December 19th, 2007

dark lady

Waking Prowess

chairman_wow has a new alarm clock:

I was in a charity shop yesterday, and I got one of those old-school wind-up alarm clocks. Mere words cannot describe its waking prowess. It leaves sledgehammers in the dust. I woke up this morning with half a heart attack and my brain doing something to the effect of "whu- wha- whe- THIS ROOM IS THE WRONG SHAPE ohwaititgoesthatwayrounddoesn'tit" as it struggled to wade through a cloud of adrenaline to activate my fine motor skills to flip the tiny little lever to STOP THE NOISE MAKE IT STOP.

'twas a good buy.

QWP, public entry.

(no subject)

khukuri goes video game shopping:

The other day we were eyeing up the new FFXII game on the DS. I was waffling over whether or not to buy it, and Dave, as is his duty in these sort of matters, was making supportive yet vague noises.

"On one hand, it's like $70," I said. "On the other hand, it has got Balthier on the box."

"That should be reason enough!" said a lady standing next to me.

"Hell yeah," I said. "But it says that Vaan is the main character? Vaan's a bit..."

Dudes, I swear to you all, the word I was searching for was bland, or likeable yet totally uninteresting, something along those lines.

"I know!" she said. "He's such a bottom."


Dear world,

I like videogames, and I like gay porn, and I do hold to the belief that any combination of the two is just plain groovy.

But if you could pick a better place for strangers to talk loudly to me about fictional sixteen-year-olds getting sodomised than the middle of JB Hi-Fi, that would be awesome.


Context knows that Vaan is someone's prison bitch.
Orange Imac

The Golden Space Heater

seraphimcloud quests to lift a curse.

It is as if

a curse has been lifted.

As if I was a poor farm boy from a tiny town of good-hearted, hard working souls, beleaugered by baby-eating hell-demons since time began, who quested for ages through mountains, sand and sea to seek out and bring home some fabled, mystic charm that will release us from our oppression, retrieved from the flaming ass of a firey dragon or somesuch etc etc at the center of the earth. They all said it was mad, they all said I couldn't do it, especially not with a wooden sword and a paper hat, but I found the thing and here it is, lifting the curse. The curse of my incredibly freaking cold-ass room.

Space heater, my friend. The Ultimate Weapon.

Context is up a dragon's ass.

(no subject)

felisdemens is chained to her Oar of Woe......

See, there's this little guy in the back of my head. I call him the Galleymaster. And when I try to sleep in, or sometimes even just relax, the Galleymaster busts out his giant kettle drum and his bullwhip and starts his show.

"Row, slave, row! Tote that oar! there's shit to do!"


oh, god. I need to sleep. leave me alone.


"Row! No sleep for you! Just row! ROW, YOU WHORE!"


I'm ignoring youuuu. come back later. I'm so tired.


"Haul oar! Feed cat! Do laundry! Call roofers! There's no fucking orange juice! Make money! Row, goddammit!" *cracks whip*

And eventually, I just get up and haul that fucking oar, because there's nothing else to do when the Galleymaster starts his hectoring. That whip stings, and the drums just never goddamn well stop until you're rowing for all you're worth.

I'm looking forward to a week or so at the rents'. I am responsible for virtually nothing there, and the Galleymaster shuts the hell up for a while.  

QWP, Context is back rowing with the other slaves.
  • Current Mood