Received: from nobody by stodi.digitalkingdom.org with local (Exim 4.87) (envelope-from ) id 1cHYoQ-0006K8-Gj for lojban-newreal@lojban.org; Thu, 15 Dec 2016 08:23:18 -0800 Received: from [170.178.178.134] (port=33418 helo=moreholidaysplease.com) by stodi.digitalkingdom.org with esmtp (Exim 4.87) (envelope-from ) id 1cHYoM-0006Ie-08 for lojban@lojban.org; Thu, 15 Dec 2016 08:23:17 -0800 Date: Thu, 15 Dec 2016 09:45:59 -0700 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit Message-ID: <111092462.c2c7e55fbfda4353ca10c7b6e541eeed_11092462517lojban@lojban.org_393> From: "Dixie Martin" Mime-Version: 1 Content-Type: text/html; charset=us-ascii To: Subject: Macys $50-gift for participating-in survey: 21195658 X-Spam-Score: 2.9 (++) X-Spam_score: 2.9 X-Spam_score_int: 29 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: the holidays are here Macys Christmas-Survey Enjoy the holiday season Please take a moment and complete this-questionaire You will have a chance to recieve this special-gift for use at Macys stores over the Holiday season Participate and get your-reward [...] Content analysis details: (2.9 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: moreholidaysplease.com] -0.0 SPF_PASS SPF: sender matches SPF record -0.0 SPF_HELO_PASS SPF: HELO matches SPF record 0.0 HTML_FONT_LOW_CONTRAST BODY: HTML font color similar or identical to background 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 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/) 0.8 RDNS_NONE Delivered to internal network by a host with no rDNS the holidays are here













    • It was an old story, and it went like this: It was Halloween. My dad was four or five years old and had never been trickortreating, and Grandpa Portman had promised to take him when he got off work. My grandmother had bought my dad this ridiculous pink bunny costume, and he put it on and sat by the driveway waiting for Grandpa Portman to come home from five oclock until nightfall, but he never did. Grandma was so mad that she took a picture of my dad crying in the street just so she could show my grandfather what a huge asshole he was. Needless to say, that picture has long been an object of legend among members of my family, and a great embarrassment to my father. It was a lot more than just one Halloween, he grumbled. Really, Jake, you were closer to him than I ever was. I dont knowthere was just something unspoken between the two of you. I see youve met the old man! called a voice from behind me, and I turned to see the curator striding in my direction. You handled it pretty well. Ive seen grown men faint dead away! He grinned and reached out to shake my hand. Martin Pagett. Dont believe I caught your name the other day. Jacob Portman, I said. Whos this, Waless most famous murder victim Ha! Well, he might be that, too, though I never thought of him that way. Hes our islands seniormost resident, better known in archaeological circles as Cairnholm Manthough to us hes just the Old Man. More than twentyseven hundred years old, to be exact, though he was only sixteen when he died. So hes rather a young old man, really. Twentyseven hundred I said, glancing at the dead s face, his delicate features somehow perfectly preserved. But he looks so Thats what happens when you spend your golden years in a place where oxygen and bacteria cant exist, like the underside of our bog. Its a regular fountain of youth down thereprovided youre already dead, that is. Thats where you found him The bog He laughed. Not me! Turf cutters did, digging for peat by the big stone cairn out there, back in the seventies. He looked so fresh they thought there might be a killer loose on Cairnholmtill the cops had a look at the Stone Age bow in his hand and the noose of human hair round his neck. They dont make em like that anymore. I shuddered. Sounds like a human sacrifice or something. Exactly. He was done in by a combination of strangulation, drowning, disembowelment, and a blow to the head. Seems rather like overkill, dont you think I guess so. Martin roared with laughter. He guesses so! Okay, yeah, it does. Sure it does. But the really fascinating thing, to us modern folk, anyway, is that in all likelihood the went to his death willingly. Eagerly, even. His people believed that bogsand our bog in particularwere entrances to the world of the gods, and so the perfect place to offer up their most precious gift: themselves. Thats insane. I suppose. Though I imagine were killing ourselves right now in all manner of ways thatll seem insane to people in the future. And as doors to the next world go, a bog aint a bad choice. Its not quite water and its not quite landits an inbetween place. He bent over the case, studying the figure inside. Aint he beautiful I looked at the body again, throttled and flayed and drowned and somehow made immortal in the process. I dont think so, I said. Martin straightened, then began to speak in a grandiose tone. Come, you, and gaze upon the tar man! Blackly he reposes, tender face the color of soot, withered limbs like veins of coal, feet lumps of driftwood hung with shriveled gs! He threw his arms out like a hammy stage actor and began to strut around the case. Come, you, and bear witness to the cruel art of his wounds! Purled and meandering lines drawn by knives; brain and bone exposed by stones; the rope still digging at his throat. First fruit slashed and dumped ??? seeker of Heaven ??? old man arrested in youth ??? I almost love you!
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    All dead, he repeated. No ones lived there since the war. That took me a moment to process. What do you mean What war When we say ???the war around here, my , theres only one that we meanthe second. It was a German air raid that got em, if Im not mistaken. No, that cant be right. He nodded. In those days, there was an antiaircraft gun battery at the far tip of the island, past the wood where the house is. It made Cairnholm a legitimate military target. Not that ???legitimate mattered much to the Germans one way or another, mind you. Anyway, one of the bombs went off track, and, well He shook his head. Nasty luck. That cant be right, I said again, though I was starting to wonder. Why dont you sit down and let me fix you some tea he said. You look a bit off the mark. Just feeling a little lightheaded He led me to a chair in his office and went to make the tea. I tried to collect my thoughts. Bombed in the warthat would certainly explain those rooms with blownout walls. But what about the letter from Miss Peregrinepostmarked Cairnholmsent just fifteen years ago Martin returned, handing me a mug. Theres a nip of Penderyn in it, he said. Secret recipe, you know. Should get you sorted in no time. I thanked him and took a sip, realizing too late that the secret ingredient was hightest whiskey. It felt like napalm flushing down my esophagus. It does have a certain kick, I admitted, my face going red. He frowned. Reckon I ought to fetch your father. No, no, Ill be fine. But if theres anything else you can tell me about the attack, Id be grateful. Martin settled into a chair opposite me. About that, Im curious. You say your grandfather lived here. He never mentioned it Im curious about that, too, I said. I guess it mustve been after his time. Did it happen late in the war or early Im ashamed to admit I dont know. But if youre keen, I can introduce you to someone who doesmy Uncle Oggie. Hes eightythree, lived here his whole life. Still sharp as a tack. Martin glanced at his watch. If we catch him before Father Ted comes on the telly, Im sure hed be more than happy to tell you anything you like. Ten minutes later Martin and I were wedged deep in an overstuffed sofa in Oggies living room, which was piled high with books and boxes of wornout shoes and enough lamps to light up Carlsbad Caverns, all but one of them unplugged. Living on a remote island, I was starting to realize, turned people into pack rats. Oggie sat facing us in a threadbare blazer and pajama bottoms, as if hed been expecting companyjust not pantsworthy companyand rocked endlessly in a plasticcovered easy chair as he talked. He seemed happy just to have an audience, and after hed gone on at length about the weather and Welsh politics and the sorry state of todays youth, Martin was finally able to steer him around to the attack and the from the home. Sure, I remember them, he said. Odd collection of people. Wed see them in town now and againthe , sometimes their minderwoman, toobuying milk and medicine and whathaveyou. Youd say ???good morning and theyd look the other way. Kept to themselves, they did, off in that big house. Lot of talk about what mightve been going on over there, though no one knew for sure. What kind of talk