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Temple of Kraden News: Welcome to the Temple of Kraden! ------ All worshipers may enter the Most Holy Place in single file, reflecting on the bountiful blessing Kraden hath provided unto him or herself since their last visit. Head coverings are not necessary, as true penitence and humility are found within. The Priests and Priestesses of Kraden endeavor to remind all that fresh orange juice is heavily preferred; only whores use frozen.
Greetings, heathen. Perhaps some fortuitous blessing of Kraden's grace hath led you to our humble Temple, or perhaps you are simply curious about this strange and wonderful cult. Should you be willing - and dare to hope - to achieve enlightenment, the door opens before you. Lo! Leave your old life behind! For once you step through, you become something more than just yourself.

You become a Kradenette.

Are you willing to make the rapturous plunge? Do you have what it takes?



One of us! One of us! One of us!



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Asexuals.; Yep thats right.
Topic Started: Apr 3 2008, 01:00 AM (3,288 Views)
Seoulbowz
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Supergeil

So, Lach is an orange?
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Bane Martius Agni
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Archon Agni, of Clan Martius

Indeed.
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Seoulbowz
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Supergeil

This feels extremely anti-climactic.
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Dracobolt
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Incorrigible

I'm confused about the definition we're using for oranges in this topic.

:mercury_djinn: :mercury_djinn: :mercury_djinn:
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Momentime
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uh oh

An orange—specifically, the sweet orange—is the citrus Citrus ×sinensis (syn. Citrus aurantium L. var. dulcis L., or Citrus aurantium Risso) and its fruit. The orange is a hybrid of ancient cultivated origin, possibly between pomelo (Citrus maxima) and tangerine (Citrus reticulata). It is a small flowering tree growing to about 10 m tall with evergreen leaves, which are arranged alternately, of ovate shape with crenulate margins and 4–10 cm long. The orange fruit is a hesperidium, a type of berry. Oranges originated in Southeast Asia. The fruit of Citrus sinensis is called sweet orange to distinguish it from Citrus aurantium, the bitter orange. The name is thought to ultimately derive from the Dravidian and Telugu word for the orange tree, with its final form developing after passing through numerous intermediate languages. In a number of languages, it is known as a "Chinese apple" (e.g. Dutch Sinaasappel, "China's apple", or "Apfelsine" in German). All citrus trees are of the single genus, Citrus, and remain largely interbreedable; that is, there is only one "superspecies" which includes grapefruits, lemons, limes, and oranges. Nevertheless, names have been given to the various members of the genus, oranges often being referred to as Citrus sinensis and Citrus aurantium. Fruits of all members of the genus Citrus are considered berries because they have many seeds, are fleshy and soft, and derive from a single ovary. An orange seed is called a pip. The white thread-like material attached to the inside of the peel is called pith. The Persian orange, grown widely in southern Europe after its introduction to Italy in the 11th century, was bitter. Sweet oranges brought to Europe in the 15th century from India by Portuguese traders, quickly displaced the bitter, and are now the most common variety of orange cultivated. The sweet orange will grow to different sizes and colours according to local conditions, most commonly with ten carpels, or segments, inside. Some South East Indo-European tongues name orange after Portugal, which was formerly the main source of imports of sweet oranges. Examples are Bulgarian portokal [портокал], Greek portokali [πορτοκάλι], Persian porteghal [پرتقال], and Romanian portocală. Also in South Italian dialects (Neapolitan), orange is named portogallo or purtualle, literally "the Portuguese ones". Related names can also be found in other languages: Turkish Portakal, Arabic al-burtuqal [البرتقال], Amharic birtukan, and Georgian phortokhali [ფორთოხალი]. Portuguese, Spanish, Arab, and Dutch sailors planted citrus trees along trade routes to prevent scurvy. On his second voyage in 1493, Christopher Columbus brought the seeds of oranges, lemons and citrons to Haiti and the Caribbean. They were introduced in Florida (along with lemons) in 1513 by Spanish explorer Juan Ponce de Leon, and were introduced to Hawaii in 1792.
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Fluff
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The Temple Asshole

Hello, Wikipedia. How are you today?
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Dracobolt
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Incorrigible

Oh, thanks, that clears that up for me. Here I thought we were talking about asexuals.

:mercury_djinn: :mercury_djinn: :mercury_djinn:
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Fluff
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The Temple Asshole

No, we're talking about muffins.

This topic is henceforth about Draco's muffins!
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Bane Martius Agni
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Archon Agni, of Clan Martius

If they're as good as her milkshakes, I'm in!
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Adnarel
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I'd rather be outside.

XD
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The Phantom Squee
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Sound the horn and call the cry: "How many of them can we make die?"

Screw the muffins, I have kumquats.
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Saturos
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heart-under-blade

Did someone say Kumquat?

Today I found the right fruit for my prime,
not orange, not tangelo, and not lime,
nor moon-like globes of grapefruit that now hang
outside our bedroom, nor tart lemon's tang
(though last year full of bile and self-defeat
I wanted to believe no life was sweet)
nor the tangible sunshine of the tangerine,
and no incongruous citrus ever seen
at greengrocers' in Newcastle or Leeds
mis-spelt by the spuds and mud-caked swedes,
a fruit an older poet might substitute
for the grape John Keats thought fit to be Joy's fruit,
when, two years before he died, he tried to write
how Melancholy dwelled inside Delight,
and if he'd known the citrus that I mean
that's not orange, lemon, lime, or tangerine,
I'm pretty sure that Keats, though he had heard
'of candied apple, quince and plum and gourd'
instead of 'grape against the palate fine'
would have, if he'd known it, plumped for mine,
this Eastern citrus scarcely cherry size
he'd bite just once and then apostrophize
and pen one stanza how the fruit had all
the qualities of fruit before the Fall,
but in the next few lines be forced to write
how Eve's apple tasted at the second bite,
and if John Keats had only lived to be,
because of extra years, in need like me,
at 42 he'd help me celebrate
that Micanopy kumquat that I ate
whole, straight off the tree, sweet pulp and sour skin-
or was it sweet outside, and sour within?
For however many kumquats that I eat
I'm not sure if it's flesh or rind that's sweet,
and being a man of doubt at life's mid-way
I'd offer Keats some kumquats and I'd say:

You'll find that one part's sweet and one part's tart:
say where the sweetness or the sourness start.

I find I can't, as if one couldn't say
exactly where the night became the day,
which makes for me the kumquat taken whole
best fruit, and metaphor, to fit the soul
of one in Florida at 42 with Keats
crunching kumquats, thinking, as he eats
the flesh, the juice, the pith, the pips, the peel,
that this is how a full life ought to feel,
its perishable relish prick the tongue,
when the man who savours life 's no longer young,
the fruits that were his futures far behind.
Then it's the kumquat fruit expresses best
how days have darkness round them like a rind,
life has a skin of death that keeps its zest.

History, a life, the heart, the brain
flow to the taste buds and flow back again.
That decade or more past Keats's span
makes me an older not a wiser man,
who knows that it's too late for dying young,
but since youth leaves some sweetnesses unsung,
he's granted days and kumquats to express
Man's Being ripened by his Nothingness.
And it isn't just the gap of sixteen years,
a bigger crop of terrors, hopes and fears,
but a century of history on this earth
between John Keats's death and my own birth-
years like an open crater, gory, grim,
with bloody bubbles leering at the rim;
a thing no bigger than an urn explodes
and ravishes all silence, and all odes,
Flora asphyxiated by foul air
unknown to either Keats or Lemprière,
dehydrated Naiads, Dryad amputees
dragging themselves through slagscapes with no trees,
a shirt of Nessus fire that gnaws and eats
children half the age of dying Keats . . .

Now were you twenty five or six years old
when that fevered brow at last grew cold?
I've got no books to hand to check the dates.
My grudging but glad spirit celebrates
that all I've got to hand 's the kumquats, John,
the fruit I'd love to have your verdict on,
but dead men don't eat kumquats, or drink wine,
they shiver in the arms of Prosperine,
not warm in bed beside their Fanny Brawne,
nor watch her pick ripe grapefruit in the dawn
as I did, waking, when I saw her twist,
with one deft movement of a sunburnt wrist,
the moon, that feebly lit our last night's walk
past alligator swampland, off its stalk.
I thought of moon-juice juleps when I saw,
as if I'd never seen the moon before,
the planet glow among the fruit, and its pale light
make each citrus on the tree its satellite.

Each evening when I reach to draw the blind
stars seem the light zest squeezed through night's black rind;
the night's peeled fruit the sun, juiced of its rays,
first stains, then streaks, then floods the world with days,
days, when the very sunlight made me weep,
days, spent like the nights in deep, drugged sleep,
days in Newcastle by my daughter's bed,
wondering if she, or I, weren't better dead,
days in Leeds, grey days, my first dark suit,
my mother's wreaths stacked next to Christmas fruit,
and days, like this in Micanopy. Days!

As strong sun burns away the dawn's grey haze
I pick a kumquat and the branches spray
cold dew in my face to start the day.
The dawn's molasses make the citrus gleam
still in the orchards of the groves of dream.

The limes, like Galway after weeks of rain,
glow with a greenness that is close to pain,
the dew-cooled surfaces of fruit that spent
all last night flaming in the firmament.
The new day dawns. O days! My spirit greets
the kumquat with the spirit of John Keats.
O kumquat, comfort for not dying young,
both sweet and bitter, bless the poet's tongue!
I burst the whole fruit chilled by morning dew
against my palate. Fine, for 42!

I search for buzzards as the air grows clear
and see them ride fresh thermals overhead.
Their bleak cries were the first sound I could hear
when I stepped at the start of sunrise out of doors,
and a noise like last night's bedsprings on our bed
from Mr Fowler sharpening farmers' saws.
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Fluff
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The Temple Asshole

Trooooooooll.
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Vorlan
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*amusing user title pending*

Damn...I was hoping for a better topic ressurection than that :P This was a cool topic...
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Kiki
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Kiki Martius Chantico

My friend walked in on some oranges having sex today. Is this topic still valid? Because apparantly they do have sex. The fruit, that is. Not asexuals.
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Momentime
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uh oh

Oranges can have sex? o_0

On a similar note, me and my friend saw flies having sex once. We were all like 'wtf?' while they were flying around doing it. And then they landed, and my friend stepped on them. Lol, death right in the middle of an orgy. =D
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Dracobolt
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Incorrigible

Pics or it didn't happen.

:mercury_djinn: :mercury_djinn: :mercury_djinn:
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Seoulbowz
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Supergeil

Dracobolt
Aug 19 2009, 03:26 PM
Pics or it didn't happen.

:mercury_djinn: :mercury_djinn: :mercury_djinn:

This.
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Gilgamesh
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solbowz Aurarius

How can you have sex and fly at the same time? o_O

Also, one of my friends had two cats that had sex outsider her bedroom window. Every. Single. Night.
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Crash
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Wheey! I've became a human being!! I am very handsam!

I've seen dragonflies sexing it up in mid-air many times.
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