Please take the following typing speed test:
http://www.typeonline.co.uk/typingspeed.php
I got (with a different text each time):
1st try: 100WPM, 2 mistates
2nd try: 106WPM, 1 mistakes
3rd try: 104WPM, 0 mistakes
Which is down from typing class 10 years ago :-(
Please read all choices before clicking a link; only your FIRST click will be counted as your vote.
What is your typing speed?
- Can't type shit captain:
http://impoll.net/cgi-bin/v.cgi?p=3830&r=0
2. Less than 40 WPM:
http://impoll.net/cgi-bin/v.cgi?p=3830&r=1
3. 40-60 WPM:
http://impoll.net/cgi-bin/v.cgi?p=3830&r=2
4. 61-80 WPM:
http://impoll.net/cgi-bin/v.cgi?p=3830&r=3
5. 81-100 WPM:
http://impoll.net/cgi-bin/v.cgi?p=3830&r=4
6. 101-120 WPM:
http://impoll.net/cgi-bin/v.cgi?p=3830&r=5
7. 121-140 WPM:
http://impoll.net/cgi-bin/v.cgi?p=3830&r=6
8. More than 140 WPM:
http://impoll.net/cgi-bin/v.cgi?p=3830&r=7
9. Depends if you mean 1-handed or 2-handed:
http://impoll.net/cgi-bin/v.cgi?p=3830&r=8
10. WIPO:
http://impoll.net/cgi-bin/v.cgi?p=3830&r=9
Pic is always unrelated.
'May you not rest, as long as I am living.
You said I killed you - haunt me, then.'
As I read over these words... once, twice, then once more, her mystical countenance bore itself into my newly impressionable mind.
I wasn't taken aback - indeed my thoughts, once impervious to such matters, had for the past few months been flooded with little
more than reflections on love. There was a tinge of guilt which came with the meandering of my mind. I felt a traitor not only to
Lia, but to myself. My fortitude had been thwarted, my self-induced loneliness assuaged, and I felt like a fool. I had once
believed that I was destined to be as alone in life as I will be in death. In comparison to my adolescent peers, and when I was at
my most introspective, I was so alarmed by my lack of interest in women or even men that I convinced myself of being asexual.
Strangely, this has been greatly compromised. For reasons I feel will always lay beyond my childish understanding, a girl has
smashed through the walls of my mind and the glaciers of my chest. For reasons I am currently hesistant to disclose, I'll refer to
her simply as "L". Let us not confuse this as some sort of vague euphemism for Lia; no, I am in fact anything but secretive about
my former obsession. Wish, .71, whomever else allows me to indulge them in my tl;dr, self-important tale of the heart... I feel
torn up inside. In truth, I have well and truly allowed Olivia's hold on me to rest in peace. I no longer need gaze at her
melancholy expressions to get me through the day. I have fallen victim to an infatuation of even more potential danger - that of
the IRL variety. Don't take it as an attack on your character, Anonymous, but I'm apprehensive about expecting you to relate
(tripfags on the other hand can certainly take it as an attack on their character).
You see, my once-hardened emotions have been withered and crippled by L. I draw fondness from every aspect of her being: in her
bittersweet voice, her soothing character... the secret garden of her eyes, in which blossoms marvellous orchids, sublimes roses,
and airy tulips. Perhaps you denounce me as so, wish, I confide to you that I make no secret of being a gigantic faggot. These are
my feelings, unwanted as they may be, and though your attention is perhaps too much to ask, I feel the need for catharsis. As
such, I will begin my ramblings...