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@dmadisetti /spam.js
Last active Aug 29, 2015

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What would you like to do?
dropcanco
dick="Call me Ishmael. Some years ago--never mind how long precisely--havinglittle or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me onshore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part ofthe world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulatingthe circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth;whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I findmyself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing upthe rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos getsuch an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle toprevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodicallyknocking people's hats off--then, I account it high time to get to seaas soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With aphilosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietlytake to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knewit, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish verynearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me.There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes, belted round bywharves as Indian isles by coral reefs--commerce surrounds it withher surf. Right and left, the streets take you waterward. Its extremedowntown is the battery, where that noble mole is washed by waves, andcooled by breezes, which a few hours previous were out of sight of land.Look at the crowds of water-gazers there.Circumambulate the city of a dreamy Sabbath afternoon. Go from CorlearsHook to Coenties Slip, and from thence, by Whitehall, northward. Whatdo you see?--Posted like silent sentinels all around the town, standthousands upon thousands of mortal men fixed in ocean reveries. Someleaning against the spiles; some seated upon the pier-heads; somelooking over the bulwarks of ships from China; some high aloft in therigging, as if striving to get a still better seaward peep. But theseare all landsmen; of week days pent up in lath and plaster--tied tocounters, nailed to benches, clinched to desks. How then is this? Arethe green fields gone? What do they here?But look! here come more crowds, pacing straight for the water, andseemingly bound for a dive. Strange! Nothing will content them but theextremest limit of the land; loitering under the shady lee of yonderwarehouses will not suffice. No. They must get just as nigh the wateras they possibly can without falling in. And there they stand--miles ofthem--leagues. Inlanders all, they come from lanes and alleys, streetsand avenues--north, east, south, and west. Yet here they all unite.Tell me, does the magnetic virtue of the needles of the compasses of allthose ships attract them thither?of the needles of the compasses of all those ships attract them thither?".split(".");
function call(i){
xhr = new XMLHttpRequest();
xhr.onreadystatechange=function(){
if (xhr.readyState==4 && xhr.status==200) call(i+1);
}
xhr.open('POST','postmessage.php',true);
xhr.setRequestHeader("Content-type", "application/x-www-form-urlencoded");
xhr.send("message=*gold"+dick[i]);
}
call(0)
@dmadisetti

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dmadisetti commented Jun 23, 2015

What a whale of a troll.

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