once there was a little girl. she had just finished murdering a cow.When the farmer came out and saw the cow,he went absolutley nuts. he started calling around and getting clues to who murderd his cow. he finally concluded that the little girl did it. the farmer went to the little girls house and drug her out the door by her hair. he asked her if she murderd his cow.she simpily replied ” no”. that made the farmer go berserk. He slapped her face and punched her boob. but then the little girl told him i have an alibi.Is it true………….?
An excuse give story a Bach up used to excuse one from an event or activity that has occurred. To explain why one was not I attendance, or how one could not have been there. Usually tied to a negative event when there is a question as to who was responsible.
Her brain needed an alibi and it needed one bad. Having violently murdered any attempts to complete the work on time, it was searching for an out, running down a list of every excuse in its book. But this time, it wasn’t sure such watered-down efforts would be enough.
Alibi, alibi, where were you,
did you commit the crime?
if you did, you shall pay the time
alibi alibi, are you telling the truth?
if not, you will be shackled to the roof.
when you get charged with a crime or you are a witness to a crime and you need an alibi. An alibi is basically your excuse as to why you did not commit the crime. It is the time and place that you were when the crime took place.
“Are you sure you weren’t anywhere near the crime scene?” John asked her. “Wh-why, yes of course,” she stammered. “I was in Cardiff. That happened an hour away from there,” she continued.
“Thank you for your input. Put your notebook away, John. We’ve had enough of her alibi,” Sherlock interrupted. He put on his coat and scarf and sweeped out of the room. “Thanks anyway, Ms. Smith,” John said as he loyally followed the consulting detective.
Substitutions, replace a truth, a chain of truths. It streams out, too late to stop. Nonsensical. I mentally slap myself, but its obviously irretrievable. Consequences I know not in the short.
She needed an alibi. They would be here soon. Family was out. Friends, well, there weren’t any. She could run. That might work. She was shoving shirt after shirt into her bag, as much as she would need. Maybe she could do a trick? Maybe… with a pen in hand and the window next to her open, she loaded an internet search.
Jensen thought for a while that if he ever got back to his old world he’d have to come up with an alibi for all the shit he’d been through, and he worried that no one in a sane world would ever believe anything he’d come up with, and so he just decided that fuck it, he’d just become a deaf and dumb man and live out his years with Ninja Queen.
There is only one candidate. The other name is for a virtual sparing partner, a clown, a ghost. He is there to provide an alibi for absent democracy, he brings the illusion of choice.
I didn’t know what else to say when my hands were covered in his entrails. It was too hard to explain how my clumsiness got me into this, but I had to get out. Even with my revoked detective badge, I had to carry SOME weight in this town right? No… “Ms. Darcy, you are under arrest!”
Having an alibi is pointless when I’m always stuck having to come up with lies to cover up the truth about what Walker has been doing. I am always the one who does the right thing, but ever since we returned to the city he’s been acting strange. Going out at strange times, getting lost in his thoughts. And when the things we do get questioned I can never come up with the right words.
She needed an alibi, and fast. She looked down at her hands, and realized that she hadn’t yet felt them. Blood dripped from her fingertips, and splattered onto the glassy ground.
I could use a good alibi to get myself out of this one. Except I need it to be true…. not just a believed truth. That won’t do for something like this with a conscience of this size.
I was looking for an alibi for myself. It would have taken me just 15 minutes to sneak out of the bar and go to her apartment just opposite to it to wreck her neck and come back to finish my drink. i strategically placed my drink very close to the hand of the guy standing next to me half sloshed. i wanted him to spill my drink on me so that i could create a ruckus and go to bathroom, change my clothes and sneak out for party time. Tonight is the night !!!!!!!!!
Empty days, spent looking for found poems, work a mere alibi to be away from a dysfunctional home. I scratch and dig, looking for words and phrase I could manipulate into the surrealist treats that please me most. To forget reality.
I never held an alibi for what I did. What happened simply did, and in my depths of nothing, you meant something to me. I guess happiness and peace of mind were never meant for me. So, instead, I knock on the doors of hell’s darkest chambers and, pushed to the limit, try to drag myself in.
They expect me to give an “alibi” when all they’ve given everyone else were lies.
I don’t expect them to listen to my truth, nor to even bother.
Their time is done and over with….if you’re reading this….let them know that.
“Bye Ali,” he said, choking on the first word. She turned to him, a tear running down her cheek, and the screen faded to black. The credits rolled. I stared blankly. 3 a.m. half naked in old boxers with worn out elastic and cookie crumbs sprinkled over my belly. “Why the hell did I watch that?” I said, turning the television off and chucking the remote into the darkness. “Stupid romance movies.” I went to sleep.
I let the lights wash over my skin and blind my eyes. The bass thumps in the core of my body, and I think about my friends–the ones that played the alibis when adulthood asked childhood where I had been. I think about how close we are and how distant we might be, and even though I’m amongst strangers, my eyes tear up. I don’t want to admit to wasting years and years on relationships that won’t matter in four months. I’m too proud for that and too weak to let go.
i really don’t know what this means but the struggle to march shall continue no matter what happens on the way. we are all here to fight for to live is to move and for move is to write. life gets more complex every second without ever whispering to us of its stride yet swept away our mark on the sand but let be known the existence of new specie who thrives
There are no excuses for being an absentee friend, unless you no longer want to be friends anymore. If that’s the case, then I won’t hold you here. You can go on without me. But don’t look back and expect me to be there. I won’t be. I’ll be long gone, despite missing you. I deserve as much as you do.
I didn’t have an alibi for that night. I wish I had. But you see, staying home with the cat, alone with my cereal wasn’t much of an alibi for the cops. I was framed. I swear it. This isn’t unreliable narrator bullshit. I was minding my own business. Next thing I know, the cops are banging on my door.
I made excuses for their deaths. For their lack of existence in my life and mind. And I continue to, even though it’s me pushing them away, seething and writhing for no apparent reason other than my own commitment issues. I adore the alibis I come up with to excuse this behavior. It almost makes me a real person.
“What’s your alibi?”
“Alibi? Why? Do I lie? Would I even try? Why did he have to die? Did I not cry? Oh, watch me heave a sigh? See the blood where he lies…”
“What’s your alibi?”
I didn’t do it, I swear. I was out with my best friend George and he’s the most honest guy you’ll ever meet. Really. We ate out….chinese…and went to the movie. Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. Now those guys really know how to develop an alibi. Me, I’m just an honest girl who’s never had to lie.
His alibi was that he was with me. That he was beside me, in bed, at two am on Tuesday morning, in our apartment on West Street and Third, on the fourth floor in room 452b. He was on the left side, and I was on the right, like always. That was his alibi.
It was a lie of course. Because I was not in room 452b on the fourth floor in our apartment on West Street and Third, on Tuesday at two in the morning. I was not in bed, him on my left side. I was on top of Nathan, on his kitchen counter, at 2am on Tuesday morning, in his duplex on Willis Crescent.
It was a lie of course. Because he was not in room 452b on the fourth floor in our apartment on West Street and Third, on Tuesday at 2am in the morning. If he had been in room 452b, in our bed, he would have known I was not there.
His alibi was that he was with me. And I confirmed, so that I didn’t have to explain who Nathan was, and why I was on top of him at 2 in the morning, and not in my own bed, under the white white sheets, with my own husband.
My sister asked me why people who plan murders and are outraged by being caught by Detectives Stabler and Benson don’t have a better story planned to prove their innocence. We decided that it probably had something to do with them being stupid enough to commit a crime, as in, this population probably wasn’t particularly bright to begin with.
And then we realized that we’d watched marathons of Law and Order:SVU for so long that we were speaking in jargon. And we could tell the season of any episode based on Mariska Hargitay’s haircut.
My best friend was always my alibi. But now when you asked me, what could I say? I couldn’t say you, because then you’d freak out. But I couldn’t say my best friend, because then I’d be telling the truth.
She walked into the office, breathing like a hurricane and burning like london. Guilty. I knew. So Guilty. But then, so was I. Sin is a thing I cannot avoid, not with a woman like that. Cliches fail me. She was my alibi for a short time, and I was hers.
Lie. It rhymes with alibi. But an alibi isn’t a lie… It’s an excuse. Yes? Perhaps. Not always. Is the murder suspect telling the truth? It’s hard to tell for sure. Maybe yes, maybe no.
in this together, you need to tell them what i told you, make sure we get our story straight. what time is it? do you know what theyre going to ask? I thionk we should go over it again. Can you tell me where you were on the night of Wednesday the 30th?
once there was a little girl. she had just finished murdering a cow.When the farmer came out and saw the cow,he went absolutley nuts. he started calling around and getting clues to who murderd his cow. he finally concluded that the little girl did it. the farmer went to the little girls house and drug her out the door by her hair. he asked her if she murderd his cow.she simpily replied ” no”. that made the farmer go berserk. He slapped her face and punched her boob. but then the little girl told him i have an alibi.Is it true………….?
An excuse give story a Bach up used to excuse one from an event or activity that has occurred. To explain why one was not I attendance, or how one could not have been there. Usually tied to a negative event when there is a question as to who was responsible.
Her brain needed an alibi and it needed one bad. Having violently murdered any attempts to complete the work on time, it was searching for an out, running down a list of every excuse in its book. But this time, it wasn’t sure such watered-down efforts would be enough.
Alibi, alibi, where were you,
did you commit the crime?
if you did, you shall pay the time
alibi alibi, are you telling the truth?
if not, you will be shackled to the roof.
when you get charged with a crime or you are a witness to a crime and you need an alibi. An alibi is basically your excuse as to why you did not commit the crime. It is the time and place that you were when the crime took place.
my sister is my alibi for that murder case.
“Are you sure you weren’t anywhere near the crime scene?” John asked her. “Wh-why, yes of course,” she stammered. “I was in Cardiff. That happened an hour away from there,” she continued.
“Thank you for your input. Put your notebook away, John. We’ve had enough of her alibi,” Sherlock interrupted. He put on his coat and scarf and sweeped out of the room. “Thanks anyway, Ms. Smith,” John said as he loyally followed the consulting detective.
Substitutions, replace a truth, a chain of truths. It streams out, too late to stop. Nonsensical. I mentally slap myself, but its obviously irretrievable. Consequences I know not in the short.
She needed an alibi. They would be here soon. Family was out. Friends, well, there weren’t any. She could run. That might work. She was shoving shirt after shirt into her bag, as much as she would need. Maybe she could do a trick? Maybe… with a pen in hand and the window next to her open, she loaded an internet search.
Jensen thought for a while that if he ever got back to his old world he’d have to come up with an alibi for all the shit he’d been through, and he worried that no one in a sane world would ever believe anything he’d come up with, and so he just decided that fuck it, he’d just become a deaf and dumb man and live out his years with Ninja Queen.
There is only one candidate. The other name is for a virtual sparing partner, a clown, a ghost. He is there to provide an alibi for absent democracy, he brings the illusion of choice.
help!!!!!! do i really need one
I didn’t know what else to say when my hands were covered in his entrails. It was too hard to explain how my clumsiness got me into this, but I had to get out. Even with my revoked detective badge, I had to carry SOME weight in this town right? No… “Ms. Darcy, you are under arrest!”
what peole want if they have comitteda cime
i dont know what alibi is.
i think it’s a cool word.
i think it means friends. blablabla.
what does it mean.
..?
Having an alibi is pointless when I’m always stuck having to come up with lies to cover up the truth about what Walker has been doing. I am always the one who does the right thing, but ever since we returned to the city he’s been acting strange. Going out at strange times, getting lost in his thoughts. And when the things we do get questioned I can never come up with the right words.
She needed an alibi, and fast. She looked down at her hands, and realized that she hadn’t yet felt them. Blood dripped from her fingertips, and splattered onto the glassy ground.
I could use a good alibi to get myself out of this one. Except I need it to be true…. not just a believed truth. That won’t do for something like this with a conscience of this size.
I was looking for an alibi for myself. It would have taken me just 15 minutes to sneak out of the bar and go to her apartment just opposite to it to wreck her neck and come back to finish my drink. i strategically placed my drink very close to the hand of the guy standing next to me half sloshed. i wanted him to spill my drink on me so that i could create a ruckus and go to bathroom, change my clothes and sneak out for party time. Tonight is the night !!!!!!!!!
Give me a reason,
Any alibi will do,
to make me come back
and suffer along side you
like I always do.
Fuck.
Empty days, spent looking for found poems, work a mere alibi to be away from a dysfunctional home. I scratch and dig, looking for words and phrase I could manipulate into the surrealist treats that please me most. To forget reality.
alibi alibi alibi alibi a libi against books a libri libris ex a fib i told my boyfriend when he looked into my eyes and asked me if i loved him.
I didn’t do it, it wasn’t me, I swear. I can prove it, because I was in my room all night. I was in my room…with him. I’m sorry.
I never held an alibi for what I did. What happened simply did, and in my depths of nothing, you meant something to me. I guess happiness and peace of mind were never meant for me. So, instead, I knock on the doors of hell’s darkest chambers and, pushed to the limit, try to drag myself in.
They expect me to give an “alibi” when all they’ve given everyone else were lies.
I don’t expect them to listen to my truth, nor to even bother.
Their time is done and over with….if you’re reading this….let them know that.
“Bye Ali,” he said, choking on the first word. She turned to him, a tear running down her cheek, and the screen faded to black. The credits rolled. I stared blankly. 3 a.m. half naked in old boxers with worn out elastic and cookie crumbs sprinkled over my belly. “Why the hell did I watch that?” I said, turning the television off and chucking the remote into the darkness. “Stupid romance movies.” I went to sleep.
I let the lights wash over my skin and blind my eyes. The bass thumps in the core of my body, and I think about my friends–the ones that played the alibis when adulthood asked childhood where I had been. I think about how close we are and how distant we might be, and even though I’m amongst strangers, my eyes tear up. I don’t want to admit to wasting years and years on relationships that won’t matter in four months. I’m too proud for that and too weak to let go.
i really don’t know what this means but the struggle to march shall continue no matter what happens on the way. we are all here to fight for to live is to move and for move is to write. life gets more complex every second without ever whispering to us of its stride yet swept away our mark on the sand but let be known the existence of new specie who thrives
zxcb
There are no excuses for being an absentee friend, unless you no longer want to be friends anymore. If that’s the case, then I won’t hold you here. You can go on without me. But don’t look back and expect me to be there. I won’t be. I’ll be long gone, despite missing you. I deserve as much as you do.
I didn’t have an alibi for that night. I wish I had. But you see, staying home with the cat, alone with my cereal wasn’t much of an alibi for the cops. I was framed. I swear it. This isn’t unreliable narrator bullshit. I was minding my own business. Next thing I know, the cops are banging on my door.
I made excuses for their deaths. For their lack of existence in my life and mind. And I continue to, even though it’s me pushing them away, seething and writhing for no apparent reason other than my own commitment issues. I adore the alibis I come up with to excuse this behavior. It almost makes me a real person.
“What’s your alibi?”
“Alibi? Why? Do I lie? Would I even try? Why did he have to die? Did I not cry? Oh, watch me heave a sigh? See the blood where he lies…”
“What’s your alibi?”
I didn’t do it, I swear. I was out with my best friend George and he’s the most honest guy you’ll ever meet. Really. We ate out….chinese…and went to the movie. Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. Now those guys really know how to develop an alibi. Me, I’m just an honest girl who’s never had to lie.
His alibi was that he was with me. That he was beside me, in bed, at two am on Tuesday morning, in our apartment on West Street and Third, on the fourth floor in room 452b. He was on the left side, and I was on the right, like always. That was his alibi.
It was a lie of course. Because I was not in room 452b on the fourth floor in our apartment on West Street and Third, on Tuesday at two in the morning. I was not in bed, him on my left side. I was on top of Nathan, on his kitchen counter, at 2am on Tuesday morning, in his duplex on Willis Crescent.
It was a lie of course. Because he was not in room 452b on the fourth floor in our apartment on West Street and Third, on Tuesday at 2am in the morning. If he had been in room 452b, in our bed, he would have known I was not there.
His alibi was that he was with me. And I confirmed, so that I didn’t have to explain who Nathan was, and why I was on top of him at 2 in the morning, and not in my own bed, under the white white sheets, with my own husband.
My sister asked me why people who plan murders and are outraged by being caught by Detectives Stabler and Benson don’t have a better story planned to prove their innocence. We decided that it probably had something to do with them being stupid enough to commit a crime, as in, this population probably wasn’t particularly bright to begin with.
And then we realized that we’d watched marathons of Law and Order:SVU for so long that we were speaking in jargon. And we could tell the season of any episode based on Mariska Hargitay’s haircut.
And, you know, talking about fictional crimes.
My best friend was always my alibi. But now when you asked me, what could I say? I couldn’t say you, because then you’d freak out. But I couldn’t say my best friend, because then I’d be telling the truth.
She walked into the office, breathing like a hurricane and burning like london. Guilty. I knew. So Guilty. But then, so was I. Sin is a thing I cannot avoid, not with a woman like that. Cliches fail me. She was my alibi for a short time, and I was hers.
Lie. It rhymes with alibi. But an alibi isn’t a lie… It’s an excuse. Yes? Perhaps. Not always. Is the murder suspect telling the truth? It’s hard to tell for sure. Maybe yes, maybe no.
in this together, you need to tell them what i told you, make sure we get our story straight. what time is it? do you know what theyre going to ask? I thionk we should go over it again. Can you tell me where you were on the night of Wednesday the 30th?