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Post by FFS Admin on Apr 19, 2004 19:41:28 GMT
My work rung me up today and asked me to go in early tomorrow. And I said YES! What the fuck was I thinking It is my single regret of the day
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Post by Not Karl on Apr 19, 2004 19:43:23 GMT
ahh shit one man,think of the moneys your makin tho
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Post by feedme on Apr 20, 2004 1:57:07 GMT
hey alex i could help you with one of your probs....send me your ironing i'll do it for you! i love ironing! yes im wierd lol ...will you do mine...please
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Post by feedme on Apr 20, 2004 1:57:32 GMT
here you go snuggle bunny mmmmm ....mmmmm rarrr!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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Post by Not Karl on Apr 20, 2004 17:42:56 GMT
got a text sayin someone fancies me...and i have to dial up on a landline to find out who for 50p a minute......yeah right who'd fancy me
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Post by Alex on Apr 20, 2004 20:18:38 GMT
Aw, Karl,don't say stuff like that! Anyways, rantage - Ron Atkinson and Terry Venables - will you please shut the fuck up? Laura - if you really wanna do my ironing, then feel absolutely free, you strange but wonderful woman, you!?
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Wardy
Yesterday Went Too Soon
Yesterday Went Too Soon
Meatloaf Daddy
Posts: 906
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Post by Wardy on Apr 20, 2004 21:59:51 GMT
got a text sayin someone fancies me...and i have to dial up on a landline to find out who for 50p a minute......yeah right who'd fancy me dude dont worry i got a missed call from the fuckers i want to sue
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Post by feedme on Apr 21, 2004 18:05:40 GMT
..the sue you brigade is here wahey!!!
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paul
Swim
Posts: 226
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Post by paul on Apr 21, 2004 21:38:38 GMT
wow.. imagine getting a text saying someone fancies you.. The lives some people live.!!
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Post by feedme on Apr 22, 2004 0:15:29 GMT
gee...wow thats like walking in buying a porno mag...and those hotties love a bit
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Post by Not Karl on Apr 22, 2004 22:27:26 GMT
ANOTHER PIECE OF CW THAT HAS TO BE PRINTED IN SKOOL
The product range and differentiation
Businesses have to decide what product or range of products they are going to sell. They would also have to decide what quality of product they wish to make and sell, what name to give the product and how it is to be packaged. A further decision is whether to attempt to brand the product.
Product range
DEFINITION –
Tayto has a wide variation of snacks available. It is one of the best selling crisp producers in the whole of Northern Ireland. Tayto make crisps for fans of almost any type of crisp whether they are the straight cut crisps, crinkly or even made of corn. These crisps appeal to all kinds of people, crisps especially like Bikers. Then Tayto’s Cheese & Onion are the most popular type of crisp amongst almost everyone. Walkers also make a huge range of snacks that are readily available. Walkers are one of the best selling crisp manufacturers within the whole of the UK. Walkers have a more diverse range of snacks than what Tayto provide. Walkers provide the basic straight cut potato crisp, they have a low fat variation of the crisp, and they have crisps in all shapes and forms and made from maize and corn as well.
Product differentiation
DEFINITION –
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Wardy
Yesterday Went Too Soon
Yesterday Went Too Soon
Meatloaf Daddy
Posts: 906
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Post by Wardy on Apr 23, 2004 8:56:01 GMT
bah thats nothign wait to you see this my A level course work is a translation from a poem to a short storey i chose Dulce Est Decourm Est by WIlfred Owen:
Crawling on all fours we manoeuvred quickly and silently through the sludge and dirt, men crouched and darted across the lines patrolling the area. Men marched asleep, many without the proper clothing or material. Drunk with fatigue we marched on. This was a disaster. How the scene had changed from that day in 1917 when the war was depicted as the valiant playground for heroes of Britain, how I would be saving my country, helping the old lion overcome the German militia. The promises of girlfriends, bonds, medals and cult status amongst the public had been all too tempting; many like me had rushed forward to sign. Too young to see far ahead, too young to see the mistakes we were making – promised a hero’s farewell we were excited. We were going to war. Now we saw what consequences our decisions had brought forth; death and destruction not the sweet heroic images that had been described to us. We were in retreat from battle, the Germans had been too strong and their tactics had taken us by surprise, once the trenches had been dug both sides looked for any ways possible to advance their campaign. The rain had been falling for weeks, and I along with my comrades in arms were bloody soaked - soaked in our trenches, soaked in our dugouts. We either slept in wet clothes or stood with boots full of water. We turned our backs on the flares sent up by the German frontier; too weak and outnumbered began to trudge back towards our camp. The eagle eyed Germans would not wait for a simple chance all they needed was an outline or reflection and they would launch their attack. We had previously dared not move at night, only by the semi-safety of daylight. Men were trained to believe that a light sniff of gas might mean death, and nerves had been highly strung. Gas was the most feared weapon in the trenches, whispers of the horrible effects after the gassing of our comrades in Ypres struck fear into many hearts. No one in my battalion had experienced the gas before and none wanted to. Stray shells would fall near the camps and gas horns would be sounded, empty brass-shells beaten, rifles emptied and demented cries often spread over miles. Scared soldiers woke up in the terror and fumbled with their crude gas masks only to hear the cries of ‘All Safe’. These crude masks however where much better than the old bits of cloth soaked in piss. We moved as quickly as possible with the dirt wrapping us in its arms, marching warily the sunset was a mere figment of our imaginations. Many men thought back to their wives, children and girlfriends. Children wondering where their dad was, many of whom were tricked into this ‘glorious’ war. How we had been conned, the propaganda smoke screen captured many a young mans freedom – pictures of pompous men with their glowing red, white and blue ‘Help the brave lads at the front!’ – But what now? We are the brave lads, fleeing in terror from the German attack – they never told us Germany had twice as many men, better guns and better strategies. We were lambs sent to the slaughter. The onset of fatigue was evident, my partners marched quickly yet softly as if in a day dream, men marched don some with boots, some with coats, and some with hats but like our sense and our hopes most were lost or missing. Some found comfort in their religion – others didn’t remember what religion was. They didn’t remember why they were here, how they had been promised a heroes life – now they were facing reality. Death and destruction, blood and bodies, fear and fatigue – not what had been painted so vibrantly with the red white and blue of home. I munched on some biscuits, half of what my weekly rationing should have been. I would have killed for some corned beef or meat and vegetable stew but like everything else in this war the rationing promises seemed false. The pre-packed food had been labelled as emergency only, to me this was an emergency and starvation was imminent. The constant bombardment within my brain was too much, ideas going back and forth, thoughts of home for my mother and father, thoughts of my friends, thoughts of the Germans, thoughts of death, how was I going to die? Gas? Gunfire? The gas shells were dropping softly and as silently as snow – the soft hoots were inaudible to a deaf ear and a vicious mind. “Gas, Gas, Quick boys!” came the cry from a soldier. The pandemonium set in, sweat broke upon foreheads and blood curdled, the idea of death over took the mind and nerves heightened. The instilled confusion and panic amongst the soldiers was too much – a fumbling ecstasy broke out, men tried to fit their helmets while the smell of death lingered around them, trying not to breathe many choked and many cried. The gas was crushing their lungs, gripping them tightly trying to choke the air from inside – the sergeant shouted telling men to fix their masks, I couldn’t get mine on, it became heavy and complex, and in my fear and panic I could not fix the chin straps. The yellow cloud came towards us like the horsemen of the apocalypse – angered and menacing it wanted victims. The bombardment of shells came with it. We scattered diving for cover, deadly shrapnel bounced and ricocheted of the trees around us and the bullets ripped through the air and the sizzling sound of pierced skin – I felt my leg go lame and it dragged behind me, I fell to the ground feeling the warm trickle of blood flowing down my skin. The pain soars through my leg and quickly spreads through my body but the image of the green clouds leering towards us spurns us on. With the help of the medic I am bandaged and wrapped tightly, the pain still there but the fear of gas overshadows that any day. I hobble along as fast as I can then the fear of everyman within the battalion came to the frontline. The gas shells dropped softly in front of us – the canister opened and the green and yellow cloud clambered to the air spreading quickly and furiously. That dark fear that so often occurred at night was for real now; an ecstasy of fumbling fitting the crude clumsy helmets just in time but as always fear took over for one or two men. They breathed the poison in and it spread through their body – they struggled for breath dropping to the ground they grasp the men around them holding them for support wanting them to help them – but the sad reality was there was nothing we could do – their lungs had be literally burnt out. Some areas of their skin began to pigment and a brownish scar appeared – the first degree burns. They cannot be bandaged or touched for fear of causing bleeding instead we lifted them to safety and allowed for the oil to be poured onto their skin – like a child with the pox it cooled the burning but only for a minute, a minute of peace and comfort but in reality the gas burns were irreparable and no matter how strong ones mans pain threshold was a gas burn was beyond endurance. I helped lift the poor man onto my shoulders, carrying him across the field towards the nearest medical truck. My leg was blinding with pain – my eyes filled with water and everything became a blur as the tears overwhelmed me yet I had to save him – he was about the same age as me – twenty something with his whole life ahead of him – tricked and killed not just by the Krauts but by his own country. Two medics met me half way, helping me take the soldier and supporting my leg we got to the medical truck – they flung him into the back. To them he was a statistic nothing more – I was angered but then I had to remember these men seen more dead in one day than I would see all throughout the war. The soldier coughed and choked grasping all around him – I held his hand at least that would comfort him to some degree whether he is thinking of his family or his friends he wouldn’t be alone. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he began to have a seizure – his body jolted and his legs kicked and with every movement the blood came from his mouth – the blisters on his body causing him agonising pain every time he moved. The sweat broke on his forehead and trickeld down his face, his palms were soaking yet he gripped my hand tightly fighting the inevitable. He choked, kicked and screamed and then as if an angel had rested upon his body he became motionless and the last breath left his body his pain was over, he had died for Britain, he was a hero but who would know? Me, not the medics, not the people at home, me. To his family he was killed in action, yet to me he was a brother tricked into dying because we were not prepared or armed for the strength of the German army. They will not tell stories of high zest about this soldier – like those of which he had been promised – instead they will put his name on a plaque and dedicate a minute to him – yet that will not be enough. For like every other soldier in the war he is a statistic and had been tricked by that old lie: Dulce ET Decorum est pro patria mori.
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Post by CBee on Apr 23, 2004 9:03:50 GMT
We had an english teacher who was obsessed with death last year so made us do illustrations for that And we have to do it again next year 'cos part of our course is War Poetry....grrr
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Wardy
Yesterday Went Too Soon
Yesterday Went Too Soon
Meatloaf Daddy
Posts: 906
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Post by Wardy on Apr 23, 2004 10:05:13 GMT
We had an english teacher who was obsessed with death last year so made us do illustrations for that And we have to do it again next year 'cos part of our course is War Poetry....grrr thats what we did last year war poetry
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Post by Alex on Apr 23, 2004 23:55:50 GMT
Today, Matthew, I would like to rant about gastroenteritis and what a sodding pain in the fudging backside it is.
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Post by feedme on Apr 24, 2004 3:52:14 GMT
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paul
Swim
Posts: 226
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Post by paul on Apr 24, 2004 7:52:57 GMT
I have one.. It's about keep getting banned..!! Is this normal.. lol ;D
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Post by Lemon on Apr 24, 2004 7:54:15 GMT
I have one.. It's about keep getting banned..!! Is this normal.. lol ;D You're not banned at the moment! But you were rocking at the time you were banned! ;D
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Post by Jock on Apr 24, 2004 10:25:28 GMT
I have one.. It's about keep getting banned..!! Is this normal.. lol ;D well it is when you behave like a complete asshole
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Wardy
Yesterday Went Too Soon
Yesterday Went Too Soon
Meatloaf Daddy
Posts: 906
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Post by Wardy on Apr 24, 2004 11:33:04 GMT
well it is when you behave like a complete asshole OOOOOOOO i believe i have found the source of my young padawans anger what has this asshole done to you mr brown? btw brown.......... 6 DAYS HEHE
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