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I’m the man in the box Buried in my **** Won’t you come and save me Save me... FEED MY EYES Can you sew them shut? JESUS CHRIST Deny your maker HE WHO TRIES Will be wasted OH FEED MY EYES Now you’ve sewn them shut I’m the dog who gets beat Shove my nose in **** Won’t you come and save me Save...

Her sugar walls?

Me @ a lot of the stuff I listen to. :P

I literally had a dream last night that the thread was brought back. Dang.

We’re still waiting for more of your MCF history lessons! Those were the best. Quarantine would make for a good time to resurrect that thread.

At last we rose and dressed; and Queequeg, taking a prodigiously hearty breakfast of chowders of all sorts, so that the landlady should not make much profit by reason of his Ramadan, we sallied out to board the Pequod, sauntering along, and picking our teeth with halibut bones.

He looked at me with a sort of condescending concern and compassion, as though he thought it a great pity that such a sensible young man should be so hopelessly lost to evangelical pagan piety.

Because, in the first place, he somehow seemed dull of hearing on that important subject, unless considered from his own point of view; and, in the second place, he did not more than one third understand me, couch my ideas simply as I would; and, finally, no doubt thought he knew a good deal...

After all, I do not think that my remarks about religion made much impression upon Queequeg.

I had seen a sailor who had visited that very island, and he told me that it was the custom, when a great battle had been gained there, to barbecue all the slain in the yard or garden of the victor; and then, one by one, they were placed in great wooden trenchers, and garnished round like a...

"No more, Queequeg," said I, shuddering; "that will do;" for I knew the inferences without his further hinting them.

It was after a great feast given by his father the king, on the gaining of a great battle wherein fifty of the enemy had been killed by about two o'clock in the afternoon, and all cooked and eaten that very evening.

He said no; only upon one memorable occasion.

I then asked Queequeg whether he himself was ever troubled with dyspepsia; expressing the idea very plainly, so that he could take it in.

In one word, Queequeg, said I, rather digressively; **** is an idea first born on an undigested apple-dumpling; and since then perpetuated through the hereditary dyspepsias nurtured by Ramadans.

This is the reason why most dyspeptic religionists cherish such melancholy notions about their hereafters.

Besides, argued I, fasting makes the body cave in; hence the spirit caves in; and all thoughts born of a fast must necessarily be half-starved.

I told him, too, that he being in other things such an extremely sensible and sagacious savage, it pained me, very badly pained me, to see him now so deplorably foolish about this ridiculous Ramadan of his.

I then went on, beginning with the rise and progress of the primitive religions, and coming down to the various religions of the present time, during which time I laboured to show Queeqeug that all these Lents, Ramadans, and prolonged ham-squattings in cold, cheerless rooms were stark nonsense...

"Queequeg," said I, "get into bed now, and lie and listen to me."