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> Today Is A Holiday....
JessicaLynn4
post May 30 2009, 04:54 AM
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Happy B-Day Tom! clap2.gif
Have some cake and keep fighting the capitalist devils!
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Guest_Tearz4Fearz_*
post Jun 1 2009, 06:36 AM
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Happy Birthday Tom!!

You're an amazing guitarist and hold a unique sound, for sure, I'm glad Rage is back together-but next time, go easy on the swears and cuss words eh? blink.gif anyway. .

Happy Birthday

clap2.gif
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JessicaLynn4
post Jun 4 2009, 04:06 PM
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It's not like Tom wrote the lyrics, that was Zack.
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JessicaLynn4
post Jun 4 2009, 06:55 PM
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I don't think you can say anything bad about Tom Morello even if you tried. He's a good man who cares about many people. I don't think they were as close as everyone says they were

This post has been edited by JessicaLynn4: Jun 4 2009, 07:25 PM
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Guest_Tearz4Fearz_*
post Jun 5 2009, 02:16 AM
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I'll tell you what, if you want to talk about Tom or Zack or their friendship or lack thereof, start a new thread. It is tacky to start a conversation on someone's BIRTHDAY THREAD. Show some class already, sheesh!

Happy Birthday Tom . . (and that's all)


Ciao.
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JessicaLynn4
post Jun 5 2009, 02:46 AM
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Don't tell me... if anyone... to show some class. I know what class is! You were the one who said that Mr. Harvard graduate needed to tone down his language in his next musical venture.

You really have a problem owning up to your own actions and enjoy pinning them on other people.

PS- NO ONE calls me tacky smile.gif
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lookme875
post Nov 8 2009, 11:38 PM
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It was the night before Christmas, and all through the evening I reminisced, fondly reliving past Christmases spent with my

family. As a second year nursing student, just nineteen, this was to be the first time I wouldn’t be home on Christmas.

Although I knew I would someday be working on Christmas, I never expected to feel this lonely.
Secluded in my room, I yearned for the mouth-watering aromas of mom’s freshly baked cookies, hot chocolate and love. The

absence of the usual giggling, slamming doors and ringing telephones made the dormitory seem cold and empty. The unappetizing

smell of disinfectant replaced my visions of cookies and cocoa.
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Standing in front of the mirror, I conversed with my reflection. “You wanted to be a nurse didn’t you? Well, you’re almost a

nurse. Now is your chance to find out what Christmas spirit really means.” Determined to make the best of it, I turned in

early.

“I’ll be home for Christmas. You can count on me...” My faithful clock-radio announced reveille as I slowly dragged myself

out of a toasty-warm bed. I trudged across the snow-filled street and grabbed a quick breakfast in the cafeteria before

reporting for duty on the medical-surgical unit.
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As I prepared to take vital signs on my first patient, I was startled by a robust voice that came from behind. “Merry

Christmas to you. Want anything from the cafeteria? I’m headed that way Missy.” As I took the stethoscope out of my ears and

turned around, from the dimly lit room I could see a gigantic, roly-poly elderly gentleman with long, curly hair, all decked

out in a bright red, plaid shirt tucked haphazardly into baggy red trousers. The trousers appeared to be held up by only two,

wide, fire-engine-red suspenders that had long since outlived their elasticity. This Santa Claus facsimile was standing in the

doorway waiting patiently for an answer to his query. The only thing missing was the beard.

As I looked toward the bright hallway lights from the darkened room, I thought for a moment that I was dreaming. “No thanks,”

I responded. “I just came on duty. I’ll grab something at lunch.”
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Before disappearing down the hall he added, “Name’s George. Just let me know what I can do for you, Missy. I’ll be right

back.”

As I cared for my patients, George was right alongside. I watched him spread holiday cheer as he became a guest to the patients

who had no visitors that day. When trays arrived he knew who needed assistance and who needed to be fed. He read letters and

cards to those whose eyes could no longer see the letters on a printed page. George’s powerful body and tender hands were

always ready to help hold, turn, pull-up or lift a patient. He was a “gopher” who made countless trips to the supply room for

the “needs of the moment.”

George also knew when to call for help. While reading a letter to Mr. Jenkins, George noticed that the patient suddenly started

to “look funny” and instantly ran to the nurse’s station to summon aid. Thanks to George’s swift action, we managed to

reverse the effects of an impending diabetic coma.
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Jovial George clearly enjoyed helping others while he spread cheer and told jokes -- the same jokes, over and over again, all

day long, one patient at a time. We all enjoyed his presence that Christmas day.

When I finally took my lunch break, I was surprised to find the cafeteria elaborately decorated for the season. I sat down next

to one of the staff nurses from the unit. During lunch with Andrea, I had the chance to ask a burning question. “Who is this

George fellow? And why is he here on Christmas Day?”

“About ten years ago, George’s wife became seriously ill. He spent almost every waking moment by her side. Those two

lovebirds were so devoted to one another. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for her.” Andrea stopped for a few moments,

sipping her coffee in silence, before continuing.
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“George started to visit other patients while his wife was sleeping or having treatments. He was here so much that he seemed

to take naturally to helping out wherever he could.”

My natural curiosity made me ask, “Does he have any family?”

A serious look came over Andrea’s face as she continued. “They never had children, and as far as I know, there are no

relatives. But you see, George watched his wife suffer for a very long time. He shared every second of her pain and anguish. On

Christmas Eve night, after I prepared his wife forleep, they prayed together. During the prayer, George promised his wife that

if God would take away her misery that night, by taking her ‘home,’ he would spend the rest of his life as a Christmas

volunteer.”

Andrea and I finished our lunch in silence.


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