zeppelin: (Default)
A month and a half ago, I married Mina off to Richard III with the dastardly help of Rowan.

Mina: Right now I am far too preoccupied with politics and divorce papers to worry about that sort of thing
me: Divorce papers?
Mina: :)
me: .........You know for someone who is allegedly into having a lord and master, you sure toss them around with a surprising amount of ease

I guess...You know what, I'm not going to finish that sentence. I have yet to fulfill my "get smashed a few hours before leaving Korea" tradition.

Anyway.
zeppelin: (Default)
Mina: Son.
Why.
Do.
You.
Have.
Such.
Crazy.
Friends?!
me: I DON'T KNOW
Mina: Am I the only sane person you know?! :P
me: i wouldn't say that...

O.O

Jan. 24th, 2010 05:03 am
zeppelin: (Default)
Scott: my favorite cookie is the Oatmeal Raisin.
me: HERESY
!!!!
chocolate chip is better
Scott: NO MINE IS THE TRUE COOKIE FAITH
me: I WILL BURN YOU
EXPECT THE COOKIE INQUISITION AT ANY MOMENT
Scott: let us go forth and set the continent at war for 500 years
me: YES PLZ
[it would be better] if there were NO OATMEAL RAISIN AT ALL
Scott: there would be back-alley oatmeal raisin!
me: highly unlikely
Scott: your kind are all the same. putting the oatmeal raisin down
me: yes
WHERE IT BELONGS
Scott: WE SHALL OVERCOOOOME SOOOOME DAAAAAY
me: NO
NUCLEAR WAR FIRST
Scott: God is against you, you torturing pervert.
me: God's against YOU
for taking grapes from their natural habitat
SHRIVELING THEM UP and combing them with HORSE FOOD and daring to call it a COOKIE
Scott: OH AND YOU DON'T do the same with cocoa?
me: nope
it is written that cocoa is meant to be a cookie
Scott: Pot, kettle, black
me: so you ADMIT you are a nature-twisting fiend
Scott: I admit nothing of the sort
The divine taste of the Oatmeal Raisin is proof enough that it was meant to be
me: doubtless every sinner thinks that his sin is delicious
that does not mean it is RIGHT.

He does not use an APPROPRIATE AMOUNT OF CAPSLOCK, therefore he must be WRONGER THAN SUSPECTED!
zeppelin: (Default)
Sara: You're going to be killed by revenants, aren't you?
Mina: Are they Puritan revenants? Because that sounds appealing.
Sara: You'd be ripped limb from limb!
Mina: [meh]
Sara: You are so weird.
Mina: I am NOT weird.
Sara: You want to be ripped apart by undead Puritans! NOBODY wants that!

mud pies

Jun. 28th, 2008 02:56 am
zeppelin: (Default)
If we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature of the rewards promised in the Gospels, it would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.

Lately I've been trying to make for the sea shore. I don't think I've even hit the edge of the city yet, and I keep taking wrong turns and unnecessary breaks. That hasn't stopped people from chasing after me, trying to drag me back so that they can resume slamming my head into mud pies. Blech.
zeppelin: (Default)
Le Melodrame: Or, A Tragickal Tale of Woe

by a Lady

It was dawn, cold and grey.

Two pairf advanced acroff the mifty down towardf each other. They met.

'Will you not refolve your quarrel?' implored one, Lord M-- of Lofted Bedde.

'No,' said his companion, Miss B--, a steely-eyed Juno, and lady of negotiable affection. 'My honour is at stake.' She looked with miflike at another, quite unruffled and rather filly-faced woman, Lady K-- of Pekin. The latter shrugged.

'I'll take that as a "no,"' said her companion, the well-dreffed Duke P--.

'Well, then.' Lord M-- said dolefully. 'Have you the piftols?'

'Yef,' replied the Duke. He withdrew from some unfeen receff a cafe. 'They are in working order and loaded. Choose your piftols, ladies.'

The strumpet selected a small revolver, pearl-handled and pink (frillf were the latest fafhion in Parif, the City of Love). The other chofe a 9mm Springfield sub-compact XD. The Duke pofitioned the ladief so they were back to back.

'Take ten pacef, turn, and fire. One, two, three...'

As she was walking, Lady K-- confidered the queftion of Miss B--'s honour. It waf certainly non-exiftent. If Parmenidef was correct--and she never doubted but that he waf--they should not be talked about. Surely 'not worth talking about' could be logically extended to 'not worth killing for'? And B--, without honour though she may be, was not without merit. 'And in any case,' thought Lady K--, 'she cannot shoot. It would not be fair.'

'...Nine, Ten!'

She turned, raised her pistol, and fired into the air.

Her opponent did not. B--, that alleged pacifift, did know how to shoot, for she had practised all night in her study, shocking C-- and making his fiancee, Miss W-, that unfortunate Blueftocking, pofitively faint; which fainting pleafed C--'s irrepreffible cousin, Miss S--. Miss B--'s aim was true and Lady K-- dropped, dead.

B-- turned haughtily to the seconds, but they were gone. 'Lord M--? Sir P--?' she said expectantly. No reply, for the secondf had run off together. This was a perfectly natural thing to have done, because penguinf and comforterf get on swimmingly. B-- did not have much time to be vexed, for she, pantfless after her usual cuftom, was exceedingly cold. She froze to death. For it was dawn, cold and grey.
zeppelin: (Default)
me: What kind of cookies?
friend: Peanutbutter and chocolate.
me: I want peanutbutter and chocolate cookies.
friend: I'll send them to you.
me: Yes! No, they'd get smashed.
friend: Oh, that reminds me of the other thing I want to do with you!
me: >.
zeppelin: (Default)
Niyatee: I'm bored. Talk to me.
me: I have nothing to talk about.
Niyatee: You are an evil child of Satan and you should die.

*pause*

me: You're not nice.
Niyatee: *laughs in evil I-bathe-in-virgins'-blood manner*

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Kate

September 2013

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