Contest Termination

tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50530638747405971.post-19308995626669829332008-01-05T10:50:00.000-06:002008-01-05T11:59:35.479-06:002008-01-05T11:59:35.479-06:00Contest TerminationWe're down to the end! That means voting has started to the right. One of our contestants will be crowned the winner, and perhaps as a prize I'll agree not to shoot them (though a good bagging and tagging may still be in order). First up, we hear from an odd lady. She claims to have card reading abilities. Big deal. I know what a seven of spades looks like. Oh, well. Company policy makes her a viable specimen anyway. <blockquote><h2>What Happened?</h2>by <a href="tarot-spreadingthecards.blogspot.com">Tarot</a> <o:p> </o:p> Visions,<o:p></o:p> Dreams,<o:p></o:p> Cards, <o:p></o:p> Chips.<o:p></o:p> Bottles,<o:p></o:p> Pigeon,<o:p></o:p> Spiritgum,<o:p></o:p> Mirrors.<o:p></o:p> Things are scrambled,<o:p></o:p> Reflections make no sense.<o:p></o:p> The past is a blur,<o:p></o:p> The future uncertain.<o:p></o:p> Holes in my memory,<o:p></o:p> Pain in my head.<o:p></o:p> A friend’s ally, <o:p></o:p> Now lies dead.<o:p></o:p> What I did, <o:p></o:p> While he, <o:p></o:p> Had gone to see,<o:p></o:p> It’s all hidden from me.<o:p></o:p> I have read what I must have written,<o:p></o:p> But I have no recall at all.<o:p></o:p> All is just the present,<o:p></o:p> Until my visions return,<o:p></o:p> And the pain is banished. <o:p></o:p> <o:p></o:p></blockquote> Our penultimate contestant, and the only contestant who would know what that word means, is an horrible, horrible man. He's a traitor to all and should not be trusted. Don't vote for this fiend. I'm glad he believes in Karma because I can blame destiny when I shoot him in the face. <blockquote><h2>The Many Metaphorical Hats Serving as Occupational Identifiers of Doctor Mohinder Suresh</h2>by <a href="http://destinyofman.blogspot.com">Dr. Mohinder Suresh</a> What is my vocation? Do I have an identifiable occupation? Or do I flutter From job to job, like a stutter In Matt's communication? A geneticist I was first. I was a Taxi Driver, at worst. I dabbled in espionage It felt like a mirage, Til I put Bennet in a hearse. I came to regret my dispatching Of the very man who'd been hatching The plan that would destroy Those keeping me in their employ. So, I performed some medical patching Does that determine me a healer? Does peeling potatoes make me a permanent peeler? And merely because I dealt with an artist on drugs Would I claim to be an art dealer? So many jobs, here and there. Similar to a Belgian Hare, Trapped in a hutch, Yet still doing much. But why am I not yet a billionaire?</blockquote> And then there's his wife, I mean domestic partner. You have to feel sorry for this guy. Even when I bagged and tagged him, The Haitian didn't need to do much to knock him unconscious. A Haitian sneeze and his brain was down for the count. <blockquote><h2>Peotry is Hrad!</h2>By <a href="http://mattsbolg.blogspot.com">Matt</a> I nveer lkied peotry It mkaes my brian hrut Is't nto maent fro me, Lkie a tgiht shrit. I cna tyr raelly hrad But it awlays flais Myabe I cloud do it If I lreaned how to splel. I geuss tahts why My wfie lfet me Taht and the fcat She hda anohter man's bbay.</blockquote>Mr. Bennethttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16418603606479190390noreply@blogger.com3