Author Topic: An Error Has Occurred!  (Read 58732 times)

Jasper

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Re: Surprise Me Eris! A 30 Day Experiment in FAITH.
« Reply #495 on: May 04, 2010, 10:13:07 pm »
Well I'll be dipped in shit.  That was fucking mad.

Freeky

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Re: Surprise Me Eris! A 30 Day Experiment in FAITH.
« Reply #496 on: May 05, 2010, 12:11:04 am »
That was just silly! :lol:

A fine ending for the whole thing, LMNO.
If someone does the “Fine, you’re right, I’m clearly a terrible person, I’m Satan, I’m the worst person alive, I should just die” thing in response to criticism of their harmful behavior, they are trying to manipulate people and flip the situation around so that they look like a victim.

As a neuroscientist I have to disagree with the perception that anyone is doing mathematical modeling of cognitive intelligence, yet; intelligence as an economist defines it, yes, but economists are worlds away from actual cognition.


Although it is outside the purview of this organization to offer personal advice, we can say -- without assuming any liability -- that previous experience indicates (and recent market studies corroborate) that given the present condition of the marketplace, continuing with your present course of action is likely to result in substantial in

Kai

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Re: Surprise Me Eris! A 30 Day Experiment in FAITH.
« Reply #497 on: May 05, 2010, 03:52:55 am »
That was a perfect ending.

Sometimes the weirdest thing is "normal".
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LMNO

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Re: Surprise Me Eris! A 30 Day Experiment in FAITH.
« Reply #498 on: May 05, 2010, 12:36:06 pm »
Thanks, everyone.

I've got some ideas about what to do with this, now that it's initially over.

Stay tuned!

Jasper

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Re: Surprise Me Eris! A 30 Day Experiment in FAITH.
« Reply #499 on: May 06, 2010, 01:07:01 am »
That's really cool. :)


Iason Ouabache

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Re: Surprise Me Eris! A 30 Day Experiment in FAITH.
« Reply #500 on: July 16, 2010, 07:43:21 am »
Thanks, everyone.

I've got some ideas about what to do with this, now that it's initially over.

Stay tuned!
Well? Have you done anything with it yet?
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LMNO

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Re: Surprise Me Eris! A 30 Day Experiment in FAITH.
« Reply #501 on: July 16, 2010, 12:52:56 pm »
Yes.

Mesozoic Mister Nigel

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Re: Surprise Me Eris! A 30 Day Experiment in FAITH.
« Reply #502 on: July 16, 2010, 05:34:19 pm »
Man, LMNO, I'm sorry I fell apart on the editing for that!
“I’m guessing it was January 2007, a meeting in Bethesda, we got a bag of bees and just started smashing them on the desk,” Charles Wick said. “It was very complicated.”


LMNO

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Re: Surprise Me Eris! A 30 Day Experiment in FAITH.
« Reply #503 on: July 16, 2010, 07:27:58 pm »
'sok.  You still got time.  I've been doing my own bits, but I have to step away to remain objective.

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Re: Surprise Me Eris! A 30 Day Experiment in FAITH.
« Reply #504 on: November 13, 2010, 02:19:57 am »
Day 6:

I really enjoy having an alarm clock that can play my iPod.  I even set the alarm early so I can lie in bed for a few minutes, listening to what random selection pops up as I slowly stretch my limbs out and rub the sleep from my eyes.  From there, it's back into the routine: Grabbin' juice, grabbin' pills; kick the coffee machine into gear; check the RSS feeds for a few minutes; shower; shave; dress; grab the coffee mug, and head out the door.

There have been debates about this, but I kind of prefer the morning commute over the evening one.  While it's true that it signals the beginning of enforced employment, the final confirmation of a guaranteed eight hours devoted to tanning beneath the fluorescence, it's also true that the people are more docile.  I know, it can be creepy to see them lined up on the train platform, half-awake, their near-dead eyes only registering shapes and movement.  I wonder what goes on behind their eyes as they lockstep their way off to work.  Maybe they're thinking of what the left behind.  Maybe it's what they're working towards.  Maybe they're realizing that what they're working towards doesn't actually exist.  Who knows?  Maybe they’re just thinking about their next cup of coffee.  To be honest, I don't really care.  They're sluggish, predictable.  They stay out of my way, and I theirs, and everyone's happy.  Well, maybe not happy, but at least they're not bothering me.

The doors opened at my stop, and I joined my fellow commuters through the grey, high-vaulted station and through the revolving doors leading out into the Financial District.  A few rays of sun had broken though a uniformly dismal fleet of overcast clouds, casting odd patterns of light on the exposed brick of the station walls before disappearing back into the gloom.  No one noticed, their eyes were all tilted down slightly towards the sidewalk, cajoling their feet to bring them to the office for one more day, one more week, a decade, just until retirement.

As predictable as the morning commuters are, so are the panhandlers.  There's usually one or two down the block from the subway exit; I can't tell if there's a pattern or a hierarchy or a rotating schedule at some main headquarters somewhere, but a few regulars frequent the area, never at the same time, never on the same day.  They each have their own style, from "spareadollarforahomelessveteran" to "pleasehelpgodbless" to a sign, a cup, and a look of tentative anticipation.

Ok, so now the uncomfortable revelation: I rarely give any change to them.  I tell myself it's because I don't actually have any on me, which is usually true.  But I know they're going to be there, so it's not like I can't plan ahead.  There are about a dozen more excuses and rationalizations I tell myself, trying to assuage the pangs of guilt walking by them.  Usually, they work.  So, when I spotted an old man in a tattered wool coat standing slightly hunched at the mouth of public access alley 503, I mentally pulled my "don't bother me" coat a little tighter around myself. 

The parts of his face I could see were weathered, lined with wrinkles, and perhaps an old scar.  The rest was taken up by a long grey beard, tangled and slightly greasy.  He had a knit cap on his head, slightly askew with the words "HONK IF YOU'RE HORNY!" written across it, and a pair of frayed pant legs jutted from beneath his coat, ending in battered Avila sneakers.  Even from down the street, I could see he was having trouble standing.  He swayed from side to side, occasionally shifting his feet to keep balance.  I wasn't sure if he was drunk or sick, but it was probably both.  I knew I was going to have to walk past him to get to my office, though for a second I wondered how rude it would be to cross the street so he wouldn't be able to speak to me.  Turns out, that wasn't necessary. 

His knee buckled, and pitched him to the sidewalk. The coat he was wearing fluttered around him, and settled over his body like a shroud.  I cursed under my breath, and chided myself for being an asshole as I stepped up my pace and headed towards the heap lying on the concrete.  I fumbled for my cell phone, unsure of what to do.  Call 911 and say, "Some homeless man just collapsed on the street.  What?  Yes, I'll hold."  Dial the operator and ask for the nearest homeless shelter?  Call a cab?  But then the thoughts I was juggling in my head came crashing down to shatter on the pavement as I saw some huge insectoid leg reach out of the alleyway.  It had to have been six or seven feet long.  It arced up and out from some (thankfully) unseen body, and ended in a small point that jabbed into the huddled shape on the sidewalk.  A bright patch of red bloomed on the grey wool of his coat as the monstrous leg began to drag the body into the alley.  I froze, watching in horror as businessmen, lawyers, accountants, MBAs and CPAs all walked past, oblivious to what was happening right in front of them.  The man's body disappeared into the alleyway, and I tentatively walked to the corner, and looked down the narrow gap between the buildings.  Nothing there but a streak of blood, and a knit cap that was still giving me instructions of what I should do if I'm ever horny.


Found this picture today that reminded me of this entry. :)


LMNO

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Re: Surprise Me Eris! A 30 Day Experiment in FAITH.
« Reply #505 on: November 13, 2010, 05:31:49 am »
Wow. Incidentally, I'm still editing this, slowly.

I might need to find out if Hawk's agent needs another spag.

Doktor Howl

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Re: Surprise Me Eris! A 30 Day Experiment in FAITH.
« Reply #506 on: March 14, 2019, 12:03:53 am »
well somebody had to put all this confusion here.

*looks around at 6.75 billion monkeys*

Point of order:  There are now a billion more monkeys.
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, shattered underpance lies,
With blown elastic, and exploded back,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Doktor Howl, Spag of Spags:
Look on my ass, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Hoopla!

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Re: An Error Has Occurred!
« Reply #507 on: March 14, 2019, 12:06:51 pm »
We like to collect things.
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Nephew Twiddleton

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Re: Surprise Me Eris! A 30 Day Experiment in FAITH.
« Reply #508 on: June 12, 2019, 12:10:58 pm »
Bump


Um... Day one...





The blood.  Oh, fuck.  So much blood.  It's still kind of fuzzy, what happened.  Going home from work.  Jacket.  Hat.  Walk up the street to the subway, through the bitter wind, blowing like a jet engine between mirrored buildings, reflecting the stream of white collars taking the same trek.  Get through turnstile.  Avoid eye contact.  Turn up the iPod a little higher.

The train rumbles in, a gigantic mechanical cock spewing out a new load of struggling drones and duds for the evening shift, as the spent automatons shuffle through the half-broken sliding doors.  At the best of times, it's a tight fit.  You need to have a certain flexibility to weave through the packed bodies, one arm lifted like a half-assed salute to the working day.  But this was different.  The bodies were nervous, like a pack of cattle when a Mylar balloon lands in the pen.  Skittish.  They were all pressing towards the front end of the car, as if some malevolent force was pushing them away.

At the other end of the car, it looked like one of the worker bees was having a bad day.  The top two buttons on his shirt had popped off, power tie askew.  Hair that had most likely been perfectly shellacked eight hours ago was in disarray, heavy strands hanging down his forehead, and jutting up from the kind of cowlick that must have gotten him a lot of grief in middle school.  His face was twisted into a snarl, flecks of white spittle on his lower lip, and in the corners of his mouth.  I pressed forward, against the weight of the masses, to get a better look.  You could tell he was muttering something under his breath, but from where I was standing, I couldn't hear it.

His head snapped around, and he was looking straight at me.  His eyes were bloodshot; the left one brimming with a tear, which gently shimmered on his lower lid and then let go, marking a track down through the faint evidence of a five o'clock shadow.  His stare transfixed me, and I could finally make out what he was chanting under his breath.

"You-can-be-whatever-you-wanna-be-you-can-be-whatever-you-wanna-be- you-can-be-whatever-you-wanna-be- you-can-be-whatever-you-wanna-be-"

Even as his teeth ground together, those words managed to force their way through his throat.

"whatever-you-wanna-be-you-can-be-whatever-you-wanna-be- you-can-be-whatever-you-wanna-be- you-can-be-"

I glanced down at his right hand, which was clenched, white-knuckled, around the handle of a briefcase.


"you-WANNA-be-you-can-BE-whatever-you-wanna-be-YOU-can-be-whatever-you-wanna-be-you-CAN-beeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-"

The case slipped from his hand.  It seemed to fall in slow motion, drifting downward to the floor of the subway car, streaked with the film of dried coffee, sugar residue from donuts, and grease from breakfast sandwiches hastily gobbled from the morning's commute.  The edge of the case struck, and the shock broke the flimsy latches on top, security in name only.  From its depths erupted paper, whatever anonymous reports and tallies from the quarter's bookkeeping, or reports, or memos, or minutes, or spreadsheets, or contracts, or bank statements, or bills, or receipts, or tax forms, or briefs, or faxes, whatever they were, they seemed to burst forth.  But all that was forgotten when my eyes tracked back to his hand, rising upwards, fingers claw like, predatory.

With a shriek, those fingers clutched at his face, the nails digging in, and he pulled.  Tiny half-moons of crimson turned into gutters of red as he scraped down his cheek.  His left hand joined his right, tearing at his face.  His ring finger jabbed underneath one eye, now filled with terror, not tears, which disappeared with a "pop" of blood and jelly.  Two fingers caught on his lip, which tore away easily, exposing the pink gumline, white teeth stained red, a spray of blood spattering subway's car window.  His remaining eye wheeled in its socket as his fingers continued to scrape away his skin, his right hand lowering to scrabble at his neck, looking for purchase, and finding it, and stabbing, and pulling, his left hand fluttering for a moment, then joining in to help its brother, clawing, ripping, tearing at his throat, until, with a guttural, bubbling finality, his hands came away in triumph, the horrific shrieking silenced, a gaping hole where his adam's apple once quietly bobbed and swallowed, swallowed all that his life threw at him, swallowed decades of shit and abuse and deadlines and progress reports and rejection and derision and advertising and mediocrity.  His heart still beat, blood streaming and spurting from his throat.  The only sounds now were these:

A soft patter on the subway floor like raindrops on a spring day.

The wet thump as his body collapsed.
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