It's not laughter if you're just going through the muscle movements you remember from the times you actually gave a fuck.

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Messages - -Kel-

that's pretty sweet.
Two vast and trunkless legs of stone / Re: Spagbook
December 08, 2010, 12:45:41 AM
Quote from: Burns on December 07, 2010, 04:39:07 PM
Quote from: Triple Zero on December 07, 2010, 03:28:49 PM



'cept cram has better teef iirc.


now i have to watch this!
I'd only participate in black Friday if it was like this....
Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on November 14, 2010, 10:58:08 PM


Note: i put blatant deceit into google image....on the first page of the results

another good one from Blind Melon.
dont forget her original work
Two vast and trunkless legs of stone / Re: Spagbook
November 13, 2010, 02:34:02 AM
Halloween pic for WOMP

Quote from: LMNO, PhD on March 09, 2010, 01:55:45 PM
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. :)

Thank you, now I can divorce my husband and get that little lady i've been wanting all these years.
Happy birthday to you!!!

here's something else to make you smile, or go into convulsions.
Two vast and trunkless legs of stone / Re: Spagbook
October 05, 2010, 08:54:00 PM
Quote from: Aries Gurl on September 29, 2010, 09:01:59 PM
Enki was right, top this one foos!

Dear fellow daughter of Mars, Ill shall slap you later for posting that.


actually saw this on reddit.

Good work Fred and ECH