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Not so they'll incinerate her, so they'll stop, in case that wasn't clear. I am not a monster! *elephantmangif*
When the aliens come to incinerate us, show them that kid.
You guys are making me feel bad. How many times has he done this song and dance already? I'm calling shenanigans!
He just survived a meteorite attack, I'm sure he'll be back. On a related note, I wish my muse wasn't so into wasting time. Someone save me from myself.
Holy crap! TUMNUS GOT INTO THE BALL! I was so fixated on the caption contest that it didn't even occur to me that he might. It took almost a year but he finally did it! Alas, having serving the purpose for which the universe had designed him, I'm saddened to report that Mr. Tumnus was flattened by a meteorite during his lunch break. On a positive note, he was eating pizza. It had capicolli and feta on it, so he died with a smile.
Man of Steel: Dark Steel of Knight Man or Man of Steel: Basuptermamann!
My day is awaiting moderation because I'm a terrorist, apparently.
Today I spent two hours in the dentist’s chair getting my molar whittled down to a nub so that a crown can be put on it. I put some Doctor Who radio shows on my iPod beforehand, so that I’d have something other than dentistry to focus on, but after a couple of minutes I realized that aliens doing weird alien things is the worst possible thing to listen to while a bright light is shining in your eyes and some dark silhouette is wrist deep in your face. So I switched to The Shepherd’s Dog by Iron & Wine and it gave me an idea for a music review column or podcast or something called From The Dentist’s Chair, because you hear music in a totally different way when your teeth are being drilled. For instance, I never picked up on the sinister undertones of that album before. It felt a bit like being trapped in a cellar with some madman who won’t stop whispering his poetry into your ear no matter how much you put your finger to your lips and mime shushing while gesturing wildly with your other hand at the cellar door beyond which lies a world of zombies. Kind of relaxing, but kind of not. I’d give it a 7 from the dentist’s chair. (In my imaginary podcast, you’d hear the sound of a drill now, and maybe maniacal laughter.) Then I switched to R Plus Seven by Oneohtrix Point Never which is surprisingly great tooth whittlin’ music. A lot of it sounds like repurposed dental machinery – or at least it does when combined with the sound of actual dental machinery in your mouth – so I experienced this transcendent moment in which everything was part of the music, like Bjork in that movie, before she gets hanged (spoilers). It was kind of all worth it for that moment. Unfortunately, the album is too soft and atmospheric in places and doesn’t adequately cover the sound of drilling. It gets an 8 from the dentist’s chair (brrzzz, muahaha). Now my mouth hurts.
A slow day for spiderfires. We must be doing something right. I'll whip up some pamphlets on spiderfire prevention over the weekend and maybe we can keep this streak going. Good job, everyone. Go team!
Also, I just bought the Kindle edition of your book. Not everyone understands the dangers posed by spiderfires as well as you do. So... great birthday or GREATEST birthday? I think it's after midnight in Videogum time, which means your birthday is over. Which means... *sploosh* Had to do it. It was, like, right in the corner of your mouth. Driving me nuts. Excelsior! *whoosh*
I hear ya. I'm nearing the end of my thirties and I'm like, "Good goddamn riddance." I think I'm really gonna come into my own when I'm sixty. And then a meteorite will strike me dead because Life. For your birthday I managed to keep the spiderfires away from you without you even noticing. You're welcome.
Seven young, attractive and single diverse cast-mates go on a day trip and when they come back, they find their doppelgangers have taken up residence in the house. The doppelgangers are psychologically as well as physically identical. They share the same memories, the same habits, the same mannerisms, the same speech patterns... you get it. If you drink straight from the milk carton or talk in a movie theater (it's annoying when other people do it but you don't do it very often so it's okay) so does your doppelganger. The doors to the house can no longer be opened from the inside and all contact with the outside world is cut off. None of the cast-mates understand what is expected of them. *sploosh* Almost missed that one. *whoosh*
*sploosh* Don't mind me, just doing the Lord's work. *whoosh*
*sploosh* What? No! If I pay for your dry cleaning, the spiderfires win. Excelsior! *whoosh*
*sploosh* Don't worry. You had a spiderfire on your leg but it's out now. No, please, you're embarrassing me. I'm not a hero, just a simple monk saving the world one spiderfire at a time. *whoosh*
And a lean, silent figure slowly fades into the gathering darkness, aware at last that in this world, with great power there must also come -- great responsibility! Simon (thought bubble): "Those spiderfires won't fight themselves! Only a monk can stop them! A monk like me!"
Where would the hyphen go in Spiderfireman? Spider-Fireman or Spiderfire-Man? I guess the first one because the second one makes it look like he's fighting spiderfires. But I'd definitely watch a movie with spiderfires in it, whatever they are. So I'm torn.
Sooo... I'm a Satanist. Interested? Y/N
You shouldn't necessarily believe everything Tumnus says.
Rehtom Ruoy Tem I Woh - the entire original series played backwards! The only new addition to the cast is a dwarf who occasionally dances through a scene, invisible to the other characters, offering predictions on gum trends.
There's a whole wide Internet out there for stuff like this and the picture heimaey posted yesterday. Roam free.
I went to the dentist today and he told me I need a crown. One of my molars is cracking on all four sides, getting ready to split open like a lotus. With an exposed nerve as its stamen. Yeesh, I just made my own stomach do a little flip. On the minus side, the crown's only half covered by my dental so it's gonna cost me $600 and I'm beyond poor right now. Like, I'm regretting doing such a good job cleaning my apartment a month ago because those dust bunnies could have been hunted for food. Their dust fur could have kept me warm at night and their dust guts could have been used to make new dust bows. Such a waste. On the plus side, the crown's going to be solid gold! Because that's cheaper than porcelain? Surely there's a third option! This is the twenty-first century, goddammit, which is basically The Future. No flying cars AND only two types of fake teeth? Come on! Get your shit together, The Future! I'm actually a bit excited about having a gold tooth, but I hope your trip to the dentist is less expensive.
Yeah, well, you don't like Firefly sooo... you're probably a horror monster yourself. In fact, you probably object to the movie because it blows the lid off your whole horror monster system. And you like Steve Winwood so much because his animatronic body isn't powered by electricity but by the evil energies of Cthulhu, so that he can serve as a sort of Bizarro Metatron for the Dreaming Underlord. I'm on to you, Chris Trash. IF THAT IS INDEED YOUR REAL NAME!
Honestly, you're probably better off for not being one of us, at least not entirely. One of us. One Of Us! ONE OF US!! BRAAAAYNZZZ!!!
"La plus belle des ruses de la merde est de vous persuader qu'elle n'existe pas." - Charles Baudelaire.
In all fairness, the Beatles did say it first. You just reworded it. I doubt that there are grounds for a copyright lawsuit here.
Grr, damage deposit, not safety deposit, obvs.
I once moved into an apartment that was filthy. The bathroom was moldy, there was loose dog food in the drawers, and it hadn't even been vacuumed. I didn't mention any of this to my landlady, I just went on a cleaning binge. Then, when I moved out a year later, she asked me if I'd cleaned the carpets. No, I said, because I couldn't afford to (which was true, I was very poor). Well, she said, I'll have to take that out of your safety deposit. "Why?" I asked. "No-one cleaned the carpets before I moved in. The place was a dump." "That's not true!" she said. "You know it was spotless!" The audacity of the lie literally took my breath away. If there had been a third party there, maybe I would have understood it, but it was only the two of us and we both knew the truth. So what was the point? Who was she trying to fool? I didn't know whether to laugh or scream. "Are you fucking serious?" I finally said. She scuttled away from me (using the word "scuttle" seems insulting but she was short and overweight and didn't wear shoes or socks and didn't cut her toenails as often as she could have, so it fits) and I had to chase after her to give her my next address, in case there were any legitimate issues to be dealt with. In conclusion, choose your fields of battle with more care, adult liars. Or, better yet, grow the fuck up and tell the truth as best you can.
Thanks. My mom believes in the power of prayer so hopefully that'll help. Whereas praying for me would be so many White Coins of Onan misspent on my desert soul. I phrased that as a joke but I genuinely suspect that that's how it works. So really, thank you. She's doing a lot better than she was.
My mom took a ten foot fall about a month ago and landed on a sawhorse, leaving a two inch deep gash in her thigh. She hasn't been feeling very well since then but yesterday it became infected, or its infection became severe (I don't really know what the incubation period for infections is) and she had to go to the hospital, almost delirious with fever. They fed her eight bags of antibiotics intravenously in just a few hours. I tend to avoid situations that make me feel helpless (not always an admirable quality) so I went to see The Grandmaster in the theater, as I had been planning to before all this happened. Overall, I liked it, but I could tell that it had been kind of butchered for western audiences. So today I bought her the book that was featured on last night's Daily Show, The Reason I Jump by Naoki Higashida, a thirteen year old autistic kid, translated into English by David Mitchell (author of Cloud Atlas and others) and his wife, because last night when I was talking to my mom on the phone I asked her if there were any books she'd like to read and she said whatever, any book, and that she'd really liked the last book I gave her, The Thousand Autumns of Jacob De Zoet by David Mitchell. So when I turned on the Daily Show almost immediately after that and saw David Mitchell talking about this other book, it seemed like too great a synchronicity to not mean anything. I don't know if I believe in synchronicity but it can't hurt to remain open to the possibility. Then I sat on the balcony of my favourite pub while my laundry went round and round at the nearby laundromat and opened the book up to make sure it was a good gift and read it from cover to cover. Guys, it's fucking amazing. Read it. It'll only take you an hour or so. Then home to slam a couple cups of coffee so I wouldn't appear obviously buzzed when I visited my mom in the hospital. My sister and one-year-old nephew were there and it was good to see them (my nephew and I sword-fought: he had a Get Well card on a plastic stick and I had a Get Well balloon) but then they left, and I could feel the old hospital dread crawling up my leg. I guess my mom could tell I was drifting into my own private universe of horror because she hid where the IV needle was stuck into her arm under her blanket and then pulled the blanket up to her chin to cover her heart monitor. The worst thing about hospitals is that they're so fucking quiet. Like, if Death were actively stalking the halls with its scythe resting against its bony shoulder, that would almost be preferable. Instead, it's quiet, shhh, so quiet, until far away you hear an alarming series of beeps. And then it's quiet again, and you have no idea what the beeping meant, or if it meant anything. I don't know what all this rambling means. I often worry that someone I know in real life will visit this site and realize who I am and wonder, "What's up with the over-sharing?" Because, what is up with it? I don't know. Sometimes it just makes it easier to throw this stuff out there for the amusement of people I don't really know. Not so much to distance myself from it, so that I can view it from a detached perspective (although that's probably in there), but because... I don't know. There are some things you can't say to the people who care about you without making them worry about you, and I already talk to myself too much.
None of us exist to entertain you.
I didn't upvote you because it would feel like I was upvoting the remake and I can't do that. But I didn't downvote the messenger either.
This makes no sense. The original was very close to perfect (I can't think of anything wrong with it, so to me it's perfect, but nothing is ACTUALLY perfect, hence the qualification) and none of the accents were hard to understand. There is no reason for an American remake other than money. Also, if this delays or derails the second series they were talking about making in Britain... grr.
Meth, schöner Götterfunken, Tochter aus Elysium! Wir betreten feuertrunken, Himmlische, Dein Heiligtum. Deine Zauber binden wieder Was die Mode streng geteilt, Alle Menschen werden Brüder, Wo Dein sanfter Flügel weilt. Seid umschlungen, Millionen! Diesen Kuß der ganzen Welt! Brüder, überm Sternenzelt Muß ein lieber Mr. White wohnen! - the Ode to Meth from Beethoven's Ninth
Go forth, you are forgiven. In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.
I eat Sapporo Ichiban sandwiches on a regular basis but that shit looks unhealthy.
Do you really want me to do me? Okay.... Come on, boys! Everyone on the rocket! Who likes ice cream? 1D (softly, in the background): yay! ice cream!
My only exposure to One Direction has been on this site, nowhere else, and already I'd like to load these kids onto a rocket and shoot them into the sun. Before you downvote me, know that I would tell them that they were going to the One Direction theme park I'd built for them on the moon and that the cabin would fill with knock-out gas before even the shadow of a suspicion fluttered through their photogenic heads. It would be a merciful death.
I didn't think it was a very good idea for a TV show when I first heard about it but I really liked this pilot. Resurrecting Clark Gregg was the right call, even if it sounds stupid, because he's the best part. Pretty much everyone else is just a bit too physically perfect. That's my only complaint. Also, it didn't really get into whatever weird ideas are going to be driving the plot (or so I'm assuming, since this is a Whedon show) but since he got burned when he tried to say too much right off the bat with Dollhouse, his caution is understandable.