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Post by Mister Buch on Feb 5, 2011 23:33:51 GMT 1
Hey! 4000th post! I'm glad it was fiction.
6th February 2011
'Love,' Joe told his ten-year-old daughter, trying very hard to build her into the kind of smartass, mature single-parent-kid you see on TV, 'inevitably ends.'
'Uh-hoh.'
'One of the two people gets bored, eventually, or just doesn't love y... the other person quite as much. Or it'll shrivel-up both ways, slowly. That doesn't make it less special...'
'Will you stop loving me?'
'No, honey, but heart disease'll kill me before you finish college. I'm talking about boys here. There's, like, a trick to it. When the love is ending...'
'What do I do then?'
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Post by Mr. Glow on Feb 6, 2011 0:48:21 GMT 1
5th February, 2011
5/1/1565, Hertford
William wakes me before dawn. We mount up and continue on our way.
"Are you sure we can trust thieves?" I ask him.
"I don't see why not. Personally, I'd trust a burglar over a nobleman any day. He may rob you blind, but he's more likely to be honest about it!" William jokes. "Besides, we're Assassins. You could make just as a strong a case for them to not trust us, should you want to"
We rise over a hill, and I can make out the thieves' farmhouse in the distance, under the rising sun.
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Post by Battlechantress on Feb 6, 2011 21:42:36 GMT 1
6 February 2011
Electrical cords. Bedding. Towels. Socks. Feet. Corgi. These are a few of the things that the puppy has tried to chew on today. The last two are her absolute favorite. Never mind the fact that she has several toys to choose from, it's what can yelp and try to wriggle away from those sharp little teeth that she will not stop attacking. I am glad, though, that she gave up fast on the first item on the list. I really wasn't looking forward to having a crispy puppy on a Sunday morning. I just wish she'd like my feet less.
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Post by lieden on Feb 6, 2011 22:02:01 GMT 1
I'm also enjoying these puppy entries a lot. This one reminded me of my recent visit to a printer shop, where they kept a huge puppy. It took a liking to me and my shoes, and I ended up browsing the shelves with the puppy attached to my foot and me dragging it all over the place until the owners took notice. I'm very lenient to puppies. Anyhow! Yesterday's entry, and catching up with more weirdness: -- 05 February 2011'You're a bad dog, Seri. A bad rabid dog. You should be put down.' 'Aww, don't be so mean. Come on - will you be less mad if I lick your face?' 'You're disgusting.' Seri made a slewrpy sound. 'Seriously now. It's things like that you say and make me want to lift my leg and piss on you.' 'I don't even know why I'm wasting my breath on you.' 'I don't know either. Maybe chronic halitosis makes you want to share. Are we done here?' 'Pah!' Zinet stormed out of the door. 'I don't know why you even keep trying...'
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Post by Mister Buch on Feb 7, 2011 0:20:25 GMT 1
That one was very good, Lieden. now I want to do a dog-themed one too. But I already did one a couple of months ago and I can't think of anything new to add. So I'm leaning back on my new commitment to shock value 7th February 2011'I AM a pervert,' he says calmly in response, and I stop paddling his ass. 'It IS a perversion. But of what? My desire to be controlled and punished, and how this has become sexual – it's not usual, or ideal, or healthy. And all submissives have that: weakness, low confidence. Don't let 'em tell you otherwise.' I nod but he can't see. 'But have you ever known a couple who were both perfect? And your perversions compliment mine nicely! Together we make almost a straight line.' I kiss him. After that I call him 'slut' instead. He likes that better.
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Post by Mr. Glow on Feb 7, 2011 0:26:15 GMT 1
6th February, 2011"Maybe they're still out stealing from the poor?" I offer, as we look around the deserted farmyard. "They knew we were coming. I'm sure they'd be back by now!" William says, visibly nervous. "Right. Let's check that barn" William sighs. We push open the doors. At first, I see nothing. A glance upwards changes that. There are at least half a dozen bodies, hung from the roof of the barn, stripped naked and clearly bearing signs of torture. I have to look away. "How could-" I begin. A fire bomb sails through the window, bursting, knocking me to the floor.
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Post by lieden on Feb 7, 2011 8:52:10 GMT 1
Good stuff, Buch & Glow.
Buch: things are getting risqué here! The rationalisation of the situation makes things more uncomfortable, even.
6 February 2011 - tribute to kallikantzaroi (Christmas goblins in Greek folklore)
It's that time of the year again. Boy, do I love this break. It gets tiresome, gnawing on that same old world tree all year long.
The best part is trashing people's homes. That's only slightly better than raiding pantries. I've a buddy who likes to roam the streets and steal people's voices. He's a creepy one.
It's not all good, of course. I got stuck once when some smartass human put a sieve at his threshold, and I had to be counting holes all night. You know, one-two, one-two. By morning I had frozen my ass off.
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Post by Mister Buch on Feb 7, 2011 10:05:35 GMT 1
You are all philistines For the record, that one was supposed to be sweet!
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Post by lieden on Feb 7, 2011 11:46:50 GMT 1
And with this I'm back on track:
7 February 2011
I am not sure how I've determined that I like fishing. My sole experience of it is from two summers ago, when my uncle took me out to sea on his boat. My first catch was a very spirited sardine: trying to remove it from the dropline had me end up with two hooks latched onto my thigh and splattered in sardine blood head to foot. Nonetheless, I managed to fill half a bucket with breams and sardines (the other half I fed to the seagulls), scaled them, gutted them, and proudly took them home to my mother to cook.
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Post by Mister Buch on Feb 7, 2011 13:00:15 GMT 1
Ayesha, don't worry, I was just kidding with the Philistines!
Here's tomorrow's in advance.
8th February, 2011
They'd always had two possible outcomes: either they'd colonise other planets or the Earth would swallow them before they managed it. Overpopulation, pollution, whathaveyou.
They never made it. Too busy playing games, eating farmed lobsters to impress one another. They were a species of unprecedented success and potential, cut short during what could have been their awkward teenage stage. All phobia and victory, no responsibility. They done messed up. No 'glorious dawn' for them.
The last one collapsed in a field and looked up toward the night sky. The construction and lights encroached on her view, but it wasn't bad.
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Post by Mister Buch on Feb 7, 2011 21:18:30 GMT 1
Touche. (But the E should have an accent over it.)
And thanks.
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Post by Battlechantress on Feb 8, 2011 0:48:42 GMT 1
I was surprised that I was able to write any sort of entry for today. (It was a long day at work, and I expect more of the same for the rest of the week.)
7 February 2011
Today was a first for the puppy: she was to be outside all day with the corgi. I was expecting to find she either escaped from the fenced-in yard, stuck while trying to escape, or howling and whining incessantly because her "mom" made her stay outside on a reasonably warm (for February) day. I was pleased to come home and find that she and the corgi had gotten through the day without too much trouble, although she somehow got dried grass and I don't know what else stuck in her fur, and she was opening the back door.
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Post by Mr. Glow on Feb 8, 2011 1:17:08 GMT 1
7th February, 2011
I feel a great heat around my left arm and snap my head around to look. Nearly all of my sleeve is engulfed in flame!
William's already on his feet, quickly removing his cloak and tossing it over my arm, smothering the flames.
"Are you all right?" He asks, helping me to my feet.
"I'm fine." I say as we draw our swords almost in unison. The sleeve of my tunic is singed brown, but I'm relatively unscathed.
"Grand. Follow my lead and we'll get out of this just fine." William says, striding to the barn door and opening it.
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Post by lieden on Feb 8, 2011 11:59:13 GMT 1
8 February 2011
'Sometimes you get the feeling that life is like a game, a sickeningly real game. And let's say you do something stupid, or maybe the game's too hard. You die. Ah, you die. No air. Your vision turns red, then black. But then you wake up again: reload, retry. So you think you can do it again, save and reload, if something goes wrong. But it's not like that, you can't clutch onto reality, you can't save, you can't reload, and yet you can't get rid of the gnawing feeling that this is all a game you've been trapped into.'
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Post by Mister Buch on Feb 9, 2011 0:19:31 GMT 1
I like that one a lot, Lieden. I feel like that myself often - you put it very well.
And here's another thrilling adventure from the people who brought you 'incomprehensible sweary poem' and 'bizarre S&M thing':
9th February 2011
I've got an issue here. As I get out of bed there's a tune in my head, but I can only remember one line. Makes me itch. I look at the ceiling.
'Hey Comp, what's this song in my head...?' I'm about to hum it aloud but the computer cuts me off.
'That's Downtown, originally by Petula Clark.'
'It is?'
'Yes, but you're thinking of Give Me Up by JacSaw, which samples the chorus.'
Thaaaaaat's it. 'Thanks, pal.'
'No problem, Dave.'
I get a very unfamiliar feeling. 'Comp, buddy, my name is Jeff.'
'I know. I'm just messing with ya.'
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