Received: from nobody by stodi.digitalkingdom.org with local (Exim 4.87) (envelope-from ) id 1cjurf-000223-PG for lojban-newreal@lojban.org; Fri, 03 Mar 2017 13:35:51 -0800 Received: from [107.167.15.167] (port=39686 helo=mail.prodermbeauty.com) by stodi.digitalkingdom.org with esmtp (Exim 4.87) (envelope-from ) id 1cjurb-00021I-78 for lojban@lojban.org; Fri, 03 Mar 2017 13:35:51 -0800 DKIM-Signature: v=1; a=rsa-sha1; c=relaxed/relaxed; s=dkim; d=prodermbeauty.com; h=Date:From:To:Subject:MIME-Version:Content-Type:List-Unsubscribe:Message-ID; i=corey.payne@prodermbeauty.com; bh=Nit61KOHVvTPjHo9J24uIkrlK5Q=; b=YtmCwfur/9mF2e7foKmVPAiA8vad5XlHcEsKd955RLPLDBnmZZMM15CNQHfvk2JSg7GevzUOG1bF V2ofutxLuhsePVrCrBhYjG+kdk2NkOHYLJnfQ8olRhQx05cZOC3MGaa2T2ijzuJhYJDwIPvs8FCv 8yK0dsmMlqvS6HsNN6k= DomainKey-Signature: a=rsa-sha1; c=nofws; q=dns; s=dkim; d=prodermbeauty.com; b=BQGfrda44f+P/KBKKrZI+26yNg3O47EBWVa5nMZQByaD9q3ypFfJ2Wu95CUvDB6E9UVIKfo7uzoa KvYdy9AwoBXOUagq7oussjPEdrSPh5G3R2IYLnZ1pqdTfErQ37qczGkn/Zo2vriRmXjkR99bpIpE AXSY0PHD5h1UbkknKDo=; Received: by mail.prodermbeauty.com id hn7gr60001gt for ; Fri, 3 Mar 2017 16:32:09 -0500 (envelope-from ) Date: Fri, 3 Mar 2017 16:32:09 -0500 From: "Corey Payne" To: Subject: lojban take off 20lbs drinking a sip of apple-cider vinegar MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: multipart/alternative; boundary="----=_Part_304_1679256270.1488576709397" X-SMTPAPI: {"category": "20170303-162745-798-14"} List-Unsubscribe: Feedback-ID: 2017030316274579814 Message-ID: <0.0.0.21.1D294659CC73A5C.2949AC1@mail.prodermbeauty.com> X-Spam-Score: 3.6 (+++) X-Spam_score: 3.6 X-Spam_score_int: 36 X-Spam_bar: +++ X-Spam-Report: Spam detection software, running on the system "stodi.digitalkingdom.org", has NOT identified this incoming email as spam. The original message has been attached to this so you can view it or label similar future email. If you have any questions, see the administrator of that system for details. Content preview: good beneficts The Peoples Voice Michigan Univeristy Student Does Something Shocking Her Freshmen Year March 03, 2017 | Lucida Shen [...] Content analysis details: (3.6 points, 5.0 required) pts rule name description ---- ---------------------- -------------------------------------------------- 0.0 URIBL_BLOCKED ADMINISTRATOR NOTICE: The query to URIBL was blocked. See http://wiki.apache.org/spamassassin/DnsBlocklists#dnsbl-block for more information. [URIs: opt-out-4-63.com] -0.0 SPF_PASS SPF: sender matches SPF record 0.0 HTML_FONT_LOW_CONTRAST BODY: HTML font color similar or identical to background 0.8 MPART_ALT_DIFF BODY: HTML and text parts are different 0.7 MIME_HTML_ONLY BODY: Message only has text/html MIME parts -1.9 BAYES_00 BODY: Bayes spam probability is 0 to 1% [score: 0.0000] 0.0 HTML_MESSAGE BODY: HTML included in message 0.0 MIME_QP_LONG_LINE RAW: Quoted-printable line longer than 76 chars 1.9 RAZOR2_CF_RANGE_E8_51_100 Razor2 gives engine 8 confidence level above 50% [cf: 100] 0.5 RAZOR2_CF_RANGE_51_100 Razor2 gives confidence level above 50% [cf: 100] 0.9 RAZOR2_CHECK Listed in Razor2 (http://razor.sf.net/) -0.1 DKIM_VALID Message has at least one valid DKIM or DK signature 0.1 DKIM_SIGNED Message has a DKIM or DK signature, not necessarily valid -0.1 DKIM_VALID_AU Message has a valid DKIM or DK signature from author's domain 0.8 RDNS_NONE Delivered to internal network by a host with no rDNS 0.0 MIME_HTML_ONLY_MULTI Multipart message only has text/html MIME parts ------=_Part_304_1679256270.1488576709397 Content-Type: text/html; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: quoted-printable =20 =20 good beneficts=20 =20 =20

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  • The Peoples Voice
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    Michigan Univeristy Student Does Something Shocking Her Freshm= en Year

    March 03, 2017 | Lucida Shen

    Amanda= comes clean to us in her full story

    Wher friends mocked her before college because she was rather large but = over her first semester she was eating dorm food and started looking better= She no longer has to try to work-out even.

    See what Amanda did in complete article > > 3D"your <= br />

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    • Typing your email on this = site will certify your dismissal from our = database of subcribers
      Jackqueline Nieland | 19= 3 W 630Th Ave Girard Ks 66743-2109=20
      celebrated by buying a new dishwasher and a bigger television. In truth, however, I didn t spend much time at home. My sisters had all left, except for Mary, who was working at the local supermarket, and I never had much to say to my mother. So I spent my waking hours (which were generally nocturnal) with the other young agents of Jacobs s company. I was close to them. We worked together. We had fun. We saved each other s lives a bit. Their names, if you re interested, were Paul, Norrie, Julie, Steph, and Alfie-Joe. They re all dead now. I was grog into a tall , strong-featured, thicker-set than I d have liked, with large eyes, heavy eyebrows, an overlong nose, and sulky lips. I wasn t pretty, but as my mother once said, prettiness wasn t my profession. I was quick on my feet, if not especially clever with a rapier, and ambitious to do well. I followed orders effectively and worked smoothly in a team. I had hopes of soon getting my Fourth Grade, and so becoming a section leader, able to lead my own sub-group and make my own decisions. My existence was dangerous but fulfilling, and I d have been moderately contentif it wasn t for one essential thing. It was said that as a , Agent Jacobs had been trained by the Fittes Agency in London. Once, then, clearly, he d been hot stuff. Well, he wasn t anymore. Of course, like every adult, his senses had long ago grown dulled; since he couldn t detect ghosts easily, he relied on the rest of us to act as his eyes and ears. This much was=20

      fair enough. All supervisors were the same. Their job was to use their experience and quick wits to help guide their agents when a Visitor was sighted, to coordinate the plan of attack and, where necessary, provide back-up in emergencies. In my early years at the agency, Jacobs did this reasonably well. But somewhere down the line, amid all those endless hours of waiting and watching in the darkness, he began to lose his nerve. He hung back at the edge of haunted areas, reluctant to go in. His hands shook, he chain-smoked cigarettes; he shouted orders from afar. He jumped at shadows. One night, when I approached him to report, he mistook me for a Visitor. In his panic he lashed out with his rapier, and took a slice out of my cap. I was saved only by the shaking of his sword arm. The rest of us knew what he was like, of course, and none of us cared for it. But he was the one who paid our wages, and he was an important man in our little town, so we just got on with it, and trusted our own judgment. And in fact nothing very terrible happened for quite a long time, until the night at the Wythburn Mill. There was a water mill halfway up the Wythe valley that had a bad reputation. There d been accidents, a death or two; it had been closed for years. A local logging firm was interested in using it as a regional office, but they wanted it made safe first. They came to Jacobs and asked him to check it out, make sure there was nothing unhealthy there. We walked up the valley in the early evening and reached it shortly after dusk. It was a warm summer night, and birds were calling in the trees. Stars shone overhead. The mill was a great dark mass, wedged among the rocks and the conifers. The stream idled down below the gravel road. = passage. It s on the move! someone said. It s fading! Keep it in sight! We don t want to lose it! If the apparition s vanishing point was not observed, locating the Source would be that much more laborious. There was a general rush forward. I drew my sword, hastened to catch up with the others. The shade was so faint now it was almost gone. My apprehensions seemed suddenly absurd. Small as an infant, ever shrinking, the ghost limped forlornly round the corner, out of view. My fellow agents hurried after it; I speeded up too. Even so, I hadn t actually reached the turn when the vicious flare of plasmic light ripped across the wall in front of me. There was a squeal of tortured iron and a solitary burst of magnesium fire. In the brief illumination from the flare I saw a monstrous shadow rising. The light went out. Then all the screams began. I twisted my head, looked back down the passage and across the foyer toward the open door. Far off in the distant dusk I saw the cigarette s pinprick point of red. Sir! Mr. Jacobs! Nothing. Sir! We need your help! Sir! The pinprick flared as the agent took a breath. No answer came. He didn t move. Then d roared along the corridor and nearly knocked me off my feet. The walls of the mill shook; the open door slammed shut. I cursed in the darkness. Then I drew a canister from my belt, raised my rapier high, and ran around the corner of the corridor toward the screams. At the Coroner s Inquest, Agent Jacobs was heavily criticized by relatives of the dead agents and there was talk of him being sent to court, but it never came to anything. He argued that he had acted entirely in accordance with the information I had brought him about the strength of the ghost. He claimed he had not heard my cries for hasn t responded to you in any way Not tried to approach you No, sir. The others think it s a weak Type One, perhaps the echo of some child who worked here long ago. All right, fine. Pin it back with iron. Then you can search the spot. Yes, sir. Only, sir… What is it, Lucy There s…something about this one. I don t like it. The end of the cigarette glowed red in the darkness as Agent Jacobs drew on it briefly. As always these days, his hand shook; his tone was irritable. Don t like it It s a child crying. Of course you don t like it. Do you hear something else No, sir. Another voice, maybe From a second, stronger, Visitor No… And it was true. I didn t hear anything dangerous. Everything about the visitation was wispy and frail, suggestive of weakness. The sound, the shape…they were barely there at all. Just a typical faint Shade. We could snuff it in a trice. All the same, I distrusted it. I disliked the way it cowered, so very tight and small. What do the others say Jacobs asked. They think it s easy enough, sir. They re impatient to get on. But it just seems…wrong to me. I could hear him shifting on the stump. d moved among the trees. I can order them to pull back, Lucy. But vague feelings are no good. I need a solid reason. No, sir.…I guess it s okay.… I sighed, hesitated. Perhaps you could come in with me I asked. You could give me your opinion. There was a heavy silence. Just do your job, Agent Jacobs said. The others were impatient. When I caught sight of them, they were already advancing along the passage, their rapiers up, their salt-bombs ready. Not far away, the glog form sensed the approaching iron. It quailed and shrank, flickered in and out of vision like a badly tuned TV. It began to drift off toward a corner of the = it seemed to me a fine thing to be part of this select and important company, walking tall in our mustard-colored jackets, with the great Mr. Jacobs at our head. Over the ensuing months I learned how to mix salt and magnesium in correct proportions, and how to scatter iron according to the likely power of the ghost. I became adept at packing bags and checking flashlights, filling lamps, and testing chains. I polished rapiers. I made tea and coffee. And when trucks brought new supplies up from the Sunrise Corporation in London, I sorted through the bombs and canisters and stacked them on our shelves. Jacobs soon discovered that while I saw Visitors well enough, I heard them better than anyone. Before I was nine, I d traced the whispers at the Red Barn back to the broken post that marked the outlaw s grave. In the vile incident at the Swan Hotel, I d detected the soft, stealthy footsteps creeping up the passage behind us, and so saved us all from certain ghost-touch. The agent rewarded me with swift advancement. I passed my First and Second Grades in double-quick time, and on my eleventh birthday gained my Third. On that famous day I came home with a rapier of my own, a plastic-laminated official certificate, a personal copy of the Fittes Manual for Ghost-Hunters, and (more to the point as far as my mother was concerned) a greatly increased monthly salary. I was now the family s major breadner, earning more in my four nights work per week than my mother did in six long days. She valley. Over the years Agent Jacobs had wasted a lot of iron out there, looking for the Source, but he never found it; so presumably Penny Nolan walks there still. In the end they rerouted the path and let the field lie fallow. It s now a pretty place of wildflowers. Incidents such as this ensured that before long my Talent was common knowledge in the district. My mother waited impatiently until I was eight years old, then took me up to meet the agent in his office just off the town square. It was excellent timing, as one of his operatives had been killed in action three days before. Everything worked out fine. My mother got my weekly wage, I got my first job, and Agent Jacobs got his new trainee. My employer was a tall, cadaverous gentleman, who had run his local operation for more than twenty years. Treated by the townsfolk with respect bordering on deference, he was nevertheless isolated from them because of his profession, and so cultivated an aura of occult mystery. He was gray-skinned, hook-nosed, and black-bearded, and wore a slightly old-fashioned jet-black suit in the manner of an undertaker. He smoked cigarettes almost constantly, kept his iron filings loose in his jacket pockets, and seldom changed his clothes. His rapier was yellow with ectoplasm stains. As dusk fell each evening, he led his five or six child operatives on patrols around the district, responding to alarms or, if everything was quiet, checking the public spaces. The eldest agents, who had passed their Third Grade tests, wore rapiers and workbelts; the youngest, like me, carried only equipment bags. Still,=20
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