Metaquotes

reebchan: Ann Coulter just said that if McCain is the Republican nominee, she'll campaign for Hillary.
village_skeptic: NO BITCH
village_skeptic: DO NOT WANT
reebchan: I think Barack Obama just won the Democratic nomination.
village_skeptic: Keep your heinous on your own side of the aisle, hell-troll!
reebchan: Though I would pay money to see that.
village_skeptic: I would just like to see Hillary walk calmly over, unhinge her jaw, bite Ann Coulter's head off, swallow it whole, and walk back to shaking hands and kissing babies.

QWP from my journal http://reebchan.livejournal.com/248149.html -- post is flocked due to naughty, naughty historical innuendo I don't want my parents reading XD But you can read about my awesome encounter with Barack Obama!

Every language has some ridiculousness. Like how in English, we "go to the bathroom" in the middle of a desert -- as though English-speakers were all so proper, we can conjure cubicles complete with plumbing in the least likely of circumstances.

In French, though, my favourite category of bizarre are "words for ordinary things that seem to belong more properly to an HP Lovecraft story." Like "mal de mer" ("seasickness," but literally "sea evil"), "fenêtre de guillotine" ("sash window" but actually "guillotine window"), and "nécrologie" ("obituary" but literally "word of the dead").

Of all these, the winner, hands down, is "abat-jour" -- "lampshade."

The "abat" part is from "abattre" -- which once meant "to throw down" but generally means "to slaughter." This is the "abattre" from "abattoir" -- "slaughterhouse."

"Jour" meanwhile, means day, but poetically "daylight" or "dawn." The sense was probably originally "throws down the light" but it now reads more like "That-Which-Slaughters-Daylight."

I picture "That-Which-Slaughters-Daylight" as a twenty-foot-tall hulking demon, horned, bearing a scythe, that could only be summoned at a crossroads on a new moon, with just the right ritual from the Nécrologie. It would also be wearing a lampshade, to remind itself of its humble origins, but it would be a very scary lampshade. Probably something with skulls on it.


Context thinks the Colour of the Lampshade will be from Out Of Time. (QWP)

florahart translates my anger at an idiot agent's stupidity into words they might understand. Maybe.

Dear Agent. I am going to try to tell you why. I will use words of no more than five ...marks. I will use short ...sets of words.

Fuck. It is hard to tell you in small bits.

You are an idiot. Your ...woman with pen is sad. You did that. We don't know why. Go fix it. In a way that makes sense. To other men and women. Today.

If you don't grow a brain, I will kill you with mine. Or with my hands. It will feel nice.

GTFO is fewer than five marks, yay.

No love,
Me

Context is flocked and full of massive wordmonkey fail.

librarista believes there's a proper time and place for necrophilia:

Dammit! When I do a Google image search for "Israeli men" I do not want to see a person with their brains coming out of their head! The time for looking for hot men and the time for looking for corpses is not always the same!

Context is friends-locked, but QWP.

7950 has some words of wisdom amidst the looniness of the Presidential debates:

"yes hillary, being the president should be humbling. that's what we need.

i hated when people (not so much lately of course) were like "you should be more respectful of bush! he's ~the president~!"

bitch please, that ho works for ME. i'm the american people. we're his BOSS. HE should be respectful of US."

Source has 35 years of experience, and...

 

shane_mayhem shares his sage relationship advice in damnportlanders

I've been listening to the radio and all of the massive Obama vs. Clinton snarking.
Why, I wonder, after this last Presidency, is America so ready to step right into another one? I really think we should take a break. This guy treated us like shit for eight years. Why are we so ready to let someone else hurt us? Maybe we should just give up the election scene for awhile and try to find out who we really are. Take some time off; get out more. Maybe we aren't even really a Democratic Republic! Did we ever think of that? Maybe Presidents just don't do it for us. I think we just need some "us" time before jumping right into another Presidency. That's all.

 

Context needs some alone time.

leeshajoy: I initially read that as "the Incredible Hulk has endorsed Obama." Alas, such was not the case.
ps238principal: HULK ROCK VOTE! HULK USE TOUCH SCREEN!
*smash!*

PUNY TOUCH SCREEN NOT STRONG ENOUGH FOR HULK'S DEMOCRACY!


Context meant a different Hulk. QWP.

Coming back from my doctor's appointment in Greenfield today, I was confronted with the following situation:

ME: Hm. Road flares and a cop ahead. I better slow down. Legs, commence hitting brakes!
CAR: SKIIIIIID!
GUARDRAIL: GET OVER HERE!
ME: Nothxkbye.
CAR: SIDEWAYS IS FUN!
GUARDRAIL: CURSES, FOILED AGAIN!

qwp; context is glad to be home.

Some people have problems with morning wood. takhisis has problems with morning earworms:

I woke up this morning with the "Gay Song" from South Park stuck in my head. I think I was dreaming about having a screaming argument with a Scoutmaster over refusing to support one of their fundraisers because of their discriminatory policies. But anyway. It led to some very strange conversation in my head.

Department of Earworms: We're! All gay! And that's okay!
Consciousness: Yes, thank you, moving on...
Department of Earworms: 'Cause gay means happy and happy means gay!
Consciousness: Okay, I need to take a shower now.
Department of Earworms: Great! Sing along! We're not sad any more, 'cause we're out the closet door...
Consciousness: NOT LISTENING LA LA LA
Department of Earworms: It's okay-ay to be GAY! Gay, gay, gay...
Department of Not Paying Attention: GAY! A deer, a female deer...
Consciousness: Wait, WHAT?!
Department of Not Paying Attention: Er.
Department of Being 12: So do gay female deer use "dil-does"?
Consciousness: IT IS TOO EARLY IN THE MORNING FOR THIS SHIT YOU GUYS.

QWP. Context is humming "It's a Small World After All" under its breath...

tabula_x_rasa gives everyone a primer on the American Electoral System:

Q: How do they vote?
A: With a maximum of difficulty

So these people, squeezing all this in during a normal work day, travel to an inconvenient "polling place" which is some temporarily re-purposed room run by Vogons. There the voters stand around uncomfortably, are mis-identified, have their addresses found, lost, found again, suspected of fraud, believed to be mentally incompetent, stamped, passed along, silently judged, and eventually given a few narrow, stiff cardboard cards and an envelope the colour of Alcatraz. They are sent to extremely rickety tables like cubicles that have been washed in very hot water. If you are really posh there might be a curtain, but I wouldn't touch it.

Then, depending on where you are, you squint at the ballot (it is very small print, to make it as difficult as possible to read), fumble for your reading glasses, realise you left them at home, and try to insert it into a machine that was first used to elect Kennedy. You move a heavy, no-doubt-lead arm up and down and use it to punch out the "chads" of 2000 fame that correspond most closely with your selection.

Well, we are not posh enough even for machines; we get pencils. It's better.

If you are in a place run by Republicans, you may have a Diebold voting machine. These are computers, and most commonly used in places where they are the only computer a voter has ever seen. For example, in Florida, where for the majority of voters, an Underwood was the last flashy state-of-the-art machine they used. A Diebold machine's default setting is "Republican," they can be hacked by 12 year olds from a PSP, and they are illegal in Silicon Valley. I have never seen one.

This system is considerably inferior to the old Tammany Hall style, where nice men walked you to the polls, gave you beer, went into the booth with you and helped you mark the right choice. They would even do it for you if you couldn't read, or if suddenly your hand broke in two places. At least this way, everyone voted for the person they intended to vote for.[2]

But at the end, you receive a prize for all you've been through: a free sticker, designed to induce guilt and shame in others. The best kind of sticker.

Sadly, all this is done without anyone washing their hands afterwards. America is a filthy place.

Context has more Funneh where that came from.

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Context? jukebox_heroine never needs no stinkin' context. (QWP, flocked)

felis_ultharus has been warned not to say anything else funny for the next little while:

From bill bissett's "i was on beech avenue in vancouver":

wher th canada gees gathr with a boom
mike intrviewing th canada gees abt
theyr life styles if yu show feer they
hiss n honk you away

i was asking them how they choos to
mate for life n what happns whn n if
tranguls develop dew they have divors
n trial separayshuns

And there you have it folks -- bill bissett, first Canadian poet to write entirely in lolcat. That poem dates to 1974.

Actually, his stuff is really emo, and is largely composed of hardcore gay sex scenes, so he's also been a LiveJournaler since before Frank was born.

Context is not supported by grants from the Canada Council.

ginmar has been watching lots of TV:

[...] And how fucked up are those Viagra commercials? IF they're not featuring guys singing about Viagra----God, yuck----they're featuring supposedly randy couples making goo goo eyes at one another. There's one I particularly hate where the guy is noticeably older than the woman, and she's all hot to trot but it's during his football game. Oh, God, OH NOES! He might have to fuck instead of watch his football! I think those should be paired with the commercial that shows the guy painting his (presumable) girlfriend's toes before a sneering voice over goes, "Don't be that guy." Yeah, because you know what? That guy is getting laid right now, because he's not so afraid if he's nice to a girl----even to the point of doing something like handling a nail polish brush like he knows his way around----that his dick will fall off. This, by the way, was quite hot during Bull Durham, when Kevin Costner did it to Susan Sarandon, but then again, Kevin Costner was hot then and Crash Davis was an attractively masculine guy who didn't give a shit what anybody thought. He even irons by himself. Which reminds me, what is up with that annoying little hair comma he's got on his face now? It looks like he dribbled on himself.

Then there's all these fucking diet commercials. They always feature predominantly women and they're always interspersed with pizza and KFC commercials. Then there's those Alli commercials! That's the diet drug that makes you lose 50% more weight because you shit your pants! They even recommend you buy dark pants and bring them to work! Why don't they tell you that in the commercial? That's what committing to Alli means.

[...] I need to go watch a movie that features that older guy from Road House. I can't remember his name, but he's so sexy without trying that Patrick Swayze's hair blew up like a pissed off cat in protest. At least that's what I think happened.

Context is getting lubed in the comments.