."

The prince answered nothing, but she looked at him significantly, awaiting a reply. He frowned.

"What would you have me do?" he said at last. "You know I did all a father could for their education, and they have both turned out fools. Hippolyte is at least a quiet fool, but Anatole is an active one. That is the only difference between them." He said this smiling in a way more natural and animated than usual, so that the wrinkles round his mouth very clearly revealed something unexpectedly coarse and unpleasant.

"And why are children born to such men as you? If you were not a father there would be nothing I could reproach you with," said Anna Pavlovna, looking up pensively.

"I am your faithful slave and to you alone I can confess that my children are the bane of my life. It is the cross I have to bear. That is how I explain it to myself. It can't be helped!"

He said no more, but expressed his resignation to cruel fate by a gesture. Anna Pavlovna meditated.

"Have you never thought of marrying your prodigal son Anatole?" she asked. "They say old maids have a mania for matchmaking, and though I don't feel that weakness in myself as yet,I know a little person who is very unhappy with her father. She is a relation of yours, Princess Mary Bolkonskaya."

Prince Vasili did not reply, though, with the quickness of memory and perception befitting a man of the world, he indicated by a movement of the head that he was considering this information.

"Do you know," he said at last, evidently unable to check the sad current of his thoughts, "that Anatole is costing me forty thousand rubles a year? And," he went on after a pause, "what will it be in five years, if he goes on like this?" Presently he added: "That's what we fathers have to put up with.... Is this princess of yours rich?"

"Her father is very rich and stingy. He lives in the country. He is the well-known Prince Bolkonski who had to retire from the army under the late Emperor, and was nicknamed 'the King of Prussia.' He is very clever but eccentric, and a bore. The poor girl is very unhappy. She has a brother; I think you know him, he married Lise Meinen lately. He is an aide-de-camp of Kutuzov's and will be here tonight."

"Listen, dear Annette," said the prince, suddenly taking Anna Pavlovna's hand and for some reason drawing it downwards. "Arrange that affair for me and I shall always be your most devoted slave- slafe wigh an f, as a village elder of mine writes in his reports. She is rich and of good family and that's all I want."

And with the familiarity and easy grace peculiar to him, he raised the maid of honor's hand to his lips, kissed it, and swung it to and fro as he lay back in his armchair, looking in another direction.

"Attendez," said Anna Pavlovna, reflecting, "I'll speak to Lise, young Bolkonski's wife, this very evening, and perhaps the thing can be arranged. It shall be on your family's behalf that I'll start my apprenticeship as old maid."

RL LOL

This has to be one of the funniest threads going on right now.

Briana Dawson

Moved to Off-Topic.

I think this is the worst FUCKING idea I ever seen. The point of a Fourm is to CHAT and Post and all. Now you want to cut us down? Fuck that. Oh and the swearing/cuss jars FUCK THAT MOTHER FUCKING SHIT! They start to do that I will leave SL. I know others that will too.