Whoa... I'm drinking merlot. I never drink wine. It makes my nose stuffy. We'll see how things turn out. I just thought it would pair nice will the vegan dark chocolate tapioca pudding I made. Yes, there might be a dash of cayanne in it, and a dash of cinnamon... and quite possibly a touch of ginger and nutmeg.
Aphrodisiac heaven
::grin::
Kisses
I like to see peoples reactions when it finally sinks in that we are ALL expendable. They freak out, not knowing what is right in the world.
Am I special? Am I unique? Am I important?
Answer: NO. So get over it.
One single thing will never define who you are, and if it does then I pity you. Be more complex. Accept change and learn to adapt. Things aren't going to be the same forever, how boring would that be?
Aphrodisiac heaven
::grin::
Kisses
I like to see peoples reactions when it finally sinks in that we are ALL expendable. They freak out, not knowing what is right in the world.
Am I special? Am I unique? Am I important?
Answer: NO. So get over it.
One single thing will never define who you are, and if it does then I pity you. Be more complex. Accept change and learn to adapt. Things aren't going to be the same forever, how boring would that be?
VIEW 7 of 7 COMMENTS
Vom kleinen Maulwurf, der wissen wollte, wer ihm auf den Kopf gemacht hat
The little Mole, who wanted to know who pooped on his head
By Peter Hammer Verlag
At the time when the little mole poked his head out of the ground to see if the sun had already come up, this happened:
(It was round and brown, looked a little like a sausage - and even worse: it landed right on top of his head.)
"Such a dirty trick!" (I'd just like to insert here my own personal note - this phrase could also be translated as "Such a (female dog)!" yelled the little mole. "Who pooped on my head?"
(But, short-sighted as he was, he couldn't find anyone.)
"Did you poop on my head?" he asked the pigeon who was flying directly overhead.
"Me? No, why? - I poop like this!" answered the pigeon.
(And - splop - slapped a white, soggy blob on the ground, right next to the mole. His right leg was sprinkled white.)
"Did you poop on my head?" he asked the horse who was grazing in the field.
"Me? No, why? - I poop like this!" answered the horse.
(And - roompsdipoomps - precisely plopped down five big, gross horse apples next to the little mole. He was deeply impressed.)
"Did you poop on my head?" he asked the rabbit.
"Me? No, why? - I poop like this!" answered the rabbit.
(And - rata-tat-tat - shot out fifteen round little pellets up to the little mole's ears. - He saved himself with a daring leap.)
"Did you poop on my head?" he asked the goat, who had just been having a little dream."
"Me? No, why? - I poop like this!" answered the goat.
(And - klackity-klack - pure-pitching a bunch of multi-colored malted bon bon stickers in the grass, the mole almost already liked them.)
(Ok, you also have to know that in each pooping picture, the mole is either stooping to expect the poop on the ground or watching it come out of the animal's bum!)
"Did you poop on my head?" he asked the cow who was chewing cud.
"Me? No, why? - I poop like this!" answered the cow.
(And - schvuppdivup - sploshed a huge, greenish-brown muffin in the grass, a close shave next to the little mole. He was very happy it wasn't the cow who pooped on his head.)
"Did you poop on my head?" he asked the pig.
"Me? No, why? - I poop like this!" answered the pig.
(And - platschdiplumps - cascaded down a soft, brown pile of muck - like this. The mole held his nose closed.)
"Did you guys poop on my..." he was about to ask, but when he came closer, he saw only two plump, black flies who were eating.
At last... someone who can help me, thought the little mole. "Who has pooped on my head?" he asked really quickly.
"Hold very still," buzzed the flies. And then, after a while: "It's very clear - it was A DOG!"
(In the picture here, the mole is patiently folding his arms, sitting and waiting while the flies stick their little needle noses into the poop on his head. In the picture where he's asking the flies, they're actually eating the "horse apples" produced on a previous page.)
Finally the little mole knew who had pooped on his head: Hans-Heinrich, the butcher's dog!
Quick as lightning, he climbed up Hans-Heinrich's dog house...
(And - pling - a little sausage landed right on top of the dog's head.)
Happily and contentedly, the little mole disappeared again into the ground.
The End