-312
Mmmkay, kiddos, i'm off to Colorado. i'll be back Sunday the twenty-blah. Not THIS Sunday, the next one. Yeah, that one. Smurfie, i love you! i'ma miss you so much! i promise to bring back presents!
Courtesy,
Sushi.
Yay, quizzy things!!
You know all that mystical stuff you hear about "Content Without Form?" This is the opposite.
Your soul is bound to the Burning Rose: The
Rapture.
"I go where my heart beckons me, and I go
with my head high. But sometimes, I get a need
until I bleed so my heart swims above my
head."
The Burning Rose is associated with passion,
intensity, and desire. It is governed by the
god Eros and its sign is The Flame, or Physical
Love.
As a Burning Rose, you can get lost in the moment
if you let yourself. You are a very physical
person, be it in relationships, work, or play.
You may be driven by your hormones sometimes,
but you know it's because you have to follow
your instinct.
What Rose Is Your Soul Bound To?
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Are you damned?
Brought to you by Rum and Monkey
You're coming back! And if you are a Hindu you are going to have very specific characteristics:
"The slayer of a woman and the destroyer of embryos becomes a savage full of diseases; who commits illicit intercourse, a eunuch; who goes with his teacher’s wife, disease-skinned. The eater of flesh becomes very red; the drinker of intoxicants, one with discolored teeth...." (Garuda Purana)
Christopher Walken says there is
something wrong with that furry friend!
"Look, pal. I noticed the dog.
That...dog...it had no tail? Did they dock the
tail...yeah thats too bad. I wish everyone had
a tail. That way, when you were angry you
could wag that tail, people would say 'step
back, don't bother Chris today, he's having a
bad day.' Otherwise, what's the point. If I
had a tail, I would be expressive with THAT
TAIL. I mean, you could always get on an
airplane."
What advice would Christopher Walken give you?
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-314
A small list to reassure everyone i know this evening.
i've long presumed that the life i was leading was one of a well-mannered, if somewhat existential, hero.
Even after long discussing it with people like Mortimer Khan, today was the first day it actually occured to me that mine might be the role of the villan.
Looked at that way, it all makes so much more sense:
My love of irony
My penchant for witty remarks at the expense of the oblivious
My intellectual side, channeled for no real cause, but rather for my numerous hairbrained schemes, few of which are ever brought to fruition
My intolerance of failure in those i see as inferiors
My tendancy to, against all odds, survive and face the same antagonists time and time again...
i could go on all night.
So, in light of this recent epiphany, i've compiled a list to assure that i do not fall into the habits of the classic villan, who is always so foolish objectively. A sort of "Do and Don't" list to keep me from meeting their ineveitable fates at the hands of the heroes. Here we go:
1: i will NEVER build my lair anywhere in orbit, at sea, or underground. It will not be powered by nuclear reactors, a hydro-powered turbine dam, or lava. Instead, i will make my lair somewhere easily escapable that cannot possibly be exploded without harming innocents. Like an appartment, or a suburban home.
2: i will ALWAYS start my evil plan at least an hour early. This ensures that if the hero shows up just in time to throw a wrench in the works, he will only find that he's an hour late. i bet they hate that.
3: If i ever manage to capture my arch nemesis, i will kill him simply, quickly, and without a touch of flair. i will UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES, bind him, explain my entire evil plot, then leave him for dead.
4: i will NOT send henchman after henchman after the hero in progressively harder waves. Instead, i will either have him audited by the IRS, or alternately send hundreds upon thousands of small pack hunting animals, such as rats or bees.
5: If i EVER need to actually send a REAL henchman after the hero, i will NOT give him ANYTHING that could prove useful to the hero should the henchman be defeated. This includes, but is not limited to, incredible empowered weapons, impenatrable armor, and powerful sources of magic. My henchmen will carry bags with staving, rabid badgers and greek fire in them instead.
6: That legendary sword you've heard of that is the only way to truly banish me to the afterlife? Yeah, the sword in the topmost tower or dankest basement of my lair is a COPY. The real one is grafted into my spine, thanks.
7: i will not ever kill any member of the hero's family, nor any elderly teacher. If the elderly teacher tries to fight me, i will decline, and force him into a game of Risk, or some other contest i can surely win without harming him or myself.
8: i will tell the hero that i am his/her father ONLY at a crucial moment in battle, whether i am or not, and will immediately exploit his/her stunned reaction by lopping his/her head off.
9: i will NEVER dismiss ANY member of the hero's party as "harmless."
10: i will ALWAYS use my huge, super powerful one shot only uber-strike NOT to chip away at the hero's armor, but rather to utterly annhialate the party's healer.
If i think of any more, there will be an edit to this list.
Courtesy.
-315
Well, what can i say?
Which Enemy of the Christian Church Are You?
Take More of Robert & Tim's Quizzes
Watch Robert & Tim's Cartoons
bring on my virgin indeed... ;) (Sorry, it's wintertime, and i get all those cuddly-snuggle instincts, as foreign as they may seem to most of you in relation to me....)
Oh, and while we're talking quizzy things...
A COPPER Dragon Lies Beneath!
My inner dragon is the mighty warrior of dragon-kind. I don't play silly head-games or use fruity magic, I stick to the basics: big muscles and lots of flame. Wipe that smirk off your face, pal. Click the image to try the Inner Dragon Online Quiz for yourself.
Yep. Sounds good.
Smurfie, i love you more than words can say, have i told you that today?
i'm thinking of you all the time, and i hope you're feeling lots better, and full of tasty ice creams!
hugs for you!!
As for the rest of you, a select few of you know who gets hugs, handshakes and friendly pats about the head, and the rest of you had better just keep your distance; i get stabby when the weather turns cold and when the days get short, so does my stupid tolerance fuse.
Consider it my alternative to hibernating. It's naturally seasonal, so don't complain.
Expect me to be happier and exuberant around next May.
Expect me to be thrilled and overjoyed next September.
Expect me to be gone next October.
Courtesy,
Sushi.
-317
It's not often that i find poetry that makes me physically sick to read.
Even less often, i find poetry that makes me shoot guilty glances to either side of me, making certain that nobody's watching me read the filth. The sort of absurdly bad poetry that gives you those creepy "Stupid Chills," where the back of your neck tingles and you blush a bit, you feel so embarrassed on the writer's behalf.
Today, i read one that blew them all straight out of the water.
Let's face it; it wouldn't warrant its own entry if it didn't.
Upon reading this poem by one of my oldest mate's buddy from school, i knew what i had to do.
i'm hosting the first annual "Absolute Most Embarrassing Goth Poetry to Read Ever in the History of Ever Award. It's kind of too bad, because i've talked to the guy who wrote it before, and besides being something of a Drama queen and a hedonist with a penchant for one-upmanship (In other words, A GOTH...), he's a fairly decent, even marginally smart individual. But i digress. Without further ado, here's the envelope.
[Drumroll]
*AHEM* "Aaaaaaand, the award for 'Absolute Most Embarrassing Goth Poetry to Read Ever in the History of Ever,' goes to the following entry, authored by a friend who i will allow to remain anonymous in shame."
[/Drumroll]
The sky is as black as
The eyeliner smudged and dried
Into a trail running down
My face.
I count the
Stars like I count the
Scars
And the air is the perfect temperature
To suffocate.
My breath is short
My breath is deep
My breath is taken note as
Hardly there.
But the still feeling all around
The dead feeling all around
Will allow my eyes
To only stare.
All the pretty aching feelings
Painted on the wall
Scream and cry for light
Make me feel my fault
And I can’t set them
Free.
But the deepest voice singing in my head
Twists my heart further than it can twist
And arms wrapped around me so lovingly
They do not exist
And I cease
To be.
Now go watch your favorite movie, eat a quart of ice cream and some chocolate, light some candles and have a bubble bath. You'll feel better in no time, i promise.
On another Note, The Onion has once again proved itself to be entirely relevant to me...
..."God, my links alone contain unlimited fodder for Mom's neuroses," Widmar said. "She'll have access to not only my life, but the lives of all my friends who have web sites. She'll have the names of all the places in Minneapolis where we hang out, which she can—and will—look up. With the raw materials in my blog, she could actually construct an accurate picture of who I am. This is fucking serious."...
Courtesy.
