QUICKEST WAYS TO LOOSE WEIGHT : CALORIE CONVERSION TABLE : ORGANIC WEIGHT LOSS MEAL PLAN.
Quickest Ways To Loose Weight
- Moving fast or doing something in a short time
- Lasting or taking a short time
- Happening with little or no delay: prompt
- most quickly
- The force exerted on the mass of a body by a gravitational field
- The quality of being heavy
- slant: present with a bias; "He biased his presentation so as to please the share holders"
- the vertical force exerted by a mass as a result of gravity
- A body's relative mass or the quantity of matter contained by it, giving rise to a downward force; the heaviness of a person or thing
- burden: weight down with a load
- free: grant freedom to; free from confinement
- Set free; release
- Relax (one's grip)
- without restraint; "cows in India are running loose"
- Untie; unfasten
- not compact or dense in structure or arrangement; "loose gravel"
- structure consisting of a sloping way down to the water from the place where ships are built or repaired
- (way) to a great degree or by a great distance; very much (`right smart' is regional in the United States); "way over budget"; "way off base"; "the other side of the hill is right smart steeper than the side we are on"
- Forming adjectives and adverbs of direction or manner
- (way) manner: how something is done or how it happens; "her dignified manner"; "his rapid manner of talking"; "their nomadic mode of existence"; "in the characteristic New York style"; "a lonely way of life"; "in an abrasive fashion"
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The friction of fiction: chpt. I
Warning: Mature content
Outside of my little anime script Syndicate I haven’t done much in the form of fiction on here really. The other night I had well, more then just a few things trucken’ through my mind. Things I probably should not have been thinking about when my mind had clearly reached and surpassed a state that most assuredly suggested I should have been in a deep slumber hours earlier, rather then pacing around the dark confides of my house, the result was rather than sleeping, I sat myself down in front of this here fine piece of modern technology and began writing out those particular frustrations that were making sleep so ridiculously difficult, in the form of, you guessed it, fiction. I figured this morning, I might as well make my offering to you folks in the form of the said piece of pretentious over tired rambling’s. Enjoy.
Rocks. Big, bolder like, rough edged, rocks. That figures. It was well enough for now, there had been plenty of thoughts dribbling through Art’s mind during the ride, and not a single one of them had consisted of or even remotely revolved around rocks of any shape or size. Most of his thoughts had been concentrated around the conversation he’d had with Baptiste on the fourth. He’d written the entire thing off as little more then crazy talk from a life long loon, he only in private referred to as friend. The message that had been passed along to him had taken even less regard. Art hadn’t even taken the time to read it. It hadn’t meant anything to him at the time, but the retrospect factor of it all had him yearning for a much more coherent sense of patience in his estrange companion. Why had Baptiste not mentioned rocks? Had there been mention of large unfriendly looking rocks, Art might have taken Baptiste’s pearls of wisdom far more seriously. Perhaps even to the profoundly concerned level that he was feeling when he’d first laid eyes on them after the blind fold was removed.
What was it Baptiste had said? He hadn’t been listening. The tapestry of Joan of Arc, next to the wardrobe had drawn his attention away from the old mans rambling’s somewhere between "Art", and "If ever there was a time to truly listen to me, now is that time." Wasn’t there something about a divine intervention, or was it, a keystone is only worth it’s weight in supports. There had been mention of that, Art was certain of it, but none of it like any of their previous conversations had ever added up to anything. It made little difference now, Art was confident in that there had not been any mention of rocks.
Still, there was a need for professionalism regardless of the situation. There was no getting away from it. Image had to be maintained whether Baptiste had mentioned it or not. A shrug, a grimace, and then a very nonchalant smirk. "That’s bogus."
"Don’t try to stick me Art. We’re burning daylight here." It was the Suit. The suit that didn’t fit. It sagged in the shoulders, and was very uncomplimentary to the fellows waist line. Art never liked suits, they never felt right on him. The last one he’d tried on seemed to ride, and left little to no room for him to cruise. He’d passed it off, despite the insult, in favor of his faded denims and "Billabong" tee shirt. Maybe it wasn’t the suit. Maybe it had been the seamstress. Maybe it had been the insult he knew he’d issued by refusing it. The Suit liked his suit. He always wore that suit. In any case Art knew he did not like this suit.
Taking a moment to let his eye’s adjust to the fading sun light, Art fished around in his pocket for the small green postit he’d shoved in his pocket two days earlier. There hadn’t been enough loose change in the pickle jar to do laundry, so he knew it would most assuredly still be there. It had been the one thing this week that had gone his way. Sure enough there it was, and he pulled it out with the disregard one would with an old receipt for a pack of smokes. A quick glance is all he would have time for. The short near illegible message had been written in a frantic manner, before Baptiste had with near religious passion folded into an unrecognizable origami shape that was now little more then a wad. There was time for only one quick glance, and then the Suit would most assuredly be onto him. Dropping his eyes to the wad of green paper, Art took in a deep foreboding breath. Clearly he was not long for this world and it’s over abundance of uniquely shaped and sized rocks, if there was not something with in the message that could in one way or another bail him out of this jam. Clearly any chance he had of getting out of this now resided in the small message Baptiste had written for him. Squinting his eyes all he could make out in the failing light was "Stay 1 Red".
"Stay 1 Red?" He could not refrain himself from repeating it out right. Surely Baptiste had said some crazy things in the lengthy amount of time Art had known him, but
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