Talk turns to to Cable, Marvel's own Messiah with a warranty, with Mystique and Storm speculating on miracles and massage:
ros_not_a_ho: I bet the Holy Oil was kept in all of those pouches
ms_tique: Do you think they have an equivalent of a Hanukkah miracle for the centuries when he's not available to grease? This one squirt of armpit juice has lasted us eight nights, here in our dystopian underground lair.....
ros_not_a_ho: Stryfe's spiky armor could be just as good a shiny substitute.
ms_tique: They could use it as the menorah.
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So very much brilliance in one post. It was hard to pick just three threads to quote.
t3hlorax commenting on this thread:
My Uncle Glenn who is hardcore into surfing has this friend who's a born again christian, of the psycho variety. the friend would often find things on the beach and claim Jesus sent them to him. once, Glenn got to the beach and saw his friend running to him, surfboard high over his head. He was yelling, "LOOK WHAT JESUS SENT ME!" and this guy, about 100 yards away, was yelling, "HEY! YOU GIVE THAT BACK!"
"No calls yet, but lots of faxes. Leavers' faxes, mostly. One of them...
Reason for leaving: Dead.
Authorised by line manager.
Aiii, it's bad to laugh at death before nine in the morning..."
Today's story is: La Llarona (The Crying Woman)
A lovely young woman had a husband and three children. They all lived in a teeny little shack near the edge of a cliff. Eventually, somehow, her husband died. I forget exactly how he kicked the bucket, but, he did and now the woman was all alone with children. She didn't have a job, and this was back in the days before welfare, so everyone was very very hungry.
One day, a new man met the woman, possibly at a flea market, and he fell in twu wuv. Except, this new man was childfree, of the cf_hardcore variety. He said he would marry the woman, but that before he would, she'd have to get rid of the sprogs.
So, what does this lovely woman do to win the wuvly affections of Mr. Childfree? That's right. She throws her kids off the cliff.
For a few days, she's fine and enjoys life without children. That is until she starts hearing them crying for her. Mr. Childfree does not approve of her crazy, so he leaves her.
Full of grief, she tosses herself off the cliff. SPLAT!
Once dead, the ghost of Ms. RegretfullyChildfree (AKA La Llarona) wanders around, mistaking other children as her own and stealing/killing them faster than you can say "Amber Alert."
Today, this leaves old Mexican women down the street yelling "Get back inside, mijos! Don't you know La Llarona will get you?" at small children and young adults. Sometimes, cats.
This doomed relationship has been brough to you by rosebudpeas and the letter D.
"Stealing a bowl of Fruity Pebbles once in a while is nothing compared to the crap you pull with the marshmallow continuum."
You should really read the whole thread, it's a riot.
Bing Crosby is hot.
Well, not now, obviously. I mean before he was dead.
Unfortunately, his songs were awful.
Want context? Sorry, that's the entire entry. If you don't believe me, see for yourself...
...ahem. Yes, I am feeling worse. Sicker than sick. Sick. Sicker. Sickest. Sickerest. Sickerested.
And I have a Human Sexuality midterm tomorrow which it is proving very hard to study for. This being due to my immune system apparently deciding that my brain is a very large virus cell and trying to get it out of my body via my nose. Or that's what it feels like, anyway.
That's the whole thing, but context if you must.
pradagirl say, "Someone needs to tell her that her vagina isn't a Clown Car."
*Google lies...it's also from the film "Gary the Rat"
The entire post is great - it's loooooooooong, but totally worth it!
At an f-locked spam post (quoted with permission) in numisma's journal, qem_chibati wonders if she's reached her 1000 comment quota:
qem_chibati: "How far along are you now?"
faemous had this to say in response: "Haha...that sounds like you're asking her how pregnant she is."
qem_chibati Opps! Gomen~ I meant how many posts in comparison to the 500/1000 o.o;
faemous Haha...I know...I just thought it was funny ^_^
qem_chibati @.@; Yeah. *fights urge to go pet Numisma's stomach* o.o;
numisma Don't even think about it!
HA! Must have been one of those unintentional slips.
scott_lynch: Writing books'll kill you. It's probably too late to save you...
cloudscudding:Yeah, but when you die you become a 2d20 hitpoint zombie writer with incredible levels of stamina and intelligence. Of course, the strength plummets, there's the constant search for fresh brains, the sunlight burns, and all the critics know they have to aim for the head.