As EBAP rushes frenetically to its final days of the season, I thought only a badly written sonnet (a slightly plagiarized one) could properly express the depth of my feelings towards my beloved trench.
Sonnet 130...And My love for Southeast A2C
My trench’s eyes are nothing like the sun,
Whose fickle rays burn cold in fiery gaze.
But trenches have not eyes, nor breasts of dun;
Which only adds to my 6am malaise.
Her sweet breath doth singe the hairs on my head,
And other hairs, of which I need not speak;
Though her wasps and sand don’t make a fine bed,
Before morning breaks, her embrace I seek.
I pick and scrape, and try my trench to please,
Yet betimes naught but roof-tile does she yield.
But with mood as soft as ochre skin she sees
Fit to give bounty unasked from her field.
So still I think my love for trench so pure:
I’ll awake at 5—my trench I’ll miss for sure.
I, not just my literary persona, will indeed miss my trench very much. The last few days of excavation have been productive ones, and our diminished crew has made a heroic effort to close up all of our loose ends. Much to our delight, we have had some excellent finds right at the end of the season. If only I could tell you about them! Instead I’ve decided to post a series of provocative pictures. Subscribe online for only $5.99 a month (send all orders to firstname.lastname@example.org) and see our raw and wild uncensored dig photos. (Please don’t though. I could get in a lot of trouble).
RBB has something zesty in his hand... But what?
Now he's showing it to BEB... It must be really good.
I love.... something sherd-like.
I wanted to show you everything, but RBB has a machete.
You stay classy Dilesi.