“Moreover, whatever happened to that Envy demon that tried to turn me into a Billy Idol song?” Arlen Ask’d. Not that he would’ve minded such a fate. He rather liked Rebel Yell; that was one cassette that got a lot, I mean a lot of play in his lore friendly 9:37 FMC Corypheus (“The commuter coupe that drives like a sports car that’s been set on fire!”).
“What Envy demon?” Lucius shrugged.
“The one what was possessing you until it became obsessed with me,” Arlen said.
“Obsessed? With you?” Lucius could only assume this odd-looking elf did not mean obsessed in the Animotion sense. “What manner of made-up Mary Sue bull’s danglers is that? What, did I somehow perambulate directly into some teenager’s lousy wish-fulfillment fanfiction?”
“I didn’t make it up! You were there–”
“–he wasn’t, that was the demon,” Solas whispered. “Remember?”
“But it looked like him.”
Solas groaned. “Yes. Shape-stealing. That was what the demon intended to do to you.”
“Do what, make me look like him?” Arlen motioned to Lucius.
Solas became the very personification of a Fun Factory spaghetti mold clogged with dried Play-Doh. He just sort of sat there with a constipated grit to his teeth and hrnnnng’d quietly to himself.
“Bah! Demons. My sainted aunt.” Lucius scoffed. “That story’s absolutely quacking, lad.”
“Quacking?” said Arlen.
“Looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, it’s a duck,” said Lucius. “The same could be said for made-up Mary Sue bull’s danglers, which is what I assume you’re attempting to feed me. Well, no dice. I don’t know anything about any Envy demons, and certainly not the one who not only until very recently had me possessed–body and soul, and I do mean body, lad–but who also stole my credit card and attempted to buy a Jacuzzi with it.”
“That’s… something,” Arlen said, lending his full sympathy.
“Yes. Something, isn’t it? But I was saved only by the grace of my own abysmal credit rating. That transaction was NOPE’d so hard, it’s currently floating in orbit somewhere over Caimen Brea.” Lucius cracked his knuckles conclusively. “So I’m sorry. If you came here to have a go at the good old Lord Seeker’s Antivan Express gold card, You’re just going to have to go away.”
There was a low metallic clunking, not unlike the cowbell that kicks off the beginning of Loverboy’s Working For the Weekend. Only it wasn’t a cowbell and it wasn’t Mike Reno, it was Cassandra Pentaghast and the clunking was from her boots as she stomped forward in audible disgust.
“You know very well that the Inquisitor speaks the truth. I cannot believe you would do this to the Seekers,” she growled. “You twonk.”
Lucius appeared confused. “What’s a twonk?”
“Somewhere between a twit and a wanker,” recalled Arlen. He wasn’t sure if he liked where this was going. At least not by the way Cassandra continued to plod forward, kind of like one of the longer tracks on any given King Crimson album now. Yeah, something like Providence or Larks’ Tongues in Aspic, Part Two.
“I’m not sure if I appreciate the way you’re half-assing the very essence of my despicable nature,” Lucius said, recoiling with the offense. “It’s full wanker or nothing.”
Cassandra simply unsheathed her limited edition Debby Boone-autographed mortuary sword (“Life’s Light-Upper”), not even bothering to try for the last word. What did it matter? Nothing was what this twonk was about to become and they all knew it.
“Let me tell you a little bit about Tyler Durden. Tyler was a night person. While the rest of us were sleeping, he worked. He had one part-time job as a projectionist. […] Tyler also works sometimes as a banquet waiter at the luxurious Pressman Hotel. He was the guerrilla terrorist of the food service industry.”
“♫ Everybody hates you, everybody wishes that you were dead. ‘Cause Peter, you suck! Peter, you suck! Peter your music is fucking terrible. Peter, you suck! Peter, you suck! Peter you don’t do anything of value. Peter, you suck! Write some music. But instead you sit and write these bullshit songs. It’s so self-loathing. Go see a psychiatrist. I hate the psychiatrist. Well go see one anyway. I don’t like the psychiatrist. You need to go see one. See a psychiatrist. I’m not going. ♫”
favourite male characters (1/?) - Tom Edison [Dogville, portrayted by Paul Bettany]
“Although using people is not very charming, I think you have to agree that this specific illustration has surpassed all expectations. It says so much about being human. It’s been painful, but I think you also have to agree it has been edifying. Wouldn’t you say?”
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“Hey, I love women. They’re beautiful, majestic, mysterious, mesmerizing creatures. Smart, empathetic, far superior to men in every way. And if I had a choice, I’d be with women to my dying day. But me likes cock so I’m strict-aly dick-aly.
Last night I was waiting for some friends to show up at a bar/grill in Stafford. There was a horse outside the bar grazing, unattended. Odd. Then I spot what appears to be a cowboy, Spurs and all, at the outside bar. He eventually comes over to me and asks if he can sit down at my table, of course I say sure. The dude buys me a beer and we start to chat. He’s a 1971-74 USMC vet and has quite a life story. Spent nearly 20 years as a butler. Was part owner of a bar for several years after that. Had a stroke and recovered. Then 3 & ½ years ago he mounts up on his horse and decides to be a nomad and just ride to raise $$ for the American stroke foundation and another stroke organization out there. He won’t take cash from anyone, just a beer, shot of whiskey, or glass of wine, or horse feed. All he wants is to raise awareness, tell his story, and hope that people go online to the foundation’s pages & donate. He has been spending 1 night a week in a hotel on average (the other 6 he sleeps outside with his horse), rode 10,000 miles on horseback around the country so far, and for the past 3 & ½ years has been living off of what he carries on horseback. That’s only part of the man’s story. Google Lesli Fender, there are tons of news articles about him out there. He also has a 73’ Electra-glide he hasn’t rode since leaving Texas years ago, and knew who the Boozefighters are