Sorry!!!

Ha ha! I am sorry I didn't post any thing for three straight days but I am going to make it up tomorrow!!! It's getting pretty late so I don't have enough time for blogging today also I have to finish my homework and eat so I will be putting up plenty of interesting posts tomorrow!!!!!!! Hope you enjoy tomorrow's blog!

Greyhounds

 I wrote about Basenjis yesterday, along with some Pictures of Piper. I thought it would be fair that I wrote about greyhounds this time along with some pictures of Nicky!

One thing for sure, Greyhounds are good runners. Greyhounds are usually used as race dogs. They are said to be the world's FASTEST dogs! They need to have exercise several times a week and are perfect jogging companions.

Greyhounds are very patient dogs and even get along well with cats and children. Like all dogs, Greyhounds do have their limits, but if they can't tolerate something they won't bite, they just walk away.

Greyhounds live to 12-14 years. If the owners have indoor tracks and equipment, the Greyhound will be likely to live longer because Greyhounds become ill outdoors.

Greyhounds are smart and intelligent, scientific studies show that the more sociable and interactive a dog is, the smarter it will be.

One more thing I have to mention: If Greyhounds are more of a hunting dog, they should be AWAY from children and cats because they are bred to EAT what they find! They won't EAT a CHILD but they might harm him/her before they find out humans aren't found in the wild and that they are indigestible/ not edible.

To find out more about Greyhounds go to http://www.rmga.org/aboutgreyhounds.htm, it has great info about Greyhounds!! Well, that is all I have for today!

Basenjis Part 2

As you can see, yesterday I posted some facts about Basenjis! But I don't care whether Basejis were said to be funny looking, polka- dotted with puple spots or very annoying, they'd all be good to me no matter what lies Google has in store!
I really started LOVING Basenjis when I started reading the 'Follow the Piper' blog! In Particular, Piper is my favorite Basenji! And I have some nice pictures of her!!!!
 The mind of a Basenji is a mystery! There must be something good under the bed! Since Basenjis are curious, there must be something in particular under there that attracted Piper! I might ask her later!
Since Piper has short hair (Like all Basenjis) she curls up to keep warm and probably really likes the sunlight!

  Basenjis are very social so they like snuggling up together!!

Here's one last picture (MY FAVORITE)

 Doesn't she look CUTE???

Anyway, that is all I have for today!

Weird things I have done (And still do)

I do lots of weird and random things, it's very natural for me. Just one of the examples is that I try to turn the lamp on when the plug isn't in the socket, even when I know it. I expect a miracle to happen where the light just turns on!

 Another thing I do is wait for my door to open when I forget my keys inside the house, nobody's in there and eventually I realize doors can't open themselves.

Years ago, I learned that the Earth spun, so I jumped, I expected to be in a different place! Alas, I stayed on the same grounds! LOL!!!

Once I thought my heart would burst from beating too fast!

Well, I guess that's enough for today! I am totally EXHAUSTED from posting ALL those blogs!

Basenjis Part 1

  Basenjis come in different colors shapes and sizes but no matter what, they're still the best looking dogs to me! I bet my friend, Piper, will be pleased to hear- read this! Aside from that, Basenjis are supposed to be quite intelligent so I don't know HOW IN THE WORLD Basenjis came in 78th place! Also they please their owners easily and I hope Basenjis are pleased to please their owners which pleases me! Anyway I have a little info about Basenjis from http://www.kingdomfopets.com/dogobediencetraining/dogbreeds/basenji.php ♥♥♥ 

Description

 

Medium-small and quite athletically built, the Basenji is a handsome dog with a smooth, shiny coat and a sharp, intelligent expression. The coat of this breed comes in various colors: black and tan, black and brindle, copper or red. Some Basenjis have a white blaze on their faces, and they also have a furrowed brow, often making them look as thought they are constantly worried. The Basenji has a distinctive tail that curls upwards, and this breed has erect, elongated ears.

This breed is unusual in that it doesn’t tend to bark. Instead, the Basenji uses his vocals to growl, howl and produce a repertoire of other sounds, which will depend on what he is trying to say and how he feels.

 

Temperament

The Basenji is a very affectionate and intelligent dog with a playful and curious streak. This breed is alert and energetic, and most Basenjis are eager to please their owners. This breed is probably better with older children rather than in families with young children that may tease and taunt it; the breed is also not always suited to cats and other pets unless it has been thoroughly socialized. They may get on okay with other canines, but dominance can play a part in aggressive behavior here. However, this breed does not tend to fight amongst one another, so a Basenji should get on well with others of the same breed. A frisky breed, the Basenji is a dedicated chewer, so you should bear this in mind when taking him in to your home and deciding on appropriate toys.

 

Height and Weight

The male Basenji tends to grow to around 16-17 inches in height, with the female Basenji reaching around 15-16 inches in height. The weight of a male Basenji can reach approximately 22-26 pounds, with females lagging slightly behind at 20-25 pounds.

 

Common Health and Behavioral Problems

 
The Basenji is at increased risk from kidney problems, eye diseases and infections, and intestinal issues. A neglected Basenji may also display a range of behavioral problems due to its need for play and company.

Ideal Living Conditions

The Basenji loves to play and therefore is best suited to an environment with space, such as a yard or garden. However, this breed will adapt well to living in an apartment providing regular exercise and play is provided.

Exercise Requirements

The Basenji is a curious and energetic dog, which needs plenty of exercise. This is not only to exercise his mind and satisfy his curiosity and energy levels, but also to keep him from gaining excess weight and becoming lazy, which the Basenji is prone to doing.

Diet and Nutrition

The Basenji is something of a vulture when it comes to food, and has been known to scavenge any food left unattended. This breed is also prone to weight gain and laziness if the diet is not properly monitored. There is no special diet for this breed, although a dry food will help to keep the gums and teeth healthy, and providing it is a quality dry food will provide all of the nourishment required. As with all dogs, fresh, clean water must always be available.

Life Expectancy

With a healthy lifestyle and no life-threatening illness or disease, the Basenji can average around ten to twelve years in age.

Grooming Requirements

Because the Basenji does not shed much at all, it makes the perfect pet for allergy sufferers. Grooming and maintenance is minimal, and a simple brush of the coat will keep him looking healthy and glossy. Another unique fact about the Basenji is that this dog cleans itself in the same manner as a cat, and is a very clean and hygienic canine.

Origin

The Basenji originates from Zaire, although drawings of very similar canines have been found on ancient Egyptian tombs. This breed is also known as the Congo Dog, and it is thought that the Basenji may have stemmed from a hunting dog used in the Congo by Pygmies. The year 1934 saw the introduction of the Basenji to Europe, and it was not until the 1940s that the breed was brought to America. The American Kennel Club first registered the breed in 1944.

Of all dogs, I think Basenjis are the most respected!!! Why else woul people respect them so much?

Mouse Cursors!!!

I like Cursormania it makes using the computer fun, but I don't know how to use one for my blog :( If anyone knows how please comment!!!!!!!!!!! Aside from that, I said I'd use moving pictures, so here they are!!! These are just 1% of my MANY favorites! I am way to lazy right now to write anymore, but maybe later, I have to wait for permission to write a blog about something so I am trying to stall the impatient viewers LOL! I don't think I have any viewers at all yet, but I know once they find out about it ten years later or so, I might not care anymore. Now, I guess I should stop writing because I need to save some energy for my real blog entry, remember, I am just stalling!!!

Moving Pictures

For my last post today, I realized that one of the pictures started moving so I decided I should post some right now...

I guess that is enough pictures, I am pretty exhausted from my last blog, I might post some more moving pictures tomorrow!

Edgar Allen Poe's Biography

Yesterday, I wrote about one of Poe's stories. All of Poe's stories and poems have a deep feeling to it, and today we'll find out why...(From biography.com)

Life

Poe was the son of the English-born actress Elizabeth Arnold Poe and David Poe, Jr., an actor from Baltimore. After his mother died in Richmond, Virginia, in 1811, he was taken into the home of John Allan, a Richmond merchant (presumably his godfather), and of his childless wife. He was later taken to Scotland and England (1815–20), where he was given a classical education that was continued in Richmond. For 11 months in 1826 he attended the University of Virginia, but his gambling losses at the university so incensed his guardian that he refused to let him continue, and Poe returned to Richmond to find his sweetheart, (Sarah) Elmira Royster, engaged. He went to Boston, where in 1827 he published a pamphlet of youthful Byronic poems, Tamerlane, and Other Poems. Poverty forced him to join the army under the name of Edgar A. Perry, but, on the death of Poe's foster mother, John Allan purchased his release from the army and helped him get an appointment to the U.S. Military Academy at West Point. Before going, Poe published a new volume at Baltimore, Al Aaraaf, Tamerlane, and Minor Poems (1829). He successfully sought expulsion from the academy, where he was absent from all drills and classes for a week. He proceeded to New York City and brought out a volume of Poems, containing several masterpieces, some showing the influence of John Keats, Percy Bysshe Shelley, and Samuel Taylor Coleridge. He then returned to Baltimore, where he began to write stories. In 1833 his MS. Found in a Bottle won $50 from a Baltimore weekly, and by 1835 he was in Richmond as editor of the Southern Literary Messenger. There he made a name as a critical reviewer and married his young cousin Virginia Clemm, who was only 13. Poe seems to have been an affectionate husband and son-in-law.
Poe was dismissed from his job in Richmond, apparently for drinking, and went to New York City. Drinking was in fact to be the bane of his life. To talk well in a large company he needed a slight stimulant, but a glass of sherry might start him on a spree; and, although he rarely succumbed to intoxication, he was often seen in public when he did. This gave rise to the conjecture that Poe was a drug addict, but according to medical testimony he had a brain lesion. While in New York City in 1838 he published a long prose narrative, The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym, combining (as so often in his tales) much factual material with the wildest fancies. It is considered one inspiration of Herman Melville's Moby Dick. In 1839 he became coeditor of Burton's Gentleman's Magazine in Philadelphia. There a contract for a monthly feature stimulated him to write William Wilson and The Fall of the House of Usher, stories of supernatural horror. The latter contains a study of a neurotic now known to have been an acquaintance of Poe, not Poe himself.

Later in 1839 Poe's Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque appeared (dated 1840). He resigned from Burton's about June 1840 but returned in 1841 to edit its successor, Graham's Lady's and Gentleman's Magazine, in which he printed the first detective story, The Murders in the Rue Morgue. In 1843 his The Gold-Bug won a prize of $100 from the Philadelphia Dollar Newspaper, which gave him great publicity. In 1844 he returned to New York, wrote The Balloon-Hoax for the Sun, and became subeditor of the New York Mirror under N.P. Willis, thereafter a lifelong friend. In the New York Mirror of January 29, 1845, appeared, from advance sheets of the American Review, his most famous poem, The Raven, which gave him national fame at once. Poe then became editor of the Broadway Journal, a short-lived weekly, in which he republished most of his short stories, in 1845. During this last year the now-forgotten poet Frances Sargent Locke Osgood pursued Poe. Virginia did not object, but “Fanny's” indiscreet writings about her literary love caused great scandal. His The Raven and Other Poems and a selection of his Tales came out in 1845, and in 1846 Poe moved to a cottage at Fordham (now part of New York City), where he wrote for Godey's Lady's Book (May–October 1846) The Literati of New York City—gossipy sketches on personalities of the day, which led to a libel suit.
Poe's wife, Virginia, died in January 1847. The following year he went to Providence, Rhode Island, to woo Sarah Helen Whitman, a poet. There was a brief engagement. Poe had close but platonic entanglements with Annie Richmond and with Sarah Anna Lewis, who helped him financially. He composed poetic tributes to all of them. In 1848 he also published the lecture Eureka, a transcendental “explanation” of the universe, which has been hailed as a masterpiece by some critics and as nonsense by others. In 1849 he went south, had a wild spree in Philadelphia, but got safely to Richmond, where he finally became engaged to Elmira Royster, by then the widowed Mrs. Shelton, and spent a happy summer with only one or two relapses. He enjoyed the companionship of childhood friends and an unromantic friendship with a young poet, Susan Archer Talley.
Poe had some forebodings of death when he left Richmond for Baltimore late in September. There he died, although whether from drinking, heart failure, or other causes was still uncertain in the 21st century. He was buried in Westminster Presbyterian churchyard in Baltimore.

Appraisal

Poe's work owes much to the concern of Romanticism with the occult and the satanic. It owes much also to his own feverish dreams, to which he applied a rare faculty of shaping plausible fabrics out of impalpable materials. With an air of objectivity and spontaneity, his productions are closely dependent on his own powers of imagination and an elaborate technique. His keen and sound judgment as an appraiser of contemporary literature, his idealism and musical gift as a poet, his dramatic art as a storyteller, considerably appreciated in his lifetime, secured him a prominent place among universally known men of letters.

The outstanding fact in Poe's character is a strange duality. The wide divergence of contemporary judgments on the man seems almost to point to the coexistence of two persons in him. With those he loved he was gentle and devoted. Others, who were the butt of his sharp criticism, found him irritable and self-centred and went so far as to accuse him of lack of principle. Was it, it has been asked, a double of the man rising from harrowing nightmares or from the haggard inner vision of dark crimes or from appalling graveyard fantasies that loomed in Poe's unstable being?
Much of Poe's best work is concerned with terror and sadness, but in ordinary circumstances the poet was a pleasant companion. He talked brilliantly, chiefly of literature, and read his own poetry and that of others in a voice of surpassing beauty. He admired Shakespeare and Alexander Pope. He had a sense of humour, apologizing to a visitor for not keeping a pet raven. If the mind of Poe is considered, the duality is still more striking. On one side, he was an idealist and a visionary. His yearning for the ideal was both of the heart and of the imagination. His sensitivity to the beauty and sweetness of women inspired his most touching lyrics ( To Helen, Annabel Lee, Eulalie, To One in Paradise) and the full-toned prose hymns to beauty and love in Ligeia and Eleonora. In Israfel his imagination carried him away from the material world into a dreamland. This Pythian mood was especially characteristic of the later years of his life.
More generally, in such verses as The Valley of Unrest, Lenore, The Raven, For Annie, and Ulalume and in his prose tales, his familiar mode of evasion from the universe of common experience was through eerie thoughts, impulses, or fears. From these materials he drew the startling effects of his tales of death ( The Fall of the House of Usher, The Masque of the Red Death, The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar, The Premature Burial, The Oval Portrait, Shadow), his tales of wickedness and crime ( Berenice, The Black Cat, William Wilson, The Imp of the Perverse, The Cask of Amontillado, The Tell-Tale Heart), his tales of survival after dissolution ( Ligeia, Morella, Metzengerstein), and his tales of fatality ( The Assignation, The Man of the Crowd). Even when he does not hurl his characters into the clutch of mysterious forces or onto the untrodden paths of the beyond, he uses the anguish of imminent death as the means of causing the nerves to quiver ( The Pit and the Pendulum), and his grotesque invention deals with corpses and decay in an uncanny play with the aftermath of death.
On the other side, Poe is conspicuous for a close observation of minute details, as in the long narratives and in many of the descriptions that introduce the tales or constitute their settings. Closely connected with this is his power of ratiocination. He prided himself on his logic and carefully handled this real accomplishment so as to impress the public with his possessing still more of it than he had; hence the would-be feats of thought reading, problem unraveling, and cryptography that he attributed to his Legrand and Dupin. This suggested to him the analytical tales, which created the detective story, and his science fiction tales.

The same duality is evinced in his art. He was capable of writing angelic or weird poetry, with a supreme sense of rhythm and word appeal, or prose of sumptuous beauty and suggestiveness, with the apparent abandon of compelling inspiration; yet he would write down a problem of morbid psychology or the outlines of an unrelenting plot in a hard and dry style. In Poe's masterpieces the double contents of his temper, of his mind, and of his art are fused into a oneness of tone, structure, and movement, the more effective, perhaps, as it is compounded of various elements.
As a critic, Poe laid great stress upon correctness of language, metre, and structure. He formulated rules for the short story, in which he sought the ancient unities: i.e., the short story should relate a complete action and take place within one day in one place. To these unities he added that of mood or effect. He was not extreme in these views, however. He praised longer works and sometimes thought allegories and morals admirable if not crudely presented. Poe admired originality, often in work very different from his own, and was sometimes an unexpectedly generous critic of decidedly minor writers.
Poe's genius was early recognized abroad. No one did more to persuade the world and, in the long run, the United States, of Poe's greatness than the French poets Charles Baudelaire and Stéphane Mallarmé. Indeed his role in French literature was that of a poetic master model and guide to criticism. French Symbolism relied on his The Philosophy of Composition, borrowed from his imagery, and used his examples to generate the modern theory of “pure poetry.”
- Charles Cestre- Thomas Ollive Mabbott- Jacques Barzun- Ed.
Edgar Allen Poe had a pretty tough life, he had to suffer the loss of his loved ones. He had no real parents and then had to deal with the death of his foster mother. Poe had a tough life and ended up living in poverty. Because of this, he went to the army, and finally settled down on writing. Poe wrote for the sake of getting a good education, he kept on going even though he had a load on his life.
After I read this biography, I started feeling more grateful for what I have... Everybody feels this way when they read something sad but then they forget and don't care, so sooner or later I will forget. That doesn't mean I am trying to forget! If this biography was considered a story (which it kind of is) the lesson would definitely be "Keep on moving forward and no turning back" or "Be grateful for what you have" It could be numerous things but I am far too lazy to say them all! So That's all for today!

The Tell Tale Heart By Edgar Allen Poe

I LOVE hearing a good story! Doesn't EVERYBODY? Today I thought I should post a REAL GOOD one by someone famous. All stories are great, but I find Edgar Allen Poe's the best. I like dark stories and I find The Tell Tale Heart close to blood chilling.
People back then used a lot of fancy words, so I am going to give a little summary before the story so you guys know what you're reading...
So there is this man who thought his neighbor had an evil eye. A evil eye is usually an eye that is completely abnormal and if you stare into it, you get cursed. Anyway, the man starts taking good care of his neighbor to make it hard for anyone to believe he's guilty of harming his neighbor, (which he planned to do later on). Later in the night, the man went to his neighbor's house, ever so quietly, and raised his knife over the old man's chest. The man could hear his neighbor's heart beating faster and faster as the knife drew closer and closer and finally STRIKED! Well I guess that is enough explaining, I practically gave the whole story away! Hope you like the story! ♪ ♪ ♪

The Tell Tale Heart

by Edgar Allen Poe



TRUE! nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why WILL you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses, not destroyed, not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How then am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily, how calmly, I can tell you the whole story.
It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain, but, once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! Yes, it was this! One of his eyes resembled that of a vulture -- a pale blue eye with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me my blood ran cold, and so by degrees, very gradually, I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye for ever.
Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded -- with what caution -- with what foresight, with what dissimulation, I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. And every night about midnight I turned the latch of his door and opened it oh, so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern all closed, closed so that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly, very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man's sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha! would a madman have been so wise as this? And then when my head was well in the room I undid the lantern cautiously -- oh, so cautiously -- cautiously (for the hinges creaked), I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights, every night just at midnight, but I found the eye always closed, and so it was impossible to do the work, for it was not the old man who vexed me but his Evil Eye. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into the chamber and spoke courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he had passed the night. So you see he would have been a very profound old man, indeed , to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept.
Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious in opening the door. A watch's minute hand moves more quickly than did mine. Never before that night had I felt the extent of my own powers, of my sagacity. I could scarcely contain my feelings of triumph. To think that there I was opening the door little by little, and he not even to dream of my secret deeds or thoughts. I fairly chuckled at the idea, and perhaps he heard me, for he moved on the bed suddenly as if startled. Now you may think that I drew back -- but no. His room was as black as pitch with the thick darkness (for the shutters were close fastened through fear of robbers), and so I knew that he could not see the opening of the door, and I kept pushing it on steadily, steadily.
I had my head in, and was about to open the lantern, when my thumb slipped upon the tin fastening , and the old man sprang up in the bed, crying out, "Who's there?"
I kept quite still and said nothing. For a whole hour I did not move a muscle, and in the meantime I did not hear him lie down. He was still sitting up in the bed, listening; just as I have done night after night hearkening to the death watches in the wall.
Presently, I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain or of grief -- oh, no! It was the low stifled sound that arises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged with awe. I knew the sound well. Many a night, just at midnight, when all the world slept, it has welled up from my own bosom, deepening, with its dreadful echo, the terrors that distracted me. I say I knew it well. I knew what the old man felt, and pitied him although I chuckled at heart. I knew that he had been lying awake ever since the first slight noise when he had turned in the bed. His fears had been ever since growing upon him. He had been trying to fancy them causeless, but could not. He had been saying to himself, "It is nothing but the wind in the chimney, it is only a mouse crossing the floor," or, "It is merely a cricket which has made a single chirp." Yes he has been trying to comfort himself with these suppositions ; but he had found all in vain. ALL IN VAIN, because Death in approaching him had stalked with his black shadow before him and enveloped the victim. And it was the mournful influence of the unperceived shadow that caused him to feel, although he neither saw nor heard, to feel the presence of my head within the room.
When I had waited a long time very patiently without hearing him lie down, I resolved to open a little -- a very, very little crevice in the lantern. So I opened it -- you cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily -- until at length a single dim ray like the thread of the spider shot out from the crevice and fell upon the vulture eye.
It was open, wide, wide open, and I grew furious as I gazed upon it. I saw it with perfect distinctness -- all a dull blue with a hideous veil over it that chilled the very marrow in my bones, but I could see nothing else of the old man's face or person, for I had directed the ray as if by instinct precisely upon the damned spot.
And now have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over-acuteness of the senses? now, I say, there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well too. It was the beating of the old man's heart. It increased my fury as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage.
But even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely breathed. I held the lantern motionless. I tried how steadily I could maintain the ray upon the eye. Meantime the hellish tattoo of the heart increased. It grew quicker and quicker, and louder and louder, every instant. The old man's terror must have been extreme! It grew louder, I say, louder every moment! -- do you mark me well? I have told you that I am nervous: so I am. And now at the dead hour of the night, amid the dreadful silence of that old house, so strange a noise as this excited me to uncontrollable terror. Yet, for some minutes longer I refrained and stood still. But the beating grew louder, louder! I thought the heart must burst. And now a new anxiety seized me -- the sound would be heard by a neighbour! The old man's hour had come! With a loud yell, I threw open the lantern and leaped into the room. He shrieked once -- once only. In an instant I dragged him to the floor, and pulled the heavy bed over him. I then smiled gaily, to find the deed so far done. But for many minutes the heart beat on with a muffled sound. This, however, did not vex me; it would not be heard through the wall. At length it ceased. The old man was dead. I removed the bed and examined the corpse. Yes, he was stone, stone dead. I placed my hand upon the heart and held it there many minutes. There was no pulsation. He was stone dead. His eye would trouble me no more.
If still you think me mad, you will think so no longer when I describe the wise precautions I took for the concealment of the body. The night waned, and I worked hastily, but in silence.
I took up three planks from the flooring of the chamber, and deposited all between the scantlings. I then replaced the boards so cleverly so cunningly, that no human eye -- not even his -- could have detected anything wrong. There was nothing to wash out -- no stain of any kind -- no blood-spot whatever. I had been too wary for that.
When I had made an end of these labours, it was four o'clock -- still dark as midnight. As the bell sounded the hour, there came a knocking at the street door. I went down to open it with a light heart, -- for what had I now to fear? There entered three men, who introduced themselves, with perfect suavity, as officers of the police. A shriek had been heard by a neighbour during the night; suspicion of foul play had been aroused; information had been lodged at the police office, and they (the officers) had been deputed to search the premises.
I smiled, -- for what had I to fear? I bade the gentlemen welcome. The shriek, I said, was my own in a dream. The old man, I mentioned, was absent in the country. I took my visitors all over the house. I bade them search -- search well. I led them, at length, to his chamber. I showed them his treasures, secure, undisturbed. In the enthusiasm of my confidence, I brought chairs into the room, and desired them here to rest from their fatigues, while I myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph, placed my own seat upon the very spot beneath which reposed the corpse of the victim.
The officers were satisfied. My MANNER had convinced them. I was singularly at ease. They sat and while I answered cheerily, they chatted of familiar things. But, ere long, I felt myself getting pale and wished them gone. My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears; but still they sat, and still chatted. The ringing became more distinct : I talked more freely to get rid of the feeling: but it continued and gained definitiveness -- until, at length, I found that the noise was NOT within my ears.
No doubt I now grew VERY pale; but I talked more fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased -- and what could I do? It was A LOW, DULL, QUICK SOUND -- MUCH SUCH A SOUND AS A WATCH MAKES WHEN ENVELOPED IN COTTON. I gasped for breath, and yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly, more vehemently but the noise steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent gesticulations; but the noise steadily increased. Why WOULD they not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the men, but the noise steadily increased. O God! what COULD I do? I foamed -- I raved -- I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder -- louder -- louder! And still the men chatted pleasantly , and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God! -- no, no? They heard! -- they suspected! -- they KNEW! -- they were making a mockery of my horror! -- this I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! -- and now -- again -- hark! louder! louder! louder! LOUDER! --
"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed! -- tear up the planks! -- here, here! -- it is the beating of his hideous heart!"

At the end, the man admitted that he murdered his neighbor because he thought he heard his neighbor's heart beating. The man was feeling so guilty, yet he somehow managed to get the police to believe that the murder wasn't his doing. The police must have been suspicious because why else would they stay so long?  That goes to show you that you shouldn't do something you know is wrong because you end up punishing yourself with all that tension along with someone else punishing you. So the moral of this story is that don't kill an old man when he is in bed because then you'll feel guilty and worry so much that you get a heart attack and die. So I guess that is enough said! Hope you people change your minds about killing old men in the middle of their sleep (ESPECIALLY if they know they're going to be killed)!

Some funny pictures

Hey everybody! Today I'd like to start with some funny pictures to lighten the mood!

Hello? Can you call back later? I'm sleeping right now

Who're you lookin' at?



Now for some adorable animals!!!

Well, I guess that's all for today! Hope you enjoyed the pictures!!!!