phutphut10 years ago in Humor More Like This
Beard now meticulously trimmed, remaining follicles on his chilly scalp brought to some kind of order, tie perfectly complementing both handkerchief and socks (exposed a devilish half-inch), "Yes," said mirror "you still cut a dashing figure, Rupert."
Rupert sniffed, his eyebrows rippling a little as he did so. "Today," he announced to his lamp… or maybe his wardrobe… perhaps even his comb, who knows? "Today, (Monday the seventeenth of May, two-thousand and three) is a milestone, in the life of Rupert J. Falt. Today he steps out of his front door for the first time as an executive member of Zest Incorporated! And what is more," he added with an ITV grin "he's rather proud of it."
Rupert J. Falt shooed a fictitious speck of dust from his trousers and trotted down the stairs. As he approached his front door… he faltered. In front of it was a walrus – a large, grey, blubbery walrus with whiskers and tusks and all of the usual walrustic trimmings one would expect from a typical walrus. In
Crazy LoveThey said that it was Breaking NewsCrazy Love10 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
A triumph scientific;
Not one minute did they lose
The message was specific...
'Neath camera's glare the man announced
In an excited wheeze,
"Our studies show this thing called LOVE
Is akin to a mental disease!"
Perplexed and stunned, the crowd was still,
No reaction did they show,
Till one man shouted, "Tell us please
A thing we don't already know!"
"Mushy poems on Valentine's Day,
Rings that swallow half our pay,
Not happy till your wife you've made 'er,
A screaming brat comes nine months later..."
"D'you think we'd go through all that pain
If LOVE were something that was sane?"
The Lord and Lady - Zuko x KatThe Lord and Lady - Zuko x Kat10 years ago in Erotic More Like This
Word Count 409
She looks out at the grounds, which sprawl out from the Palace she now lives in, and the city that spreads out before her, beyond the Palace walls. Once, she had been so terrified of the mere idea of being here, much less calling it her home. But, she was resigned to her fate.
The Fire Lord had come to take her. She was ripped away from the people she knew and loved and the place she had called home, spirited away to a place she had never seen but had heard so much about.
He had ignored her pleas to be reunited with her brother and the Avatar and all that she knew. He had taken her innocence with a passion that burned so intensely that she had been forever marked by it.
In the darkness and the flame, Katara of the Water Tribe died.
It had taken a while to get used to it all the heat, the people, the customs, the differentness of it all. It was a world completely different from the one she had been taken from. She had feared for her
The GirlStars.The Girl5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Every night, she focused on the stars above her head as the monster invaded her room. It's wet tongue and hot breath sickened her almost as much as its touch. She knew what the monster wanted. It was time to let the Stars take her away again, and forget this pain.
Every day in school seemed the same to her. She tried to focus, but the nightly monster attacks just made it so hard to study. In fact, they made her fearful to do anything, really. She just sat in the back of the classroom drawing stars all over her books and papers while the teacher droned on and on.
She had almost resigned herself to the fact she was never going to escape the cycle when she met a purple pony named Twilight Sparkle one Friday after school. This pony was just like her in ever so many ways. She hid from the world, she didn't have friends, and she even liked the stars. The girl and Twilight soon became fast friends, and the girl soon was joining in on everything her new friend Twilight Sparkle experienc
You Can't Make Me...You Can't Make Me...11 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
You Can't Make Me…
Try to fit into a size two.
You might parade your waifish appearances
In front of me.
You don't fool me,
I know it's all lipos and diet pills and cocaine and a finger down your throat.
You may try to bombard me
with all your advertisements
telling me that looking like you is what's good for me. Go to hell, Hollywood.
Eat Big Macs and supersized large fries.
Bigger is better?
I don't even like greasy meat and cheese.
I'm not interested in pizza
and tacos that aren't even really Mexican.
So stop flashing it in front of my eyes.
You try to invade and control my mind
Every second of every day. Go to hell, big corporations.
Believe that the best way to health
Is eating nothing but meat and cheese.
I seriously don't believe that
Could help me be thin and healthy.
The bulk may come off the ass but it just hides inside of you.
I'll have my bananas and berries and bagels and Danish, damnit!
I'm sick of you fat people in
Thin bodies. Go to hell, Mr. Atkins.
Shove down rabbit f
His Name Was Chuck E.The car was stuffy and cramped. The rain tumbling down upon the roof of the exhausted Tempo showed no signs of letting up anytime soon. The sheer velocity of the howling wind in conjunction with the sheets rain of spilling out from the clouds above created just enough noise to drown out the music creeping past tired speakers. A little girl sighed in despair as she asked her father why they were here for what was quite possibly the fourth time in the span of a minute.His Name Was Chuck E.11 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
He said nothing and continued to hum along to music he could not hear.
Clearly frustrated, the little girl tugged at a few loose pieces of thread on the head-rest in front of her. When she had freed a few strands, she twirled them around while in the grasp of two small fingers.
"Lookit." she exclaimed to the little boy beside her.
"What?" he asked.
"It's fairy hair because it's blue." she told him. "That means it came from a fairy."
"No it doesn't." the boy replied.
"Yes, it does."
"You're stupid," he told her. "It came fr
Last Time in Strawberry FieldsLast Time in Strawberry Fields9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Under the shield of autumn gold leaves, she sang, knees
swaying. Sing for John, she told us. Sing for everyone.
Her purple shrouded arms waved, joining her knees
as though her dance alone would cure the country.
The candle's for you, she told a man beside her. From John.
She said she had a home, but we wondered where
and how. Her daily arrangement, when she arrived,
was laid around the circle, roses plump and crisp,
the candle blown out only when the park lamps lighted
at night. She told us of the police and her battle to keep John's
flowers from being swept away, of the dogs not on leashes
and the homeless man's harassments.
She cheered her hand radio, the firemen
refusing to leave. And she said to us, when the towers
fell, as though her roses compared to lives,
Welcome to my world, World.
I Love Archie.I stared at Archie, and he stared back at me. I was sitting on my bed, and he was standing up next to my mahogany dresser. The morning light shined through my bedroom window, spilling across his ginger hair. He cracked a small smile, and I took a heavy breath.I Love Archie.10 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Had my dream finally come true?
He stepped towards me, raising his left eyebrow. I heard a ringing. "Oh, no" I thought to myself. Reality smashed over my head, like a pane of glass over a statue of The Fonz. I shut my eyes, and I realized it had just been another dream. I reached out to grab Archie's hand.
My hand passed through his, and I opened my tear-filled eyes, in my bed, alone. It had happened again. My dreary midnight dance with my favorite cartoon star had once again come to a sad finale. Why did I tease myself so? My homoerotic Archie Fantasies would never truly be fulfilled, and telling myself they could as only going to make it worse on myself. I stood up and walked downstairs, to the smell of waffles.
A driftwood Essayforever and flawlessA driftwood Essay9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
those un-plucked flowers
pressed in poetry volumes
and the ocean.
oddities of memories
as river stones, well rounded
in their patient education;
as punctuated coffee stains,
those discarded sutras
by accidental monks,
who learned calligraphy from
what clever lines
the cipruss roots, embroidered
with lichen 'nd worm trails.
how fertile those monks are now,
as love is recorded
diligently, in chronicles
of a child stomping in
Racing the SunHooves rattle a line towards the sunset,Racing the Sun9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Sweeping the sound of rain along the way,
Damp sweat glows a sickly orange warning:
The race is to begin.
Teeth snap shut on the bit,
Neck stretched hoping to swallow the hazy globe before
It sinks like bait,
Leaving ripples in the sky, Casting long
shadows back as taunts.
Night folds the rider into a satin box,
Packed to deliver,
And stars wink impudently through the folds of clouds.
The cold forces the dark ride onward,
Pushing through the lingering
Steam rising to blinker false suns.
Hidden deep in the sky below earth,
A switch turns the race on the rider;
Still pressing onwards,
Now against the encroaching dawn,
The race must be won.
The chase has begun.
A Carpenter's DaughterA Carpenter's DaughterA Carpenter's Daughter9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
This memory song is late in coming.
The joiner was broken before his work
was complete; the hammer is silent now.
The saw and the rule are dusty with age,
his workbench torn out two summers past, but
I still remember the smell of pinesap and resin
and roofing tar. I am a carpenter's daughter.
My father created cavalries of wood,
sawhorses to hold steady the workday load.
These rigid chargers of lumber, emblazoned
with chalk dust, like fierce warpainted steeds.
His children rode reckless like savages on
mounts of sticky white pine, hammersong
like hooves striking flint, ringing out around.
Across the horizon of my distant youth,
I was enthralled with my father's level.
The forging of alignment, the truth of it,
a tool that quarters no compromise.
A carpenter trims the world and makes it
flush and planed and square, but now
the bubble is no longer between the lines.
He told me not to weep for the mighty trees
who cleaved for the axe with honor and grace;
The Unfortunate Names ClubThe Unfortunate Names ClubThe Unfortunate Names Club10 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"What's your name?"
"Yeah, it's German."
"What does it mean?"
"Ein, zwei, drei, vier, fünf."
"It's five, in German."
"Your name is five?"
"That's how many times my mother proposed to my father before he said yes."
"Wow. Say! You could be a member of the Unfortunate Names Club."
"Unfortunate Names Club?"
"Yes, The Unfortunate Names Club."
"Oh, you actually want to know? Most people get offended when I say their names are unfortunate."
"Well, I do have an unfortunate name."
"It's a club for people who have really awful names,"
"How many members are there?"
"It's technically just been me for the past five years. But my friend Ichabob used to be in it from kindergarten to grade two. Then she gave herself a nickname,"
"What was it?"
"Cab. For some reason, people really liked it. Throughout the month of October, she made thirty-one new friends. That's one friend a day. Then she forgot about me
Case of the Hiroshima HotelCase of the Hiroshima Hotel10 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
I knocked on the fifth floor hotel door and it flew open almost instantly, sending me a step back into the hallway to avoid running into the shoulder of the young man sticking his head out, and his two companions pushing out the door behind him. All three started talking at once. I hadn't initially believed them when they had called me on the phone, but the emotions and excitement spilling from their mouths were genuine. Maybe they weren't pulling the my leg. The three males sputtering and tripping over each other's words were appropriately nicknamed Waldo (since we had two Andrews on the trip, and Andrew Wald was used to the nickname Waldo), Mikio (which means "tree trunk man" in Japanese, which was how Mikio was built), and Jesus (who looked like the common image of Jesus -- long brown hair, beard, and skinny beyond belief). Jesus had opened the door and was giving the most animated story. I held up my hands to stop them from all speaking over the others, and asked what h
The One Where The Cake IgnitesThe One Where The Cake Ignites10 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Phoebe is in Central Perk with Ross.
Ross is writing a poem to Rachel,
unlikely as this may seem. Phoebe
listens to him recite it, then Chandler
walks in on the last few lines: "And Joey
is a noey like Hannukah with Monica,
so you see, you're left with me." "Monica
and Hannukah?" says Chandler. "Gee, Ross,
I thought you quit poetry." (Titles) Joey,
elsewhere, is cooking with Rachel.
They're baking a birthday cake for Chandler.
Joey's idea. They're counting on Phoebe
to keep him stalled. So, naturally, Phoebe
tells Chandler to write a poem for Monica.
"It's Phoebe's poetry workshop!" Chandler
relents, but writes four lines for Ross:
"Oh Ross/So cross/Becoss/Of Rachel."
Monica arrives in the flat to find Joey
and Rachel cooking. She screams. Joey
belts her - she falls unconscious. Phoebe
senses violence, contacts Rachel
psychically. "Something just happened to Monica!"
Chandler's ode has riled Ross.
He demands satisfaction from Chandler,
produces two pistols, whereupon Chandler
Communist QuotesThe Anthology of Communist QuotesCommunist Quotes6 years ago in Reviews & Guides More Like This
"Capitalist production, therefore, develops technology, and the combining together of various processes into a social whole, only by sapping the original sources of all wealth - the soil and the laborer." -Karl Marx
" Capital is dead labor, which, vampire-like, lives only by sucking living labor, and lives the more, the more labor it sucks." -Karl Marx
"You show me a capitalist, and I'll show you a bloodsucker." -Malcolm X
"Democracy is the road to socialism." -Karl Marx
"Greek philosophy seems to have met with something with which a good tragedy is not supposed to meet, namely, a dull ending." -Karl Marx
"A revolution is impossible without a revolutionary situation; furthermore, not every revolutionary situation leads to revolution." -Vladimir Lenin
"Capitalists are no more capable of self-sacrifice than a man is capable of lifting himself up by his own bootstraps." -Vladimir Lenin
"Crime is a product of social excess." -Vladimir
Boris the ManskinnerBoris the ManskinnerBoris the Manskinner11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
When you skin a man you'll find
he peels like ripening fruit.
He will scream when he has nothing
to confess; pay no mind
when you hear him. If
he speaks, his words
do not equal our words.
The ineffable skinning is key.
The cryptography of silence
urges care in the carving. Between
the shoulder blades
and the base of the skull
lies an area of exquisite tenderness.
Here, the skin is a folding
map stretching across the back
each curve a lesson
in the nature of geodesics.
Lay the skull bare.
The face, perhaps now horrific,
is a primal glyph of the
inquisitive nature of man.
"no" or "why" will rise like
the water table in a storm.
The fruit is then ripe,
and a dream reader is called
to decrypt the contours
of the skull. What life was lost
will reveal itself.
I, Boris, can help you.
In Russia it was severe and cold
during the war.
Epistle to Ms. Wilson.Epistle to Ms. Wilson9 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
This isn't the first time
I fling a rehearsed rhyme
Like simian excrement at you.
I'll beg your indulgence
With scraping effulgence
(It worked for me last time) - will that do?
I'll tell it concisely,
As much as the verse will permit it.
I'll sign this confession
Of my indiscretion
If you make the punishment fit it.
So this is my offer
The olive I proffer
Or, if you prefer, the whole tree branch.
I know it was heinous
But my misdemeanours,
This instance, at least, were complete chance.
I was tardy, and fretting
At not vaporetting
In time for my lecture on Byron
Say, are you familiar
Interim.Interim.10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
There's stiffened water added
to sprightly grass tips, and
I cower to the taste of involuntary
teeth clanging under
now sleeping stars, hurried
in a venture that loses its purpose
when the time comes to perform:
but it's the promise
of tepid entanglements in
sticky cotton and
breath that presses me
DAUGHTER OF DANNY N SAM PART 4DAUGHTER OF DANNY N SAM PART 49 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
once everyone was finished hugging Danny his parents went to buy food for celebration of Danny's return T.J. had left quite awhile ago unknown to Danny until T.J.'s twin ran in screaming "Violet calm down speak slow" said Sam "T.J'S GONE AFTER DOLLY" sobbed Violet "WHAT?!?!" yelled Danny making Violet cry more "why would he go after Dolly when he has no chance against Vlad" said sam confused "I DON'T KNOW HE JUST SAID IT WAS HIS FAULT AND HE NEEDED TO GET HER BACK" sobbed the twin "I know why he's going after her" said Danny "REALLY?!? WHAT IS IT?!?" yelped Jazz Sam and Violet at the same time "He told me Vlad grabbed him a couple month ago made him become half ghost Vlad told him he kill Dolly and his family if he refused I think T.J. is going to try and take Vlad" said Danny "Even if he is telling the truth about becoming half ghost he hasn't had his powers long enough to hav an effect on Vlad" yelped Vi "She's right T.J. could be in danger if he tried to take on Vlad" said
107618SWITCH107618SWITCH13 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
dead man's switch
it's no wonder the alarms were silent,
I was gone for a while.
several years later,
your tv shows still play at the same time
there is still channel 99 a soft blue screen
there is still the phone and razor knife, a
few scraps of paper
I had homework
it's never really time for
music too loud for the people
downstairs, volume three
throw a cd case over my latest
suicide note before I left
again for the night. I'm not one to cry over radio songs
but you left me no choice
it's raining on the interstate and I'll cross the river
because I can't sleep
(and the gulls bank in the air just beyond reach)
so even at seventy miles an hour, the sun will in
fact rise today / I reach out again for someone
insubstantial, much like the morning mist
://©2002 Jesse Michael Renaud
I Loathe the UndeadI Loathe the Undead11 years ago in Humor More Like This
I loathe the undead.
They're always whining about "brains" and "guarrrgh" all the time and they're clawing at you with their nasty clammy maggoty-infested hands and biting your wife with their rotten yellow teeth and trudging along in a big stupid horde, losing their limbs all over the place and blocking traffic like they owned the world. Would you believe there was a zombie stampede on the I-41 this morning? Yeah, they held up traffic for like an hour. It was a huge stampede. They made me late to work and I think they almost cost me my job. Never mind that the boss has been later for less important reasons than a zombie stampede.
Some day I'm going to stick him in a room with a zombie in it and see how he likes it.
Anyway. I would have been later to work this morning ('cause I think that stampede's still going on, I mean they just said on the news half an hour ago that the last body count was like sixty, and that's way too many for just an hour-long stampede) if I hadn't gone and inst
Review - Blackblood AllianceReview - Blackblood Alliance7 years ago in Reviews & Guides More Like This
Musings on The Blackblood Alliance Redux
Well, I'm going to type up a few reviews on comics I've been reading, starting with BBA. Stay tuned.
The art: What originally sucked me into reading the comic was Kay Fedewa's fantastic artwork. As for quality there, there is seriously no doubt. I haven't seen many wolf artists to be fair, but this far surpasses the quality of work seen by many comics except perhaps Phoenix Requiem. I later discovered that the backgrounds and most of the effects are done by an accomplice, but paired together they're a pretty solid artistic powerhouse.
Swiftkill: Likeable character, for the most part.
Her main downfall though is that she's more angry at Whitewind that she hates her for killing her babies than at herself for, you know, -killing the babies to start with-.
Portal of Evil said it right: "If you met someone who accidentally killed a baby, but was mostly just mad at the baby's parents for hating her for it, w