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writing words isn't enough)
john caressed the chair. the loose thread was twisted and flattened. he tried to remember where he got the chair but couldnt.
i didnt really hit the comedy notes there. someone else do a worse one to make me feel beter.
maybe throw in something about hunting or bullfighting ?
He walked down a very gritty street in Edinburgh. It was very gritty because Edinburgh is inherently a very gritty place. He said "awriight pal can ah tap ah fag?" because he himself was very gritty. Smoking is a very gritty pastime and the whole ordeal was a very gritty one.
i've got my generic scottish "gritty" authors mixed up. Oh well.
Can I be employed full-time as your assessor?
that place is mine
And then there was the post, the question post. Post-question, after the event, beyond doubt - it was pretty fucking modern all right, bang on the money. What distrophies, what abortions, it would surely inspire. Christ, he felt weak just thinking about the time the internet people-lite were preparing for this labrat's teaser: work time, speech time, LIFEtime. But time was all it was. Time is all anything ever is.
Blaine spent his days creating lolcats and eating Crispy Cremes. He didn't give a fuck what the guy in the next cubicle did. Probably nothing. Probably dreaming of spending his days doing nothing in the desert, making something of his life by resisting working for The Man.
close though, I think.
A LAND WHERE WE ALL WORK FOR ONE ANOTHER AND GET 2-FOR-1 DEALS ON SAUSAGES.
I didn't know you'd read any Coupland. Was that a guess?
I've never actually read owt, I just pick knowledge up from PLACES. Usually Channel 4 clip shows.
Although I can't think what channel 4 clip show I'd have seen this on. 100 Greatest Ways To Tell That You're An Indie.
Drowned in Sound, the delicately stacked shaded text boxes of peach orange upon sky blue recalled to my young mind the lillies and rare orchids of the Saint Bumhoule gardens which I'd beg my dear mother to take me to and where the sight of society's highest echelons enjoying, at the same time as myself a most delicate and singular fragrance that seemed like sweet memory itself stealing into my private thoughts of "Whether Rollo Tomassi really are that good". When alone, I would boot up my laptop that seemed at the time to be emitting it's warming whirr and clarion beeps for purely my own enjoyment. Today's al-fresco danger wank, be as it was amongst the utterly intoxicating wisps of jasmine, which, in it's heavenly musk even made up for the rough gardening glove-as-semen-receptacle, was going to be a danger wank to remember.
by the way
Jane had become sure that, in her situation, becoming though it was, or in any case, partly if sadly not fully understood - time having curled the great poor tomes of her feelings on the subject to so many arcing irrelevances - she ought still to feel duty bound, as far as one is ever truly bound by such strictures of the conscience, particularly those in connexion with one's employ, that she should log out from the forum.
I've only read 1 chapter of on the road in an anthology but that sounds like it.
The young man prepared himself a simple dinner of noodles with peppers and beef, switched on some Duke Ellington and poured himself a glass of wine. He tried to empty his mind of the day's mysterious events, but it proved impossible. Who was the beautiful girl on the subway? And why did she remind him so painfully of his missing cat?
"But surely it cannot be?! It would be an affront not only to myself but to my mother and indeed all mothers! It is a crime most reprehsible". He nodded in agreement, very ironically "Well be it through your ghostly palour or otherwise(more irony) it is blatantly obvious that you are shocked by this. Your frustration only brings out the colour in your cheeks, a quality most admirable in a young lady. Dinner?".
And so Emmi_london_girls drug use continued to go unnoticed in the town of Midbuttersworth.
I hate her (he said, ironically. I MEAN DO YOU GET THE IRONY, ARE YOU ENJOYING IT? IT'S LIKE MY WHOLE DEAL)
"by the way you like to come to my classy sex show?"
in the style of the French speaking English
She released an album on ZTT!
But when I took up my pen, my hand made big, jerky letters like those of a child, and the lines sloped down the page from left to right almost diagonally, as if they were loops of string lying on the paper, and someone had come along and blown them askew.
And was more commonly known for her poetry
I read it for the first time last year - also thinking I wouldn't enjoy it but I couldn't put it down!
I sat staring at the blank white screen. The keys, all black and sleek, like soft pillows of silk. I tapped them slowly, hoping for a story to appear, unfold, like a dream. But, all I seem to press out are empty words. Empty. Like me.
Stealthy moved through the thread with the grace, and raw, primal power of a jungle panther. Perceiving his form, Yes_'s face fell immediately.
"No!" He moaned, his tiny fists brushing ineffectually against the ground. "It isn't fair! This is supposed to be my thread; you can't do this!"
The stern lines of Stealthy's brutally handsome face contorted into into an easy smile as he regarded the red-faced forumite prostrate before him.
"Change is the nature of all things," Stealthy answered, gesturing with one giant hand at the territory he now controlled. "The true man accepts and adapts. Sic transit gloria mundi."
"I understand," Mewed Yes_, gazing up gratefully at Stealthy's glorious visage. His voice began to wobble, a half-sob caught in his throat. "But it's still not fair, there are other threads, take those!"
Abruptly, the smile dropped off the other man's face. He seemed to be eight feet tall, glaring forcefully at the pitiful, capitulating Yes_. When he spoke next, it was with the voice of a leader, a god.
"This sight disgusts me," Stealthy announced powerfully. "A long time ago, we were both given a choice. A choice between the ways of conviction, power and glory, or the way of cowardice and wasted opportunity." The very force of Stealthy's gravitas seemed to be pressing Yes_ into the ground.
"I offered you the chance to accept my dominion with grace and alacrity. Instead, you cower at my feet as if you were a worm. With this behaviour you have betrayed your very race."
On Stealthy's face was an expression of infinite, compassionate sadness. He presented Yes_ with his father's pistol. The fallen Disser took the weapon with shaking hands, for the first time comprehending the enormity of his situation.
"There is nothing more I can do for you," Stealthy boomed, his voice resonating with the muscular command of a thousand seraphim. "At least find in your death the courage you never had in life."
Yes_ put the gun to his head, his eyes overflowing with bitter, effeminate tears. And yet there was a joy also - that Stealthy might be the last thing he ever saw.
A sharp retort. The contest had ended in Stealthy's overwhelming victory. In the distance, the crowd cheered in unanimous affirmation of their joy.
Close, but it's not what's on the card.
I felt inferior just reading it.
dawkins is considerably less mental.
10 points, sir!
an accurate representation, then I would really like to read whoever it is. But I like this as a product of your own writing! I cant write cleanly like that.
it was Shakespeare, or Keates or another of that poetical type of cove who said something or other along the lines of “a double decker bus crashes into us.. tum , ti tum tum tum.” Anyway, I forget the exact wording, but the gist of the thing was that person A couldn’t care a handful of peanuts if the aforementioned person A was to be squashed flat by an omnibus whilst in the presence of person B – person B presumably being pretty hot stuff…
but no C.
his books are just condensed good-humour and wimsy - I never tire of them even thought they are all pretty much the same!
In fact, Eustace H PLimsoll is an alias used by one of his characters
as he removed his Beatle boots from the bloody corpse of the ned.
To steal a man's shoes is one thing, he thought as he sucked hard on a Lucky Strike, but to team them with Adidas jogging pants and a Nickelson polo shirt is just beyond the pale.
He reloaded his MP5 carbine before heading back into Glasgow's urban badlands.
- Andy McNab
Noticing such an intriguing thread, certainly this was a rare occurrence for him, Fergus began to write another tract to cast into the uncompromising maw that is Drowned in Sound. His eyes flashed and burned with an alcoholic fever, all too aware of his eagerness to avoid another one of those pathetic scenes known only to him and those that frequent his post history, yet perceptibly conscious of his desire to alert all to the unravelling of his loose tongue, unquestionably a sign of his low breeding. Moving his effeminate mantilla to the other side of his reddened face, he began to exclaim in a wildly euphoric tone,
"Yes! Yes! This shall be another one of my great failures! And do you know, that I will it the whole time, each and every letter that I contribute to our very modern obsession that I loathe and love so much! I will the misunderstanding! Oh I have such a foolish heart! Let me kiss your hands Drowned in Sound, and again, and once more! Oh where is that thread that contains the history of our profile pictures so that I might flagellate myself for my vanity! But do not for one moment think that I do not enjoy it!"
lol and it seems it was rather self-referential
Yep, lets just say I have "opinions" on this one!
For me, oh how in troubled dreams the ghosts
Of every post now rose and laughed and
Burn’d themselves in upon mine eyes. Why had
I confided in all who tread these boards
The very place in which I first encountered joy
Within the arms of a woman and the
Fateful tune that ever after I will connect
With that delicious yet forbidden tryst?
do I cast my pearls before swine......
It contains the Pam Ayres Anal Sex poem:
My husband likes a pint of Ale
He likes a pint of bitter
But most of all when he gets home
He like to take me up...
well, you get the idea.
Get hold of it, tis ace.
of the fact that I bothered to write mine in iambic pentameter.
I'm just off now to the 'are you a social outcast' thread...
Not too drastic, of course, but just a spot concerned. As I sat up in my old room, idly toying with my gentleman's bits and pieces, an instrument I had become greedily addicted to of late, and I surveyed the input by other DiSers with a brow that wasn't quite furrowed, and yet it was rather. Perhaps the word 'perplexed' about covers it. To rectify this, I pulled off the trusty 'Ctrl + F' and rattled the keys. My brow furrowed deeper.
'Peeves,' I said, 'do you know what is rather queer?'
'Do you know that no one has chosen to write in the style of my beloved Wodehouse?'
'Well... they haven't! I'm frightfully perplexed by this turn of events.'
but it's the best i can do sadly.
that was revealed while i was writing that, that's why 'Wodehouse' didn't show up when i ctrl + f'd. x
i stopped after the first paragraph. sorry. im rubbish and boring. never mind.
was a jerk. He wrote like wet paper mache.
Mr. Puzzlethwistle was looking quite resplendent in his new pink kerchief. "Oh my!", he exclaimed excitedly, "I do hope I am worthy". A light knock at the door startled him, and he ejaculated a brief cry. "D-do come him".
The door swumg open revealing a naked stiff cock attached to a dirty young Arab boy. Puzzlethwistle pushed the boy over the bureau and rammed his own cock violently up the boy's rectum.
charlotte logs into drownedinsound ie. now and notices she has a new pm. that's pretty... trippy?
(she is not used to receiving pms. she was used to a life alone, watching episode after episode of gossip girl and looking at dead baby porn. the soft, decomposing skulls really made her boak. oh yeah)
meanwhile, vikram snorts yet another line of coke, and stares at the semi-conscious boy lying on the basement. he smells like... paprika?
SOUTHSIDE CAN YOU FEEL ME?????