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Johannesson Holding AB is a privately owned investment company based in Stockholm. Our primary focus is on service and software as a service (SaaS) companies. Our investments are focused on companies with long-term goals and visions to make positive changes in the world.
1:55
Bruce, Arnold, Sly and Jean-Claude don't hold a candle to Jet Parker! He takes care of all the details! Brought to you by those wacky sketch comedians known as The 30 Cent Players.
18 Dec 2006
1379
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0:16
a man praying burns up his head while holding the candle in church
6 Aug 2007
2562
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7:54
Lifelike Entertainment has a theory about violent video games: they shouldn't be complicated. While the successful completion of a dangerous mission can be rewarding, it doesn't hold a candle to blowing someone's face off with a double-barreled shotgun. This approach enabled Lifelike to pump out a record number 23 games in 2005, most notable among them, Cageman.
23 Jun 2008
441
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4:52
George’s better half, Martha, in an attempt to mold the candidate’s public image, recruits a press secretary, Amy Taylor-Spinner, with a résumé that can’t hold a candle to her libido, and a campaign manager, Earl Grove, who is baffled by his boss’s wig-centric platform. *******www.gwforpresident****
16 Aug 2008
520
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1:29
My sources for this are as follows. Many independent sources quoted Bush for saying that including www.capitolhillblue****/artman/publish/article_7779.shtml except factcheck**** refuted it, so that is why I use the word IF in his case As for the quotations on the Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia, Both of my sources are from two educational institutions *******www.uvm.edu/theview/article.php?id=1389 (the University of Vermont) *******www.ur.umich.edu/0405/Nov22_04/13.shtml (the University of Michigan) If you don't know what Senate Bill 1959 is, you should research it because the Patriot Act doesn't hold a candle to it on how bad it is. What does the constitution mean? While mainstream media ignores if Bush said, "Stop throwing the Constitution in my face, Bush screamed back. Its just a goddamned piece of paper" (but I think we all agree to the cliche, ACTIONS speak louder than words)- The University of Vermont quoted Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia, say "My Constitution produces a very fle
1 Aug 2009
1580
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13:20
OSP: A Bunch of Oddballs: Chad Johnson, Gilbert Arenas and Joey Porter. Quite a trio of mouths, but none can hold a candle to Sid Rosenberg and Amber Wilson! For more great videos, go to OpenSports****
26 Nov 2008
363
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1:00
*******zacharyepps****/another-look-at-the-peloton-boulder/ Follow this link to see more about Boulder real estate and The Peloton Boulder. I thought you might like another look at The Peloton in Boulder. You’ve heard about The Peloton before, but I have some new stuff for you, and also more info about the location and surrounding shops, trails and benefits in this part of Boulder. In this tour, I’m giving you a chance to see some other aspects of the location. What I’ve heard from some of you is that you wanted more info on what’s in the area. If you want to talk to me now, call or email me for more great info. Since the Peloton is located at the former Excabyte location, the footprint stretches between 33rd and 38th. That means that it’s just steps away from the sunrise center where King Soopers, and many other local favorites are located. Also, even though it sounds like three blocks, it’s only steps away to the 29th Street Mall. Since the Century Theater is on the eastern edge of Twenty Ninth, you just have a short stroll across the parking lot at King Soopers to get to the theater, unless of course you would rather sit in the private 22-seat theater in the Peloton community center! There’s an RTD bus stop right on Arapahoe Road outside building C at The Peloton, and that means easy access to the RTD bus sytem for a quick trip downtown (that’s Boulder or Denver). You’ll like this part: all owners at The Peloton get an RTD Eco Pass. That means unlimited rides anywhere you want to go on the RTD system! If biking is your thing, consider that The Peloton property is adjacent to the bicycle / pedestrian path so that means you can easily get right on the path (and off the roadway) to ride downtown, out east, or over to just about any part of the Boulder valley area via the interconnected bike path system. Now here’s the cool thing; if you don’t have a bike, you can use one of The Peloton bikes. There’s a fleet of mountain bikes that come to you as part of the homeowner’s association. Just check one out for the afternoon, or the whole weekend, and go wherever you want. You can even take it out of town! If driving is still your thing, that’s cool too. you’re about 30 seconds away from the foothills parkway for an easy run down to Denver via the Boulder Turnpike. Or it’s about 4 minutes to Pearl Street in downtown Boulder. And the best thing of all, your Peloton home comes with an underground parking space in a heated security garage. You didn’t think you were going to park that Aston Martin out on the street did you? Oh, one more thing, you might also already know that The Peloton is home to the only year-round rooftop swimming pool. There are a few other projects around Boulder that include a pool, but nothing quite like this. If you’re looking for year ’round swimming, you’ll find a couple of older projects like Remington Post and Horizon West that have pools, but they’re indoors, and about 30 to 40 years old. Some smaller projects around town have outdoor pools too, but those aren’t projects that hold a candle to The Peloton and all the amenities you’ll find here. If you want the full-meal deal, The Peloton rooftop is where you should be. It has two huge hot-tubs beautiful teak lounge chairs, built in gas grills, a poolside shower, outdoor gas fireplace and a radiant heated deck. It’s all part of the private community center housed in a 20,000 + sq ft security building. Last, but not least, there’s something new in terms of floorplans here. It’s called “have it your way”. Nope, we’re not at Burger King, we’re at The Peloton, where you can get just about any configuration you want in a floorplan layout. Want to own the whole top floor of Building D ? … just ask! These guys want to accomodate your wildest ideas and make the home of your dreams come alive. Sounds to me like the sky’s the limit, if you have the right budget. If you are ready to see The Peloton for yourself, call or email me now so that we can talk, and plan a date to get you a private tour. Let’s go in together so you have buyer’s agent (that’s me!) representation when you buy your next home from the great people at The Peloton in Boulder. -Zachary Epps, full-time professional Realtor
2 Dec 2008
279
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11:58
It was a perfect week for Sid Rosenberg. First a 3-0 record with his NFL picks, then the birth of his newborn son Gabriel. Jason Garcia tries to fill his shoes to see if he can hold a candle to Marc Lawrence -- the other half of The Odds Couple. For more great videos, go to *******www.opensports****
2 Dec 2008
605
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6:58
PUT A DONK ON IT: *******www.vbs.tv/video.php?id=12150086001 Since the advent of acid house in the late 80s, British techno music has been in a long, baffling search for some sort of universal lowest common denominator. Breakbeat, digital hardcore, and gabber all made strong efforts in the race for the bottom, but none of them holds a candle to donk. Combining the 150bpm madness of happy hardcore with indecipherable North English rap and then overlaying the whole mess with a single, infuriating "donk" sound, donk may well be the apotheosis of all ridiculous dance music to date. It is also the only local thing going for an entire population of working-class kids with dwindling outside prospects. Check out more music, travel and weirdness on VBS.
20 Feb 2009
698
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10:55
Robert Browning - Fra Lippo Lippi - Read by Paul Giamatti Fra Lippo Lippi (Part 1) by Robert Browning (1812-1889) I am poor brother Lippo, by your leave! You need not clap your torches to my face. Zooks, what's to blame? you think you see a monk! What, 'tis past midnight, and you go the rounds, And here you catch me at an alley's end Where sportive ladies leave their doors ajar? The Carmine's my cloister: hunt it up, Do, -- harry out, if you must show your zeal, Whatever rat, there, haps on his wrong hole, And nip each softling of a wee white mouse, Weke, weke, that's crept to keep him company! Aha, you know your betters! Then, you'll take Your hand away that's fiddling on my throat, And please to know me likewise. Who am I? Why, one, sir, who is lodging with a friend Three streets off -- he's a certain... how d'ye call? Master -- a... Cosimo of the Medici, I' the house that caps the corner. Boh! you were best! Remember and tell me, the day you're hanged, How you affected such a gullet's-gripe! But you, sir, it concerns you that your knaves Pick up a manner nor discredit you: Zooks, are we pilchards, that they sweep the streets And count fair prize what comes into their net? He's Judas to a tittle, that man is! Just such a face! Why, sir, you make amends. Lord, I'm not angry! Bid your hangdogs go Drink out this quarter-florin to the health Of the munificent House that harbours me (And many more beside, lads! more beside!) And all's come square again. I'd like his face -- His, elbowing on his comrade in the door With the pike and lantern, -- for the slave that holds John Baptist's head a-dangle by the hair With one hand ("Look you, now," as who should say) And his weapon in the other, yet unwiped! It's not your chance to have a bit of chalk, A wood-coal or the like? or you should see! Yes, I'm the painter, since you style me so. What, Brother Lippo's doings, up and down, You know them and they take you? like enough! I saw the proper twinkle in your eye -- 'Tell you, I liked your looks at very first. Let's sit and set things straight now, hip to haunch. Here's spring come, and the nights one makes up bands To roam the town and sing out carnival, And I've been three weeks shut up within my mew, A-painting for the great man, saints and saints And saints again. I could not paint all night -- Ouf! I leaned out of window for fresh air. There came a hurry of feet and little feet, A sweep of lute-strings, laughs, and whifts of song, -- Flower o' the broom, Take away love, and our earth is a tomb! Flower o' the quince, I let Lisa go, and what good in life since? Flower o' the thyme -- and so on. Round they went. Scarce had they turned the corner when a titter Like the skipping of rabbits by moonlight, -- three slim shapes, And a face that looked up... zooks, sir, flesh and blood, That's all I'm made of! Into shreds it went, Curtain and counterpane and coverlet, All the bed-furniture -- a dozen knots, There was a ladder! Down I let myself, Hands and feet, scrambling somehow, and so dropped, And after them. I came up with the fun Hard by Saint Laurence, hail fellow, well met, -- Flower o' the rose, If I've been merry, what matter who knows? And so as I was stealing back again To get to bed and have a bit of sleep Ere I rise up tomorrow and go work On Jerome knocking at his poor old breast With his great round stone to subdue the flesh, You snap me of the sudden. Ah, I see! Though your eye twinkles still, you shake your head -- Mine's shaved -- a monk, you say -- the sting's in that! If Master Cosimo announced himself, Mum's the word naturally; but a monk! Come, what am I a beast for? tell us, now! I was a baby when my mother died And father died and left me in the street. I starved there, God knows how, a year or two On fig-skins, melon-parings, rinds and shucks, Refuse and rubbish. One fine frosty day, My stomach being empty as your hat, The wind doubled me up and down I went. Old Aunt Lapaccia trussed me with one hand, (Its fellow was a stinger as I knew) And so along the wall, over the bridge, By the straight cut to the convent. Six words there, While I stood munching my first bread that month: "So, boy, you're minded," quoth the good fat father Wiping his own mouth, 'twas refection-time, -- "To quit this very miserable world? Will you renounce"... "the mouthful of bread?" thought I; By no means! Brief, they made a monk of me; I did renounce the world, its pride and greed, Palace, farm, villa, shop and banking-house, Trash, such as these poor devils of Medici Have given their hearts to -- all at eight years old. Well, sir, I found in time, you may be sure, 'Twas not for nothing -- the good bellyful, The warm serge and the rope that goes all round, And day-long blessed idleness beside! "Let's see what the urchin's fit for" -- that came next. Not overmuch their way, I must confess. Such a to-do! They tried me with their books: Lord, they'd have taught me Latin in pure waste! Flower o' the clove, All the Latin I construe is, "amo" I love! But, mind you, when a boy starves in the streets Eight years together, as my fortune was, Watching folk's faces to know who will fling The bit of half-stripped grape-bunch he desires, And who will curse or kick him for his pains, -- Which gentleman processional and fine, Holding a candle to the Sacrament, Will wink and let him lift a plate and catch The droppings of the wax to sell again, Or holla for the Eight and have him whipped, -- How say I? -- nay, which dog bites, which lets drop His bone from the heap of offal in the street, -- Why, soul and sense of him grow sharp alike, He learns the look of things, and none the less For admonition from the hunger-pinch. I had a store of such remarks, be sure, Which, after I found leisure, turned to use. I drew men's faces on my copy-books, Scrawled them within the antiphonary's marge, Joined legs and arms to the long music-notes, Found eyes and hose and chin for A's and B's, And made a string of pictures of the world Betwixt the ins and outs of verb and noun, On the wall, the bench, the door. The monks looked black. "Nay," quoth the Prior, "turn him out, d'ye say? In no wise. Lose a crow and catch a lark. What if at last we get our man of parts, We Carmelites, like those Camaldolese And Preaching Friars, to do our church up fine And put the front on it that ought to be!" And hereupon he bade me daub away. Thank you! my head being crammed, the walls a blank, Never was such prompt disemburdening. First, every sort of monk, the black and white, I drew them, fat and lean: then, folk at church, From good old gossips waiting to confess Their cribs of barrel-droppings, candle-ends, -- To the breathless fellow at the altar-foot, Fresh from his murder, safe and sitting there With the little children round him in a row Of admiration, half for his beard and half For that white anger of his victim's son Shaking a fist at him with one fierce arm, Signing himself with the other because of Christ (Whose sad face on the cross sees only this After the passion of a thousand years) Till some poor girl, her apron o'er her head, (Which the intense eyes looked through) came at eve On tiptoe, said a word, dropped in a loaf, Her pair of earrings and a bunch of flowers (The brute took growling), prayed, and so was gone. I painted all, then cried "'Tis ask and have; Choose, for more's ready!" -- laid the ladder flat, And showed my covered bit of cloister-wall. The monks closed in a circle and praised loud Till checked, taught what to see and not to see, Being simple bodies, -- "That's the very man! Look at the boy who stoops to pat the dog! That woman's like the Prior's niece who comes To care about his asthma: it's the life!" But there my triumph's straw-fire flared and funked; Their betters took their turn to see and say: The Prior and the learned pulled a face And stopped all that in no time. "How? what's here? Quite from the mark of painting, bless us all! Faces, arms, legs and bodies like the true As much as pea and pea! it's devil's-game! Your business is not to catch men with show, With homage to the perishable clay, But lift them over it, ignore it all, Make them forget there's such a thing as flesh. Your business is to paint the souls of men -- Man's soul, and it's a fire, smoke... no, it's not... It's vapour done up like a new-born babe -- (In that shape when you die it leaves your mouth) It's... well, what matters talking, it's the soul! Give us no more of body than shows soul!
26 Sep 2011
2433
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10:55
Robert Browning - Fra Lippo Lippi - Read by Paul Giamatti Fra Lippo Lippi (Part 1) by Robert Browning (1812-1889) I am poor brother Lippo, by your leave! You need not clap your torches to my face. Zooks, what's to blame? you think you see a monk! What, 'tis past midnight, and you go the rounds, And here you catch me at an alley's end Where sportive ladies leave their doors ajar? The Carmine's my cloister: hunt it up, Do, -- harry out, if you must show your zeal, Whatever rat, there, haps on his wrong hole, And nip each softling of a wee white mouse, Weke, weke, that's crept to keep him company! Aha, you know your betters! Then, you'll take Your hand away that's fiddling on my throat, And please to know me likewise. Who am I? Why, one, sir, who is lodging with a friend Three streets off -- he's a certain... how d'ye call? Master -- a... Cosimo of the Medici, I' the house that caps the corner. Boh! you were best! Remember and tell me, the day you're hanged, How you affected such a gullet's-gripe! But you, sir, it concerns you that your knaves Pick up a manner nor discredit you: Zooks, are we pilchards, that they sweep the streets And count fair prize what comes into their net? He's Judas to a tittle, that man is! Just such a face! Why, sir, you make amends. Lord, I'm not angry! Bid your hangdogs go Drink out this quarter-florin to the health Of the munificent House that harbours me (And many more beside, lads! more beside!) And all's come square again. I'd like his face -- His, elbowing on his comrade in the door With the pike and lantern, -- for the slave that holds John Baptist's head a-dangle by the hair With one hand ("Look you, now," as who should say) And his weapon in the other, yet unwiped! It's not your chance to have a bit of chalk, A wood-coal or the like? or you should see! Yes, I'm the painter, since you style me so. What, Brother Lippo's doings, up and down, You know them and they take you? like enough! I saw the proper twinkle in your eye -- 'Tell you, I liked your looks at very first. Let's sit and set things straight now, hip to haunch. Here's spring come, and the nights one makes up bands To roam the town and sing out carnival, And I've been three weeks shut up within my mew, A-painting for the great man, saints and saints And saints again. I could not paint all night -- Ouf! I leaned out of window for fresh air. There came a hurry of feet and little feet, A sweep of lute-strings, laughs, and whifts of song, -- Flower o' the broom, Take away love, and our earth is a tomb! Flower o' the quince, I let Lisa go, and what good in life since? Flower o' the thyme -- and so on. Round they went. Scarce had they turned the corner when a titter Like the skipping of rabbits by moonlight, -- three slim shapes, And a face that looked up... zooks, sir, flesh and blood, That's all I'm made of! Into shreds it went, Curtain and counterpane and coverlet, All the bed-furniture -- a dozen knots, There was a ladder! Down I let myself, Hands and feet, scrambling somehow, and so dropped, And after them. I came up with the fun Hard by Saint Laurence, hail fellow, well met, -- Flower o' the rose, If I've been merry, what matter who knows? And so as I was stealing back again To get to bed and have a bit of sleep Ere I rise up tomorrow and go work On Jerome knocking at his poor old breast With his great round stone to subdue the flesh, You snap me of the sudden. Ah, I see! Though your eye twinkles still, you shake your head -- Mine's shaved -- a monk, you say -- the sting's in that! If Master Cosimo announced himself, Mum's the word naturally; but a monk! Come, what am I a beast for? tell us, now! I was a baby when my mother died And father died and left me in the street. I starved there, God knows how, a year or two On fig-skins, melon-parings, rinds and shucks, Refuse and rubbish. One fine frosty day, My stomach being empty as your hat, The wind doubled me up and down I went. Old Aunt Lapaccia trussed me with one hand, (Its fellow was a stinger as I knew) And so along the wall, over the bridge, By the straight cut to the convent. Six words there, While I stood munching my first bread that month: "So, boy, you're minded," quoth the good fat father Wiping his own mouth, 'twas refection-time, -- "To quit this very miserable world? Will you renounce"... "the mouthful of bread?" thought I; By no means! Brief, they made a monk of me; I did renounce the world, its pride and greed, Palace, farm, villa, shop and banking-house, Trash, such as these poor devils of Medici Have given their hearts to -- all at eight years old. Well, sir, I found in time, you may be sure, 'Twas not for nothing -- the good bellyful, The warm serge and the rope that goes all round, And day-long blessed idleness beside! "Let's see what the urchin's fit for" -- that came next. Not overmuch their way, I must confess. Such a to-do! They tried me with their books: Lord, they'd have taught me Latin in pure waste! Flower o' the clove, All the Latin I construe is, "amo" I love! But, mind you, when a boy starves in the streets Eight years together, as my fortune was, Watching folk's faces to know who will fling The bit of half-stripped grape-bunch he desires, And who will curse or kick him for his pains, -- Which gentleman processional and fine, Holding a candle to the Sacrament, Will wink and let him lift a plate and catch The droppings of the wax to sell again, Or holla for the Eight and have him whipped, -- How say I? -- nay, which dog bites, which lets drop His bone from the heap of offal in the street, -- Why, soul and sense of him grow sharp alike, He learns the look of things, and none the less For admonition from the hunger-pinch. I had a store of such remarks, be sure, Which, after I found leisure, turned to use. I drew men's faces on my copy-books, Scrawled them within the antiphonary's marge, Joined legs and arms to the long music-notes, Found eyes and hose and chin for A's and B's, And made a string of pictures of the world Betwixt the ins and outs of verb and noun, On the wall, the bench, the door. The monks looked black. "Nay," quoth the Prior, "turn him out, d'ye say? In no wise. Lose a crow and catch a lark. What if at last we get our man of parts, We Carmelites, like those Camaldolese And Preaching Friars, to do our church up fine And put the front on it that ought to be!" And hereupon he bade me daub away. Thank you! my head being crammed, the walls a blank, Never was such prompt disemburdening. First, every sort of monk, the black and white, I drew them, fat and lean: then, folk at church, From good old gossips waiting to confess Their cribs of barrel-droppings, candle-ends, -- To the breathless fellow at the altar-foot, Fresh from his murder, safe and sitting there With the little children round him in a row Of admiration, half for his beard and half For that white anger of his victim's son Shaking a fist at him with one fierce arm, Signing himself with the other because of Christ (Whose sad face on the cross sees only this After the passion of a thousand years) Till some poor girl, her apron o'er her head, (Which the intense eyes looked through) came at eve On tiptoe, said a word, dropped in a loaf, Her pair of earrings and a bunch of flowers (The brute took growling), prayed, and so was gone. I painted all, then cried "'Tis ask and have; Choose, for more's ready!" -- laid the ladder flat, And showed my covered bit of cloister-wall. The monks closed in a circle and praised loud Till checked, taught what to see and not to see, Being simple bodies, -- "That's the very man! Look at the boy who stoops to pat the dog! That woman's like the Prior's niece who comes To care about his asthma: it's the life!" But there my triumph's straw-fire flared and funked; Their betters took their turn to see and say: The Prior and the learned pulled a face And stopped all that in no time. "How? what's here? Quite from the mark of painting, bless us all! Faces, arms, legs and bodies like the true As much as pea and pea! it's devil's-game! Your business is not to catch men with show, With homage to the perishable clay, But lift them over it, ignore it all, Make them forget there's such a thing as flesh. Your business is to paint the souls of men -- Man's soul, and it's a fire, smoke... no, it's not... It's vapour done up like a new-born babe -- (In that shape when you die it leaves your mouth) It's... well, what matters talking, it's the soul! Give us no more of body than shows soul!
26 Sep 2011
2849
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1:17
*******t***/63DFUtXb - Best Bargain Review - Samsung Focus I917 Unlocked Phone I've been using the Focus for about three months now and it's honestly by far the best phone I've ever owned. The screen is gorgeous, the WP7 OS is responsive and intuitive, and most of all it actually works as a phone! As a previous dedicated Iphone owner, I can say that I have absolutely no regrets in switching, and I can see the jealousy of my family (who are still Apple nuts) whenever I let them mess around with the interface. The only cons I can put against it are that it only comes with 8 gigs initially (which is just ridiculously low these days), but I stuck another 16 in with an sd card I had lying around. Some people seem to be having an issue with not having their cards work, but I've never had a problem. Also-and this is incredibly minor-there's no gapless playback on the Zune software. I know only about 5 people will actually care (or even notice), but it's slightly irritating at times. In it's current state, I would already put the Focus and WP7 at the cream of the mobile crop, but with the Mango update coming in a week or two, I really can't see any other OS coming near to holding a candle to it. A lot of people are still understandably skeptical due to Microsoft's less than stalwart track record with mobile devices, but WP7 fixes every issue of the past and does what Apple has quit doing-innovating.
3 Jan 2012
514
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