i have a collar on my shirt it is blue i like my collar except that when it folds back it drives me nuts. i like to have my collar just perfect other wise i feel dumb. how do you like your collar up or down?Mir
The collar on the horse was big and black and helped him pull the heavy wagon. apoliceman collared the criminal. the collar of his shirt was pulled up around his ears.
the dog fought and fought to get away from the tree in which he was tied to. and just as his last hope was almost gone. he was free, striped of the collar that kept him so contained.
She flipped down his collar and fixed his tie. It was comfortable and sweet. The way her small fingers took care of him and her hips brushed lightly against sent him over the moon. No other woman could compare.
He looked at his collar and tried to fix it. His collared shirt didn’t look right. He didn’t feel right. The collar felt like it was choking him. This collared shirt was not him. Who was he? As he kept looking in the mirror, he tried to figure it out. But he couldn’t.
The collar of my shirt was tugging on my neck. The car ride to this place was just too long, too hot, and too bothersome. My parents didn’t know when to shut up, or when to talk. They don’t seem to think about how there are other people in the car besides them.
a shirt collar will imply usually a formality of some sort. if you are a gansta you got this popped. if not, well then thats good cause you got some class.
I tightened up the collar of my shirt and walked into the room. It was all quiet. the lights were bright and overwhelmingly white and clear. I walked onto stage and began my speech
The collar of my work shirt is always flipped up. No ironing in the universe can fix it. Its and odd invention really. What exactly if the purpose? Is it for ties? Because there is no l
He always wears collars, perhaps a symbol of his own repression and the fact that he is caged in a prison made by himself, one where he is only forced to smile at people and keep his feelings to himself in fear of ostracism and rejection.
dogs are awesome i love dogs they really entertain me they’re really funny and cute and i love them i wish i had one but i don’t oh well cats are the poor man’s dog because they are not as cuddly and loving bahaha! it’s ok though they’re still cute.
Dogs need them when they’re misbehaved. Toddlers too. I would absolutely hate my parents if they made me wear a collar like those kids. They’re just hilarious to see walking down the streets, they look so helpless and handicapped, no offense to handicaps…
There are many things I think of when I think about collars. I think of the formal, repressed man, his hair perfectly combed, waiting to mess it up as soon as he gets home and put something on.
The collar of my shirt chokes me as I watch the people around me toss handfuls of dirt down into the hole. I never thought I’d be standing in this place, never thought I’d see my own child die before me. The stranglehold around my neck tightens, and I have to get away. I turn from the cold grave and run.
The collar was exceedingly tight… the air was being choked off. It was getting hot. He was sweating. Why was he doing this. Why wont these people look away.
“Look.” She said, pulling him even closer and making him wish that he hadn’t worn that collar shirt today. “I hate you more than my uncle who murdered me, so shut up.”
what may seem like a herculean effort is the work of a swift tailor, his father perhaps, who weaved the boy’s collar himself, so carefully that his name could be read in the stitching’s design.
. . . Standing in the open archway of the door, you suddenly find yourself extremely self-conscious; why, this is not like you, no, not at all! Is my tie straight? How is the cuff on my sleeve? What is my arm doing there? And I swear I buttoned my collar up to the chin! It turns out that your tie and your arm and your collar, especially, don’t matter anyway; they all come off, wearisome and tired as your bones, by the end of the night.
collar. the place of lipstick and perfume on a cheating, homewrecking husband. hard to hide when your wife does your laundry. its disgusting, this world we live in.
The collar on her neck made her feel used. She ripped it off. She were no fucking pet! Fuck her! Fuck her stupid mindgames and especially fuck her for making her wanting more. For wanting varm, tender moments and not just hard, raw sex.
a collar is usually placed on a shirt, but usually popped to make people look ‘cool’ or rich. usually associated with complete and utter idiots. avoid at all costs. srsly. it’s yuck nobody will like you if you do it.
collar, yours
i left stained with my apple lipstick
we are so far away it seems now
but the stain’s still clinging
does she see where my lips imprint on your soul
The collar was left firm and undone on the new dress shirt he bought. The shirt was gray, but the collar was white. He always wanted a shirt as fancy as this one, but he couldn’t really understand why. It was just a compelling, compulsive desire whenever he saw juxtaposing colors in elegant ware. The dress shirt wasn’t enough though. Ties were just as necessary. Ties were mandatory, completely vital to finishing the image, to completing an acceptable facade. He never was one to spend money on clothes, jewelry, accessories, vanity. But ties were his only weakness. Solid ties. Plaid ties. Striped ties. Red ties. Blue ties. Green ties. Black ties. One more for the collection is not a big deal is it? Yes, it’s a large collection, but it will never be complete without this tie. His forehead began to perspire at the register, his fingers began to tap at the counter. The MasterCard wasn’t going through. He began to bite his lips, nervously, anxiously, looking around for security cameras and metal detectors. The card was being rejected because he had exceeded his line of credit, but he had to have this one tie. Only one choice became apparent as he looked towards the open glass sliding door. He told the clerk he changed his mind and would pick out a different tie as he snatched it out of the clerks hands and darted towards the tie racks. But the open door was beckoning, slow, and unresponsive. “I won’t be closing for you, you may leave as you like. No one will say anything.” One step became two steps, three steps, into a quickened processions of clicking dress shoes. He was getting closer to the door, closer to the detectors. Four feet, three feet, two feet, he could smell the Eucalyptus trees outside. The outside light was blinding, his vision was getting blurry, his smile was intensifying. Then he saw blue, candy blue, as a Toyota Camry came crashing through the door and into his knee caps, crushing him beneath a mangled bumper and Firestone tires. Blue went to black, everything black. The end.
when he woke up this morning, he just couldn’t find a clean shirt – he remembered the crazy week that he had spent : not one clear collar on sight and the cleaning lady was still out.
i have a collar on my shirt it is blue i like my collar except that when it folds back it drives me nuts. i like to have my collar just perfect other wise i feel dumb. how do you like your collar up or down?Mir
The collar on the horse was big and black and helped him pull the heavy wagon. apoliceman collared the criminal. the collar of his shirt was pulled up around his ears.
the dog fought and fought to get away from the tree in which he was tied to. and just as his last hope was almost gone. he was free, striped of the collar that kept him so contained.
She flipped down his collar and fixed his tie. It was comfortable and sweet. The way her small fingers took care of him and her hips brushed lightly against sent him over the moon. No other woman could compare.
Death, the collar that binds the living.
The collar of a blue shirt on a man, who is going to work. Out of work he would most likely dress differently, but work is work and play is play.
He looked at his collar and tried to fix it. His collared shirt didn’t look right. He didn’t feel right. The collar felt like it was choking him. This collared shirt was not him. Who was he? As he kept looking in the mirror, he tried to figure it out. But he couldn’t.
as Patcher McGee soon found out, this wasn’t any collar…it was special.
The collar of my shirt was tugging on my neck. The car ride to this place was just too long, too hot, and too bothersome. My parents didn’t know when to shut up, or when to talk. They don’t seem to think about how there are other people in the car besides them.
I pulled you up
and under my ears the cold would sting
hands in my pockets
holding on
Blue collar flower:
Migrant worker,
The road before
Cleansing.
The gravel cracks,
Birthing a tulip
In the first world suburb.
a shirt collar will imply usually a formality of some sort. if you are a gansta you got this popped. if not, well then thats good cause you got some class.
I tightened up the collar of my shirt and walked into the room. It was all quiet. the lights were bright and overwhelmingly white and clear. I walked onto stage and began my speech
owned.
The collar of my work shirt is always flipped up. No ironing in the universe can fix it. Its and odd invention really. What exactly if the purpose? Is it for ties? Because there is no l
He always wears collars, perhaps a symbol of his own repression and the fact that he is caged in a prison made by himself, one where he is only forced to smile at people and keep his feelings to himself in fear of ostracism and rejection.
dogs are awesome i love dogs they really entertain me they’re really funny and cute and i love them i wish i had one but i don’t oh well cats are the poor man’s dog because they are not as cuddly and loving bahaha! it’s ok though they’re still cute.
ever since i can remember i’ve been poppin ma collar poppin, poppin ma collar yee
Dogs need them when they’re misbehaved. Toddlers too. I would absolutely hate my parents if they made me wear a collar like those kids. They’re just hilarious to see walking down the streets, they look so helpless and handicapped, no offense to handicaps…
There are many things I think of when I think about collars. I think of the formal, repressed man, his hair perfectly combed, waiting to mess it up as soon as he gets home and put something on.
A collar of white and blue, stands out from the crowd. Like a green thumb it is obvious. it is there.
The collar of my shirt chokes me as I watch the people around me toss handfuls of dirt down into the hole. I never thought I’d be standing in this place, never thought I’d see my own child die before me. The stranglehold around my neck tightens, and I have to get away. I turn from the cold grave and run.
The collar was exceedingly tight… the air was being choked off. It was getting hot. He was sweating. Why was he doing this. Why wont these people look away.
“Look.” She said, pulling him even closer and making him wish that he hadn’t worn that collar shirt today. “I hate you more than my uncle who murdered me, so shut up.”
what may seem like a herculean effort is the work of a swift tailor, his father perhaps, who weaved the boy’s collar himself, so carefully that his name could be read in the stitching’s design.
. . . Standing in the open archway of the door, you suddenly find yourself extremely self-conscious; why, this is not like you, no, not at all! Is my tie straight? How is the cuff on my sleeve? What is my arm doing there? And I swear I buttoned my collar up to the chin! It turns out that your tie and your arm and your collar, especially, don’t matter anyway; they all come off, wearisome and tired as your bones, by the end of the night.
School uniform collars do not hide extremely dark, angry, purple, red, bruised hickeys. No sir, they do not.
Dogs & the working class. All treated the same!
collar. the place of lipstick and perfume on a cheating, homewrecking husband. hard to hide when your wife does your laundry. its disgusting, this world we live in.
She self-consciously tugged at her itchy collar. Then she stepped outside, and saw him. Her breath was taken away.
so beautiful. how your bones fit so perfect. the way the skin stretches over.
The collar on my shirt has lipstick stains and I know I’m gonna get caught !
Collars are arresting. One dogs the collar and then clergifies the dog collar all white with a black lining depending on the skin tone of the wearer.
The collar on her neck made her feel used. She ripped it off. She were no fucking pet! Fuck her! Fuck her stupid mindgames and especially fuck her for making her wanting more. For wanting varm, tender moments and not just hard, raw sex.
i dont have one, i dont even want one, so dont bother me with a one dollar collar. red ones, blue ones, none
just tell me what you want from me.
a collar is usually placed on a shirt, but usually popped to make people look ‘cool’ or rich. usually associated with complete and utter idiots. avoid at all costs. srsly. it’s yuck nobody will like you if you do it.
collara = cholera
collar, yours
i left stained with my apple lipstick
we are so far away it seems now
but the stain’s still clinging
does she see where my lips imprint on your soul
The collar was left firm and undone on the new dress shirt he bought. The shirt was gray, but the collar was white. He always wanted a shirt as fancy as this one, but he couldn’t really understand why. It was just a compelling, compulsive desire whenever he saw juxtaposing colors in elegant ware. The dress shirt wasn’t enough though. Ties were just as necessary. Ties were mandatory, completely vital to finishing the image, to completing an acceptable facade. He never was one to spend money on clothes, jewelry, accessories, vanity. But ties were his only weakness. Solid ties. Plaid ties. Striped ties. Red ties. Blue ties. Green ties. Black ties. One more for the collection is not a big deal is it? Yes, it’s a large collection, but it will never be complete without this tie. His forehead began to perspire at the register, his fingers began to tap at the counter. The MasterCard wasn’t going through. He began to bite his lips, nervously, anxiously, looking around for security cameras and metal detectors. The card was being rejected because he had exceeded his line of credit, but he had to have this one tie. Only one choice became apparent as he looked towards the open glass sliding door. He told the clerk he changed his mind and would pick out a different tie as he snatched it out of the clerks hands and darted towards the tie racks. But the open door was beckoning, slow, and unresponsive. “I won’t be closing for you, you may leave as you like. No one will say anything.” One step became two steps, three steps, into a quickened processions of clicking dress shoes. He was getting closer to the door, closer to the detectors. Four feet, three feet, two feet, he could smell the Eucalyptus trees outside. The outside light was blinding, his vision was getting blurry, his smile was intensifying. Then he saw blue, candy blue, as a Toyota Camry came crashing through the door and into his knee caps, crushing him beneath a mangled bumper and Firestone tires. Blue went to black, everything black. The end.
when he woke up this morning, he just couldn’t find a clean shirt – he remembered the crazy week that he had spent : not one clear collar on sight and the cleaning lady was still out.