text:
Thrills, Chills, and Unfortunate Events
Tom Franklin, Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter
Emily Whitted recommends this tale of two crimes, one unsolved from the past, and one present and threatening to dig up the former. More importantly, this is the tale of two people, both with many secrets, and both unavoidably connected to each other.
Set in a tiny rural town in Mississippi, "Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter" shows how racism, small town secrets, and the power of friendship can combine to create not just a well-written thriller, but a deep insight to human loneliness and blind prejudice. Larry Ott, a white boy addicted to Steven King novels, and Silas Jones, the athletic African American son of his single mother Alice, become unlikely friends in the 1970s. When Larry takes his drunken neighbor's daughter Cindy to a drive-in movie for his first date and she disappears, Larry is thrust into the town's spotlight as the prime suspect. Although he never confessed and isn't charged, the entire town, including Silas, shuns him. Larry grows up completely alone, and Silas leaves town and comes back to be the town constable. Now, twenty years later, another girl has disappeared, and the town's silent hatred for Larry is unleashed. Silas must race against time to clear Larry's name and protect him, while forcing himself to admit that Larry is not the only one with secrets.
The crimes are not the central story of the book, as they serve as a way to explore the relationship between these two ex-friends, and reveal how one mistake can ruin a man's life. Readers will keep turning pages not only to solve the crimes, but to solve the mysteries of the true characters of Silas and Larry. Most pleasantly surprising, this book steers clear of any gore or graphic scenes, leaving the intense moments for Larry and Silas as they delve into their less-than-perfect pasts. For a thriller that will continue to make you think long after you've read it, "Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter" is definitely worth taking off the shelves (or downloading to your eReader).
Stephen King, The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon
Rachel Maderik rescues Stephen King from the horror pigeonhole we may assume he belongs in. She writes, "I had heard a lot of good things about Stephen King, but as I don't like horror and gore, I had avoided his books until a friend recommended The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon. This short novel is about a nine-year old girl, Trisha McFarland, who gets lost in the woods while hiking the Appalachian Trail with her family. She quickly learns that her biggest danger is succumbing to her own fear (or, as Trisha calls it, "nasty, no-brain panic"), and to keep her spirits up, she spends each night listening to Boston Red Sox games on her Walkman radio. Her favorite Sox player is Tom Gordon, and she begins to draw strength from imagining that he is present with her in the wilderness, giving her advice and keeping her company through the lonely, frightening days.
The story doesn't have scares that will make you jump out of your seat, but King does a great job of making you share Trisha's terror as her first night alone in the woods approaches, or her vague sense of dread when she begins to feel a presence stalking her in the woods. This book also made me appreciate King's ability to take a simple image (for example, some mundane situation I've encountered in the woods numerous times), and describe it in such a way that sends chills down my spine, even though it's a familiar sight that's never bothered me before. If you've been wondering what all the hype surrounding Stephen King is about, but you prefer to avoid big scares, monsters, and other nightmare fuel, then consider giving The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon a try. It's a heartwarming story of how, when put to the test, people can draw surprising amounts of strength and courage from unexpected sources.
Ronald Malfi, The Floating Staircase
Horror novelist Travis Glasgow has spent much of his young adult life being plagued by the death of his younger brother, Kyle. Even though the accidental drowning occurred when they were both young boys, Travis blames himself for his brother's death. Now in his mid-thirties, Travis and his wife, Jodi, are moving to a small town in Maryland. Jodi hopes that the move may bring Travis closer to his other brother, Adam, who helped them secure a home near his own wife and family. At first, their new home seems to be a perfect fit for the couple. Soon, however, things take an eerie turn when Travis begins to suspect that the house is haunted. Strange noises wake him up in the middle of the night. He sees phantom footprints leading through the kitchen into the basement. And, he finds a child's handprint on a wall formed from a specific color of paint he was certain he sealed shut. The creepiest factor of all, though, is his discovery of an odd set of stairs that seem to magically be hovering in the middle of a frozen lake in his backyard. As Travis begins to investigate the strange occurrences surrounding his new house, he quickly learns that the house has come into his possession carrying some very sad and tragic secrets. Is the house really haunted by a ghost? Or, are Travis' personal demons getting the better of him? Sharing elements of both horror and mystery novels, "The Floating Staircase" will be a perfect read for the upcoming season. Set predominantly in the winter months, the book really sets an atmosphere of cold temperatures and forbidding emotions. Jami McDonald says this is a must read for fans of the thriller genre.
Georgia Bragg, How They Croaked: the awful ends of the awfully famous
Barbara Justice says "The title of this book caught my eye as something that might be delightfully ghoulish. The cover was even more encouraging: it showed a skeleton wearing a doctor's white coat, a stethoscope, and one of those flat, round mirrors with a hole in the middle that doctors used to wear. This book was looking more and more appealing. When I opened the cover and saw a skull and crossbones and a warning that stated "If you don't have the guts for gore, do not read this book" on the inside flap, I was hooked. And guess what? The content lived up to expectations. From King Tut to Albert Einstein, this little volume with only 184 pages gave the sometimes disgusting details of how some of the most famous people in history REALLY died. The style is rather tongue-in-cheek with some snide remarks along the way. For example, in the story of Pocahontas' death, when the English kidnapped and civilized her, they "taught her English and told her about important things like Christmas and guilt." Another example of the writer's rather flippant style is this comment about King Henry VIII's wives: "Six lucky ladies got to be his queen at different times, but not one kept the tiara for long." In addition to the stories of the demise of 19 of the world's most famous people, the book also includes wonderful illustrations. Each page is adorned with pencil drawings of the victims and some of the more interesting minor characters or obscure medical treatments. Plus, at the end of each chapter, there are two pages of bonus material of a truly interesting nature. These pages are filled with the last words of some famous people, a list of famous people who were at one time or another in prison, a history of the guillotine, and a list of common phobias, among other things. I also liked the chart at the end of the book called "Connections." The writer used this chart to show how the 19 lives discussed in the book intersected in fascinating ways. The book is a quick and easy read—a sure hit with YA readers who like off-beat trivia AND a side order of ghoulish details."
For more eerie, ghoulish tales, visit us at www.tcplweb.org or call 988-2541.


text:
Center City Philadelphia has a vast array of neighborhoods, each with its own character and atmosphere. The distinct neighborhoods of Center City offer diverse choices for people of all ages and at all stages of life with convenient, easy access to jobs, cultural venues, award winning restaurants, nightlife and day-to-day amenities. So, if you are considering a move, explore these friendly neighborhoods and come feel at home in Center City Philadelphia.
Maria Quattrone Real Estate Experts are dedicated to extraordinary client service. With up to date market knowledge, superior sales skills and attention to detail, the team works to ensure a successful real estate transaction every time. Maria and her team have an extensive knowledge of market trends in Center City Philadelphia.
After trying to sell our property by owner for 1 year we decided to list our property with the Maria Quattrone Team at Coldwell Banker Preferred in Old City. Maria and Lisa were a true pleasure to work with during this process. They sold our condo quickly for the price we wanted. Either through email, phone call, or text we were always kept abreast of any new information regarding the sale of our ...
Dr. and Mrs. Joseph McComb

subset: commoncrawl


text:
A module is a lightweight and flexible extension that is used for page rendering. They are used for small bits of the page that are generally less complex and are able to be seen across different components.
You can see many examples of modules in the standard Joomla! install: - menus - Latest News - Login form - and many more.
This tutorial will explain how to go about creating a simple Hello World module. Through this tutorial you will learn the basic file structure of a module. This basic structure can then be expanded to produce more elaborate modules.
There are four basic files that are used in the standard pattern of module development:
The mod_helloworld.php file will perform three tasks:
The helper class is defined in our helper.php file. This file is included with a require_once statement:
require_once( dirname(__FILE__).DS.'helper.php' );
require_once is used because our helper functions are defined within a class, and we only want the class defined once.
Our helper class has not been defined yet, but when it is, it will contain one method: getHello(). For our basic example, it is not really necessary to do this - the "Hello, World" message that this method returns could simply be included in the template. We use a helper class here to demonstrate this basic technique.
Our module currently does not use any parameters, but we will pass them to the helper method anyway so that it can be used later if we decide to expand the functionality of our module.
The helper class method is invoked in the following way:
$hello = modHelloWorldHelper::getHello( $params );
The complete mod_helloworld.php file is as follows:
<?php /** * Hello World! Module Entry Point * * @package Joomla.Tutorials * @subpackage Modules * @link http://dev.joomla.org/component/option,com_jd-wiki/Itemid,31/id,tutorials:modules/ * @license GNU/GPL, see LICENSE.php * mod_helloworld is free software. This version may have been modified pursuant * to the GNU General Public License, and as distributed it includes or * is derivative of works licensed under the GNU General Public License or * other free or open source software licenses. */ // no direct access defined( '_JEXEC' ) or die( 'Restricted access' ); // Include the syndicate functions only once require_once( dirname(__FILE__).DS.'helper.php' ); $hello = modHelloWorldHelper::getHello( $params ); require( JModuleHelper::getLayoutPath( 'mod_helloworld' ) ); ?>
The one line that we haven't explained so far is the first line. This line checks to make sure that this file is being included from the Joomla! application. This is necessary to prevent variable injection and other potential security concerns.
The helper.php file contains that helper class that is used to retrieve the data to be displayed in the module output. As stated earlier, our helper class will have one method: getHello(). This method will return the 'Hello, World' message.
Here is the code for the helper.php file:
<?php /** * Helper class for Hello World! module * * @package Joomla.Tutorials * @subpackage Modules * @link http://dev.joomla.org/component/option,com_jd-wiki/Itemid,31/id,tutorials:modules/ * @license GNU/GPL, see LICENSE.php * mod_helloworld is free software. This version may have been modified pursuant * to the GNU General Public License, and as distributed it includes or * is derivative of works licensed under the GNU General Public License or * other free or open source software licenses. */ class modHelloWorldHelper { /** * Retrieves the hello message * * @param array $params An object containing the module parameters * @access public */ function getHello( $params ) { return 'Hello, World!'; } } ?>
There is no rule stating that we must name our helper class as we have, but it is helpful to do this so that it is easily identifiable and locateable.
More advanced modules might include database requests or other functionality in the helper class method.
The default.php file is the template which displays the module output.
The code for the default.php file is as follows:
<?php // no direct access defined( '_JEXEC' ) or die( 'Restricted access' ); ?> <?php echo $hello; ?>
An important point to note is that the template file has the same scope as the mod_helloworld.php file. What this means is that the variable $hello can be defined in the mod_helloworld.php file and then used in the template file without any extra declarations or function calls.
The mod_helloworld.xml is used to specify which files the installer needs to copy and is used by the Module Manager to determine which parameters are used to configure the module. Other information about the module is also specified in this file.
The code for mod_helloworld.xml is as follows:
<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> <extension type="module" version="2.5.0" client="site"> <name>Hello, World!</name> <author>John Doe</author> <version>1.0.0</version> <description>A simple Hello, World! module.</description> <files> <filename>mod_helloworld.xml</filename> <filename module="mod_helloworld">mod_helloworld.php</filename> <filename>index.html</filename> <filename>helper.php</filename> <filename>tmpl/default.php</filename> <filename>tmpl/index.html</filename> </files> <config> </config> </extension>
Manifest_files explains the technical details of the elements used in the XML file.
You will notice that there are two additional files that we have not yet mentioned: index.html and tmpl/index.html. These files are included so that these directories cannot be browsed. If a user attempts to point their browser to these folders, the index.html file will be displayed. These files can be left empty or can contain the simple line:
Invalid language.
You need to specify a language like this: <source lang="html4strict">...</source>
Supported languages for syntax highlighting:
abap, actionscript, actionscript3, ada, apache, applescript, apt_sources, asm, asp, autoit, avisynth, bash, basic4gl, bf, blitzbasic, bnf, boo, c, c_mac, caddcl, cadlisp, cfdg, cfm, cil, cobol, cpp, cpp-qt, csharp, css, d, delphi, diff, div, dos, dot, eiffel, email, fortran, freebasic, genero, gettext, glsl, gml, gnuplot, groovy, haskell, hq9plus, html4strict, idl, ini, inno, intercal, io, java, java5, javascript, kixtart, klonec, klonecpp, latex, lisp, lolcode, lotusformulas, lotusscript, lscript, lua, m68k, make, matlab, mirc, mpasm, mxml, mysql, nsis, objc, ocaml, ocaml-brief, oobas, oracle11, oracle8, pascal, per, perl, php, php-brief, pic16, pixelbender, plsql, povray, powershell, progress, prolog, providex, python, qbasic, rails, reg, robots, ruby, sas, scala, scheme, scilab, sdlbasic, smalltalk, smarty, sql, tcl, teraterm, text, thinbasic, tsql, typoscript, vb, vbnet, verilog, vhdl, vim, visualfoxpro, visualprolog, whitespace, winbatch, xml, xorg_conf, xpp, z80

which will display an empty page.
Since our module does not use any form fields, this section is empty.
Module development for Joomla! is a fairly simple, straightforward process. Using the techniques described in this tutorial, an endless variety of modules can be developed with little hassle.


text:
Inside: May every precious gift of the season be yours in abundance.
Merry Christmas
This greeting's beautiful calligraphy conveys a simple, straightforward Christmas wish that will touch the hearts of everyone who receives it. Glimmering gold swirling accents add an ornate touch to the watercolor border.
Glossy card stock single folds to 5 x 7"; white envelopes included.
Personalization: Specify names as they are to be printed on the cards.
Set of 20
Save on additional sets!
For non-personalized cards, simply select one of the two options below and leave the personalization area blank while ordering.


text:
0 cart
Hello Guest / Join / Sign In / Get Desura
Immerse yourself in your favorite media and share with your friends by personalizing 3D worlds with your favorite stuff.
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text:
HiKoo's "Simplicity" is a buttery soft yarn that is available in a huge selection of colors. Machine washable and very hardy, this yarn is wonderful for afghans, children's wear, and anything else that gets daily use!Color: Black (Black) Color Number: 002 Fiber Content: 55% Superwash Wool / 28% Acrylic / 17% Nylon Ball Weight: 50g Yardage: 117 yds Yarn Weight: Light Gauge: 20-22 (Stitches per 4.0 inches/10 cm.) Needle Sizes: 4-6 U.S./3.50-4.00 mm Care: Machine Wash, Dry Flat
Distributed by Skacel Collection, Inc.


text:
News..Exclusives..Relationships..Everything You Need To Know & YES The Word of God
Thursday, January 10, 2013
Celebrity Photographer Toni Tones Takes on Acting
Photographer Toni tones continues to show us how multi talented she is, she has established herself as one of Nigeria's most sought after photographers. She also runs a highly popular online fashion magazine, thefancyhub.com and is currently the voice of Mavin records, doing voice overs as their 'mavinbot'.
Now you can stamp actress on her CV as she stars in the new drama series 'Gidi Culture'.
The drama series has been described as a representative of the Nigerian Youth, and draws from many of their experiences. In the series, it shows the lives of several young people from different walks of life as they relate to each other under various climates of prosperity and privation often associated with life in Gidi (Nigeria).
Toni Tones plays The show's protagonist, Halima Dan-Ladi Adebayo who is a naïve upper class Nigerian attending graduate school in New York City. When a grave accident occurs in her apartment, Halima's divorced Mother, Mariam Dan-Ladi, coerces her daughter to return to Nigeria indefinitely and attend the Lagos Business School. Life in Gidi exposes Halima to a whole new world she never knew existed.
Will she ultimately succeed in this challenge of familiarizing herself with Gidi Culture and come to terms with her new reality? Or will she plummet into bad company and fall prey to the enmity amassed by some of Nigeria's frustrated youth? Only time will tell as life unfolds in "Gidi Culture."
We have a feeling we'll be hearing a lot more of Toni Tones this year and we can't wait to see what more she has in store.
32 comments:
- Anonymous10 January, 2013 15:07
You are a disgrace to your family. i guess your parents wasted money on you.ReplyDeleteReplies
- Anonymous10 January, 2013 16:03
hahahahaha, are u related to herDelete
- Anonymous11 January, 2013 16:03
More than a disgrace, celebrity by force, she better go and finish school first miss busy bodyDelete
- Anonymous10 January, 2013 15:11
Wanna be Toni,notice me you had better put some senses in you dress sense.ReplyDelete
- Anonymous10 January, 2013 15:14
looks like its going to be an intresting movie, but photographer cum actress,i hope she deliversReplyDelete
Dat one concern am!ReplyDelete
She's just there, her fake boobs look too far apart and "TOO ROUNDED"ReplyDeleteReplies
- Anonymous10 January, 2013 16:06
Better than your slippers boobs oh. If she is just there, you are below there now.Delete
- Anonymous10 January, 2013 17:05
My real balls look too far apart and rounded.Delete
- Pealie's stalker no.31510 January, 2013 17:45
Why do u keep on taking off and replacing ur pic?Delete
You are fond of bashing people and yet you are not confident of urself.
Learn to appreciate people and then maybe,just maybe,people will stop picking on you.
- Anonymous10 January, 2013 19:47
Pealie I think you should crop your photo on linda Ikejis blog its got 3/4's of your melons hanging out on the worldwideweb....afta dat ermm make we talk about Toni tone's jugsDelete
- Anonymous10 January, 2013 15:40
acting just got better indeed.ReplyDelete
- Anonymous10 January, 2013 16:04
The next movie she should feature in should be the Nigerian version of Cleopatra, and dats if the movie is not out yet, instead of giving it to Tonto, we shoukd give it to this miss above and see what she has to offerReplyDelete
- Anonymous10 January, 2013 16:08
Sounds interesting...ReplyDelete
- happy yoruba bunny10 January, 2013 16:25
our eyes are in trouble
chai chai chai
- Anonymous10 January, 2013 16:28
She looks very old, cant understand why she always wear a wig. Toni pls wear your hair out maybe you will look better.ReplyDelete
- Anonymous10 January, 2013 16:33
She looks very old, cant understand why she always wear a wig. Toni pls wear your hair out maybe you will look better.ReplyDelete
Nawa. No be small issue o. Next plssReplyDelete
- Anonymous10 January, 2013 17:45
wow. the first commenter is obviously a boko haram member! how is she disgracing her family?ReplyDeleteReplies
- Anonymous11 January, 2013 15:18
Lol@ boko haram member.Delete
- funnyface10 January, 2013 17:55
She's has a funny faceReplyDelete
Na wa oh all these Boobs for who na!she shld cover upReplyDelete
All these Adefuye girls sef! They too do. Right from primary school.ReplyDelete
- Anonymous10 January, 2013 19:23
Nothing against dis girl except that she likes to expose a tummy dat really shudnt be exposed. To think she runs an online fashion magazine, she shud know better. Her tummy isn't nicely flat. Why does she insist on displaying it? Girl, work with what u have instead!ReplyDelete
- Anonymous11 January, 2013 00:01
why would she delve into acting,is photography not paying?ReplyDelete
- Mariam11 January, 2013 00:03
Please cover this tommy maam,if you run an online fashion magazine then you should know betterReplyDelete
- Anonymous11 January, 2013 00:06
No more decency,ladies have to expose it all to be noticedReplyDelete
- Anonymous11 January, 2013 00:09
See wide tommy and pancaked faceReplyDelete
- Anonymous11 January, 2013 00:13
I think she is going to be a fierce actress, but i cant wait o see what she has to present and what ios this she's wearing?ReplyDelete
- Anonymous11 January, 2013 14:17
Wow! that is some dress she got there!ReplyDelete
- Anonymous11 January, 2013 16:05
You can hide an egg in that belly button of hers yet she exposes it mtchewReplyDelete
- Anonymous15 January, 2013 12:23
dress well plsReplyDelete


text:
45. Chorus Interrupted (The Finish)
He heard the door creak open. Someone entered. Glasses clinking. Boromir's nausea rose as he smelled the hot tea.
"Ah, you're awake then, sir!" It was Butterbur. "Beggin' yer pardon, but ye seemed well nigh dead this mornin'."
The innkeeper chuckled softly, politely, and Boromir's stomach churned. He focused on lying on his side, keeping his eyes closed, fighting down the urge to be sick.
"Here ye go, Nob fixed up some lemon tea and nice, dry toast – good for sore heads and an upset stomach."
At hearing the words lemon tea, toast and upset stomach, Boromir had to crack open his eyes, if only to grab blindly at the basin beside the bed. He fumbled for it, while Butterbur hastened to set the tray on the bedside stand and help him. Heedless of the embarrassment, Boromir grabbed the basin, ducked his head, and vomited. He was vaguely aware of Butterbur's cooing encouragement and a hand against his back. After spitting, wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve, he handed the basin, shaking, to Butterbur and fell back into bed.
"What time is it?" he croaked.
"Why, it's well nigh afternoon tea, sir."
Boromir nearly shot up in bed, but thought better of it as his vision swam and the bile rose. He braced himself with one hand, blinked furiously.
"Aye, sir."
"And the halflings?"
"Oh, they left this mornin' at dawn, sir. With Gandalf."
Boromir swore sharply. He swung his legs over, stood unevenly, pushed himself from the bed, and lurched out of the room. Knocking against the wall, Boromir paused for a moment, leaning, hoping to regain some strength in his limbs. Once the nausea and dizziness passed a little, he continued down the hall. He kept one hand against his stomach. His back, curved.
Stumbling down the stairs into the Common Room. It was empty except for Radagast and Dínendal. They were seated in a booth in the corner, enjoying some tea and biscuits. It was still raining outside. There was a fire burning low in the hearth.
When they saw Boromir arriving, Radagast glared openly and Dínendal's eyes narrowed. Keeping his gaze averted, Boromir went to their booth, took a seat, slouched low. Hunched over as pain rippled through the wound in his stomach.
"The hobbits have left," he muttered through clenched teeth.
No one replied. After several moments, Dínendal shifted in his seat.
Boromir swallowed. "You should have gone with them."
Dínendal met his gaze. "I was reluctant to leave," he said simply. Boromir exhaled, nodded.
"Well, Boromir, are you pleased with yourself?" Radagast asked, bristling.
"Radagast… please."
The wizard hmmmphed, crossed his arms, scowled.
"We cannot leave until tomorrow morning," Dínendal said. "The Men of Bree have reported groups of ruffians, more than usual, in the lands surrounding the Shire. It is not safe to travel by night."
Boromir clucked his tongue in annoyance. Sitting upright did not seem like a very good idea anymore and so, knowing that they would not be leaving today, he excused himself, stood, avoided their eyes, and staggered back out of the Common Room and upstairs.
His room. Butterbur had left a fresh basin by the bed, and the sheets were half-pulled out, disheveled. The barkeep had clearly intended to change them, and had probably just left the room a moment before Boromir arrived. Dragging himself the last few steps to the bed, hugging his torso and swallowing convulsively, Boromir unceremoniously dropped himself onto the bed, not bothering to remove his boots or anything, and lay there, breathing. A few moments passed, the nausea ebbed. He fell asleep.
Tulkas: Give us a battle! A mighty sword!
Námo: Give us a death! A soul to judge!
Nienna: Give us pity! A flower for a grave!
Manwë, His Mighty Hand, raises
silencing the Thirteen others
resting on the throne of Taniquetil, blazing light.
Varda sits motionless beside him
supernova gaze locked on the northwest corner of the northwest corner of Middle-earth.
"Shire-deaths will be accounted for later," Manwë declares.
Námo opens his mouth.
"After," Manwë adds, "I have made my decisions."
Námo closes it.
"These are the stories which have been, will be, and always are, Sung:
Hobbits arrive to the Shire, finding difference and loss.
Hobbits enter the Shire, finding Sharkey and Saruman, one enemy in two names.
Everyone else, away!
The Drunkard cannot interfere. No wizard-confrontation for him.
His story bubbles on elsewhere, a solitary thread of Music which I will weave now
as you others focus now on halfling arrivals…"
"What? I've never heard a the Shire closin' the gates on wet and weary folk, an' it ain't even sundown! Now you open up there, before I climb on over an' do it myself!"
"We don't want no trouble, Sam Gamgee, an' thas' the truth. But we've got ta follow the Rules, y'know, ye can' jus' – ho! Which one of ye ripped down the sign?"
"I did! And if there's another one, I'll rip it down as well!"
"Well said, Merry."
"Thanks, Pip."
"Look, we can' jus' let ye in, there's the Rules that say, as clear as day, that – Hi! – Hi! Stop! Wait, what - ! Oh, once the Chief hears about this, you'll be sorry!"
"Chuh, I'd like to see this Chief! An' I'd like ta know jus' what in the name of me old gaffer does he think he's doin' settin' up these Rules. As far as I've been on two feet, we ain't never had any such nonsense in the Shire!"
"Did you hear that, Frodo? We'll be sorry, he says."
"Ha! Well, I don't know about you gentlemen, but I'd like a nice meal and a rest after all this riding."
"So do I, Pip. I suppose the gatekeeper's will have to put us up for the night."
"Would you look at that house? Why, I've never seen something so ugly since…"
"Oh, all of them together. And right here in the Shire, too!"
"Mister Frodo, I don' like the look of this place, nor do I like the look a that ol' fool at the gate. I say we ride straight to Hobbiton, tonight, see what's goin' on. Me heart won' sit still 'til I see the ol' gaffer and put this all to rights."
"All right, Sam, all right. I'd wager you're right. Back on the ponies, lads, and full gallop too!"
It was night when he awoke. Silence in The Prancing Pony. Silence outside. The creaking bedsprings. Shifting sheets. The ache behind his eyes. But finally sober. And with sobriety came the ice-cold realization that they had gone ahead – the hobbits had gone ahead, to whatever trouble was in the Shire – and Gandalf had surely left them – while Radagast and Dínendal had been forced to wait for Boromir to recover from last night –
"Fool!" Boromir hissed, shooting up in bed. Now – because of him – the hobbits would fight this battle alone. And what if something should happen to one of them? An image flashed: Pippin, bloodied, dead. Or was it Merry? Frodo? Sam? "Contemptible fool!"
Boromir stood, reeled for a moment, but then moved quickly and quietly to the window. He began to gather up everything, making no sound, stuffing clothes and bedroll and everything into his saddlebags and pack. And then he found his belt, his sword – checking for its sharpness – everything buckled and into place. If he arrived too late… No, he would not think of it. Yet, there it was – that image – pushing against his thoughts. Very well, if they were harmed – if he arrived too late – he would never forgive himself.
And so he sent a silent, furtive prayer up to the heavens: Let no harm come to the little ones. Forgive me my constant error – last night was the last time, I swear by my blood.
At least, he hoped it was the last time. Else he truly was the drunkard everyone thought him. And as he worked to put away the last items, he scowled. Aye, a drunkard, and a fool, and a coward! Bah! Worth nothing! You would do well to be killed tonight, and save Dínendal and Radagast much trouble –
"Hush!" he told himself aloud. "Enough."
Enough indeed. Once everything was ready, and he had managed to adorn himself with both saddlebags and the pack, he moved to the door. Hissing a curse as the sheath knocked against the doorframe with a loud thunk. Yet before the noise faded, he left.
Fire, Foes! Awake!
The Horn-cry of Buckland, a high ringing note exploding out into the night-sky, startling awake a sleepy Hobbiton. Before Merry had finished blowing the horn, the first red-eyed hobbits emerged from their homes, some of them clearly having scrambled to clothe and arm themselves in a hurry. And Pippin and Sam were already setting to work to get a fire going, since that Shirriff had said earlier that fires were not allowed anymore.
And the hobbits all but poured out of their homes; Sam's gaffer had been right, the time was ripe and their return to the Shire this afternoon could not have been sooner. For tonight would be the night that those of the Shire took but what was theirs – that they ran out the ruffians once and for all. We've just been itchin' for a chance to fight back, lads, Hamfast Gamgee had said. Ever since that fiasco at the Bywater Bridge – when they lost the poor ol' Cotton boys – Jolly and Nick – why, ever since then we've been waitin' for the time to strike.
And so it was – the time to strike. Once the fire was stoked enough to get a nice, solid blaze, Pippin turned back towards Frodo, Sam and Merry.
"Well, my lads, I'm off to the Smials. If things go well, I'll have an army of Tooks for you by morning. We'll drop by once we've cleared Tuckborough of all the filth, and see about those Lockholes as well… But don't leave all the work to us! I expect you all to have cleaned up Hobbiton by then, as well!"
"We will, Pip," Frodo said. "And be careful."
"Oh, I will, don't worry. Until tomorrow!"
And just as Pippin went to get himself saddled on the pony, a great cry went up from the eastern side of the road. The fast-gathering crowd of hobbits hurried to make a path for a pony – galloping at full speed – as it came thundering down towards the four at the center. The pony reared up, and the hobbit astride – Sam recognized him as a cousin of Merry's, though he could not remember his name – this hobbit, breathing hard, gasped:
"By my stars, there y'are, Meriadoc Brandybuck!"
"Hi! What's this?"
"Bad news from Buckland, Merry! You've got to come quick!"
"What? What is it?"
"Ruffians passing through, making a mess a things. They've set aflame some farms in Newbury and Crickhollow, we need – "
But Merry did not allow the messenger to finish. He rushed to his pony, clambered on. For a moment, he hesitated – looking down at Frodo and Sam.
"Go," Frodo said.
"Until tomorrow, then," Merry said. And before he left, he nudged his pony beside Pippin. They grasped each other by the forearm. "Until tomorrow, Pip."
"See you, Merry."
And then they were off – Pippin west and Merry east, with the messenger in tow. There was much chatter coming from the crowd which had formed behind Frodo and Sam. And then, there, coming from down the road which led to the Party Field: the first cries of Men – the distant flames – torches – a small army of Men, moving like a shadow down the hill.
Dínendal awoke. He thought he had heard a vague knock come from further down the hallway, and now he could have sworn he had heard a distant horn-call. Frowning, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, scanned the room. The dead of night. Moonlight streaming in.
Another dream?
Nay, his sleep had been relatively easy, except for the occasional, warped dreams of the Undying Lands. Yet he usually awoke from those full of expectation and a strange sort of glee. But now – now something else had awoken him, he knew that much.
Sitting perfectly still, he closed his eyes, focused on the sounds around him.
And soon enough there it was – footsteps, the crunch of frost-bitten mud. A Man's soft muttering. A moment of silence followed by the faint creak of a rusty hinge – the stables make such a sound. Dínendal had noticed that sound in the morning, when he had gone to feed and brush down his horse. And who was going to the stables at such an hour?
More noise, vague: a rustling in the stables; the snores of Radagast, muted by the wall. And then the distinct sound of a horse – the heavy breathing, muffled snorts. The clopping of hooves, moving slowly before picking up the pace and breaking into a fast trot. Dínendal had just enough time to rush to the window and see the figure of Boromir barreling down the main street of Bree, gaining speed – galloping west.
Dínendal swore sharply. Hastily, he repacked his things, not caring for the noise he made since he knew the wizard slept heavily, and then, packing just enough to last him through the night, he grabbed his bag and rushed out of the room and down the stairs. Running to the stables, straining his ears to hear the Man's distant riding. And as he ran, he sent one, heartfelt prayer to the gods: Elbereth, hinder the fool ere he kills himself!
A tiny voice, so familiar: "Elbereth, hinder the fool ere he kills himself!"
Varda smiles,
and a new galaxy in some distant corner of the universe is born.
She dips her gaze – glowing bright stars
bent rays
finds Boromir, Beloved Man, and his horse,
full-speed, on on on,
and She hears his private mutters, his private prayers:
"Not the little ones – a wretched fool, not worth his name – ai, not the little ones – keep them safe – safe – safe – sweet Valar, keep them safe – idiot fool! – I promise anything, Valar, anything, take anything of me – Eru, too late – please - !"
Varda clucks her tongue,
"Foolish love,
you know not,
but all of this is preordained.
"But hush now with your furtive prayers. Jealous Manwë will hear."
"So it is true! All today I had been hearing of trouble and tussles – it seems the so-called heroes of the Shire have returned!"
"Saruman!" Sam bristled.
The old wizard laughed. He had changed much in appearance. His beard was shorter, yellower. Like his skin. There was a wild, raving look in his eye. His clothes – ragged tatters of old robes, soiled breeches, used and re-used shirts. Wormtongue looked no better, groveling there beside him. The pale Gríma was nearly skeletal now, and he was clinging to the wizard's robes wretchedly. Saruman gave him a kick, shooing him away.
And surrounding the four – Frodo, Sam, Saruman, Wormtongue – the two groups on either side. Hobbits behind Frodo and Sam, and the ruffians and Wild Men behind Saruman and Wormtongue.
The great fire burned.
"Aye, though I am Sharkey here," Saruman said. "It is a term of endearment, I fear. But evidently you did not expect to see me here."
"No, we didn't," Frodo admitted. "Though I might have guessed. Gandalf had given us warning enough to watch out for you. He said you might have been up to what little mischief you could still wreak."
"More than a little, my urchins!" Saruman laughed. He raised his voice. "Ha! You make me laugh, you hobbit-lordlings, riding around with the great people; so pleased and secure with your little selves. Never thinking that maybe your precious home was not so safe? That you had left it to fend for itself!"
There were murmurs in the crowd.
"They have already started in Buckland, so I have instructed them: A house burned for every Rule broken by these selfish lordlings!"
Cries of outrage. Sam was about to turn to the crowd and yell something back when Frodo forestalled him with a hand on his shoulder. The older hobbit glared at Saruman.
"That is enough, Saruman!" Frodo said, loud enough so that all could hear. "I will not have you turn hobbit against hobbit – and I will not have you intimidate us. Everything that you have struck down, broken and fouled, we will rebuild and re-grow! You cannot wound us so easily! Meriadoc Brandybuck has gone forth, now, to Buckland – he shall see to your threats. And I've also heard about these Lockholes – well, know that Peregrin Took is going to Michel Delving as we speak to free the prisoners."
There was more talk amongst the crowd of hobbits.
"We outnumber you, Saruman!" Frodo continued, and for this he turned to look back at the crowd of hobbits standing behind him. "You cannot defeat us, not anymore! Now, I am asking you, and all of your Men, to leave the Shire. You are no longer welcome here!"
Loud shouts of agreement. Someone began crying, Kill him! Kill him! He's a villain and a murderer!
Frodo held up his hand. "This shall not come to blows! He may be so, but we will show him mercy first."
"Mercy?" Saruman sputtered. "Oh aye, mercy from the little ones – that is what I seek! You are truly so sure of yourself, Lord Baggins? You may not be as invulnerable as you think!"
And with that, the wizard pulled something from his robes and lunged for Frodo. Sam moved quicker, however, and he rushed forward, ready to stab Saruman with his sword, until Frodo grabbed his arm, pulled it back. A great cry of surprise went up from both sides.
"No, Sam!" Frodo exclaimed.
Yet Sam had clipped the wizard on the forearm, and Saruman was clutching it now with his free hand, hissing in pain. Blood seeped red from between his fingers.
"Careful, my urchins, careful!" He shouted, and his voice shook, desperate. "Whoever strikes me shall be accursed! And if my blood taints this ground, these lands shall wither and never be healed!"
Both sides were restless now. Tensions rising to a boil, ready to snap. Taut bowstrings and shivering swords. The crowd of hobbits were speaking loud now, calling to each other, gasping with fear or roaring their outrage. The Men were calling jeers to them, raising their arms, rattling their weapons.
"Do not believe him!" Frodo cried. "His power is no – "
And in that moment, an arrow was loosed, and it struck Frodo in the side before clattering down against the ground – for he was wearing his mithril coat. And in that moment, the hobbits and the Men, both sides, charged forward, heedless, and all fell to chaos and violence.
"War now!" cries Astaldo, rattling the table.
"Death!" cries Mandos-Keeper, wisps of smoke flying. "Time to die!"
A chorus of gods, heads ablaze:
"Give us blood, Manwë, give us the body's thick-syrup wine!
Just enough to wash the face in it,
Violence-lusting, yes!
Please! Please! Please!"
"So be it, I will give ye blood,
and madness too," Manwë responds, ruffled.
Riding furious. Muscles screaming with exertion, the horse's hoarse cries of fatigue. Blood thundering and Boromir broke out of the woods at full gallop, tearing down an open field, fueled on by the gut-twisting thoughts – by the fear – and if I lose one more, I shall ne'er rest, I shall ne'er – a fool, a wretched fool – and if only you had not drank the night before, you fool!
And then, a sound: the ringing blast of a horn. A Rohirric horn. Merry!
Boromir kicked the horse, gave the reins a harsh snap, leaned forward and raised himself from the saddle. Keeping the moon behind him – traveling west along the East Road. The thunder of the hooves, the lands flying past him.
And then, he saw them: shadows, figures moving in the night. And behind them – a fire – a farmhouse aflame. Three figures – Men – ruffians! – crossing the field, moving northwest, without horses, coming from Boromir's left, running. Screams in the night, screams from the fire. Fields of crops, fallow fields. Edges of the Shire.
Immediately, Boromir jerked the reins, kicked, leaned his weight to the left, forcing the horse to move off the road and take to the fallow field by the road.
The figures – coarse Northern Men, bearded, wild – scattered with bellowed shouts as Boromir charged them, and then Boromir – without thinking – dismounted and ran towards the nearest Man. The ruffian had no time to react, he was still fumbling with the dagger at his side when Boromir lunged, drove the sword into the Easterling's – no, no, no, the ruffian's – stomach. An enraged howl torn from a dying throat.
From behind, the other two, moving forward fast – screaming – Boromir jerked the sword out, spun – a slashing swipe, blood spraying back, washing his face in it – but not before something – something – something glancing off his shoulder, and then a hard blow to the head – blinding pain – vision dimming…
Boromir was on his knees when he heard the strangled cry as the third ruffian fell forward. Vision returning – a familiar voice:
But as soon as his vision cleared – and Boromir caught a fleeting glimpse of Dínendal's form, riding forward with his horse, bow still in one hand – Boromir staggered to the nearest ruffian who was still moving – the Man writhing on the ground. Choking sounds. Boromir saw now that he had cut the Man's neck.
Limbs shaking, grabbing the Man's jacket, pulling forward. The ruffian gave a gurgling cry.
"Went you to the Shire? Where is your captain?"
"Boromir! Stop!"
In the corner of his eye: Dínendal was running forward. Boromir gave the dying Man a shake.
Dínendal's hands on his arms – pulling him away. A stabbing pain in the upper arm. His skull felt as if it was broken, cracked open. A pain, blinding white. "Boromir, stop, this is madness! He can tell us nothing now – we must to the Shire! Come! There is a great chaos! Come quickly!"
Staggering up to the horse, feeling sticky blood trickling down behind the ear, pulling the reins and saddle and up, up, up, back on. Giving the ribs a kick and – GO!
Chaos. Fires burning. Eyes watering, Sam could not see. Pushing, pulling, fighting through the crowd. Swords and blood and he roared as he dug his short sword into the side of a Man. Roared for the Shire, and what had become of his home, that he should find war here as well. Roared with all the despair and sorrow that tore through his heart, ripping. And he did not want to think of the others, of Merry and Pippin and…
Frodo! Frodo!
He could not see Frodo, but every so often, he heard him, yelling above the noise, urging them to stop, before his voice was drowned away by the screams and yells of a maddened battle. Everyone was running, this way, that way, and Sam saw Men strewn about the ground, hobbits lying lopsided. Someone let loose an arrow – it burned past him, struck the Man in front of him. And just as he whipped around to see who had shot that arrow, he saw this:
Saruman, fighting, dragging his sword around before plunging it deep into a hobbit's chest – Young Tom Cotton! – and then Sam saw Wormtongue, nose broken, on the ground, pulling a dagger from underneath himself, weeping.
And in that moment, just as Saruman turned away from Young Tom Cotton's body, Wormtongue rose to his knees, stood, charged forward and dug the blade deep into the wizard's gut. And in that moment, two arrows plunged through the crowd and struck Wormtongue in the back, so that both villains fell to the ground, to screams and cheers and bellowed, panicking cries.
And in that moment, Dínendal saw Boromir pull the reins of his horse in with a harsh cry, as if he had been struck, and then, curling in on himself, go toppling off the side. He hit the flat, frosted ground with a thud. And Dínendal sensed the rippling wave of corruption wash over the lands – like an invisible explosion, sucking in before pushing outward.
The first rays of dawn. Dínendal urged his horse forward, galloped the last stretch of distance between them before dismounting hastily, hurrying to kneel by the Man:
Boromir could utter nothing more than a harsh, animal sound – a stilted cry of pain. He lay on his side, contorted, his hands clutching his gut, beads of sweat vibrating against his brow. Jaw clenched tight. Dínendal hesitated to touch him, and when he did, laying a tentative hand on the Man's shoulder, Boromir kicked out with a gasping cry.
"Boromir! What is it? Speak!"
And for the first time since the Ered Lithui battles, Dínendal began to panic. The evil in the air – the corruption, the vile scent of something base – they were within sight of a hobbit farm – but what was wrong? What was wrong? Boromir could offer no help, for he was fiercely concentrated on whatever pain he felt, his face pale, his every limb trembling with the effort of keeping it at bay.
Without thinking, Dínendal ripped the Man's surcoat open, tugged at the overshirt and chain mail and undershirt. And he saw there the wound – the stomach – black scar, black veins spreading out, and now all reddened, as if it had been newly struck. Boromir bellowed hoarsely as Dínendal placed his cool hand against the searing-hot wound. And when the elf pulled his hand away, frightened, he looked at the palm: black, soaking. Orc's blood, Dínendal thought absurdly. He turned, ripped a piece of fabric from the Man's cloak, placed it hastily against the wound. Black on black. And Boromir bucked away from him. Another choked cry, pushing through.
"Don't – "
"Stay still – I do not know – I know not what – try to stay still…"
And then and then and then…
And then a wave of silence, muted – where Dínendal swore he could feel the very air move, shift, and some presence pass – dissolving the corruption he had felt, so that all of that invisible evil, whatever foul presence, disappeared as easily as smoke in the wind. And just as that unease disappeared, Boromir's entire body relaxed, so that he was left gasping, slumped back against the ground.
Dínendal kept both hands clutching the fabric against Boromir's stomach, but the Man waved him away and clumsily took the cloth from him. He raised his head, looked at the wound, now grotesquely smeared, hands shaking. And then, moving hesitantly, gingerly, he wiped with the cloth, cleaned away the black-bloodied mess, his stomach twitching away from him. Dínendal thought it should pain the Man to do such work, but Boromir dropped his head and whispered, "Aye… better now."
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.


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85 • Settler's Cove 2012 Semillon-Chardonnay, South-Eastern Australia $12.
Golden straw color. Aromas of dried pineapple, nutshells, and apple core with a silky, dryish medium body and a tangy orange pith, brown sugar, and grass finish. (tasted on Apr-21-2014)
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There are serious problems with genetically modified (GM) crops, notably health and environmental risks and growing corporate control of our food chain by a handful of companies. Despite this, and major public opposition, there is strong support for GM agriculture in the European Commission. Greenpeace campaigns to end GM agriculture in favour of better support for sustainable farming, the only genuine solution to food security and climate challenges.
GM crops come with a stack of problems for farmers, consumers and society in general.
-They are inseparable from large-scale intensive farming and reliant on the heavy use of expensive chemicals and machinery. GM agriculture exacerbates food insecurity by degrading soils, polluting water and fuelling climate change.
-Despite decades of hype, no drought or flood-resistant GM crops have been brought to market. Instead, GM agriculture is characterised by monocultures of genetically identical plants that are the most vulnerable to climate and pest stresses.
-Poor farmers in developing countries can ill afford expensive GM agriculture and are vulnerable to falling into cycles of debt. On the other side of the coin, just six companies control almost all GM crops: Monsanto, Dow, Syngenta, Bayer, BASF and Dupont. Together they also control three quarters of the agrochemical market, a massive degree of control over the food chain. Monsanto enforces its patents through a force of private investigators, suing farmers on the slightest suspicion.
-GM crops require pesticides that lead to the emergence of so-called 'superweeds' and 'superpests'. Millions of American farms now have to use greater quantities and stronger chemicals to control these pests in a vicious circle. Besides this problem, intensive agriculture is by definition less biodiverse and pesticide-producing GM crops harm pests and beneficial insects alike.
-Perhaps most worrying, we do not know if GM crops are safe to eat. Independent long-term studies are severely lacking and GM companies have undue influence over research establishments which get much of their funding from corporations. The fact is genetic engineering is a random and imprecise technique. Scientists still understand little about how engineered genes interact and unexpected side effects are frequent. Once grown in the open environment, GM genes spread in an uncontrollable way.
GM technology poses a host of health risks, yet long-term safety testing is shunned.
GM technology poses a host of health risks, yet long-term safety testing is shunned.
In March 2010, the European Commission broke a 12 year hiatus by approving the cultivation of antibiotic-resistant GM potato Amflora. More than 20 other GM crops are pending authorisation. According to official EU polls, 61 percent of Europeans are against the development of GM food in a trend of rejection that has continued to grow. Some countries have fought against further authorisations, in part because the European authorisation process is flawed, especially the risk assessment of GM crops carried out by the European Food Safety Authority (EFSA). In December 2008, all 27 environment ministers unanimously stated that risk assessment for GM crops must be strengthened. EFSA's risk assessment remains insufficient. Instead, in July 2010, the Commission proposed giving governments a new right to ban cultivation of GM crops from their territory.
A concise two page briefing on the European Citizens' Initiative.
Denmark will take the helm of the Council of the European Union from January 2012 at a crucial time for the future of Europe and its citizens. As government cuts start to bite and the debt and Euro-zone crises unfold, Europeans continue to be...
A two page overview of the environmental and health risks of GM crops.
Greenpeace tested diesel at filling stations across Europe in 2011, discovering worrying amounts of rainforest-destroying biofuels.
This report demonstrates the adverse human and animal health impacts of popular glyphosate pesticides and the need for a safety review.
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Date and Time:
Date(s) - Thursday, October 25th, 2012
Learn step-by-step how to design with summer favorites from your backyard. Celebrate the summer beauty by creating a fresh floral arrangement. Bring color and fragrance into your home with Lifelong Learning Program Manager & Floral Designer Betty Ann Galway. (.2 CEU credit hours)
Flowers chosen for each arrangement will seasonally highlight what can and should grow in your garden. Bring garden clippers. (All flowers & supplies included in class fee.)
See what previous Floral Design Workshop students are saying:
Fabulous and unusual, wouldn't miss it!
Very enjoyable way to spend the morning! Everyone left with great arrangements!
Very good class. I'm recruiting friends to come!
Betty Ann was very helpful and encouraging! I learned so much!
Had a blast! Betty Ann shares wonderful ideas and instructions.
Norfolk Botanical Garden
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Consumer electronics - filled with hazardous chemicals - end up discarded in China and India where they are disposed of by hand. Companies need to remove the hazardous chemicals from their products and be responsible for the entire lifecycle. A visit to a scrapyard in China identifies some of the major companies that are to blame for the e-waste problem.
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Multimedia hub
Want to learn more about tax-deductible giving, donating stock and estate planning? Visit Greenpeace Fund, a nonprofit, 501(c)(3) charitable entity created to increase public awareness and understanding of environmental issues through research, the media and educational programs.


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President Dudley-Eshbachs Biography
Executive & Office Staff
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University Analysis, Reporting, &
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Salisbury University faculty and staff joined President Janet Dudley-Eshbach to celebrate the season during the annual President's Holiday Social in the Fireside Lounge of the Guerrieri University Center. Festivities included holiday songs performed by the SU Chorale, under the direction Dr. William Folger, Music Department chair. The President also announced nominees for this year's University System of Maryland Board of Regents Faculty and Staff Awards for Excellence. Spotlighted were Dr. David Johnson of the English Department, Dr. Lisa Seldomridge of the Nursing Department, Dr. Anjali Pandey of the English Department, Matt Hill of Event Services, Nikki Dyer of Student Disability Support Services and Brenda Grodzicki of the English Department. All attendees had the opportunity to enjoy refreshments and win items including SU sweatshirts, water bottles and other gear during a series of door prize drawings. In addition, Tony Pasquariello of the SU Comptroller's Office won an iPad, the third raffled off this semester to those who donated $5 or more to the Maryland Charities Campaign. SU's commitment to community service also continued through the many employees who donated non-perishable goods for the Maryland Food Bank.


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"Knowledge is a mirror and for the first time in my life I was allowed to see who I was and who I might become." -Cloud Atlas (2012)
431 days ago.
Cloud Atlas was most interesting film I've seen in ages, with a similar ish style to inception. Would recommend xD
A cloud of critics darkened the face of learning and the decline of genius was soon followed by the corruption of taste #cloudatlas
Can't decide if #CloudAtlas was brilliant or pedestrian.
Yesterday my life was headed in one direction; today it is headed in another. Cloud atlas.
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Tom Hanks, Halle Berry, Susan Sarandon and Hugo Weaving share their thoughts on reincarnation while Doona Bae used to read how many books as a child?!
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Jack Binion's Steak
Nothing compliments world-class gambling
like steak. And not just any steak. We are
talking about the finest cuts of USDA
Midwestern dry-aged on-the-bone steak.
Thick, juicy steak prepared by talented chefs.
The kind of steak you will only find at
Jack Binion's Steak.
Enjoy all your favorite drinks, Frappuccinos and Tazo tea drinks right here at Horseshoe.
8 oz. Burger Bar
It's not just a burger, it's a commitment, at this 24-hour spot with a friendly, relaxed environment.
JB's Café
JB's Café is a casual dining Horseshoe Tunica restaurant serving something for everyone, including made-to-order breakfasts.
Mouth-watering soup, dim sum, noodle and rice dishes are served family style near the High Limit table games.
Jack Binion's Steak
Jack Binion always knew what gamblers wanted, and that's still true today in the legendary Tunica steakhouse that bears the man's name.
Village Square Buffet
Enjoy an all-you-can-eat Tunica buffet feast at five cooking stations plus the Sweet Temptations dessert bar.


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"Thank God for stories—for those that have them, for those that tell them, for those that devour them as the soul sustenance that they are. Stories give shape to experience and allow us to go through life unblind. Without the, everything that happens would float around, undifferentiated. None of it would mean anything. Once you have a version of what happened, all the other good stuff about being human comes into play. You can laugh, feel awe, commit a passionate act, get pissed, want to change things"
— Tomas Alex Tizon, reiterated in the Nieman Foundation's excellent Telling True Stories


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- Reference re Supreme Court Act: Defining Appointments to Canada's Highest Court
- A "Big City Charter" for Edmonton and Calgary: Explaining the Role of Municipalities in Canada's Federal Framework
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The Centre for Constitutional Studies is an academic centre established at the University of Alberta, Faculty of Law. It is a dynamic research centre that promotes understandings of constitutions from various perspectives, including historical, legal, and political. It engages Albertans as well as broader Canadian and international publics in continuing discussions about the nature and importance of constitutional matters defined broadly.


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Dr. Rosenzweig answered questions about being or raising a young PHer.
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Noble High class of 2012 celebrated
Sunday, June 10, 2012
NORTH BERWICK, Maine — Graduation ceremony speakers urged their classmates to move forward from their Noble High School years with no regrets.
"I see new friends from this year and my friends from second grade � I see a class who has given me 13 years of memories I will never forget," she said. "In seeing their faces, I know we're not alone. None of us have been, because we've always had each other."
Principal Joseph Findlay congratulated the graduating the class on all of their accomplishments, stating 74 percent had plans to go on to college and 10 students were joining the U.S. military. He also noted while Noble High School requires each graduating senior to contribute 60 hours of community service to organizations in North Berwick and beyond, this class has contributed the most hours by putting in 22,539 hours in total — an average of more than 125 per student.
Findlay also said farewell to three exchange students from China who received diplomas, as well as Superintendent Paul Andrade who has served as an educator for more than three decades. He additionally acknowledged two students who he said overcame difficult circumstances to be marching in Saturday's ceremony. Chris Colburn and Nicole Thomson were awarded the Knight Award for their extraordinary efforts to earn enough credits to graduate at the tail-end of their high school careers.
Pierpont was cheered by her fellow classmates as she went to accept her diploma near the end of the handing of the certificates, moments before silly string erupted from the 2012 alumni of Noble High. Her words set the tone for their futures, to live with no regrets.
"Tonight, we stand before you with the courage we developed from 13 years of practice from sitting down to take a test, winding back to throw the strikeout pitch or walking out on stage to perform a solo," she had told her class at the end of her class address. "These are the moments that have given us courage, the moments before we knew if we would win or lose, ace or fail � These are the moment s where we tried� These are the moments where we grew up. As your last breath escapes your lips, you won't long to do it over again. You'll long to do it again."