A small town in NW Indiana, which is basically LaPorte, next to Kingsford Heights, as well as Kingsbury. It does mostly habitat cheaters and liars and drinking while driving on those back roads because they can get away with it because there is nothing else to do other than farm/drink/cheat/find online affairs and hurt others in the process. Lots of farming area.
hamlet hamlet indiana cheaters liars alcohlics capital of online sex affairs sneaking around back biting
by Disgruntled Human Being March 20, 2011
Get the Hamlet Indianamug. A person who suppresses their homosexual thoughts and tenancies by showing hostility toward homosexuals and homosexual behavior.
(The term refers to the story of Hamlet, on how Hamlet repressed the sexual thoughts of his mother and how it added hostility toward his uncle.)
(The term refers to the story of Hamlet, on how Hamlet repressed the sexual thoughts of his mother and how it added hostility toward his uncle.)
by manitoumanitou August 22, 2008
Get the Hamlet Syndromemug. joey shoots sammy, billy stabs joey, sandy decapitates billy, rachael beats sandy with a baseball bat, tommy whips out an ak-47 and takes out rachael, then seeing all the carnage commits seppuku. george walks in and says "omgwtfbbqusa is this the last act of hamlet or something?!?!
by hella fine July 24, 2008
Get the last act of hamletmug. A small community located in East Ottawa. Blackburn is a nice place for families to live with great schools. Blackburn is a hype place for teenagers to meet up and have a good time. They have some of the best ODRs and are known for great house parties. Also known as: The BB Hood or The Burn
by 613local February 5, 2018
Get the Blackburn Hamletmug. A situation where something is rotten in the state of Denmark, your jester is clearly dead, or your uncle has clearly murdered your dad and married your mom.
by ThingNamer2000 September 20, 2016
Get the Hamlet-n-cheese sandwichmug. no
by Sugacube March 4, 2019
Get the hamlet act 3 scene 3 line 87mug. William Shakespeare: Hamlet.
QUOTE:
To be, or not to be, that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And by opposing end them. To die—to sleep,
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to: 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there's the rub:
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause—there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th'oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of dispriz'd love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th'unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovere'd country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action.
QUOTE:
To be, or not to be, that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And by opposing end them. To die—to sleep,
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to: 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there's the rub:
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause—there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th'oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of dispriz'd love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th'unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovere'd country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action.
by John Geometry TM October 6, 2025
Get the William Shakespeare: Hamlet.mug.