Stephen Markham Porter was surrounded by loved ones when he unexpectedly passed away on Wednesday, September 8th, 2021 due to complications from diabetes (as Stephen would say the diet bees).
ONCE AGAIN THE BLACE MARK OF THE MODERATOR MUST STRIKE CERTAIN WORDS FROM MR. PORTER'S SARCASTIC ESSAY. I REPLACED STEPHEN'S WORDS WITH "CENSORED" SO YOU'LL KNOW WHERE HIS POST WAS EDITED.
AND NOW STEPHEN'S REMARKS.......EDITED REMARKS WITH A FEW CLOSING REMARKS OF MINE.
Hi, I am Stephen Porter.
Who are you?
oh, really? I have never heard of you.
Maybe next time kid!
Hey, remove "CENSORED" from the volunteers thingy... is he still breathing the petulant gasses as the rest of we mortals? I have not seen hide nor hair of the little guy since the high school mission... off with his head!
Hey, I added another MP3 to the file section.
Check it out!
Hey, does anybody out there have an extra copy of adobe photoshop. If you do... I want it for free.
Yeah for Wayne, he is one of few people whose posts last more than 3 seconds on my screen. HEY YAA!
Boo to "CENSORED" ... She's the one who should be censored. I mean, why do she waste my bandwidth with such pointless dribble ... Wow, it is cool that you know HTML... that is really cool... but don't flaunt it
every second of the day, then it becomes annoying and Cliche.
Boo to Judge Dredd, have you ever seen that movie?
Yeah to Cool volunteers, you know... the ones that only speak when it is appropriate.
Boo to the Galileo, cause it has wheels.
Yeah to the Voyager, it has a color projector.
Boo to the Magellan, for obvious reasons.
Yeah to the Odyssey, wait, on second thought... Boo.
Huzzah to the Falcon, to the only simulator that you board via extra vehicular activity.
Boo to board games, they smell of old spice.
Boo!! yeah! thats right... you like that? huh? thats what I thought.
Stephen Porter - Boo, hiss, queen of filth.
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besoin... sur l'Internet.
AS THE SPACE CENTER DIRECTOR AND MODERATOR OF THIS YAHOOGROUP, I MUST ASSUME STEPHEN HAD A BAD DAY WHEN HE WROTE THE POST ABOVE. PERHAPS THERE WAS NO PRIZE IN HIS BOX OF CRAKER JACKS THAT MORNING. ONE CAN ONLY WONDER.
LET US NOT GROW IN ANGER TOWARD POOR STEPHEN SITTING ON THAT FRAYED LAWN CHAIR IN HIS BACK YARD LOOKING DEEPLY INTO THE EMPTY CRAKER JACK BOX AND WONDERING WHAT FATE HAD DONE WITH HIS PRIZE. YES, HIS PRIZE - THE PRIZE HE WAITED FOR AS HE SAVORED EACH CARMEL KERNAL AND SAVORY PEANUT.
WITH HIS POST WRITTEN AND HIS CRAKER JACKS GONE, WHAT WAS THERE TO FILL THE REST OF STEHEN'S EVENING............? I ENVISION HIM STANDING AND TOSSING THE BOX - THE CAUSE OF HIS DISAPPOINTMENT, INTO THE TRASH. I SEE HIM MOVING THROUGH THE HOUSE INTO HIS BEDROOM. HE SITS ON HIS BED AND OPENS HIS DRESSER. HE REACHES INSIDE AND PULLS OUT HIS SOCKS. AT LEAST FATE COULDN'T TAKE THIS SIMPLE PLEASURE AWAY FROM HIM. THE THRILL OF SORTING SOCKS BEFORE BED.
"WHERE'S THE MATCH FOR THIS ONE?" I HEAR HIM MUMBLE AS HE SEARCHES THE PILE.
"THERE YOU ARE YOU LITTLE SNEAK! THOUGHT YOU'D GET AWAY FROM ME DIDN'T YOU?" HE ASKS AS HE TOSSES THE CRAFTY SOCK INTO THE AIR, THEN HOLDS IT CLOSE AND LOOKS DEEPLY AT THE COLOR, THE KNIT - THEN UP TO THE NOSE ..................A DEEP BREATH...............EVEN BLINDFOLDED HE CAN TELL THEM APART.
HAVING BEEN SORTED, INTO THE DRAWER THE SOCKS GO. HE SWITCHES OFF THE LIGHTS AND SLIPS INTO BED. WHILE OTHERS DREAM OF GREAT ACHIEVEMENTS AND ROMANCE, HIS GRINS WITH THOUGHTS OF FRUIT OF THE LOOM DOUBLE KNITS OVER THE CALF.
GOOD NIGHT STEPHEN..........
GOOD NIGHT ALL.........