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Here is a poem written by one of my Gs, bulletheadbilly. He's a great writer and you all deserve to witness the greatness of his writing, so I'll share it here. Full credit to bulletheadbilly. "Kohai" There's a nice sweet lady here at Chess.com, That the younger generation likes to call their Chess Mom, She can't take the stormy seas and make them Calm, But she can help you navigate from Dusk till Dawn, For she knows her way around like it was her own Land, And Is never too busy not to lend a Hand, She has her own show of force with Doc and his Clan, Better watch what you say or you might get Banned, For she runs a Tight Ship, and likes to keep it clean, She shoots from the Hip, and her eye sights Keen, she's fair, and truly cares, for that we've Seen, And if all facts are bared, she'd make a nice Chess Queen, So lets have a Live Online Election, With every Chess Players Injection, Where would Chess.coms Conception, Be without "Kohai's" Affection.

I am going to post one story here, just so you can see what sort of a writer I may be. The words of power Frank just couldn’t take them anymore. Those headaches! It was like his head was gonna explode, like something had to come out of there. He rang his good friend doctor Peterson again, because his pills weren’t cutting it. “Can I come over, Pete? They aren’t going away even if I take the maximum dose. I must find something now or I will jump!” “Come right over and we’ll talk things over. Surely we will come up with something. Come as soon as you can.” “I’ll be there in half an hour.” Frank jumped in his car and drove slowly to the doctor, just keeping it all together. He dragged himself to the door holding his head as the door swung open. “Man, you look awful! Let me help you into the lounge.” He took his coat and threw it in the chair, while he sat him in a comfortable chair. “Thank you, Pete.” “So, don’t the pills help at all?” “Not a bit. The pain stays the same, whatever I do. If I walk, talk, eat, sit, rest in bed, I can’t even sleep anymore. I’m so exhausted. I can’t take this much longer. I can’t concentrate on anything and I even see worse. It has to stop now or I am going over.” “Don’t jump to conclusions, you’re here now. I’m gonna do everything in my power to help you. We came a long way, Frank. I will make you better, I promise you. Where in the head do you feel it most?” “It comes in waves. It always starts from the top of my neck and then it is like something is throbbing in my brain, like it wants to get out. Then the pain becomes unbearable until it starts all over again.” “Hm.” Doctor Peterson looked for similarities with other cases. “The first thing to do is to make a CT and an MRI scan to see how your brain looks. Come to my examination room.” After he took the scans he saw nothing out of the ordinary. “It’s all good, Frank. I don’t know what it could be. You say you haven’t slept? For how long?” “Oh, it’s been several days now. Every time I lay down the pain is just too strong for even a nap.” The doctor took a book out of his library on sleep deprivation. Something caught his eye. He read for a few minutes and turned to Frank. “Sleep deprivation can cause daydreaming and hallucinations. Do you see or hear things that aren’t there?” “No.” “Do you dream?” “No, every time the headache starts it is like something is shot into my brain, but I never get any images to it.” “Do you have epileptic attacks?” “Hell, no! That’s only missing!” “Ok, I am going to put you on the EEG-recorder. I want to see if your brain shows any strange recordings. Come over here.” He put an electrode mask over his head and started the computer. It started writing right away. “We will let this computer write for forty minutes. Can I offer you something to drink?” “Water please. And some pain killers.” “First I want to see what we find. I know the painkillers don’t help so let’s be a little more patient, as I see that the recorder prints quite some deviated lines. Maybe we will know when the sequence is over. Hang on just a little longer.” After the forty minutes doctor Peterson was studying the printout. He frowned and stared without seeing, as if he was trying to remember something. The surprise on his face was getting more and more clear. “Do your episodes all take the same time?” Frank thought for a moment. “Now you say it. They seem to come in episodes of about ten minutes, I’d say.” “Come look.” Doctor Peterson pointed out: “You see this? Four exact copies of the same writings. I never saw this before. It is like your brain is playing the same story over and over again. Let’s try this. You sleep in my laboratory tonight, while I watch over you. I give you a sleeping injection even a mammoth would fall asleep from. Then we see if the EEG changes. At least you get some sleep. In the morning we shall see how it looks. Ok?” “Sounds perfect. How I long to sleep.” While Frank was asleep doctor Peterson watched his EEG-recordings pass by. Then, suddenly there was a change. He scrolled up to see if he saw it right. It looked like there were words written into the sequence. Impossible, he thought. People don’t dream words into an EEG. He enlarged the computerimage and looked more closely. STALAMINECRO – ZELAMINECRO – SEPHAMINECRO. He put his hand under his chin and frowned. Impossible, but true. He wrote the words down and scrolled down the EEG sequences. He noticed the sudden change. After those words his EEG started to look normal. His eyes opened wide and he moved back a bit. What is going on here? He looked for another hour, Frank slept tight and looked relaxed. All the following writings were like he saw so many times before. So this was what had to come out? He got himself some more coffee to try and get his head clear. He googled the words but there were no hits. What sort of words were they? Suddenly he thought of his archeologic friend. Maybe he knows something about words like these. Mike had read many books about ancient civilizations and their rituals, maybe he could find something in one of them. The sun was rising by now and Frank was starting to move a little. Peterson moved over to him as he opened his eyes. “Feel any better?” “Much! I feel like I slept it off. I have no headache! That is, so far.” “That’s great! Shall I bring you some coffee?” “That would be swell. I am glad I came.” Five minutes later they were sitting in the lounge talking. Frank stretched out and yawned. “The best day of my life. You can’t imagine how heavy this pain was. But I think it is over now. Did you see anything that may have caused it?” “This is gonna sound silly, Frank, but I was watching your EEG-prints come onto the screen and they were all the same. Ten minutes like yesterday. Suddenly a change came. Normal sequences are just arches, but in this one words were actually written. Three words, I wrote them down.” He gave him the paper he wrote it on. “You see those words? After that the EEG didn’t produce the ten minute sequence anymore. All your further recordings look similar to what I see every day. It looks like your subconscience tried to tell you something. Do these words mean anything to you? I googled them but I got no hits.” Frank studied the words for some time. “They don’t mean anything to me. What did you make of them?” “I don’t have a clue too. But I know an archeologist who may be able to do something with them. You do remember Mike, don’t you?” “Oh, that imposter. Do we really have to visit him?” “You got a better idea? He knows a lot about old civilizations and knows many ancient languages. These words look like they might come from there.” “Yes. I’ll have to think about it for while. Just let me get some breakfast and more coffee, then I’ll decide.” Frank thought the whole story through, while trying to clear his head. After he felt strong enough about it they agreed the doctor would make the call. Mike and them would meet in two days, as Frank was still not sure how he would feel the coming days. That saturday they left for Mike, as Frank was feeling allright. “Wow! I didn’t know this guy had such a large house. I should have become an archeologist, I see. That pays much better than being a psychologist,” Frank said. “Yeah, just shut up about it to Mike. He doesn’t like references to his wealth. We are asking for his help, remember? So don’t get him excited.” “Agreed.” They stepped out of the car and walked up to the villa. They rang the bell and there was Mike. “Hi, Mike. Do you remember Frank?” “Hi there. Ah, yes, we met.” They shook hands while Mike walked them to the living room. Frank looked around in awe when he saw the swimming pool and the luxury around. “Nice place you got here, Mike.” “Thank you, it makes me feel right at home. No outsiders looking in, you see. Now, what brought you here? I don’t get a psychologist and a brainsurgeon visiting me every day, so this should be good.” “We have some words for you to look at that we don’t know. They came up on this paper,” Peterson said, as he handed the printout to Mike. “This is an EEG sequence.” Mike studied the sheet for some time. “Is it normal to have words in an EEG sequence?” “Far from it,” Peterson explained, “this is the first time I see words in them in all my years of looking at them.” “I see. But why did you come to me with this?” “We looked those words up over the internet and in our encyclopedia. We found no references to them. I thought that maybe you could find out what they meant. Maybe they come from an old language.” “Whose EEG is this?” “Frank’s.” He looked at Frank like he was guilty of something and stared for a while. “Hmmmm. stalaminecro, zelaminecro, sephaminecro. These words have one thing in common. Necro. Necro usually has to do with death or dark things. Many books are written around this theme, including magic, voodoo, esoterics, mysticism and so on. I may be able to help you but this will take some time. Shall we meet tomorrow the same time here? Then I will most likely have your answer. In the meantime don’t talk to anyone about this until tomorrow, ok?” “No problem,“ Peterson said. “Good luck!” “See you tomorrow, fellows,” Mike said as he walked them to the door. When Frank and Peterson drove home they talked about how strange it was that Mike didn’t want them to talk about it, but they agreed tomorrow they’ll probably find out. In the meantime Mike was exstatic. He picked up the Necronomicon * and laid it open at the large table, as it was a massive book. He looked for the chapter “words of power” and started reading. No words of power were actually in it, because those words were secret. Only the old warlocks were told these words by word of mouth. When Atlantis sank, so did the old magic. This book only told you which gestures you had to make before speaking a word of power. So he practiced the gestures a few times before he was going to try them out for real. He then took an old table, made those gestures, pointed at the table and cried out “stalaminecro”. The table disappeared for a few seconds. Then it was back in his old place. He tried it a few more times and got the same results. After that he tried out the other words. He tried and tried but nothing really happened. So he read the whole chapter again and again, but there was nothing he could find that would help him. So he tried different sequences of the gestures, spoke the words in the reverse way, did everything he could think of, but to no prevail. Well, at least I got something, he said to himself. They are going to be amazed tomorrow. He went through his whole library to try and find more ancient books about the subject. He also gave the internet a try, but nothing came up, no matter how much he read. So he went to sleep, tired of it all. The next day he stood up early and read all more, but as the time of arrival was closing in, he practised his trick a little more, with always the same result. The doorbell rang. Excited he stood up and let them in. “Welcome gentlemen. Have I got a surprise for you!” “Did you find anything?” Peterson asked. “Oh, yes! It may not look like much, but I don’t know exactly what the overall implications are. Just watch.” Frank and Peterson sat down as Mike grabbed the old table. He made the gestures and cried out “stalaminecro”. The table, of course, was gone for a while and then returned. The observers looked at each other in amazement and then looked at Mike a bit frightened. “How did you do that?” Frank asked. “Well, didn’t you see? I made some gestures and it disappeared and then it came back.” “Yes, but.” “Is this some kind of trick you made up to fool us?” Peterson asked. “This is no trick. It is a form of old magic. The warlocks from Atlantis knew this trick and many more. I guess that is why they are no longer here.” “How do you know this?” Frank asked. “I read it in a book.” “See, Frank, I told you he could help us. Do you know what the other words mean too?” “No, but I will try to find out. See my library? Many books to go through.” They looked around at the endless shelfs of ancient books. “Do you have any idea why the brain of Frank seemed to have released these words?” “Patience, my friends. In time this question may be answered.” “Do it again,” Frank asked. Mike did the same and the table left for a while and came back like nothing happened. Frank stood up and tried it too. Nothing happened. “You got to use the exact gestures, as every single gesture has a meaning, including the sequence,” Mike said. “Look.” He made the same gestures and this time he pointed to Frank. And surely he disappeared. But he didn’t come back! Anxiously Mike looked at Peterson while they both waited for him to come back. Peterson started to look angry, while staring down Mike. “What did you do to him?” “I don’t know, honestly. You saw the table. It came back. I don’t know why Frank isn’t back yet.” “I’m sure you don’t.” As Peterson was rising, Mike made an instant decision. He quickly made those gestures, pointed at Peterson and said “stalaminecro.” He disappeared into thin air. He was gone too. Mike tried to think about what went wrong but he didn’t have much time to think. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a person suddenly sitting there in the far corner of the living room. Mike startled and looked at him with wide open eyes. “Relax! Hahaha. I didn’t mean to scare you. I like the gifts you sent me.” Mike just stood there staring. “Come on, is this a way to greet your new friend? Sit down before you fall down, hahaha.” Mike fell back into the chair behind him. His face was white and he felt like all power left his body. “So you like to play with magic? I could teach you a few things. How about this trick?” The man made gestures so quick Mike couldn’t follow them and said “zelaminecro”. And surely, there were Frank and Peterson again. When they saw him they went straight for him, with murder in their eyes. Mike was too baffled to do anything, but the man made the two disappear again with the stalaminecrospell, before they could reach Mike. “See, I’m your friend, hahaha.” “Who are you?” Mike dared to ask. “Ah, you want a name. Yes, you people are so fond of names. Like you can’t remember who is who when you don’t give them a name. I got many names on earth. Where I come from there are no names. If you want to give me a name why don’t you call me master, hahaha.” The situation was getting out of hand for Mike. He felt that he had to do something. He quickly made the gestures and cried out “stalaminecro”. Nothing happened. “Hahahaha, I like you already! You are just the type of guy that is worth my attention. Shall I give you a quick vision of where you sent your two “friends” to?” He sent Mike into the other dimension for a second and let him return. Mike suddenly felt a boost of energy running through his body, but it was as if he was a changed man. He felt more powerful but also something else had changed that he couldn’t put his hand on. “Did you like it here?” “I am not sure. To me it seems nothing happened, except that I feel more energized.” “Oh, you changed a lot! Time will tell. He, who sees my world, will never be the same. Your going to be a real asset of this world. That is, in my opinion, hahaha. You will live for thousands of years, until I no longer need you or you mess it up yourself. You will be rich and will be the puppetmaster of the people behind the curtains.” “Are there more people you visit this way?” “Just a couple of thousand. We got to make this world somewhat fair, not? The people I don’t visit must have a little chance, or this world would get boring. That is what happened to Atlantis. These people knew too much and the world belonged to them. There is a fine balance that needs to be met, call it YingYang.” “How did you know that it would be me those two would come to?” “Do you know cause and effect? You people guess, but I know.” “What are you gonna do with them?” “You let me worry about that.” “So, who are you?” The man showed him some of his avatars by the third word of power, which Mike remembered all too well. He had seen those creatures in many books he read. “Oh, my god!” he exclaimed. “How nice of you to call me that! Hahahaha.” * reference to an old friend of mine, the writer H.P.Lovecraft and his imaginary book.

To my friend William and his girlfriend Skylla, and to all of you out there: "Match" For those of you loving symmetry, I have something to say for the sake of love. Churches are for weddings, funerals for th cemetery. It matters not, as long as you're happy, If you come from below, or from far above. Short goes with tall, I don't care what you say. Big goes with small, nature tells all the way. For with romance there is an attraction. Chess compares not, no not a fraction. Weak goes with strong, don't say I'm wrong. He denied interest, but loved her all along. Sweet is for bitter, like bitter-sweet chocolate. Boys go with Beauties, just accept the fate. The fate preferable above check mate. I tell you once more, I will not lie. Just simply go out and give it a try. Go now girl, he is your match. Go after her boy, she is your catch. I wrote this in two hours. I was inspired by my promise to write it in honor of my friend William & Skylla.

http://www.chess.com/forum/view/general/coaching-low-rated-english-teachers-in-exchange-for-tutoring also if we are of similar ratings I can play theametic games to help you

I just joined the group, so I thought I'd say hello! I'm a writer of western fiction and an avid chess player! Last year, my novel "Confessions of a Gunfighter" won best western of 2012 for Solstice Publishing. I'm glad I found this group! If you'd like to check out my author's page here the link.

When I was was younger I looked to the Hills and asked "where does my help come from?" and in reply came a wishper in the wind that said "your help comes from the Lord"

This forum is going to be for my poems, sonnets,etc. Feel free to comment on any of my work XXVIII.

a Story that I will update every few weeks.

And if sometime, she were to die, I'd trail after her, in her grave, or in the streets of hell. I'd break the heavens, for her sake, and upon god's heart I'd shout: You monster, give her back!

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I went to a Laureate poetry selection. I was at the library this Sunday and about sixty people were gathering around in a room. "What's the gathering for," I asked. "It’s the celebration & selection for the new Laureate." "Is it free?" "Yes, come and join us." I went and milled around and had a nice conversation with a women poet and writer. I decided to stay and see if I was able to comprehend the poetry that would be read. Since I generally can't understand some of the poetry because of the words used that can describe many things depending who reads it. I was surprised that six of the previous Laureates spoke and read a poem as a introduction to the new selection, I liked them. All of them didn't have short rhyming verses, they were short easy to follow descriptive narrative. They actually just told a story about a selected specific theme and they stayed on it with easy to understand language. I thought, "Hey, I can do that," I thought as I applauded when each poet finished their poetry, and welcomed the next poet of six. Finally the new selected Laurette for the next two year was welcomed. I had been given an invitation to a Tuesday night appearance at a local place where he would be the only poet. He started with a lot of humor and everyone laughed and smiled at his wit, including myself. Then after his entire intro, he started reading poems he had written from the three books on sale at the desk I was seating at. Oops, . . . his poetry was one that had short stances and they rhymed, and kept repeating the first line with the last line. His delivery wasn't a subtle and gentle as the previous poets. It was sometimes loud and to me annoying. I sat through five of his poems. I know I had applauded the other poets. I applauded his first poems then I decided that I didn't like the second, the third, the fourth, and the fifth. I gathered my stuff stood up and left the room before he started on the sixth poem. I notice that at least four other people also left. I thanked the person at the door and made my exist. I took my brochure to attend future readings on Tuesday evening in Healdsburg and maybe It would inspire me to improve on my poetry that I have written and stop trying to always be witty and just make good endings to my poetry. What do you people think is the best, the rhyming or a narrative poem that tells or shows a scene? Do you think that delivery of the poet is as important and as the content? Do you think if you are a bad deliverer of poems, it's okay to ask someone else to read it for you? Maybe I am all wrong in the observations I found and I wrote about above. Did I not allow for differences for the delivery? Should I give that poet another try? Should I read his stuff for myself? Thank you, poets. From a writer who is not a poet, YET! DENVER

Hi, Interesting read. Besides a good pen and copy book, a broken heart and some cognac let me write my best poems years ago. The slow death of handwriting Christmas cards, shopping lists and what else? The occasions in which we write by hand are fewer and fewer, says Neil Hallows. So is the ancient art form of handwriting dying out? A century from now, our handwriting may only be legible to experts. For some, that is already the case. But writer Kitty Burns Florey says the art of handwriting is declining so fast that ordinary, joined-up script may become as hard to read as a medieval manuscript. "When your great-great-grandchildren find that letter of yours in the attic, they'll have to take it to a specialist, an old guy at the library who would decipher the strange symbols for them," says Ms Florey, author of the newly-published Script and Scribble: The Rise and Fall of Handwriting. FAMOUS HANDWRITING King Henry VIII wrote this love letter to Anne Boleyn (pic: British Library) Jane Austen completed her last novel, Persuasion, in 1816 In 1864, Lewis Carroll wrote his most famous work for Alice Liddell. Aged 16, Winston Churchill wrote to his mother Lady Randolph Churchill Jimi Hendrix's lyrics for Machine Gun were written in 1969 BACK 1 of 5 NEXT She argues that children - if not this generation then one soon to come - may grow up using only a crude form of printing for the rare occasions in life they need to communicate by pen. The way handwriting is taught has undoubtedly changed. At Ms Florey's school in 1950s America, a nun beat time with a stick as the class copied letters from the blackboard. It was not a place for individuals. There was a right way to form letters and very many wrong ways. For much of the last century British schools ran in a similar way. At my primary school in the 1970s, whole classes were devoted to work being "written up for best" and I remember a story coming back unmarked because I had crossed out a single word. I wonder what my teachers would have made of a James Joyce manuscript. Crossing 7s Many found the experience tedious, but for left-handers it could be torture. Often they were forced to write with their right, while their "bad" hand was tied down. More than a century of children turning out letters by the yard produced a great conformity. In the 1940s Ealing drama, Went The Day Well?, a contingent of German soldiers sets up camp in the English countryside, disguised as Royal Engineers. One reason they get rumbled is that a soldier writes a "7" with a line through it. "Why should they form their figures in a continental way?" a villager asks. If everything we do still had to be done by hand, there would not be enough hours in the day Registrar Ruth Hodson Send us your handwriting These days, the shape of a child's ovals, loops and slants matters less than what they write. "Content is everything," says Mark Brown, head teacher of St Mary's Catholic Primary School in Axminster, Devon. "The emphasis is much more on having a go, and expressing yourself, and getting the ideas down." He says letter formation is still taught in the early years of primary school, but the appearance of handwriting takes less of a priority as children get older, provided it remains legible. Some parents expect handwriting to be drilled in the same way as they experienced themselves, but Mr Brown argues the content of children's writing has significantly improved as a result of the change in emphasis, and that they write far more at school than they will as adults. Scrawling So once we leave school, does it really matter? Apart from the odd shopping list, do people still need to use a pen? Some do. Registrars of births, deaths and marriages have been recording life's significant events in their usually impeccable writing since 1837. Writer's hand: Not a word crossed out in this instance of Neil Hallows' writing "All registrars are conscious that they follow a long and noble tradition," says Ruth Hodson, interim registration manager for Peterborough City Council. But even their fountain pens will soon barely be heard scratching on the registers. Under a modernisation programme, an increasing amount of the information is being entered directly on to a computer. Ms Hodson is unsentimental. "If everything we do still had to be done by hand, there would not be enough hours in the day." But perhaps handwriting gains its greatest importance when it is least legible. The reputation of doctors for scrawling was enhanced by a study in the British Medical Journal which found medics' writing was considerably worse than other healthcare workers or administrative staff. Poor writing has often been blamed for medication errors. Gwyn Williams, a junior doctor in Carmarthen, says that despite technological advances, a great deal of clinical communication is still handwritten. Remember this? "We have to write so much, on so many occasions, with the clock ticking. The end result is so difficult to interpret that even I have to concentrate on occasions to work out what [I have written]. "There doesn't seem to be any other logical way of doing it. Typing clinical notes on a computer seems so cumbersome in the limited time available that I can't see how it would work." In many jobs though, a person can go for months, even years, writing only the odd phone message in their own script. Nevertheless, some employers still ask for a handwritten application, or a sample of writing, although the Chartered Institute of Personnel and Development warns employers they need to be clear about the reason for that, to avoid accusations of discrimination. 10-page letters There are those who see handwriting's slip in educational priority and increasingly eccentric role in the workplace as evidence that, in the West at least, we are forgetting an ancient art form. A panic, perhaps, and one witnessed every time the dominant style of writing changed or a new form of technology seemed to threaten it. An early typewriter led the Scientific American in 1867 to marvel that "the weary process of learning penmanship in schools will be reduced to [writing] one's own signature and playing on the literary piano". Maybe a couple of times a week [pupils] could produce something handwritten that is judged partly on its legibility, or even its beauty Kitty Burns Florey But look at the decline in letter writing. The students I knew two decades ago who knocked out 10-page letters during a morning in bed have probably not yet written 10 pages of handwritten prose of any kind this year. For Ms Florey, the answer should start in the classroom. Not a return to the nuns with sticks, but for children to value handwriting by learning a simple, legible, attractive script from the start - in her view a form of italic - and then keep reinforcing it beyond the early years. "Maybe a couple of times a week [pupils] could produce something handwritten that is judged partly on its legibility, or even its beauty." Adults too can improve their writing, in a matter of weeks with a textbook and expert advice. Apple co-founder Steve Jobs has said that if he had not taken a calligraphy course at college, he would not have thought of putting multiple typefaces on the Mac. Perhaps the best argument for keeping our pens is that otherwise, in a society that is recorded in more detail than any which came before it, we will leave plenty of data but very little of our personalities behind. Our descendants may struggle to read our letters, but they'll never even see most of our texts and e-mails. SHOW US YOUR HANDWRITING 1. Here are three examples of handwriting, courtesy of the Magazine team (in ascending order of readability) 2. We've written the pangram: "How quickly daft jumping zebras vex" and underneath our name and age 3. Now we want you to write the same sentence, with your name and age underneath 4. E-mail a picture or scan of your handwriting to yourpics@bbc.co.uk with the subject line "HANDWRITING", and we'll feature as many as possible

Out of respect: please only add that which is from the true voice. If not possible, due to time, death, or some other lacking of form, then be prudent and listen for some glimmer of truth that floats from a voice so enamored in the sound of meaning, that by unwilled desire it can only but stretch back into the soul of the voice and teach us of the fulfillment of the poetry's human purpose. Thank you. Enjoy!

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Hi my friend needs help with something. I have no idea what. But it is something about poetry... Hello all, Please give me a poem on foresight, vanity, pride and modesty Here are the FCAs: Each subject poem should have 12 lines They should have a elligible rhyme scheme At least 6 lines should have a simile or metaphor Please all, I will be in your debt and I will also offer someething special so please give poems on Foresight, vanity, pride, and modesty! Thank you! :)

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Hi You Writers! I thought I would let you know that I have posted a new piece in the forum. It is a fiction short story and I had to put it in two pieces because it is longer than what I usually do. Here is the link if you would like to read it. It's called: Death Rang My Doorbell and We Played Chess. Click on it. http://www.chess.com/forum/view/fun-with-chess/death-rang-my-doorbell-copy

It's not that difficult and cost very little. I did it.

of red and gold

Ahh . . . I that's better I gave him a computer instead of the typewriter that he had. I also added some paint to the roof of his dog house. Snoopy just said to me, "I find this PC slow and cumbersome. So I sent an e-mail to Santa Claus and asked him for a "ipad2" for Christmas." "Santa said his going to check his list twice!"