"A wise man ... proportions his belief to the evidence."
— David Hume, An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding, Section X, Part I.
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First world problems
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"A wise man ... proportions his belief to the evidence." — David Hume, An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding, Section X, Part I.
I have all this trash (3rd World Gold) I have to pay to dispose of in order to sell my last home.
If there is a god, I want to believe that there is a god. If there is not a god, I want to believe that there is no god.
RE: First world problems
September 6, 2015 at 10:32 pm
(This post was last modified: September 6, 2015 at 10:32 pm by Alex K.)
The fool hath said in his heart, There is a God. They are corrupt, they have done abominable works, there is none that doeth good.
Psalm 14, KJV revised edition
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.
My wide-screen HDTV is pixelating a bit. Must be a shitty satellite feed.
(September 6, 2015 at 10:42 pm)Lemonvariable72 Wrote:(September 6, 2015 at 7:47 pm)Pyrrho Wrote: So, did your Nutella last, or did you find something else for breakfast, like a screwdriver, the breakfast of champions? Or was the Nutella shortage so upsetting that you slit your wrists? Is that why you have not posted for a couple of hours? Are you mad? Scotch doesn't mix with orange juice, and who wants to die from scurvy?
And now my clothes are shrinking.
Tired, but don't want to go to sleep yet.
I need to sleep but don't feel sleepy.
(September 6, 2015 at 11:15 pm)Cthulhu Dreaming Wrote:Didn't you learn anything from Christopher Hitchens?(September 6, 2015 at 10:42 pm)Lemonvariable72 Wrote: Come now, we all know johnny walker black label is the breakfast of champions.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing. |
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