he’s on the panel and i hate him for it. every second jump or twist of the leg he’s watching and judging, judging in the way he’s not supposed to and it will ruin every chance i get. but he’s there, because he’s always there for me and i hate him for it. i really do.
Stacks of wooden panels lined the edges of the room, which was still just concrete and drywall. The man stood in the middle, looked around, and sighed. Home improvement had always been a passion of his, but doing it alone suddenly began to seem thoroughly pointless.
The comic was only half-finished. Some of the panels looked like they were being eaten by an angry polar bear with anorexia, which doesn’t make sense because anorexia means you’re not eating. Plus the polar bear had rabies and wasn’t even in the comic.
He sketched in long, lazy motions, one panel after the the last. It all seemed so tedious. It felt as though he lost something in his art when he out it in a box instead of on a wall illegally. Still, anything to get a paycheck.
He slammed his fist against the panel, swearing once as his hand was on its way down, and once again as the pain of contact registered. “Damn! DAMN!” he snarled.
“I really hate this machine,” he said.
“I hate you too,” it replied.
“I’m going to junk you the first spaceport we pull into,” he muttered to himself.
the silk paneled dressing screen was the first thing Cynthia had bought when she bought her apartment. “I liked it, and it reminded me of you.” She admitted. “Beautiful, but virtually pointless.
the panel was removed to reveal a view of the city. It was dingy in the early morning mist, but gladys was relieved to be inside, somewhere warm, and seemingly safe.
Looking down he saw a wooden panel loose on the desk. The jutting corner begging for discovery. Gently he pried at it with the tip of a pin. The panel fell to the floor revealing a compartment. Reaching inside he pulled out a diary, the first line read…. “My God,what have I done?”
The books were laid across the panel. There was no order, just books. All different titles. Just as chaotic as her life was. She snuggled beneath them and started to think. Started to organize her thoughts, as she should her books.
The panel on the wall in front of me, twisted and corked with knots as most wood is, was the focal point of my vision for 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. It’s knotted circles looped through my head day after day.
wood panellingo n the inside of a room where you used to spend your hours, much like tonight, reading adn writing and flicking flicking around doing complete and utter crap. mostly playing gin rummy, chatting on msn. you miss those wood panelled walls, the way they reflected the light
behind the hidden panel was the key to all her dreams but she could not figure out how to open it….there had to be a way, to open the silky smooth panel
Un panel es donde las abejas hacen la miel, también es un cartel informativo, y tambien una placa solar que recoge energía.
Depende del sentido de la palabra significa una cosa u otra.
Hm. This is a hard word to write about. Panel of experts or judges is all that comes to mind at the current point in time. I used to hate being judged at dance competitions. That’s why I liked tennis better. Just me and my mistakes or triumphs out on the court; no judgment.
The panel of board member sat in a circle in the dusty office. It was a sunny day but they would have no time to enjoy it. The wind picked up, you could hear the screaming against the windows.
no idea what the hell to write about a panel. what even is a panel? a pan? noo. for certain it is not, but perhaps someday it will be. A panel is like a frame.
The panel of judges sat before us. “Show us how you can work. Together,” said one judge. Great, now we had to show teamwork? “You better do your best, damnit,” Leiko mumbled to me under her breath.
This is a panel of judges. I am a panel of judges and I stare down at you like the queen in her court surrounded by the checks of a checkerboard and lacking the checks of a check and balance. I control you. I am the queen. I do nothing to stop myself and you do nothing to stop me. Heed my words because I am the panel of judgments and I will destroy you.
I remember 28 years ago helping my brother put up fence. I was always so amazed that he could carry and entire 8 foot stockade panel by himself. Eventually, when I was older and stronger I was able to do the same but could never make look as easy as he made it look.
Panels = gray tweed, dismal flourescent lighting, bad offices. Also, Meghan’s apartment and her psycho cat. Then my old great team that I was on and all the great times we had. also seaside cottages with bead boards.
The wood panel of the floor shifted slightly under Michael’s feet. Confusing, because he’d been in this room many times, and he’d never felt anything but stability. He bent down to feel around the edges, and the gap that had appeared was large enough to put his finger through, all around the long side.
I did this word already. Don’t they give us a new one each time? Huh–interesting. I get to think up something entirely new. Panel…panel…it rhymes with flannel, that’s one thing. I’ll have to remember that for future poetry.
The panel slid back, exposing the most magnificent library that Lucy had ever seen. Despite the cavernous interior, she still had to scrunch down before she could manage to tumble through the opening that had been left.
I had paneling on my bedroom in Anza, California. They were ugly, so we painted them pink. That’s how my room became pink and green. They have been ever since.
The light on the center of the panel blinked at her, daring her to press it. Should she? She thought something very bad might happen if she did, but her hand reached out, as if the light were a magnet drawing her hand to it. She pressed it. Lights flashed, sirens blared.
the wooden door had one loose panel. i kicked it and the whole thing fell apart. beyond it were fantastic pastures of newness and light. i could not enter.
The panel slid open to reveal a giant library. what had been a simple, if slightly ugly wooden wall revealed more books than Lucy had ever seen. Even from her petite perspective she had to scrunch down and waddle through the entry way, tumbling into the huge room.
She sat quietly on the purple couch, staring at the paneling on the wall. The fire crackled and the wood grain made absolutely no sense, all swirls and eddies.
The panel all stared and I felt completely self conscious as if someone had taken off all my clothes before these strangers and were scrutinizing ever inch of my body looking for flaws down to the last skin cell… ah, who was I kidding? How many times had this been the scenario of a night of fun at the local bar? I couldn’t wait to hear their remarks.
he’s on the panel and i hate him for it. every second jump or twist of the leg he’s watching and judging, judging in the way he’s not supposed to and it will ruin every chance i get. but he’s there, because he’s always there for me and i hate him for it. i really do.
Stacks of wooden panels lined the edges of the room, which was still just concrete and drywall. The man stood in the middle, looked around, and sighed. Home improvement had always been a passion of his, but doing it alone suddenly began to seem thoroughly pointless.
The comic was only half-finished. Some of the panels looked like they were being eaten by an angry polar bear with anorexia, which doesn’t make sense because anorexia means you’re not eating. Plus the polar bear had rabies and wasn’t even in the comic.
He sketched in long, lazy motions, one panel after the the last. It all seemed so tedious. It felt as though he lost something in his art when he out it in a box instead of on a wall illegally. Still, anything to get a paycheck.
He slammed his fist against the panel, swearing once as his hand was on its way down, and once again as the pain of contact registered. “Damn! DAMN!” he snarled.
“I really hate this machine,” he said.
“I hate you too,” it replied.
“I’m going to junk you the first spaceport we pull into,” he muttered to himself.
there were twenty six pans all lined up in alphabetical order in the kitchen after some deliberation I chose to kill him with pan L.
the silk paneled dressing screen was the first thing Cynthia had bought when she bought her apartment. “I liked it, and it reminded me of you.” She admitted. “Beautiful, but virtually pointless.
the panel was removed to reveal a view of the city. It was dingy in the early morning mist, but gladys was relieved to be inside, somewhere warm, and seemingly safe.
The wooden panel was on the floor. He was looking through the many files in the enclosure. He found the one he needed. He left.
Looking down he saw a wooden panel loose on the desk. The jutting corner begging for discovery. Gently he pried at it with the tip of a pin. The panel fell to the floor revealing a compartment. Reaching inside he pulled out a diary, the first line read…. “My God,what have I done?”
I quickly found the kitchen, and the microwave, but that was not the source of the beeping sound. The panel on it read all flashing zeros.
The books were laid across the panel. There was no order, just books. All different titles. Just as chaotic as her life was. She snuggled beneath them and started to think. Started to organize her thoughts, as she should her books.
e
The panel on the wall in front of me, twisted and corked with knots as most wood is, was the focal point of my vision for 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. It’s knotted circles looped through my head day after day.
wood panellingo n the inside of a room where you used to spend your hours, much like tonight, reading adn writing and flicking flicking around doing complete and utter crap. mostly playing gin rummy, chatting on msn. you miss those wood panelled walls, the way they reflected the light
behind the hidden panel was the key to all her dreams but she could not figure out how to open it….there had to be a way, to open the silky smooth panel
The panel enclosed the secret compartment that housed the mysteries Rachel kept. Just a thin piece of plastic separated them from the truth.
Un panel es donde las abejas hacen la miel, también es un cartel informativo, y tambien una placa solar que recoge energía.
Depende del sentido de la palabra significa una cosa u otra.
Hm. This is a hard word to write about. Panel of experts or judges is all that comes to mind at the current point in time. I used to hate being judged at dance competitions. That’s why I liked tennis better. Just me and my mistakes or triumphs out on the court; no judgment.
The panel of board member sat in a circle in the dusty office. It was a sunny day but they would have no time to enjoy it. The wind picked up, you could hear the screaming against the windows.
no idea what the hell to write about a panel. what even is a panel? a pan? noo. for certain it is not, but perhaps someday it will be. A panel is like a frame.
The panel of judges sat before us. “Show us how you can work. Together,” said one judge. Great, now we had to show teamwork? “You better do your best, damnit,” Leiko mumbled to me under her breath.
A panel of judges waits to determine our future. We are no longer in control. What a sick game.
This is a panel of judges. I am a panel of judges and I stare down at you like the queen in her court surrounded by the checks of a checkerboard and lacking the checks of a check and balance. I control you. I am the queen. I do nothing to stop myself and you do nothing to stop me. Heed my words because I am the panel of judgments and I will destroy you.
I remember 28 years ago helping my brother put up fence. I was always so amazed that he could carry and entire 8 foot stockade panel by himself. Eventually, when I was older and stronger I was able to do the same but could never make look as easy as he made it look.
I remember 25 years ago helping my brother put up fence. I was always so amazed that he could carry and entire 6 foot stockade panel by himself.
Panels = gray tweed, dismal flourescent lighting, bad offices. Also, Meghan’s apartment and her psycho cat. Then my old great team that I was on and all the great times we had. also seaside cottages with bead boards.
The wood panel of the floor shifted slightly under Michael’s feet. Confusing, because he’d been in this room many times, and he’d never felt anything but stability. He bent down to feel around the edges, and the gap that had appeared was large enough to put his finger through, all around the long side.
I did this word already. Don’t they give us a new one each time? Huh–interesting. I get to think up something entirely new. Panel…panel…it rhymes with flannel, that’s one thing. I’ll have to remember that for future poetry.
The panel slid back, exposing the most magnificent library that Lucy had ever seen. Despite the cavernous interior, she still had to scrunch down before she could manage to tumble through the opening that had been left.
I had paneling on my bedroom in Anza, California. They were ugly, so we painted them pink. That’s how my room became pink and green. They have been ever since.
There’s loads of them. Sitting there. The table is long. I wonder how I’m going to get through this.
“So Miss Hunt. What do you have for us today?”
I swallow hard. I know I’m shaking but I hope they can’t see that.
The light on the center of the panel blinked at her, daring her to press it. Should she? She thought something very bad might happen if she did, but her hand reached out, as if the light were a magnet drawing her hand to it. She pressed it. Lights flashed, sirens blared.
the wooden door had one loose panel. i kicked it and the whole thing fell apart. beyond it were fantastic pastures of newness and light. i could not enter.
The panel slid open to reveal a giant library. what had been a simple, if slightly ugly wooden wall revealed more books than Lucy had ever seen. Even from her petite perspective she had to scrunch down and waddle through the entry way, tumbling into the huge room.
panel beating is a common occurrence in my life. I’m a terrible driver and gets expensive but i do actually love and appreciate my car.
panel
pan le bel pa ane
nel nel ane lepa panel
She sat quietly on the purple couch, staring at the paneling on the wall. The fire crackled and the wood grain made absolutely no sense, all swirls and eddies.
We call this meeting to find a solution to our discrepancy. No one has yet called for an adjournment.
The panel all stared and I felt completely self conscious as if someone had taken off all my clothes before these strangers and were scrutinizing ever inch of my body looking for flaws down to the last skin cell… ah, who was I kidding? How many times had this been the scenario of a night of fun at the local bar? I couldn’t wait to hear their remarks.