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Sometimes when I’m sitting here, minding my own business, tempted to whistle the blues – and I’m ignoring the orange face on TV and the other horrendous news – my brain comes up with:
“Hey, remember that time when you put a picture up of Grumpy Cat the day she died and played audio of, ‘Amazing Grace,’ performed on the bagpipes in the background as a tribute to her?”
…Yeah, that was pretty great.
By Belinda Roddie URL on 06.27.2019
i was walking down the street when i heard the sweet old whistle from MR.samuel. he was coming home from church that brighgt morninng, and he waved hello to everyone who passes. everyone knew mr samuel.
By Ceadra Hardardt on 06.27.2019
Make em whistle like a whistle. Bomb bomb. I love lisa. I also kind of love jennie. Rose is so pretty. Ugh their minds.
By khushi on 06.28.2019
She listened to the whistle in the distance. Noon. Her throat clenched. It was little things like this that made her miss being home. She tried to shake it off, but the smell of mown grass wasn’t helping. She stood and walked, trying not to fall into pacing. She did pace.
By Bridget Grace URL on 06.28.2019
a quiet whistle appereaed out of no where & from that point on at the crack of dawn the whistle appeared. one rainy cloudy night I I was deviant & searched out my foggy window only to find a little red bird.
By ashley zischka URL on 06.28.2019
I remembered as a child, that we were told not to whistle at night. But during the day it may be a playful call. And at night, a call for nightwalkers. Those who communicate in the night. Rather than those who play during the day. Shhh.. Don’t Whistle At Night.
By ZjPete on 06.28.2019
That erie whistle, no woman likes to hear that sound. It raises the hair on the back of your neck, seems to grab you by the back of the neck and send a shiver down your spine. Throw away words. Throw away comment
By Mel Knight URL on 06.28.2019
I couldn’t help whistling on seeing the dark beautiful woman walk by . She was the perfect epitome of beauty.
By ReMo on 06.28.2019
When the train swept by the river station, and the high pitched whistle carried its tone across the valley, everyone stopped what they were doing. It had been years since a train whistle was heard in Eavesdale. The last train carried away the men to war, and none had ever returned.
This was no war train, however. It was the fruits from the High lands, packed into crates stacked into cargo cars, that the Governor had ordered be sent to every town in the Towerfell.
By Shawn on 06.29.2019
a division of Identity Crisis, Inc.