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No, we're not mercenaries. We just carry weapons and kill things for the joy of the experience.

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Messages - Eater of Clowns

#4547
Service economy.  That's what they call our disconnect with real work, our separation from basic needs.  This desk isn't for your hands it's for your fingers and you can use them until the bones rub to dust, poking each key one at a time after the congealed blood in your digits stiffens them in an erection more perverse than the one you can't see on television.  Our back problems aren't from manual labor they're from muscles atrophied after years in that nice comfy chair; one weekend-moving-into-your-nice-new-place away from throwing your spine into a question mark that'll drain your pocket and the health care coffers until you're bent so far forward that keeling over to die is no longer a euphemism.

We're all so arrogant, so sure that we're better off here than with our hands buried in soft, cool soil.  We never thought to test that theory, it having been brain food from that big hand that reaches down to us in simultaneous pity and satisfaction, the one with the muscles that look too much like wires and the blood too dark and too viscous.  Our hands won't be in soil until they're on the underside of it reaching up, even then protected by a smooth, shiny box.  After all, we wouldn't want to get dirt under our fingernails.

We're all in services instead, doing our part to complete one leg of one project to keep one department afloat in one company keeping itself from flatlining in one economy.  It's a diamond scheme with a maniacal codger dancing and laughing at the highest point, unaware of his own mortality and irrelevance only as long as the backs upon which he stands remain unaware of his existence.  They're all looking down to keep their precarious position, the best of them a sudden breeze from plummeting.  Follow their gazes to the end and you'll find a weary and abused body straining against the burden, braced by hands plunged deep into the earth.  All they need to do is look up and see everyone else teetering the same way they are, but it's a glance they can't afford.
#4548
New Bedford is the armpit.  If Massachusetts is an arm, that is exactly where we're located.



Also it's smelly, oily, and hairy at parts.
#4549
Quote from: Jenne on October 14, 2009, 04:21:48 PM
It's like you'd want to hate-fuck the shit out of her...or something.

Shit-fuck the hate out of her?
#4550
Quote from: Requia ☣ on October 13, 2009, 11:02:44 PM
I'm pretty sure they aren't supposed to have depth in the movie.

At least, it seems like they actively tried to avoid it.

Which is funny because The Spirit did comic book depth about 30 years before Watchmen.
#4551
I was surprised to see this come out of Lakeville.  It always struck me as a really liberal little town.

Oh man my memere lives there, maybe she did it.
#4552
Oh my god.  The city under glass captures the tone of that all so well.
#4553
Where did the go?  They're exactly where they've always been and they won't be coming back to this age of desperate and filthy stardom, where black and white is a gimmick and the ones that did it for real may as well have been chiseled on tablets.  The Three Stooges are those guys on the tiny screen with the rabbit ears sticking out from the top watched by a single sad dumb old man sitting on the couch swilling beer before he crushes the can and tosses it on the floor.  His guffaws are the only thing that aren't sophisticated like the rest of us; we know something shouldn't be done unless it's done excessively.  Anything else is a decaying relic from Before My Time.

Roger, would you have them here if you could?  Their silly antics would fall on eyes that have seen Sacha Baron Cohen wrestle an overweight man in the nude.  Can we bring along Audrey Hepburn?  Rather than simply bat an eyelash to drive men wild she'd have to kiss Angelina Jolie at the MTV Movie Awards, she'd have to be on the cover of Maxim.  What about a truly risque starlet like Marilyn Monroe, our beloved beautiful Marilyn?  I'd rather let them live in immortality in the minds of those who know them as they were.
#4554
Literate Chaotic / Re: NaNoWriMo 2009?
October 13, 2009, 09:09:10 PM
I intend to give it a shot this year.  I have no ideas, but I'll attack it.
#4555
Literate Chaotic / Re: Bathroom Graffiti as Literature
October 13, 2009, 09:07:22 PM
There's a Borders in Boston near the central branch of the Boston Public Library that has a bunch of pun graffiti on the second floor.

It's all written in the grout between tiles on the wall and reads such as:

Grout Expectations
The Grout Gatsby
In Grout We Trust
etc.
#4556
Quote from: LMNO on October 12, 2009, 07:01:19 PM
Ah, perhaps.

There was a crappy movie made recently, wasn't there?

There was, Frank Miller adapted it and gave it Sin City visuals.  The Spirit was Will Eisner's take on superheroes, and given he didn't like superheroes he wasn't really a very good one.  He was a detective with a stiff punch.  The comic was fucking incredible.
#4557
My girlfriend and I made a bet.  If I can grow a moustache long enough to curl the tips around upon itself once she owes me a nice dinner.  If I get pissed and trim it, I owe her one.
#4558
Absolutely incredible.   :mittens:

Panel 2 - its not it's
#4559
QuoteViruses you suffer from:

Pokemon
Pikachu! Use your hyper-electric-get-a-life move now!


Junkfood
Eat some real food. Something which you can identify the source of every ingredient, not the point of manufacture.


Sci-fi
Stop wearing the stick-on ears.


Gaming
Life is not a game. Roll 3D6. On a 4 or more go out and do something with your life.


Religion
Read "God's Debris" by Scott Adams (yes, the Dilbert guy)


Discordia
Buy a suit. Invest your money. Eat hotdog buns on a friday.


Politics
Stop caring!


Brand Names
Having a well-known name doesn't make it good.


Hippyism
Free love is passe and potentially dangerous, and patchouli smells like cat piss.


Conspiracy Theory
Face it, the elected government is in control. Actually that's quite scary.


Environmentalism
Consume more stuff! It's easier to buy new stuff than to recycle.

Viruses you might suffer from:

Linux (80%)
Install the latest version of Microsoft Windows. Learn to love it.


USA (70%)
Rule, Britannia! Britannia rule the waves! [repeat]


Japan (85%)
Big is good. Small is bad. Giant robots would not make a good last line of defence for Earth.


Computer Games (90%)
Stop staring at the screen and get some fresh air. You should see a doctor about the RSI in your thumbs.


Macintosh (80%)
Use a mouse with more than one button.
#4560
Happy is a chimp that lives in your head.  In mine too.  When you're small with small problems that are resolved faster than a Saturday morning cartoon, Happy is pretty much the only chimp that lives in your head.  At that point he's a big, strong chimp that doesn't even need to defend the levers.  None of the other chimps are brave enough to stand up to him!

Something happens after a while and it's different in everyone.  Sometimes Rage strikes the first blow and Happy gets hurt.  For others, it's Fear that attacks.  In some, The Other One whispers insidious things to all the chimps and they learn how to handle Happy.  But still, Happy gets his turn at the levers.  Sometimes they're very long turns.  Then sometimes they're very short turns.

Later still some chimps are growing and some are shrinking.  Happy is one of the shrinking ones.  Happy never gets a turn at the levers.  He sits in the corner and smiles and sometimes the other chimps kick him and tears of joy drip down the corners of his big chimpy grin.

Ethics knows it's not right what's happening to Happy.  He walks up to Happy and he says, "You know, Happy, it's not right what's happening to you.  We each deserve our turn at the levers, and well if you aren't going to get it by asking maybe you should team up with another smaller chimp and take it from the big ones."

Happy knew he was right, but he didn't want to team up with boring old Ethics.  He found Self-Destructo the Wonder Chimp, self proclaimed superhero of the chimps in our brain.  And oh how Happy grinned when you fell, beamed as the blood trickled out.  He said thank you to Self-Destructo and he went back to his own business, exhuberantly and flamboyantly swinging around like he did as a young, free chimp.

So that's how Happy survives now.  Sometimes he's friends with Rage and sometimes he's friends with Desire.  No matter who he's with he's still smiling.  Sometimes it's a grin, sometimes it's a sneer, sometimes it's malicious, and sometimes it's not clear.