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Messages - Eater of Clowns

Pages: [1] 2 3 4 ... 266
1
Things you didn't want to know about EoC's dick:  it wants nothing to do with getting wet unless there's trust on both sides of it. Like a dick sandwich on trust bread. Then it's like awww yeeaaah.

2
Using adjectives to describe height is an artificial social construct, part and parcel of a maladptive discourse in a patriarchal misogynistic society.

That sounds like something a short person would say, puny.

3
I am a lesbian woman marrying a man.

The article provides a fine example of sexuality as a continuum, and then completely dashes it aside in favor of hard fast labels.

5
The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / Re: Halloween
« on: Yesterday at 03:44:58 pm »
eeeeep

I am comfortable with this measure on the Official QG Scale of Terror.  :lulz:

THE MARROWMAN RETURNS!   :eek::banana::eek:

I don't like to overdo it with him. A few vignettes a year is good for me. I keep saying I should write a full on short story featuring him, maybe submit to some horror rag.

6
Can't you just wheel Payne into a storage shed for much cheaper and drop by once or twice a week to inject the nutrient rich sludge he feeds off of into his preservative tank? It might be better if he's away from population centers, for when his violent, anguished psychic dreams bleed into their sleeping hours.

apparently not. he has this thing called a job and locking him up isn't an option.

Silly me.

7
Can't you just wheel Payne into a storage shed for much cheaper and drop by once or twice a week to inject the nutrient rich sludge he feeds off of into his preservative tank? It might be better if he's away from population centers, for when his violent, anguished psychic dreams bleed into their sleeping hours.

8
The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / Halloween
« on: Yesterday at 12:37:14 am »
We keep the lights out on Halloween, here in the tenements. The families with kids go somewhere else, their grandmother's cul de sac or over to see their cousins on the well lit side of town. It's better for them there. The streets aren't so busy and the bars aren't so close and the doorbells still work. It's much too dark here because we keep the lights out.

We buy the candy, of course. There's always one family, maybe they're new, maybe they'll just never understand like the rest of us, and their kids shouldn't suffer. If their knock reaches up through old creaking stairwells and the outed porch bulbs do not deter, we smile and we drop some candy in their bags. They look down unable to help themselves to see what they got and we glance past them down the street and sidewalks and we shoot the parents a warning and we close the door. And we work our way back in the dark, not even a lamp, not even a candle that night.

Even so the knock does come, a singular thing, a knuckle shattering skin peeling rapping in steady rhythm, patient, expectant. One, the eyes widen, two the skin prickles, three the spine shivers and silence comes upon huge. The city is quiet for once and anything, anything for a passing car, for wind rustled garbage but there is nothing. The knocks come again as before. One, the eyes wince, two the skin itches, three the spine arches and the pause is a thousand years of pounding blood filled eardrums and sensory deprivation. The knocks come again as before.

Locks come undone and doors open slowly and heavy footfalls sound through the dark of the tenement halls, for we keep the lights out. We are not so foolish to think he would be fooled but the lights are inviting and this one is unwelcome, whether he comes or not we must know ourselves that he is unwelcome.

The knocking stops on the way to the front door, the stirring inside not unseen. He waits with screen door ajar and his bag opened expectantly. Nothing is said. He has a hint of a smile on the blur of his face and he lifts the bag just slightly. We raise our hands over it and they tremble, empty but holding a burden. He nods and the smile widens to a gleam of yellow and gray and white. Our hands open, their contents spilling into the bag. A twitch of sanity tries to catch them again, in the half second before the sound hits us, a sound like a chip of bone falling among ten thousand like it, more failed hiders in the dark.

We keep the lights out on Halloween, here in the tenements, though it cannot hide us from the Marrowman. We keep them out so as not to see what is left when we come back.

9
Got my flu shot.
Now I have autism.

You should cut gluten from your diet. Human beings weren't meant to eat it.

10
Literate Chaotic / Re: Comic Reviews and discussions
« on: October 29, 2014, 11:56:56 am »
Yeah, that was my impression of it. Admittedly I fell for Moffat's trick of characters speaking in rapid technobabble on both Sherlock and Dr. Who for a while before I realized that no believable explanation was being conveyed and the characters were barely actually having a conversation. It's like if you took Sorkin's dialogue and removed any depth or wit from it at all.

11
She's too dumb to realize that other women aren't as dumb as she is.

Or she's cynically playing to the crowd.

I can't decide which is worse.

Shudder.

On a more pleasant note, while Oregon lacks javelina, we do have these majestic creatures:



Adorable! And toughly the size of trucks.

:3

12
The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / Re: Spagbook
« on: October 28, 2014, 09:57:49 am »
Congrats P3nt!

14
Fiona Apple and Johnny Cash singing Bridge Over Troubled Water? Holy shit!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wcaOLPi6CWk

That's a personal favorite of mine, and the track stands out on what is already a stellar album.

15
I should have developed my back-up ideas further, which were:

It's Pumpkins All the Way Down

and

A Mandelbrot Squash

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