June 9th, 2006

Lovely!

faex pondering the origins of salami..


you cant kill salami
once its created it will never disappear
and it will smell like salami for eternity

AND MOSTLY

why do none of the ingredients of salami smell like salami?
because its ingredients are no longer in there, they only open a portal to another dimension where a log of red copperish smelling stuff comes to wreak havok on your bowels

portal to hell
but it does taste ok



SAUCE: http://faex.livejournal.com/79579.html
Mistful Dreams

Explanationomg: I have just been diagnosed with a cognitive disorder. sparklychibi comments.

The original thread is here.

And at least you have a name for overreacting now, you know? So it can go more like this:

Person: I don't want to be friends.
Soujin: It's because I'm a horrible person, isn't it? ;____;
Person: What the hell.
Soujin: Cognitive disorder.
Person: Oh. Well then let me send you flowers.
Soujin: ^_^ Flowers are pretty!

--sparklychibi

QWP.
  • Current Music
    Book of Love - Magnetic Fields

New Orleans calls with leighdb's voice

A three-part pictorial story (1) (2) (3) of Mardi Gras 2006, ending with:
Look. Here is a city - an American city, one of our own - that is unique in the world. It has brought us all, whether we've ever been there or not, sweet music and delicious food and culture and heritage and history and beauty and joy. And it needs your help.
It does not deserve to die. It does not deserve to be forgotten. If we allow New Orleans to fester and fade, what does that say about us? Is that what we want to be written in history - that a storm is stronger than the whole of America? That we just couldn't be bothered to save one of our oldest and most distinctive cities? Is that how far we have fallen?

If you are not in the disaster zone, how often do you hear about New Orleans anymore, unless you go looking? In California, I know, you hear nothing. One or two stories, sparked by the official beginning of this year's hurricane season, and that's it. The media has decided that New Orleans is old news. That nobody cares anymore.
I want you to prove them wrong.
How, you ask? Simple.
Go there.
Hello Fry and Laurie by ablog_ortwo

(no subject)

From violetisblue:

Yahoo News, all day today and yesterday:

******

Zarqawi Dead
Zarqawi Really Dead
Boy, Is That Zarqawi Guy Dead
Zarqawi Incredibly Dead
Zarqawi Blowed Up Real Good
Zarqawi Not Entirely Dead At First
Zarqawi More Dead Than You Are Right Now
Zarqawi Not So Dead As, Say, FDR, But Hasn't Had As Much Practice Yet
Zarqawi, As Previously Implied, Dead
"I Heard That Zarqawi Guy Is Dead," Says Area Man, 67
Zarqawi Not Instantly Killed
Zarqawi Lingered a Second or Two Before Dying
Or a Few Minutes, Hours, Whatever
Zarqawi Not Completely Blowed Up Real Good After All, Dies on Stretcher
Zarqawi Blowed Up Real Good on Stretcher
I Just Said He Didn't Blow Up, a Stretcher Is Not a Bomb
How Do You Know It Isn't, Them Guys Over There Are Crafty
Look, Just Face It, He Didn't Blow Up
Why Do You Hate America
Why Are You Such a Moron
He Did So Blow Up
Did Not Either Blow Up
Did So
Did Not
The Red Zone Is for Loading and Unloading Only
I Hate You
Don't Make Me Turn This Stretcher Around
Zarqawi Definitely Dead, One Way or Another
Zarqawi Holding on in Fight to Remain Dead
Zarqawi Dead, Insert Seventy-Two Virgins Taunt Here
OMG U R So Sexist
Shut Up
Zarqawi Dead
Zarqawi Dead
Zarqawi Dead
Florida Scientists Find Link Between Tighter Buttocks, Cardiac Health
religion

Our good friend siln has a new idea for the workplace:

I am considering an issue of office etiquette.

In the interest of productivity, and a healthy working environment, I feel it should be okay to let a co-worker know that the pictures of their children/neices/nephews are demoralizing the company.

Your children are not precious and unique. They are troglodytes who appear to be the unholy pairing of a drug-addicted chimpanzee, and Sloth from The Goonies. It pains me to say this as I understand that you do not realize that little Tara-Mae-Jade-Autumn-Moonbeam-Chelsea-McKayla The Third does not HAVE an "overbite". An "overbite" does not refer to the condition in which the top row of teeth hang over the chin. That is an unfortunate genetic abnormality that can only be described as "The End of Her Future Husband's Interest in Oral Sex". Why bring pictures of little Nosferatu into a place of business?

And how dare you allow Little Timmy to be subjected to public viewing? At least allow the poor little orc to ATTEMPT to grow into his skeletal structure before disclosing his unfortunate situation to the world.

Think of Little Timmy, assholes.


... I am so in trouble now.

QWPped from http://siln.livejournal.com/241782.html.
  • Current Mood
    amused amused
weird thing

1872 pencils, 6 shapeners, 2 hotel workers

A fun day at the office for dimethirwen:

"You may be wondering," I said, "why I am sitting at your desk, sharpening 1,872 pencils. The problem is that I do not know the answer to this question myself. Perhaps I am being punished. I'm just not sure why."

[...]

We had gotten through, between both of us in a four hour period, somewhere between 400 - 450 pencils sharpened. Out of 1,872. We had overheated five pencils sharpeners and permanently destroyed one. I had, during a moment of sheer spacey-ness, put the eraser end in on accident and ruined the pencil (my boss had to dig the eraser out with two paper clips). I became undoubtedly the best-paid pencil sharpener in the history of the world. And then someone thought to order presharpened pencils.

Read the whole thing.

Secondly, homais attempting to extend his visa in Damascus:

He helped me with the last of the form, which I proudly presented to the man behind the desk, only to be told with a click of the tongue, "no, no, you must photocopy this twice, then buy the stamp, then come back". He waved me away with a 'this conversation is over' gesture.

Copy it where? What stamp? From whom? After all the stress of the morning, I very nearly melted down right on the spot. I was about two seconds away from the worst Ugly American moment of my life. I am an American, goddamnit, I wanted to yell. My fucking country rules the world, and I will not be treated like this. This is backwards! Barbaric! Insane! Help me with your stupid procedure, useless peon, or my country's wrath will be swift and awful!

Fortunately, I checked myself. I realised that my rage was nothing, nothing compared to this man's complete indifference to my fate. I would have done better to yell at the wall. Instead, I tried a different tactic.

"Please," I said as humbly as I could, in a mishmash of English and Arabic. "I am very confused and my Arabic is not very good." I can cry on cue. If I were a girl, I probably would have tried it, but I don't think it works as well when you're male, here or in any country. I went on: "Please, explain to me what to do. I don't understand." I did my best to make my eyes plead silently.

He sat a moment, weighing his options, never looking up from his other paperwork. After an infinite pause, he said "fine. Go downstairs to one of the stores outside. They will know."

From here.
  • Current Mood
    amused amused

Qrazy Quetzacoatl

Trust srallen to note the insanity of looted Maya artifacts being bought "in good faith":
"That's right, folks! Qrazy Quetzalcoatl says everything must go, so we've been slashing our prices with a bloodlust! We've got jade, gold, turquoise and wait'll you see what we've got for you over here. Your very own Mayan funerary mural, it'll look great in your bathroom. Ordinarily we'd price this for $15,000 but, uh oh, y'hear that rumbling? Price-bustin' Tlaloc sez it can be yours for *KABAM!* $7,500! Still too much? Well don't forget about our easily Obsidian Credit plan, where you pay in easy installments. First we go for your heart... HA HA! Only kiddin' folks! Huitzilpochli told us so... or did he?"
nirvana

Masterful use of the simile, I give it a 9.8

ursulav on her writing process:
    I don't know how other people do it, but for me, writing is kind of like being a surgeon. You yell "Character!" or "Conflict!" or whatever and stick out your hand and something--the brain or the Muse or whatever--grabs something from the tray and slaps it into your hand, and you shove it into the gaping incision you've made in the page. Sometimes it's exactly what you need, and then again, sometimes you find you're trying to perform surgery with a rubber duck with a prolapsed squeaker. (Probably there's a story somewhere where exactly what you need is, indeed, a prolapsed rubber duck...)
QWP