18.11.11 / sex drugs / Author: admin / Comments: (0)
Tags: cialis medicine, maxman, Satibo
You know what I want in a sex? Most women like sex process is like? Tell you now. First, before the live.maxman
Woman prelude, is to meet the man of the moment, or meet a man of the moment. Woman in love, will the situation into her ‘.
If a man is not and she in a covered with confusion and to end“ battle “, then, the first flowers to her! No money Maiyi beam, buy a flower! When you see a woman with a gift; spare time, learn a lot of love stories as described, to accompany her for a walk, talk, giving the woman a any woman love ’s embrace.
Voice: women need these, if not, a woman will dislike, unless she and the man is a“ trading“.
The men, please take some time, before sex and women romantically together, and her sexual fantasy to produce resonance, so she put it all into the love and sex.
In second, the prelude.
The prelude, must be very, very full prelude. Many a man of woman do, not excited, he spit point slobber what to replace woman secretions, a woman can not objectionable?cialis medicine
Even if a man can make her orgasm, she is still not satisfied, the climax without quality. Because, this is just her body instinct climax, does not represent her mental climax. For a woman, her mental climax, more than physical instinct climax is also important. (a woman’s orgasm, should be a kind of“ climax“, including the“ hardware“ and“ software“, then the physical and psychological climax. )
In the novel, often a man when making love, kiss woman whole body description. In fact, the man does not need any sex, have to kiss the woman’s body, but can use the touch of her body or kiss her ear especially sucking her ear to replace.
Tips: a deaf woman is the most sensitive places, women most likely influenced by language teaser. Praise her! Even if she is not very beautiful, but also to praise her. The intentions of the “Chinese Dictionary“ includes all the most beautiful idiom, brave any most disgusting words to praise her; but we should pay attention to the tone of your voice, to make her seem in a misty dream. A man may be joking, don’t like soldiers drilling as a sullen face, make the atmosphere relaxed a bit!satibo
25.10.11 / Chinese medicine / Author: admin / Comments: (0)
Tags: Spanische Fliege, zhong hua niu bian
Many years passed and the young man was very successful in business. He had a beautiful home and a wonderful family, but realizing his father was very old, he thought perhaps he should go to see him. He had not seen him since that graduation day. Before he could make the arrangements, he received a telegram telling him his father had passed away, and willed all of his possessions to his son. He needed to come home immediately and take care of things.Spanische Fliege
When he arrived at his father’s house, sudden sadness and regret filled his heart. He began to search through his father’s important papers and saw the still new Bible, just as he had left it years ago. With tears, he opened the Bible and began to turn the pages. As he was reading, a car key dropped from the back of the Bible. It had a tag with the dealer’s name, the same dealer who had the sports car he had desired. On the tag was the date of his graduation, and the words… “PAID IN FULL”.
A young man was getting ready to graduate from college. For many months he had admired a beautiful sports car in a dealer’s showroom, and knowing his father could well afford it, he told him that was all he wanted.
As Graduation Day approached, the young man awaited signs that his father had purchased the car. Finally, on the morning of his graduation, his father called him into his private study. His father told him how proud he was to have such a fine son, and told him how much he loved him. He handed his son a beautiful wrapped gift box. Curious, but somewhat disappointed, the young man opened the box and found a lovely, leather-bound Bible, with the young man’s name embossed in gold. Angrily, he raised his voice to his father and said, “With all your money you give me a Bible?” He then stormed out of the house, leaving the Bible.zhong hua niu bian
How many times do we miss blessings because they are not packaged as we expected? Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not; but remember that what you now have was once among the things you only hoped for.
Sometimes we don’t realize the good fortune we have or we could have because we expect “the packaging” to be different. What may appear as bad fortune may in fact be the door that is just waiting to be opened.
26.09.11 / erectile dysfunction medicine / Author: admin / 评论关闭
Tags: Menroe888, Pilose Antler Shenbao, Super Penis Enlarging
It was Christmas 1961. I was teaching in a small town in Ohio where my twenty-seven third graders eagerly anticipated the great day of gifts giving.Menroe888
A tree covered with tinsel and gaudy paper chains graced one corner. In another rested a manger scene produced from cardboard and poster paints by chubby, and sometimes grubby, hands. Someone had brought a doll and placed it on the straw in the cardboard box that served as the manger. It didn’t matter that you could pull a string and hear the blue-eyed, golden-haired dolly say, “My name is Susie.” “But Jesus was a boy baby!” one of the boys proclaimed. Nonetheless, Susie stayed.
The day of gift-giving finally came. We oohed and aahed over our handiwork as the presents were exchanged. Through it all, she sat quietly watching. I had made a special pouch for her, red and green with white lace. I wanted very much to see her smile. She opened the package so slowly and carefully. I waited but she turned away. I had not penetrated the wall of isolation she had built around herself.Pilose Antler Shenbao
After school the children left in little groups, chattering about the great day yet to come when long-hoped-for two-wheelers and bright sleds would appear beside their trees at home. She lingered, watching them bundle up and go out the door. I sat down in a child-sized chair to catch my breath, hardly aware of what was happening, when she came to me with outstretched hands, bearing a small white box, unwrapped and slightly soiled, as though it had been held many times by unwashed, childish hands. She said nothing. “For me?” I asked with a weak smile. She said not a word, but nodded her head. I took the box and gingerly opened it. There inside, glistening green, a fried marble hung from a golden chain. Then I looked into that elderly eight-year-old face and saw the question in her dark brown eyes. In a flash I knew — she had made it for her mother, a mother she would never see again, a mother who would never hold her or brush her hair or share a funny story, a mother who would never again hear her childish joys or sorrows. A mother who had taken her own life just three weeks before.
I held out the chain. She took it in both her hands, reached forward, and secured the simple clasp at the back of my neck. She stepped back then as if to see that all was well. I looked down at the shiny piece of glass and the tarnished golden chain, then back at the giver. I meant it when I whispered,” Oh, Maria, it is so beautiful. She would have loved it.” Neither of us could stop the tears. She stumbled into my arms and we wept together. And for that brief moment I became her mother, for she had given me the greatest gift of all: herself.Each day the children produced some new wonder — strings of popcorn, hand-made trinkets, and German bells made from wallpaper samples, which we hung from the ceiling. Through it all she remained aloof, watching from afar, seemingly miles away. I wondered what would happen to this quiet child, once so happy, now so suddenly withdrawn. I hoped the festivities would appeal to her. But nothing did. We made cards and gifts for mothers and dads, for sisters and brothers, for grandparents, and for each other. At home the students made the popular fried marbles and vied with one another to bring in the prettiest ones. ” You put them in a hot frying pan, Teacher. And you let them get real hot, and then you watch what happens inside. But you don’t fry them too long or they break.” So, as my gift to them, I made each of my students a little pouch for carrying their fried marbles. And I knew they had each made something for me: bookmarks carefully cut, colored, and sometimes pasted together; cards and special drawings; liquid embroidery doilies, hand-fringed, of course.Super Penis Enlarging
02.09.11 / erectile dysfunction medicine / Author: admin / Comments: (0)
Tags: Menroe888, Procomil Spray
When I was a puppy, I entertained you with my antics and made you laugh. You called me your child, and despite a number of chewed shoes and a couple of murdered throw pillows, I became your best friend. Whenever I was “bad,” you’d shake your finger at me and ask “How could you?”-but then you’d relent, and roll me over for a belly rub.Procomil Spray
Perhaps because she understood my dogspeak, she said “I’m so sorry.” She hugged me, and hurriedly explained it was her job to make sure I went to a better place, where I wouldn’t be ignored or abused or abandoned, or have to fend for myself-a place of love and light so very different from this earthly place.
And with my last bit of energy, I tried to convey to her with a thump of my tail that my “How could you?” was not directed at her. It was you, My Beloved Master, I was thinking of. I will think of you and wait for you forever. May everyone in your life continue to show you so much loyalty.
My housebreaking took a little longer than expected, because you were terribly busy, but we worked on that together. I remember those nights of nuzzling you in bed and listening to your confidences and secret dreams, and I believed that life could not be any more perfect. We went for long walks and runs in the park, car rides, stops for ice cream (I only got the cone because “ice cream is bad for dogs,” you said), and I took long naps in the sun waiting for you to come home at the end of the day.
Gradually, you began spending more time at work and on your career, and more time searching for a human mate. I waited for you patiently, comforted you through heartbreaks and disappointments, never chided you about bad decisions, and romped with glee at your homecomings, and when you fell in love. She, now your wife, is not a “dog person”-still I welcomed her into our home, tried to show her affection, and obeyed her. I was happy because you were happy.
Then the human babies came along and I shared your excitement. I was fascinated by their pinkness, how they smelled, and I wanted to mother them, too. Only she and you worried that I might hurt them, and I spent most of my time banished to another room, or to a dog crate. Oh, how I wanted to love them, but I became a “prisoner of love.” As they began to grow, I became their friend. They clung to my fur and pulled themselves up on wobbly legs, poked fingers in my eyes, investigated my ears, and gave me kisses on my nose. I loved everything about them and their touch-because your touch was now so infrequent-and I would have defended them with my life if need be. I would sneak into their beds and listen to their worries and secret dreams, and together we waited for the sound of your car in the driveway.
There had been a time, when others asked you if you had a dog, that you produced a photo of me from your wallet and told them stories about me. These past few years, you just answered “yes” and changed the subject. I had gone from being “your dog” to “just a dog,” and you resented every expenditure on my behalf. Now, you have a new career opportunity in another city, and you and they will be moving to an apartment that does not allow pets. You’ve made the right decision for your “family,” but there was a time when I was your only family.
I was excited about the car ride until we arrived at the animal shelter. It smelled of dogs and cats, of fear, of hopelessness. You filled out the paperwork and said “I know you will find a good home for her”. They shrugged and gave you a pained look. They understand the realities facing a middle-aged dog, even one with “papers”. You had to pry your son’s fingers loose from my collar, as he screamed “No, Daddy. Please don’t let them take my dog!” And I worried for him, and what lessons you had just taught him about friendship and loyalty, about love and responsibility, and about respect for all life.
You gave me a good-bye pat on the head, avoided my eyes, and politely refused to take my collar and leash with you. You had a deadline to meet and now I have one, too. After you left, the two nice ladies said you probably knew about your upcoming move months ago and made no attempt to find me another good home. They shook their heads and asked “How could you?”
They are as attentive to us here in the shelter as their busy schedules allow. They feed us, of course, but I lost my appetite days ago. At first, whenever anyone passed my pen, I rushed to the front, hoping it was you-that you had changed your mind-that this was all a bad dream…or I hoped it would at least be someone who cared, anyone who might save me. When I realized I could not compete with the frolicking for attention of happy puppies, oblivious to their own fate, I retreated to a far corner and waited.
I heard her footsteps as she came for me at the end of the day, and I padded along the aisle after her to a separate room. A blissfully quiet room. She placed me on the table and rubbed my ears, and told me not to worry. My heart pounded in anticipation of what was to come, but there was also a sense of relief. The prisoner of love had run out of days. As is my nature, I was more concerned about her. The burden which she bears weighs heavily on her, and I know that, the same way I knew your every mood. She gently placed a tourniquet around my foreleg as a tear ran down her cheek. I licked her hand in the same way I used to comfort you so many years ago. She expertly slid the hypodermic needle into my vein. As I felt the sting and the cool liquid coursing through my body, I lay down sleepily, looked into her kind eyes and murmured “How could you?”Menroe888
17.08.11 / erectile dysfunction medicine / Author: admin / 评论关闭
Tags: Ju Ren Bei Zeng, Menroe888
I woke up early today, excited over all I get to do before the clock strikes midnight. I have responsibilities to fulfill today. I am important.
My job is to choose what kind of day I am going to have.Menroe888
Today I can complain because the weather is rainy or I can be thankful that the grass is getting watered for free.
Today I can feel sad that I don’t have more money or I can be glad that my finances encourage me to plan my purchases wisely and guide me away from waste.
Today I can grumble about my health or I can rejoice that I am alive.
Today I can lament over all that my parents didn’t give me when I was growing up or I can feel grateful that they allowed me to be born.
Today I can cry because roses have thorns or I can celebrate that thorns have roses.
Today I can mourn my lack of friends or I can excitedly embark upon a quest to discover new relationships.
Today I can whine because I have to go to work or I can shout for joy because I have a job to do.
Today I can murmur dejectedly because I have to do housework or I can feel honored because the Lord has provided shelter for my mind, body and soul.
Today stretches ahead of me, waiting to be shaped. And here I am, the sculptor who gets to do the shaping.
What today will be like is up to me. I get to choose what kind of day I will have!Ju Ren Bei Zeng
26.07.11 / erectile dysfunction medicine / Author: admin / 评论关闭
Tags: flower yilly, Wodibo
It is a commonplace among moralists that you cannot get happiness by pursuing it. This is only true if you pursue it unwisely. Wodibo Gamblers at Monte Carlo are pursuing money, and most of them lose it instead, but there are other ways of pursuing money which often succeed. So it is with happiness. If you pursue it by means of drink, you are forgetting the hang-over. Epicurus pursued it by living only in congenial society and eating only dry bread, supplemented by a little cheese on feast days. His method proved successful in his case, but he was a valetudinarian , and most people would need something more vigorous. For most people, the pursuit of happiness, unless supplemented in various ways, is too abstract and theoretical to be adequate as a personal rule of life. But I think that whatever personal rule of life you may choose it should not, except in rare and heroic cases, be incompatible with happiness.
There are a great many people who have all the material conditions of happiness, i.e. health and a sufficient income, and who, nevertheless, are profoundly unhappy. In such cases it would seem as if the fault must lie with a wrong theory as to how to live. In one sense, we may say that any theory as to how to live is wrong. We imagine ourselves more different from the animals than we are. Animals live on impulse, and are happy as long as external conditions are favorable. If you have a cat it will enjoy life if it has food and warmth and opportunities for an occasional night on the tiles. Your needs are more complex than those of your cat, but they still have their basis in instinct. In civilized societies, especially in English-speaking societies, this is too apt to be forgotten. People propose to themselves some one paramount（最重要的） objective, and restrain all impulses that do not minister to it. A businessman may be so anxious to grow rich that to this end he sacrifices health and private affections. When at last he has become rich, no pleasure remains to him except harrying other people by exhortations to imitate his noble example. Many rich ladies, although nature has not endowed them with any spontaneous pleasure in literature or art, decide to be thought cultured, and spend boring hours learning the right thing to say about fashionable new books that are written to give delight, not to afford opportunities for dusty snobbism .
If you look around at the men and women whom you can call happy, you will see that they all have certain things in common. The most important of these things is an activity which at most gradually builds up something that you are glad to see coming into existence. Women who take an instinctive pleasure in their children can get this kind of satisfaction out of bringing up a family. Artists and authors and men of science get happiness in this way if their own work seems good to them. But there are many humbler forms of the same kind of pleasure. Many men who spend their working life in the city devote their weekends to voluntary and unremunerated toil in their gardens, and when the spring comes, they experience all the joys of having created beauty.
The whole subject of happiness has, in my opinion, been treated too solemnly. It had been thought that man cannot be happy without a theory of life or a religion. Perhaps those who have been rendered unhappy by a bad theory may need a better theory to help them to recovery, just as you may need a tonic when you have been ill. But when things are normal a man should be healthy without a tonic and happy without a theory. It is the simple things that really matter. If a man delights in his wife and children, has success in work, and finds pleasure in the alternation of day and night, spring and autumn, he will be happy whatever his philosophy may be. If, on the other hand, he finds his wife fateful, his children’s noise unendurable, and the office a nightmare; if in the daytime he longs for night, and at night sighs for the light of day, then what he needs is not a new philosophy but a new regimen—-a different diet, or more exercise, or what not.
Man is an animal, and his happiness depends on his physiology more than he likes to think. This is a humble conclusion, but I cannot make myself disbelieve it. Unhappy businessmen, I am convinced, would increase their happiness more by walking six miles every day than by any conceivable change of philosophy.flower yilly
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13.07.11 / erectile dysfunction medicine / Author: admin / 评论关闭
Tags: cialis medicine, Mojo Warrior
A LION came across a Hare, cialis medicine who was fast asleep. He was just in
the act of seizing her, when a fine young Hart trotted by, and he
left the Hare to follow him. The Hare, scared by the noise,
awoke and scudded away. The Lion was unable after a long chase
to catch the Hart, and returned to feed upon the Hare. On
finding that the Hare also had run off, he said, “I am rightly
served, for having let go of the food that I had in my hand for
the chance of obtaining more.”Mojo Warrior
04.07.11 / erectile dysfunction medicine / Author: admin / 评论关闭
Tags: The Killer of Premature Ejaculation, WEIMEI OB
Dear George,Pegasus’s Wings I’ve always loved horses,WEIMEI OB and for some time I’d been looking for a volunteer opportunity in my new community. The idea that I might be able to pursue both interests at once hadn’t actually crossed my mind. So I couldn’t get to the phone fast enough when I saw an ad in the paper about a search for volunteers at a therapeutic riding center for handicapped children.”Yes, we’re still looking for people,” the woman told me. “We’re having a training session for new volunteers this Saturday. You’re welcome to come.”"Thanks,” I answered, barely containing my enthusiasm. “I’ll be there.”I joined a small group of new volunteers that day. We were perfect strangers with an instant connection, all drawn there by the same potent mix of heart and soul-a passion for helping, a passion for horses, and a simple knowing that we had come to the right place. By the end of training session, we all knew we’d be back for the first of many weekly riding classes together. That first Saturday, ten children between the ages of eight and twelve showed up. Ten struggling young bodies and ten eager, loving smiles greeted us. “This is Robbie,” said the instructor, placing a gentle hand on each small shoulder as she conducted a round of introductions. “And this is Christine.” We went around the circle of excited faces. All the children faced some level of physical or mental challenge-sometimes both. Jenny had multiple sclerosis, Kevin lived with cerebral palsy, Christine with Down’s syndrome, and Robbie a spinal?cord injury. I marveled at these children, healthy souls and wholesome appetites for living shining through their bodily constraints.The following Saturday, I arrived at the stables in time to groom my assigned horse before class, put on his tack and ensure that he was sound, calm and ready for his small rider. This week, I would be handling Stripe, a speckled?gray Appaloosa with comfortably rounded sides and an indulgent, ever?patient nature. Today, Stripe was the designated therapy horse for nine?year?old Katie, a victim of muscular dystrophy.Curly auburn hair framing her delicate, pale face, Katie arrived at the stables in a wheelchair. The spokes glistened in the sun as her mother helped her up, steadied her and introduced us. My eyes met Katie’s-an exchange full of shared excitement and anticipation. “Katie has been waiting impatiently for hours,” her mother explained with a smile.We set about preparing for the ride. I fitted and attached Katie’s safety helmet and adjusted Stripe’s specially adapted saddlery. I helped her mount and shared her triumphant grin as she settled into the saddle, perched above and beyond her l imitations. I led Stripe around the arena during the class, quietly coaching both horse and rider as the instructor led the group from the center of the ring. We walked, trotted and moved together for an hour. Katie’s tortured body gradually relaxed into Stripe’s fluid movements, becoming one with the animal.In silent awe, I let the wordless, poignant communication between Katie and Stripe unfold. Acutely sensitive to her well being, Stripe intuitively softened his gait at the slightest perception of Katie’s imbalance or discomfort in the saddle. The tone of her voice induced the same effect, even though she was unable to use verbal commands that the horse was trained to recognize. Surprise, delight, hesitation, fear-Stripe understood and responded patiently, lovingly-like a great teacher.At the end of the class, I helped Katie dismount. Color in her cheeks now, she smiled radiantly and arched her thin arms around Stripe’s lowered neck. He kept his head down. Burying her face in his mane, Katie murmured softly, “I love you, Stripe.” I stood motionless a few feet away, touched by a moment of uncommon beauty.The magic drew me back each week. No two Saturdays were the same. Rotations of therapy horses and riders gave volunteers the opportunity to get to know each animal and child. Every Saturday offered a glimpse of an intensely intimate connection between equine and human spirit. Every Saturday revealed the power of this fabled four?legged creature to triumph over a child’s physical and mental adversity. Every Saturday, a child held the reins of freedom and borrowed Pegasus’s wings.For me, volunteering was a personal journey into unexpected enrichment and inspiration. I helped small children revel in another realm of physical and spiritual being, a space only their horses could create for them. I saw these children empowered and renewed by their equine companions. I rediscovered my deep love for horses and drew lessons from their gentle ways. And last but not least, I learned that giving yields greater generosity than it asks.Inspired by my experience, I picked up the phone one day and called my brother at the family farm where I had spent my teenage years. “How’s Cowboy doing?” I asked of my own horse.”He’s just fine,” my brother replied, “but I think he feels a bit forgotten.”And that’s why, a week later, Cowboy came out of semi-retirement and was transported to his new home hundreds of miles away-with me. Now Cowboy-my retired showhorse with huge brown eyes, a stripe down his back and a penchant for pleasing people-volunteers, too.The Killer of Premature Ejaculation
23.06.11 / erectile dysfunction medicine / Author: admin / 评论关闭
Tags: flower yilly, WEIMEI OB
Searra, an eight-year-old brain tumor patient, WEIMEI OB was a “regular” in the Radiation Oncology Department, much like the other patients who came to the cancer center everyday for a five- or six-week period. With my office located near the main entrance, I could hear Searra, also called CC, coming from a distance.
Sure enough, she popped her head in every morning around 10:00 A.M. to say “hi” or, more important, to check out the toys and coloring materials I had stashed in my office. Several steps behind, CC’s grandmother, also called Mommie, since she served as her guardian, would trail in as she tried keeping up with CC’s anxious pace.
CC was not the least bit interested in hearing more about her cancer or her hair loss. When she walked into the department, it was time to socialize with the staff, who became her instant friends, and to see what kind of masterpiece she could color for Mommie before she was called back for her treatment.
I was taken aback by the love CC had for Mommie. Whenever I asked her about home life, school work or how she was feeling, every response referred to her time spent with Mommie, the funny stories they shared and how much she loved her. On numerous occasions, CC made it clear that Mommie was the center of her world.
When CC was first treated with radiation therapy, the therapists told her that they would give her a quarter each day if she promised to keep her head still on the treatment table. Certainly, after six weeks of therapy, she had a pocketful of quarters! So on the last day, the therapists wanted to know what big toy she was going to buy with all her change. CC replied, “Oh, I am not going to buy a toy. I am going to buy something for Mommie because of all the nice things she does for me.”
CC’s sincerity, unselfishness, warmth and loyalty to Mommie taught me about what is really important in life. She constantly showed that loving others with true commitment is the best gift you can give another-whether a family member or a friend. Certainly, CC has an excuse to complain or be angry at the world for a childhood totally different from the other children’s in her third-grade class. I have never heard her complain about her bald head, swollen face and body (as a result of the steroids), or low energy level, which keeps her from playing outside. CC continues to live her life the way she chooses, and that includes giving of herself to make the world a better place for others, especially Mommie.
CC reminds me to not take those people I love for granted and to look beyond the superficiality that is often found in day-to-day living. I am reminded to be more thankful for what I have today and to not dwell on what is behind me or what lies ahead. CC, just like many other cancer patients, is a true example that we aren’t always dealt the perfect hand, so we have to make the best of what we have today.flower yilly
16.06.11 / erectile dysfunction medicine / Author: admin / 评论关闭
Tags: Mojo Warrior, nanbao
There once lived a landlord who loved money as he loved his own life.Mojo Warrior In his eyes the smallest coin seemed as large as a millstone. He was always on the lookout for some new way of making money and was very mean to his peasant tenants. They all called him “Skinflint.” One year a long spell of drought devastated the area, ruining the entire crop. The peasants, who were used to living from year to year, and never had a reserve of grain to fall back on, were reduced to eating bark and roots to survive, and now even these were all consumed. Starvation drove them to ask for a loan of grain from Skinflint, whose granaries, big and small, were filled to overflowing. Although the grain was sprouting and the flour was swarming with maggots, he was such a miser that he wouldn’t part with a single speck of either. His peasants went away seething with anger and resentment, and resolved to find some way to teach him a lesson. They put their heads together and came up with rather a good plan. They collected together a few tiny silver ingots and also managed to procure a scraggy little horse. They stuffed the silver up the horse’s behind and bunged it up with a wad of cotton floss. Then they selected one of their number, a peasant whose gift of gab had earned him the nickname “Bigmouth” and who was credited with the power of talking the dead out of their graves. They sent him to Skinflint with the horse. Seeing them enter, Skinflint flew into a rage. His whiskers bristled. He glowered at Bigmouth, pointing at him angrily and shouting, “You damn fool! You have fouled my courtyard enough. Get out of my sight!” “Please keep your voice down, Master,” said Bigmouth with a cunning smile. “If you frighten my horse and make him bolt, you’d have to sell everything you’ve got to make good the damage.” “There you go, Bigmouth, bragging again!” said Skinflint. “What can this scraggy little horse of yours possibly be worth?” To which Bigmouth replied, “Oh, nothing, except that when he moves his bowels silver and gold come out.” In an instant Skinflint’s anger evaporated and he hastened to ask, “Where did you get hold of this beast?” “I dreamt a dream the night before last,” began Bigmouth. “I met a white-bearded old man who said to me, ‘Bigmouth, the colt who used to carry gold and silver ingots for the God of Wealth has been demoted and sent down to Earth. Go to the northeast and catch him. When he moves his bowels, silver and gold come out. If you catch him, you’ll make a fortune.’ Then the old man gave me a push and I woke up. I didn’t take it seriously, thinking it to be nothing but a dream. I turned over and fell asleep again. However, as soon as I closed my eyes, the old man reappeared and urged me to hurry up. ‘The horse will fall into another’s hand s if you delay!’ he said, and gave me another push which woke me up again. I put on my clothes and ran out. In the northeast I saw a ball of fire. When I ran over, sure enough, there was the colt, grazing contentedly. So I led him home. The following day, I set up an incense burner and as soon as I lit the incense, the colt began to produce silver ingots from its behind.” “Did it really?” asked Skinflint eagerly. Bigmouth replied, “There’s an old proverb which says, ‘The proof of the pudding is in the eating.’ If you don’t believe me, allow me to arrange a demonstration.” He asked Skinflint to set up a burner and light some incense. Meanwhile, he himself held a plate below the horse’s behind. He secretly pulled out the wad of cotton and the tiny silver ingots fell jingling onto the plate. On seeing the horse perform like this, Skinflint asked avidly, “How much does he produce a day?” “Three or four taels a day for us less lucky folk,” replied Bigmouth. “But the old man in my dream said that if he meets a really lucky person he produces thirty or forty.” Skinflint thought to himself, “I must be one of those. Supposing I get the horse, he is bound to produce at least twenty taels a day. That means six hundred taels a month and seven thousand two hundred taels a year.” The longer his sums became, the fonder he grew of the horse. He decided that he must buy him, and talked it over with Bigmouth. At first Bigmouth pretended to be unwilling. Skinflint tried again and again to persuade him and promised to pay any price he asked. In the end Bigmouth sighed and said, “Oh well, so be it. My luck is evidently worse than yours. I’ll sell. But I don’t want silver or gold, just give me thirty bushels of grain.” Skinflint considered the price very cheap and readily agreed. They made the exchange then and there. Bigmouth hurried back with the grain and distributed it among his fellow peasants. They were all very happy to have it. Skinflint, for his part, felt even happier to have the horse, and just couldn’t stop chuckling to himself. He was afraid of losing the horse, however, and tried to tie him up in a great many places, but none of them seemed safe enough. Finally, he tied him up in his own living room. He laid a red carpet on the floor and set up an incense burner. The whole family watched the colt in eager anticipation, expecting him any minute to start producing silver and gold. They waited till midnight. Suddenly the horse opened his hind legs. Skinflint sensed that he was about to “produce.” He quickly brought over a lacquered tray and held it right below the horse’s behind. He waited for ages, but nothing happened. Skinflint was so anxious by now that he lifted the horse’s tail, bent down and peered upwards to keep an eye on further developments. There was a s udden “splash,” and before Skinflint could do anything about it, the horse had splattered him all over his face. The “liquid gold” ran down the back of his head and down his neck, covering his whole body. The stench was so vile that Skinflint started jumping and shouting and then felt nauseous and began to vomit again and again. Next the horse urinated in great quantity, ruining the lovely red carpet. The whole room stunk to high heaven. Skinflint realized that he had been cheated, and in a fit of rage, he killed the horse. The following morning, first thing, he sent some of his hired thugs to track down Bigmouth. But the peasants had already hidden him away. Skinflint’s men searched for him high and low but always came back empty handed, to his fury and exasperation. There was nothing he could do except send out spies and wait. In the twinkling of an eye, it was winter. One day Bigmouth failed to hide properly and was caught by one of Skinflint’s henchmen. When he came face to face with his foe, Skinflint gnashed his teeth with rage and without saying a word, had Bigmouth locked up in his mill. He had him stripped of all his padded clothes and left him with nothing but a cotton shirt, hoping to freeze him to death. It was the very coldest season of the year. Outside, snow was falling and a bitter wind was blowing. Bigmouth sat huddled up in a corner, trembling with cold. As the cold was becoming unbearable, an idea suddenly occurred to him. He stood up at once, heaved a millstone up off the ground and began walking back and forth with it in his arms. He soon warmed up and started sweating. He passed the entire night in this way, walking around with the millstone and occasionally stopping for a rest. Early next morning Skinflint thought Bigmouth must surely be dead. But when he unlocked the mill door, to his great surprise, he found Bigmouth squatting there in a halo of steam, his whole body in a muck of sweat. Bigmouth stood up at once and begged him, “Master, take pity on me! Quick, lend me a fan! Or I shall die of heat!” “How come you are so hot?” asked the dumbfounded Skinflint. “This shirt of mine is a priceless heirloom,” Bigmouth explained. “It’s called the Fire Dragon Shirt. The colder the weather, the greater the heat it gives off.” “When did you get hold of it?” “Originally it was the pelt cast off by the Lord Fire Dragon. Then the Queen of the Western Heaven wove it into a shirt. Later on it somehow fell into the possession of my ancestors and became a family heirloom. It has been passed down from generation to generation until finally it came into my hands.” Seeing how unbearably hot he was, Skinflint swallowed the whole story. He was now set on getting hold of this Fire Dragon Shirt and had completely forgotten the episode of the gold colt. He insisted on bartering his fox-fur gown for the shirt. Bigmouth absolutely refused at first, but when Skinflint added fifty taels of silver to the price, he said with a sigh, “Alas, what a worthless son am I, to have thus lost my family’s treasured heirloom!” Having said this, he took off his shirt and put on Skinflint’s fox-fur gown. Then he pocketed the fifty taels of silver and strode away. Skinflint’s joy knew no bounds. Several days later his father-in-law’s birthday came round. In order to show off his new acquisition, he went to convey his birthday greetings wearing nothing but the Fire Dragon Shirt. In the middle of the journey, a fierce wind came up and it began to snow. Skinflint felt unbearably cold. The place was far from village or innnanbao