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How to get them back after they break up with you,what to get your boyfriend for 5 year anniversary knife,looking for a girlfriend in hong kong - 2016 Feature

When it comes to breaking up, we're usually of the opinion that the person doing the dumping should at least have the decency to do it in person.
But the breakup texts in the slides below are so funny, we may have to reconsider our stance.
Tell us which breakup text is the best (and by "best" we really mean most awful) in the comments, then click through the slideshow below for 15 hilarious autocorrect fails from Damn You Autocorrects. Thanks for every thing i was so confused to send what to my boyfriend now i know to send what…. There was once a little Kid whose growing horns made him think he was a grown-up Billy Goat and able to take care of himself.
The Wolf liked the idea of a little music before eating, so he struck up a merry tune and the Kid leaped and frisked gaily. But as he opened his mouth to say these foolish words he lost his hold on the stick, and down he fell to the ground, where he was dashed to pieces on a rock. A Dog and a Cock, who were the best of friends, wished very much to see something of the world.
At nightfall the Cock, looking for a place to roost, as was his custom, spied nearby a hollow tree that he thought would do very nicely for a night's lodging. The hungry but unsuspecting Fox, went around the tree as he was told, and in a twinkling the Dog had seized him.
The Mice once called a meeting to decide on a plan to free themselves of their enemy, the Cat. An Eagle, swooping down on powerful wings, seized a lamb in her talons and made off with it to her nest.
The farmer climbed down from his seat and stood beside the wagon looking at it but without making the least effort to get it out of the rut. And when the farmer put his shoulder to the wheel and urged on the horses, the wagon moved very readily, and soon the Farmer was riding along in great content and with a good lesson learned.
A frisky young Kid had been left by the herdsman on the thatched roof of a sheep shelter to keep him out of harm's way.
After the meal the friends had a long talk, or rather the Town Mouse talked about her life in the city while the Country Mouse listened.
When they reached the mansion in which the Town Mouse lived, they found on the table in the dining room the leavings of a very fine banquet. The Country Mouse stopped in the Town Mouse's den only long enough to pick up her carpet bag and umbrella.
A Fox one day spied a beautiful bunch of ripe grapes hanging from a vine trained along the branches of a tree. One day when the quarreling had been much more violent than usual and each of the Sons was moping in a surly manner, he asked one of them to bring him a bundle of sticks.
When I went to Thrace in 1989 with my wife and 10-week-old daughter I employed my trusty technique for unearthing the local folk culture, which is to walk into the nearest likely place and ask.
He played in the Greek manner, with the drone balanced on the crook of his elbow and the chanter held forward. The following year my wife found out about an island in the Cyclades that a girl friend of hers was a regular visitor to, and where there were two traditional tsabounaides a€“ players of the island bagpipe. The whole holiday was, in fact, a catalogue of near-disasters (most of which I will not mention) but I relished each one because of the effort it required to renew my faith in providence and the Greek people, and the rewards I gained. The islands of the Cyclades each have two main villages, one on the sea edge and one on the top. Three more days passed while we explored the island, absorbing the warm spring sunshine and breathing the herb-scented air. With only one day to go before we had to leave for Piraeus I discovered that the ferry schedule we had been given was wrong; there was no ferry the next day.
When I speak highly of Greek music I need hardly say I'm not referring to modern bouzouki music, which is a rather empty style of playing derived from a more interesting but now largely defunct style of bar-room music called rembetika.
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So one evening when the flock started home from the pasture and his mother called, the Kid paid no heed and kept right on nibbling the tender grass. When he saw how gaily the birds flew about and how the Hare and the Chipmunk and all the other animals ran nimbly by, always eager to see everything there was to be seen, the Tortoise felt very sad and discontented. He seized the stick firmly with his teeth, the two Ducks took hold of it one at each end, and away they sailed up toward the clouds. But the little Frogs all declared that the monster was much, much bigger and the old Frog kept puffing herself out more and more until, all at once, she burst. So they decided to leave the farmyard and to set out into the world along the road that led to the woods. At least they wished to find some way of knowing when she was coming, so they might have time to run away. A Jackdaw saw the deed, and his silly head was filled with the idea that he was big and strong enough to do as the Eagle had done.
The horses could hardly drag the load through the deep mud, and at last came to a standstill when one of the wheels sank to the hub in a rut. The Kid was browsing near the edge of the roof, when he spied a Wolf and began to jeer at him, making faces and abusing him to his heart's content. For lunch the Country Mouse served wheat stalks, roots, and acorns, with a dash of cold water for drink.
They then went to bed in a cozy nest in the hedgerow and slept in quiet and comfort until morning. There were sweetmeats and jellies, pastries, delicious cheeses, indeed, the most tempting foods that a Mouse can imagine.


The grapes seemed ready to burst with juice, and the Fox's mouth watered as he gazed longingly at them.
No words he could say did the least good, so he cast about in his mind for some very striking example that should make them see that discord would lead them to misfortune. He was sure that she, with her long neck and bill, would easily be able to reach the bone and pull it out. From there you will be directed to someone who will know someone who will know someone, and with uncanny serendipity you are soon in the midst of a very satisfying experience.
With this posture he could release the chanter altogether during improvisations and bounce it rapidly on his thumb, executing a back-note trill which drew gasps of appreciation from the now-assembled audience.
Amazingly, both Mehmet's instrument and mine were exactly in tune a€“ B flat a€“ and as I knew some Thracian tunes we were able to play together, though his louder conical bore chanter swamped mine. Not least was the experience of sailing through the Cyclades, with islands appearing to left and right, gracefully recumbent, dozing in their translucent shroud of magic like jewels in the lustrous sea. That was all she could tell me, as she herself never went 'up' any more; she had a grievance against the 'up' villagers involving a stolen purse (the detailed story need not concern us here) and would not speak to them. I had been warned not to expect too much; it would be difficult to get him to play, the weather had to be right, he had to feel right, it had to be a special occasion. Aristidis kept time resolutely in a monotonous marching rhythm while Yiannoukos played a few notes with inaccurate tempo, stuck on one note for a bit and then played a few more. We breakfasted on fresh bread from the village bakery; Adrienne and I dined on local fish washed down with retsina. I could either hire another fishing boat to Ios ( if I could find anyone to take us) or get the next ferry to Santorini and fly to Athens from there. I waited outside the taverna as dusk fell and the last rays of the sun lit up the leaves of the vines growing above over the street. It was a modern one, with fruit machines and televisions in the comfortable lounge showing a Greek soap opera. There is an enormous variety of good folk music in Greece, some very sophisticated, demanding an acquired taste, and some quite simple.
They say that Jupiter punished him so, because he was such a lazy stay-at-home that he would not go to Jupiter's wedding, even when especially invited. He wanted to see the world too, and there he was with a house on his back and little short legs that could hardly drag him along. The old Frog soon missed the little one and asked his brothers and sisters what had become of him.
The two comrades traveled along in the very best of spirits and without meeting any adventure to speak of. He thought he was still in the farmyard where it had been his duty to arouse the household at daybreak. Indeed, something had to be done, for they lived in such constant fear of her claws that they hardly dared stir from their dens by night or day.
So with much rustling of feathers and a fierce air, he came down swiftly on the back of a large Ram.
There he stood, unwilling to give up a single filbert and yet unable to get them all out at once. The Town Mouse ate very sparingly, nibbling a little of this and a little of that, and by her manner making it very plain that she ate the simple food only to be polite.
In her sleep the Country Mouse dreamed she was a Town Mouse with all the luxuries and delights of city life that her friend had described for her. But just as the Country Mouse was about to nibble a dainty bit of pastry, she heard a Cat mew loudly and scratch at the door. So he walked off a short distance and took a running leap at it, only to fall short once more. In Xanthi, the provincial capital, things started happening when I spotted a small urchin standing on a street corner holding what looked suspiciously like part of a gaida drone.
He also had the trick of walking up to a seated listener whom he judged to be sympathetic and playing directly into his ear, more as an acknowledgement of the listener's interest than a direct appeal for money, though I'm not ashamed to say I responded to this gesture fairly liberally. All the boys were careless and funloving, attaching more importance to horseplay than they did to the business of earning a living. We alighted on Ios without knowing whether or not we would be able to get to our destination, Sikinos, which was visible close by, as there was no ferry. I got him to understand that I had come all the way from England to hear him play, and he agreed to oblige me that evening.
His reeds were not well tuned and the two pipes of his double chanter were in audible disagreement. In the midst of all these negotiations and the constant effort of keeping my family occupied and relatively comfortable, I knew I still had to track down the other piper, the elder brother.
The primitive traditional music of Sikinos was already a world away, as insubstantial now as the island itself, just a faint violet smudge on the horizon.
Adonis had gone to a nearby hut where he kept his tsabouna.A  He arrived, bringing the bagpipe and a toubi.
It's the weather, the sea, the islands, the food, the extraordinary light, the variety of experiences, the folk culture (especially the music) and most of all the people. Many of these traditions are very ancient indeed, having probably remained unchanged since early Byzantine or even Classical times. They recognized the song the Wolf sings before a feast, and in a moment they were racing back to the pasture.
But when he tried to rise again he found that he could not get away, for his claws were tangled in the wool. So the next day when the Town Mouse asked the Country Mouse to go home with her to the city, she gladly said yes.


In great fear the Mice scurried to a hiding place, where they lay quite still for a long time, hardly daring to breathe. Accompanied by an English-speaking student who had befriended us, I approached the young ragamuffin, examined the object and, after ascertaining that it was indeed what I had first thought, was conducted to the town square, where there was a small gang of travelling orphans living on the busking proceeds of their leader, a 14-year-old Turkish gypsy called Mehmet who came from Oresteia near the Turkish border. The bag of Mehmet's instrument was a large goatskin, very dilapidated and plugged with a saucer-sized wooden disk where it had been torn.
When anyone got some money it was immediately spent and the purchase shared among the gang without preference. But I had drunk enough retsina by that time to be generously disposed towards the musicians and applauded fulsomely when, after about fifteen minutes, the ragged improvisation came to a halt.
I made one last effort and got directions to the house of Anna Manala, the lady who spoke English. Adonis Kaboulas and his brother Yiannoukos are the last, definitely the last, exponents of an unbroken line of music stretching back into antiquity. I find in them a lively spirituality, a true pride of self, that I only occasionally find elsewhere.
The peculiar wailing music of Epirus and southern Albania is an example of one of those untouched traditions. The Wolf's song ended suddenly, and as he ran, with the Dogs at his heels, he called himself a fool for turning piper to please a Kid, when he should have stuck to his butcher's trade.
When at last they ventured back to the feast, the door opened suddenly and in came the servants to clear the table, followed by the House Dog. With one of the smaller boys playing expertly on the toubeleki drum, he proceeded to regale my ears with fine gaida music.
The chanter also was the worse for wear, with a piece of wood replacing a broken section between two of the finger holes. Mehmet possessed the quality which all people from that part of the world have, of rewarding sincerity with warmer sincerity. The Rough Guide to Greece says that the word malaka (wanker) is an affectionate term of abuse in Athens. He chatted and laughed with his young son as we dived into the billows, drenched with every bowspray; an ideal father-son relationship, relaxed and trusting. A middle-class, English-speaking Greek woman who lived on the island told me about the bagpipers. They have faults too, of course; they can be over-emotional, lazy, arrogant, but underlying it all is a richness of experiencing exemplified by Katsimbalis in Henry Miller's book The Colossus of Maroussi a€“ the attitude that 'life is interesting because I am living it'. Bagpipe music also, because of its inability to adapt to the demands of more recent musical trends, including ensemble playing, has retained a character that clarinet, violin, sandouri (hammered dulcimer) etc.
Mehmet spent a good deal of time mucking around with his chanter reed, scorching the tongue with a cigarette lighter and so on, but couldn't get it working to his satisfaction and eventually broke it with a resigned shrug. I quickly developed a strong affection for him and his scruffy entourage, and was sorry to leave Xanthi.
Outside the airport I used the word on a taxi driver who refused to take me, me wife, our daughter and my three daughters from a previous marriage together in his ample-sized vehicle. A young man sat down with them and began to sing along, at which point I realised that the apparently random sequences of notes that Yiannoukos was playing were actually tunes a€“ local traditional melodies.
She had heard that by good fortune Adonis was herding his goats in a nearby field and she would take me to see him, if he was still there.
But I particularly remember the innocent, untroubled expression on Adonis' face as he sang the simple old songs. But yes, at 8.30 he walked into the taverna carrying his tsambouna, accompaied by an old man in his 80s called Aristidis, who was going to play the toubi, a small snare drum. We struggled up the hillside on foot, over rocks and thorny scrub, and eventually came upon a small hut, ouside which an elderly man stood, raggedly dressed, leaning on a stick. He was a natural musician, playing with sensitivity and a superior technique to that of his brother, and his chanter pipes were in tune. Greeks nowadays love to rattle up and down the scale with great virtuosity, whereas the simple six-note tunes of gaida, tsabouna and tulum offer no such opportunities.
I was too cowardly to admit that I had been the cause of this inexplicable event until we were on the ferry and safely on our way.
We played together for the rest of the evening while the relaxed group of listeners chatted and joined in the songs. But Greek pipers do play with their own particular brands of skill and panache even if you have to be there to see it. The older brother Adonis was generally acknowledged to be the better piper, but in any case the islanders thought tsabouna music old-fashioned, preferring to listen to modern music on the radio. Anna hailed him cheerfully and launched into a long speech, while I stood smiling and nodding.
Anna told me that she had persuaded him to play for me that evening up in the village, and that he would meet me later at the port kafeneion.
The three brothers and two sisters were distributed among the families of the island as was the custom. When the adoptive parents of Adonis died he inherited their land as they had no children of their own, but he did nothing with it, preferring to pasture his small flock of goats around the island, moving from place to place.



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