The Most Consecutive Posts Game

by **john9blue** on Wed Jun 23, 2010 3:42 pm

squadala we're off

by **john9blue** on Wed Jun 23, 2010 3:42 pm

these 6 posts are what all true spammers strive for

by **john9blue** on Wed Jun 23, 2010 3:43 pm

lucky 7 let's goooooooooo

by **john9blue** on Wed Jun 23, 2010 3:43 pm

by **john9blue** on Wed Jun 23, 2010 3:44 pm

by **john9blue** on Wed Jun 23, 2010 3:45 pm

why was 6 afraid of 7?

because 10 posts

by **john9blue** on Wed Jun 23, 2010 3:46 pm

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

by **john9blue** on Wed Jun 23, 2010 3:46 pm

O Nightingale, that on yon bloomy Spray
Warbl'st at eeve, when all the Woods are still,
Thou with fresh hope the Lovers heart dost fill,
While the jolly hours lead on propitious May,
Thy liquid notes that close the eye of Day,
First heard before the shallow Cuccoo's bill
Portend success in love; O if Jove's will
Have linkt that amorous power to thy soft lay,
Now timely sing, ere the rude Bird of Hate
Foretell my hopeles doom in som Grove ny:
As thou from yeer to yeer hast sung too late
For my relief; yet hadst no reason why,
Whether the Muse, or Love call thee his mate,
Both them I serve, and of their train am I.

by **john9blue** on Wed Jun 23, 2010 3:47 pm

what are we at now 13? that puts me in the lead i believe

by **john9blue** on Wed Jun 23, 2010 3:47 pm

Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck;
And yet methinks I have astronomy,
But not to tell of good or evil luck,
Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality;
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,
Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind,
Or say with princes if it shall go well,
By oft predict that I in heaven find:
But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,
And, constant stars, in them I read such art
As truth and beauty shall together thrive,
If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert;
Or else of thee this I prognosticate:
Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.

by **john9blue** on Wed Jun 23, 2010 3:48 pm

When I consider every thing that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment,
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment;
When I perceive that men as plants increase,
Cheered and cheque'd even by the self-same sky,
Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,
And wear their brave state out of memory;
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,
Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay,
To change your day of youth to sullied night;
And all in war with Time for love of you,
As he takes from you, I engraft you new.