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Messages - Eater of Clowns

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91
Unrelated, but is it  just me, or does it look like there's a guy in blue pants standing behind me in my avatar? It's kind of creeping me out.

There's something in blue pants standing behind you in your avatar.

92
I'm irrationally annoyed by Inge's icon. Propose people change icons to our own corset tits to shame the try-hard. Goddamn is that a try-hard costume.


I wish to wear a corset.  And do my little dance.

You don't have a corset? You, of all people, I expected to have a corset.

I shall pop into the welding shop tomorrow and make one.

 :lulz:

What?  Whale bone is really hard to get.

So it's 316 stainless.  Very fetching.

It wouldn't be if you'd just robbed the fucking whaling museum like I said when you were up here. Then you'd have enough whale bone for a corset AND A HARPOON.

I know.  But you kept driving.  With no rear shocks.  I was busy trying to find my kidneys.

Kidneys just get in the way of corsets.

Look at QG's fine example - ain't a kidney to be seen. Everything beneath is hollow storage space for the various reagents she uses in her "hobbies."

93
Looking for some advice, here.

Do I ramp it up continually (I can, indefinitely)?  Or do I ease off and then drop the hammer again?

Randomized outbursts. Continual abuse builds up a tolerance and easing up before dropping the hammer allows him to relax. Build suspense in uneven intervals, lead up to magnificent freak outs that go nowhere but then flip your shit seemingly out of nowhere. Break him down to a ball of anxiety before building him up to a person again.

94
The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / Re: FOUND IT.
« on: June 12, 2014, 01:52:52 am »
 :lulz:

I forget how completely noncommittal the response to that line is.

95
I'm irrationally annoyed by Inge's icon. Propose people change icons to our own corset tits to shame the try-hard. Goddamn is that a try-hard costume.


I wish to wear a corset.  And do my little dance.

You don't have a corset? You, of all people, I expected to have a corset.

I shall pop into the welding shop tomorrow and make one.

 :lulz:

What?  Whale bone is really hard to get.

So it's 316 stainless.  Very fetching.

It wouldn't be if you'd just robbed the fucking whaling museum like I said when you were up here. Then you'd have enough whale bone for a corset AND A HARPOON.

96
I don't have a corset.

Or, you know, a convex chest.   :sad:

97
If I recall, ECH and LMNO both had some tips for the city.

Have fun, Burns!

98
The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / Re: A new currency.
« on: June 11, 2014, 12:56:03 pm »
No, it's pretty smooth.  Not to get ahead of myself, but you should consider self-publishing this, when it's done.

I hate to say it's on my mind, because I'm more focused on completing a damn work for the first time in years, and on a scale I've yet to do, but yeah I do entertain the notion.

I dread editing it. I have a lot to do on that front, like converting my scribbled travel notes from Colombia into a story format, giving the characters full names, and fixing untidy things like the desk in the last entry that wasn't mentioned in any previous Old Man's Apartment entries.

99
The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / Re: A new currency.
« on: June 11, 2014, 11:14:17 am »
Methinks you're drawing connections between stories...

Haha, it had to happen somehow. Was it too much? It's not exactly secret but I'd prefer if it weren't clumsy.

Also I planted the first major connection in both perspectives over a month ago. /adrianveidt

100
The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / Re: A new currency.
« on: June 11, 2014, 12:53:08 am »
He trudged up the stairs and found the same officer he’d left earlier in the day watching the door. Just to be sure he stopped in front of him.

“Did you go in the apartment?”

“No, sir.”

Mike nodded and stepped back into the old man’s place. He turned immediately to walk back to the bedroom and stopped. He wasn’t here to interrogate the portal again. Instead he strode back over to the entryway and, with his body just inside the door, looked around the room.

The carpet was dark brown and a path was worn from it over to the linoleum floored kitchen. Directly across the door sat a checkered couch with the cushion on the right side faded from overuse. A desk stood just to the left. Mike went over to it. It was an old style, a student’s desk, with a tiny leg space and plenty of drawers and deep gouges cut into the wood. He started into the drawers.

Sales receipts and old paystubs were shoved on top of one another. Mike looked through several of the receipts but found none out of the ordinary, none linking the old man to any bizarre place. The paystubs were all from the state of Rhode Island. Mike tossed most of those aside but kept one for his own records. The officers on the scene may have a file for the old man but that was something that he intended to check tomorrow.

He came upon bank statements and stacks of retirement papers, the title to the old man’s car and take out menus. The old man was a hoarder; it’s what got him into this mess. Mike pressed on.

A stack of birthday and Christmas cards were in another drawer. Mike opened them. Some were generic and signed by co-workers but a few odd ones had lengthy messages written in them in Spanish. In the final drawer an answer to that brief question, a stack of photographs, the colors faded and the edges ragged, of the old man as a young man.

He was sporting a wide brimmed hat and a workshirt remarkably similar to the one Mike had seen him in earlier, with boots and thick pants. He was smiling and leaning on a shovel, dirt smeared across his clothes and his face shining with sweat. Lush plants with huge broad leaves surrounded him and as Mike thumbed through the pictures a series of people appeared alongside him, other workers, smiling and filthy like him, but with darker skin and shorter in stature. Mike guessed South America, somewhere, as he flipped past.

The final photograph showed a different man. He wore the same clothes and he leaned on the same shovel but the smile was gone and the eyes were oblivious to the camera. The edges of the picture were soft and wrinkled and papery and thumbprints and streaks marred the surface. The old man as a young man stood next to a woman. Her hair was thick and dark and her eyes were huge and knowing and she smirked at him with her hands on his shoulders and he with one dirty hand on her hip over the white dress she wore and his other hand holding up the shovel and neither aware, neither caring about the camera.

Mike flipped the picture over but there was no writing, only more stains from the same hands over so many years. He stroked the photograph like he was sure the old man had so many times and placed it back on top of the pile. It was time to get back to his wife, to Karen. Gently Mike put the stack of photographs back in the drawer then, nodding to himself, pulled out his phone and took a quick picture of the worn shot on top and, satisfied, shut the drawer again.

The rest of the apartment would have to wait for tomorrow.

101
The Richard Nixon school of ballet and the arts / Re: A new currency.
« on: June 11, 2014, 12:52:52 am »
This is how the world is, now, Mike thought. He was walking to his car back over near Prospect Park. Wounds in existence and old men trapped in nonexistence and dangerous Sid as some kind of harbinger of everything we do not know. He was going uphill this time and faintly he felt his thighs strain and his forehead sweat. If Sid didn’t know where he was going then there was no way anybody else could. Mike had to wait until his former partner resurfaced. He held no hope for trails or leads. What could any of that mean against the will of Everything Else.

As with any encounter he spent that walk thinking of a thousand questions to ask the old man, questions about his place beyond the Veil and how he started himself in Necronomicoin, questions about any family he may have left behind and how a person closes the portals once they’re opened. Or if they can be closed. He got into the car and turned the keys in the ignition, starting forward and letting the hill take him down it. Rolling back toward Wickenden he wondered if he should go back to the pub and ask the old man all the questions and finally decided the old man wouldn’t have much more for him. Though his apartment might.

It was nearing quitting time. The sun was sinking and there was so much to do. He was no closer to Sid but Sid was unpredictable and proximity mattered no so much as patience. He’d spent any number of late nights at the Warwick office poring over documents for the next case but that would do little here. What might do more is a quiet evening with Karen. Resting to keep his brain from overworking, letting his mind relax before the next great fury of new information.

Mike drove by his exit on the highway. There was one more thing, just another thing that he could do. An easy task that demanded little and was easily recovered from. He took Exit 10 and stopped and went with the increasing traffic and when he arrived where he decided to be he idled in the car for a minute before going up.

102
It's that wonderful time of year when financial aid glitches start raising their ugly little heads.  :lulz:

Back at UMass I used to call that "move-in day," or if I was feeling peckish, "annual we-cancelled-your-housing-and-unenrolled-you-from-all-of-your-classes day."

103
Cryptonomicon.

And he also wrote "Anathem", which is one hell of a book.

Is it? I'll have to pick it back up again at some point. After nearly 200 pages of what amounted to gobbledygook, I decided I was not in the right mood for it. That was about a year ago. I haven't quite given up on it though.

104
I love this thread.

TGRR is the drill sergeant to humanity's boot camp.

105
Twid as always I recommend mockery. Start telling your friend whenever you're together that you can't enjoy something because you like some arbitrary other thing.

"Ahh, sorry, I can't eat Mexican food; I'm an Italian fan."

"Can't read that buzzfeed article you sent; I'm strictly up worthy."

"I'm not worried about MRSA; viral infections are more my thing."

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