My name is not James, dear. Whether 'tis nobler to be bitchdog suckling pup-litter or mighty friesian providing for human tea and cornflakes, we will fight them on Italian beaches and by the traintracks of Weymouth, alongside Cardiff stags wearing udders. The raging bull crushes the early tequila worm with a pocket full of bombs wrapped in a small scarf.
Through thick Skins and thin, you can run but you can't tan hide. When the seagulls follow the trawler, they think sardines will be thrown into the sea. When the cows follow the tractor, they know that throwaways do not make a D...and that we will have our glory, in this field or the next. Fishes in the sea? We have steaks literally walking around our pastures green, filled with milk and cheese. Plenty. There is no countdown, for there is no waiting. The time is now. The time is cow. __________________________________________________ BritDisc mailing list [email protected] http://www.fysh.org/cgi-bin/mailman/listinfo/britdisc Staying informed - http://www.ukultimate.com/staying-informed
