#and the little boy looks like he has all the brains of a teabag full of crayon shavings

[naamahdarling]

.

[whatifitwasgttho]

something a bit wholesome with lisa encountering an illiterate tiny trying to learn how to read one of the books in the library?

ㅤ. 𓂃⠀࣪. ' ' TUTOR ' ' ﹆. ۰ ⸼ ۫ ◌ ° ⃗ 'ރ፧ ࿐ ° ໑ ≽ ‣‣‣ giant!lisa + tiny!razor ,] ᤲ࿔ ੭ ࿐ ⋆⑅˚₊ ༉‧.* ꙳ ੭ ͜━͜━͜━͜ SUMMARY/AN ]

. ⁀➷｡˚. 【 finding a borrower in her library was not what she had expected, but of course— she does not mind. especially since the little one is trying to learn how to read. AN; I knew Razor would be perfect for this. Plus he totally wears borrower chic. Lisa is the sweetest giant istg. 】

As the lazier librarian stepped upwards, walking across the stairs to the brilliantly decorated Favonius Headquarters— her heart felt warm. After a long day of work— all the woman wanted was to lay down in her daybed for a nap. She slept in the headquarters often— though she did have an apartment in Mond. She could notice more upwards, that the church was already decorating for the Windblume Festival; even if it was a month away.

Jean had talked with Kaeya and herself about preparations, though Lisa still found it was far too early. She was told to talk with them again today— though Lisa was busy getting others to return used books; completely forgetting about the meeting. Now, it was the evening— and Lisa would eat, read, then fall asleep. Jean would be heading home with Barbara anyways, and even if Kaeya stayed late— he was only the Calvary Captain, so his opinion wasn’t too needed for a festival.

Walking past the long, smooth doors, her heels clicked gently against the tiled floor; walking softly as she usually did. Lisa was known to be a kind, sweet woman— one who was late in her twenties— and had a good amount of respect to name. Turning her taller form towards the Library door, she noticed a creak in the door, even though she sweared she closed it when she left. Plus, she specifically had asked whoever was going in to close the door behind them.

Lately, Lisa has lost pens, teabags, pins— while also finding her once old, disheveled clothes buttoned up, and slightly put in one piece again.. it was a strange occurrence. She suspected hillicurls at first, but how could such creatures get into Mond in the first place? Then she suspected a rodent— though how could rodents have that brain capacity? So, such happenings remained a mystery. She suspected it was probably just her imagination— or Kaeya pulling a prank, with Albedo cleaning up after her in apology. Either way, it didn’t matter now, as she pushed past the library doors.

Suddenly, she heard the sound of breaking class, immediately turning her attention to her desk. Finding the littlest form she could make out— he couldn’t have been more than five inches tall. Her heart sank in worry, rushing towards the mysterious figure, ignoring the vase that fell to her feet. Upon hearing the clicking of her heels, the borrower stumbled backwards in fear— Razor’s little heart beating a mile-a-minute. The small creature was utterly terrified, mumbling slightly illiterate sentences Lisa could hardly make out. He continued backwards before he stepped against a pencil case.. eyebrows tilting in utter horror.

Lisa stopped in her tracks. “Hey— hey.. it’s alright, darling.. I’m not here to hurt you..” She cooed with a motherly softness, her tone full of warmth. She was worried for him, it was apparent— yet the borrower didn’t see such.. as she was just so.. big. So towering. He couldn’t have been taller than her pointer finger. Wincing in a pain, he let go of his own shoulder, a wound causing tears to burn the ends of his eyes. Lisa pursed her lips, but stepped back a little despite her anxiousness.. speaking again. “I am Lisa. It’s going to be okay… are you hurt?”

He looked puzzled, staring at her with wide, yet curious eyes.. eyebrows furrowed as he tried to hide the pain he was in. The boy had animalistic, dog-like ears, and a ruffled hood that looked almost like that of a simple leather. She wanted to see his wound, hold him— tell him it’d be alright. But for now, Lisa stayed put. Awaiting an answer from the teenager. At least, she suspected he was young— maybe fourteen? Either way.. she was patient.

“Lisa.. nice?“ He muttered in between winces, the illiterate sentence leaving Lisa confused, though she understood his words.

“Yes, yes— Lisa is nice.” She replied, lips curling into a smile, rosy cheeks complimenting the sincere look she gave. “Can I see your injury?”

Razor’s eyes widened, before nodding. Lisa felt nervous, one wrong move and she could mess up any friendship they could have. After a thought, she placed her hand in front of him— palm up.. giving him the option if he wanted to step on, or didn’t. She wasn’t going to make him do anything.. that completely stood against anything Mond stood for. It was The City Of Freedom, and Lisa surely wasn’t going to tarnish that name.

Razor Razor looked.. terrified. This must be a trick of some sort, right? Humans didn’t do this.. his Lupical said so.. his parents said so. Humans were terrible creatures, that only wanted borrowers to show off, or keep in a cage as if they were pets.. so why.. why was he allowed free will? Was this a trap? In his mind, though.. it was either hope she’d let him die quickly, or die slowly here. That.. was a chance he was willing to take; just this once. He stumbled onto her soft, slightly calloused hand— the smell of lavender and windblume noticeable from her wrist and sleeve. She gave him a gently stare, before bringing him towards her.. cupping her hands slightly in a protective manner.

“Okay, now I’m going to need to get closer to see.. is that alright with you?” She asked, letting out a bittersweet smile. Her breath smelled of peppermint and mocha, and her hair looked like it was tended too well. Razor looked up to her emerald hues, giving another nervous nod. She leaned down, holding her breath— scanning the wound rather quickly, before pulling away. “Oh dear.. you poor thing..” She said sweetly.

Razor looked to his shoulder again. Lisa was already reaching for the med-kit, a determined look on her face.. one that his mother used to give to Razor when he got into trouble. He didn’t understand.. why was she being so gentle? So careful? He didn’t have a clue, but didn’t mind.. it was better than the torture he expected.

A wince came upon Lisa cleaning his cut, before he slouched in the content afterwards. “Thank.. you..” He whispered, though Lisa still heard, her smile growing, but her eyes glittered at his next phrase. “My name.. is Razor.”

She bandaged the wound. “That is an adorable name, little one.” She spoke, before setting him down with utter caution, Razor slipping off her hand. “If I may ask, what were you doing here?”

“Uh..” Even if he was still afraid, he felt he must at least owe her a simple answer, so he pointed at a book on her desk. “I wanted.. to.. open— but fell.” She smiled, adoration filling her heart upon discovering the little one’s intentions. She sat down. Opening the book. She would tend to the mess later.

“Well, Razor, let’s teach you how to read then, shall we?”

[localswordlesbian]

rose-coloured boy

The Lonely left it's mark on Martin, with his formerly dark brown hair going a stark white the moment the fog touched him. Whenever he sees his reflection in the mirror, he sees the man who became the victim of a fear that nearly swallowed him whole. So he decides that a bottle of pink hair dye is the way to go.

(or: a bunch of friends were sending art of pink haired martin on discord and I was inspired, thank you to @bagginshield and @m-e-w-666 for encouraging me to write this <3)

read it on ao3 or below the cut

Martin was beginning to wonder whether he’d fucked up.

He watched as the water vanished down the drain before his eyes, tinged ever so slightly pink as it ran freely from his head and into the sink. Hunched over the cold ceramic, Martin listened to the music he’d set to play from the speakers to occupy his mind while he waited for the water to run clear, a process which was taking an almost infuriatingly long time. Despite the music, his mind was spinning – he couldn’t remember what, exactly, had spurred him to dye his hair. His walk to the convenience store down the road had almost disappeared from his memory, as though he’d done it in a daze, and he hadn’t hesitated before pulling the plastic gloves onto his hands and squeezing the light pink goop from the bottle onto his head.

Half an hour of sitting on the cold bathroom floor, paired with being hunched over the sink which was too short for someone of Martin’s height, was beginning to cause his muscles to tighten and his bones to ache. Eventually, the water spilling over his head finally ran clear and Martin straightened, his spine popping as his unruly curls flung water all over the bathroom. Sighing as he grabbed a towel and began to dry off his hair, Martin stretched. He kept his eyes away from the mirror – he knew this had been his decision, but a deep-seated fear squirmed through his gut at the thought of seeing his own reflection; what if he hated it? What if he regretted it immediately and had no way of getting the dye out?

He shook his head. Spiralling into a panic over nothing wasn’t going to help, he tried to tell himself. Towel still wrapped around his hair, he left the bathroom and stepped onto the cold tile of his kitchen.

Tea would calm him down, he reasoned. Tea usually calmed him down. Martin got the kettle, two teabags, and two mugs, and got to work – it was a calming process, and that combined with the music still spilling from the living room was enough to distract him from his panic about his hair.

As he was seeping the tea in the boiling water, he heard the distinct sound of the front door unlocking and someone coming inside. A smile pulled at Martin’s cheeks as he saw a familiar figure enter the kitchen.

“Welcome back,”

Jon smiled at him, his tired expression lifted as his eyes met Martin’s. “Thank you. Perfect timing,” he noted, gesturing to the tea.

Martin laughed, and the sound seemed to make Jon smile wider. “Yeah, it is.”

The two stood in amicable silence while Martin finished making and pouring the tea, handing Jon his mug. His scarred hand wrapped around Martin’s as he accepted the tea, giving his boyfriend’s hand a squeeze. They stood in the kitchen as they sipped their drinks, music continuing to pour in a continuous stream of company as they enjoyed each others’.

“Is that a new fashion accessory or something?”

Martin looked up suddenly. “What?”

Jon gestured to his head. “The towel. I wouldn’t normally point it out, but you never wear a towel on your head when you shower, so…”

Martin smiled softly – the fact that Jon knew that about him was still a little pleasant surprise sometimes. “Oh, uh. Yeah. Well..” Jon tilted his head sideways, waiting for Martin to continue. Sighing, Martin grabbed the towel with one hand and yanked it off his head. “It was sort of an… impulsive decision,” he explained.

Jon seemed to study him for a moment before setting his mug down and walking over to stand in front of Martin. Reaching up, he hesitated before making content, and at Martin’s nod he took a strand between his fingers. Martin could see that the colour was very pale, an almost pastel pink, just dark enough to be noticeable but not so much so that it would call attention. Jon gave a soft smile. “I think it looks lovely,” he murmured. “Why the sudden impulse, though?”

Martin finally let himself consider that question, the question he hadn’t let himself think about since he made the decision to venture out to the store to buy the dye in the first place. He thought about all he and Jon had been through the past few years, the horrendous traumas they’d both faced – the degradation of both of their psyches at the hands of their power hungry immortal boss. Jon’s scars were a constant reminder of the avatars who had wanted them dead simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and after the Lonely–

“I suppose I didn’t want to be reminded of it anymore.” Jon tipped his head sideways, urging Martin to continue. “Every time I looked in the mirror, I could see it – the fog, the blurry horizon hardly even there, the vague silhouettes of people who were just as alone as I was. And it’s not like I could justify it with “going grey young;” it was white, Jon. There was no– no compartmentalizing it anymore. And I just couldn’t bear it.”

A beat passed, then Jon reached up and brushed the pad of his thumb across Martin’s cheek – Martin hadn’t even realized he’d been crying. He wordlessly took Martin’s hands and led him over to the couch – Martin sank gratefully into the cushions, suddenly exhausted. He felt weary down to his bones, as though a film of grey had settled over his vision and made his brain all fuzzy and spaced out. Jon said nothing, simply held Martin’s hands in his, running his thumb over the knuckles in a soothing back and forth motion.

“I don’t know how long I’ll have to wait until I– until I forget,” he confessed in a broken whisper.

Jon let out a dry, humourless laugh. “Love, I don’t think either of us will ever forget what we went through.” He squeezed Martin’s hands. “Though, that’s not to say we’ll never move past it.”

Martin nodded. “I feel like I’m giving in.”

“To what?”

“I don’t know, the fear? Peter Lukas and the Lonely? Heroes are always supposed to rock their scars, hell even you live with constant reminders of what you went through painted on your body, but I can’t even look at myself without feeling… cold. Cold and lonely and abandoned.”

Jon lifted one of Martin’s hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to the knuckles. “I’m sorry.”

Martin shook his head. “Jon. It’s not your fault. None of it was, or is.”

Jon nodded. “I know, I–” he broke off, squeezing Martin’s hands again. “I can’t promise that it will get better. The nightmares, the memories, the�� the habits. But I can promise I’ll never abandon you ever again. I never want you to feel like you’re alone, not as long as I’m with you.”

“You didn’t abandon me the first time. I chose to work for Lukas, I chose to sacrifice myself. That wasn’t your fault.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“So are you!”

Jon laughed. “I suppose you’re right. My point is, I don’t want you to feel like you’re alone. I’ll always be by your side, no matter what. No matter the colour of your hair,” he added fondly, lifting one hand to thread it through Martin’s curls. Martin leaned into the touch, taking comfort in the simplicity of this moment – sat on the couch, with tea that had gone cold, two broken people desperately trying to figure out how to simply be in a world that had taken so much from them.

Jon leaned closer, tilting his head in a silent invitation, one which Martin accepted by pressing their lips together – it was a soft kiss, a gentle one, a reminder that not all was lost, that despite it all they still had each other. Jon’s hand threaded through Martin’s hair, and Martin savoured every sensation as he cupped Jon’s cheek and felt the stubble scrape his palm. This was what had been missing in the Lonely – the feeling of touch, of direct contact with another person without feeling as though there was a layer of something between him and anyone or anything around him. But here, in this tiny flat, he was present in this very moment, present for the feeling of his boyfriend’s lips moving against his, a reminder that right now he wasn’t alone. No matter the colour of his hair or the nights where he’d wake up in a cold sweat after a dream where he’d been drowning in fog, his lungs full of cold, wet smoke and his eyes unseeing, Jon would be there.

Jon hummed against his lips, and Martin pulled away. “What?”

His boyfriend has a small smile on his face. “I just realized something,” he said. “You’re a real rose-coloured boy.”

Martin barked a laugh. “Really? That’s your great realization?”

Jon pouted. “I thought it was cute.”

Martin chuckled, brushing his lips over Jon’s again and pulling away before he could press closer. Jon let out a petulant growl, and Martin grinned. “You’re cute.”

“Am not!”

“Yes you are, don’t deny it.”

“If I agree, can I kiss you again?” Martin nodded. “Fine, then I’m adorable.”

Still grinning, Martin brought his lips to Jon’s again, and they stayed on that couch for a good long while.

After this, they’d go about their regular days. Martin still didn’t know whether he’d be able to bear his own reflection, now that his hair was no longer the stark white it had turned after the Lonely. He knew that this wouldn’t keep the nightmares at bay, the terrifying dreams of losing Jon to a fog so thick he could hardly move through it, of losing himself piece by piece as everyone walked by, of being forgotten and discarded as though he’d never mattered. He knew this wouldn’t solve anything long term.

Maybe that was okay. Maybe this was the first step.

That night, Martin looked up from the sink and beheld the pink curls on top of his head for the first time. He held his reflection’s stare, as if challenging it to go after him. The memories weren’t gone, but the telltale twist of a corkscrew of panic driving its way into his chest was, for once, absent. He simply felt… normal.

What normal was, Martin could only hope it wouldn’t remain that way forever. Jon was right – he’d never forget, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t heal, piece by piece, bit by bit, never alone again.

Perhaps that was enough.

[yuckitup-jwd]

Fulldeckisms Part 3

One shot short of a chain. (Shot is a section of anchor chain.)

One shot short of a locker. (Shot is ammunition; a locker iswhere it's stored.)

One shrimp short of a barbie.

One side short of a pentagon.

One signature short of a book.

One slate short of a full roof.

One sleeve/button short of a shirt.

One snowflake short of a ski slope.

One sock short of a pair.

One song short of a musical.

One span short of a bridge.

One spoon short of a full set.

One steering wheel / bolt short of a Yugo.

One step short of the attic.

One stick short of a bundle.

One straw short of a bale.

One strawberry short of a quart.

One strike past being called out.

One sub short of a party platter.

One taco/enchilada/chalupa short of a combination/Mexican plate.

One teabag short of a pot.

One tilde short of a full URL.

One tile missing from his space shuttle.

One tile short of a successful re-entry.

One too many lights out in his Christmas tree.

One too many rides on the Zipper.

One tower short of a castle.

One tree short of a hammock.

One vine short of the tree. (For Tarzan types.)

One volt below threshold.

One weight short of a shipwreck.

One word short of a.

One yard short of the hole.

Only occasionally wets himself under pressure.

Only one oar in the water.

Only opens his mouth to change feet.

Only playing with 51 cards.

Only playing with the jokers.

Operating in stand-by mode.

Organizationally impaired.

Ought to have a warning label on his forehead.

Out of his depth in a parking lot puddle.

Out there where the buses don't run.

Outlet isn't grounded.

Over the rainbow.

Overdue for reincarnation.

Overruns above 110 baud.

Paged/swapped out.

Parallel mind, serial world.

Parallel world, serial mind.

Paralyzed from the neck up.

Parents beat him with an ugly stick.

Parked his head and forgot where he left it.

Pedaling real fast, but not getting anywhere.

People around her are at risk of second hand idiocy.

Perfect chassis, bad driver.

Perfect face for Halloween.

Perfect percussionist for an acapella group (duh, duh, duh...)

Perfect training subject for apprentice hypnotists.

Permanently out to lunch.

Permanently rotated 90 degrees from the rest of us.

Phototrophic on a better day.

Pins 2 and 3 (RS-232) permanently connected to ground.

Playing an endgame with a king and no other pieces.

Playing baseball with a rubber bat.

Playing hockey with a warped puck.

Playing Scrabble, but we can't figure out what words he's building.

Plays pinochle with a poker deck.

Plays solitaire... For cash.

Plays tennis with no net and finds it challenging.

Plenty of myelin but not enough neurons.

Plenty of salt in the shaker, but no holes in the cap.

Posts empty articles to the Net, and enjoys rereading them later.

Prefers three left turns to one right turn.

Pressure's up, but there's a slow leak somewhere.

Pretty as 20 miles of bad road.

Produces a zero-length core dump.

Programmed into an infinite loop.

Proud of his lawn mower.

Psycho pneumatic. (Crazy air head.)

Put a lens in each ear and you've got a telescope.

Put on Earth to be an oxygen converter.

Puts a finger in his ear so the draft through his head isn't annoying.

Putting his brain on the edge of a razor blade would be likeputting a pea on a six lane highway.

Qualifies for the mental express line -- five thoughts orless. -- MacNelly

Quotes entire letters/articles as responses and hides her oneline of wisdom in the middle.

Racing fifty yards with a pregnant woman, he'd come in third.

Radio's playing but nobody's listening.

Reading from an empty/blank/unformatted disk.

Reads her newspaper back-to-front.

Reads Homer in the original Greek, but doesn't know Greek.

Ready to check in at the HaHa Hilton.

Ready to join the Anti-Mensa Society.

Receiver is off the hook.

Relatively three-dimensional, as fictional characters go.

Renewable energy source for hot air balloons.

Reposts this list when someone asks for it, but it's an old copy.

Requires retraining after every coffee break.

Reset line is glitching.

Result of a first cousin marriage.

Result of God's experiments to see if humans can functionwithout a brain.

Room for rent, unfurnished.

Roving target for a surface-to-idiot missile.

RS232C brain with a DIN connector.

Running at 300 baud.

Running lights are on but no one's at the helm.

Running on a 286.

Running open. (Old mechanical teletype term.)

Running U.S. appliances on British current.

Runs squares around the competition.

Rusty springs in the mousetrap.

S p a c e d o u t .

Sailboat fuel for brains.

Sailing with a short seabag / a few skivvies short of a seabag.(Contains all of a sailor's possessions including underwear.)

Sat under the ozone hole too long.

Says profound things but no one listens and no harm is done.

Seen it all, done it all, can't remember most of it.

Sending back packets, but the checksums are wrong.

Serving donuts on another planet.

Settled some during shipping and handling.

Seven cans short of a six-pack.

Seven seconds behind, and built to stay that way.

Several nuts over fruitcake minimum.

Sharp, like stone in river. Swift, like tree through forest.

She believes the three great lies.

She can piss standing up, but not much else.

She doesn't suffer from insanity; she enjoys every minute of it.

She fears success, but really has nothing to worry about. -- Thaves

She has reached rock bottom, and has started to dig.

She looks virtually real today.

She only packed half a sandwich.

She only schedules zombie processes.

She put the ding in dingbat.

She runs the gamut of emotions from A to B. -- Dorothy Parker

She sets low personal standards and then consistently fails them.

She sounds reasonable... Must be time to up my medication.

She stopped to think and forgot to start again.

She wears a pony tail to cover up the valve stem.

She worries about the calories licking stamps and envelopes.

She'll be just fine as soon as virtual reality arrives.

She's a screensaver. (Looks good, but useless.)

She's all thumbs.

She's as daft as a brush. (British)

She's running real fast, but toward the wrong goal line.

Shedding a little too much black light.

Short a few cards.

Short-circuited between the earphones.

Should be the poster child for family planning.

Should go far -- and the sooner he starts, the better.

Should have kept his helmet on while riding/playing.

Shouldn't be allowed to breed.

Shouldn't eat nuts -- for her, it's practically cannibalism.

Single-sided, low density.

Sings along with elevator music.

Sinking with a deck full of people; her brain cells can'tfind the lifeboats.

Sitting in the right pew, but the wrong church.

Six-packed seven times. (Volleyball slang: "Six-pack" is tospike someone in the head with a volleyball.)

Skating on the wrong side of the ice.

Skylight leaks a little.

Slept too close to his radium-dial watch.

Slinky's kinked.

Sloppy as a soup sandwich.

Slow as molasses in January.

Slow out of the gate.

Slower than a herd of turtles stampeding through peanut butter.

Smarter than the average bear.

Smoke doesn't make it to the top of his chimney.

So boring, his dreams have Muzak.

So clueless, he could BE God and still be an atheist.

So dim, his psychic carries a flashlight.

So dumb, blondes tell jokes about him.

So dumb, he faxes face up.

So dumb, he puts postage stamps on outgoing faxes.

So dumb, his dog teaches him tricks.

So far gone, hard drugs push him closer to normal.

So fat, people jump over him rather than go around.

So slow, he has to speed up to stop.

So slow, we drive stakes in the ground to measure his progress.

So stupid, he tries to drown fish.

So stupid, mind readers charge her half price.

So stupid, she doesn't go further than Thursday.

So thick, he sticks to pasta.

So ugly, robbers give him their masks to wear.

Sold his car for gas money.

Solid concrete from the eyebrows backwards.

Some Assembly Required.

Some bugs in his software.

Some drink from the fountain of knowledge, but he just gargled.

Some of her inodes have nodded off.

Some pages missing.

Somebody lend her a quarter to buy a clue.

Somebody put a stop payment order on his reality check.

Someday when she's younger, she'll ________.

Someone blew out his pilot light.

Someone else is doing the driving for that boy.

Someone forgot to plant the seed for his brain stem.

Someone let the air out of her lock.

Someone Reverend Spooner would have identified as a shining wit.

Sort of like an inverse Einstein.

Source code is missing a few lines.

Speaks math/FORTRAN better than English.

Spent a decade on the leading edge of drug experimentation.

Stares at frozen juice cans because they say, "concentrate".

Still boots to DOS.

Still sending messages with his secret decoder ring.

Still struggling up the evolutionary ladder.

Still traumatized from the forest fire in "Bambi".

Still trying to figure out opposable thumbs.

Stocksy-babes. (A truly vile British-slang insult.)

Strolling through life with one shoelace untied.

Strong, like bull. Smart, like tractor. Beautiful, like KV-2.(A WWII era Russian tank.)

Stuck on the down escalator of life.

Studied for a blood test -- and failed.

Stumped by anything child-proof.

Subtle as a well-thrown brick.

Subtle as a wet tongue in the ear / kiss from a cow.

Suffers from Clue Deficit Disorder.

Suffers from excessive headspace.

Suffers from link rot. (The process by which hypertext linksbecome obsolete as their sites change or die.)

Suffers from Paralysis by Analysis.

Suffers from permanent rapture of the deep. (Nitrogen narcosis.)

Supports nativist theories that man is formed from clay.

Surfing in Nebraska.

Surfing the Web with a hard-copy terminal. (Does anyoneremember those?)

Suspend switch is jumpered.

Swimming on a cold shot. (Inadequate ejection force for a torpedo.)

Switch is on, but no one's receiving.

Takes her 1.5 hours to watch "60 Minutes".

Takes her an hour to cook minute rice.

Takes his imagination out for a walk and ends up being draggedaround the block by it.

Talking with her is a career-limiting move.

Talking with him is a waste of good bandwidth.

Talks to plants on their own level.

Tall as a post and just as smart.

Team player... No chance he'll develop a personality on his own.

Technically sound, but socially impossible.

Teflon brain -- nothing sticks. -- Lilly Tomlin

Ten to the dozen.

The aliens forget to remove his anal probe.

The bark on her family tree actually involves canines.

The best part of him ran down his mother's legs. -- Jackie Gleason

The butter slipped off his noodle.

The cheese slid off his cracker.

The definitive answer is: Her glass is half empty.

The fan is working but the freon's leaked out.

The fire is going well, but the flue is closed.

The going got weird, and he turned pro.

The heater's plugged in but the rheostat's shot.

The march of his intellect is like that of a crab, backward.-- Peacock

The most rock-hard argument can crash through his airy head andcause only the slightest disturbance in the air currentsthat surround the void that comprises his knowledge.

The only place she's ever invited is outside.

The perfect personality to write software manuals.

The recesses of his mind are always in recess.

The result of years of careful inbreeding.

The sharpest thing he's allowed to play with is a red rubber ball.

The space between his ears powers vacuum pumps.

The spit valve's fallen off his trumpet again.

The twinkle in his eyes is actually the sun shining between his ears.

The two put together have an IQ over 150.

The wheel's spinning but the hamster's dead.

The world's foremost collector of ignorance.

Their family tree is a tumbleweed.

There are great people in the world, but she's not one of them.

There she sits, Finite State Automation at its best.

There's no ice cubes in THAT tray. -- Second City comedy troupe

There's nothing wrong with you that couldn't be cured witha little Prozac and a polo mallet. -- Woody Allen

They had to burn down the school to get her out of third grade.

They must have done a clean boot on him.

They never shut up on his planet.

Thick as a brick / whale omelette.

Thick as pig dung and twice as smelly.

Thinks "Private Enterprise" means owning a personal starship.

Thinks a permutation is a medical procedure.

Thinks at 5 baud.

Thinks cellular phones are carbon-based life forms.

Thinks Cheerios are doughnut seeds.

Thinks E=MC^2 is a rap star.

Thinks everyone else is entitled to his opinion, like it or not.

thinks in lower case & types accordingly

Thinks like a boar hog looks at a wristwatch.

Thinks male zebras are the ones with the black stripes.

Thinks Moby Dick is a kind of venereal disease.

Thinks Taco Bell is where you pay for your phone calls to Mexico.

Thirteen short of a dozen.

Three sigma off the norm.

Three-bag/coyote ugly. (Ask your mommy to explain.)

Throws his rod and reel off the bridge when casting.(I resemble that remark. -- editor)

Tight / waterproof as a fish's sphincter.

Tight as a bull's arse in fly season.

To make him laugh on Saturday, tell him a joke on Wednesday.

Tone arm is down but no music is playing.

Too dumb to be bothered when publicly displaying her ignorance.

Too dumb to know when you're getting smart / playing dumb with him.

Too many bad drugs, not enough good drugs.

Too many birds on her antenna.

Too many jokers and not enough aces in his deck.

Too many stop bits in his transmissions.

Too much yardage between the goal posts.

Too pointless to even be called a pinhead.

Top paddock is full of rocks.

Toys in the attic.

Train of thought derailed / still boarding at thestation / has no caboose.

Traveling faster than light, but left his sneakers behind.

Traveling without a passport/towel.

Tried welding two 2x4s together and burned down his house.

Tries to forward this list to some friends, but instead shipssix copies of it to the editor (groan).

Trips over cordless phones.

Truck can't haul a full load.

Truly believes "neural network" is a new Ted Turner enterprise.

Trying out for the javelin retrieval team.

Tuning in shortwave with a TV antenna.

Two bits short of a word/dollar.

Two degrees off square.

Two inches taller than spherical.

Types 120 words a minute but her keyboard isn't plugged in.

Uglier than a hat full of assholes. (Whatever that means.)

Ugly as a warthog and half as smart.

Unclear which of Newton's three laws of motion keeps his ears apart.

Understands English as well as any parrot.

Used to have a handle on life, but it broke.

Useful as dinosaur repellent.

Useful as passing gas in a spacesuit.

Useful as piss on a forest fire.

Useful as tits on a bullfrog / bull / boar-hog.

Uses all three functional neurons for his best work.

Uses AOL.

Uses his head best for rolling Easter eggs.

Uses his head to keep the rain out of his neck.

Uses thumbtacks to post notes -- on his refrigerator.

Uses two hands to eat with chopsticks.

Using a 1S-2D floppy for brains in a world of hard disks.

Vacancy on the top floor.

Vacuuming linoleum using a deep-pile setting. (Not pickingup anything.)

Vaginally challenged, and preoccupied with the problem.

Validates my inherent mistrust of strangers.

Vegitatum davenportae. (Couch potato.)

Vertically-fornicated mind.

Views mold as a higher life form.

Vowel-buyer. (As on the TV show Wheel of Fortune, when thesolution is already obvious.)

Waiting on a toaster that's not plugged in.

Warning: Objects in her mirror are dumber than they appear.

Warranty expired.

Was assimilated by the Borg.

Was born an acrobat but landed on his head.

Was born when the planets were misaligned.

Was first in line for brains, but ended up holding the door open.

Was left on the Tilt-A-Whirl a bit too long as a baby.

Was napping in the nut pile the day God was cracking nuts.

Wasn't abused as a child, but should have been.

Wasn't fully debugged before being released.

Wasn't strapped in during launch.

Watches "Beavis and Butthead" to learn vocabulary.

Watching programs not listed in TV Guide.

We're all missing cards from our decks -- and different cards, too.

We're all refreshed and challenged by her unique point of view.

Went in for repairs but wasn't tightened with a torque wrench.

Went to the dentist to have his cranial cavity filled.

Whatever kind of look she was going for, she missed.

When a thought crosses her mind, it's a long and lonely journey.

When God said, "Come forth for brains," he came fifth.

When he collects his thoughts, they fit in a verysmall container. -- Bob Thaves

When he was compiled they forgot to #include<smarts.h>/<iq.h>/<charm.h>.

When her window of opportunity opened, she had the shade drawn.

When opportunity knocked, she refused to open the door.

When she dances, she makes the band skip.

When she hauls ass, she has to make two trips.

When she puts on her lipstick, it keeps backing down the tube.-- Kevin Wilson

When she was born the doctor tried to kill her / slapped her mother.

When they handed out brains he got the short end of the stick / wasat the end of the line.

When they said "drain", he thought they said "brain".

Where it says, "Sign here", she writes, "Pisces".

While he was not dumber than an ox, he wasn't any smarter. -- Thurber

Whole lotta choppin', but no chips a flyin'.

Will never get a ticket for speeding.

Wise as the world is flat.

With one more neuron he'd have a synapse.

Won't eat eggs because he believes the "This is your brain" ads.

Works well when under constant supervision and corneredlike a rat in a trap.

Would make an excellent illustration in a proctology textbook.

Would need help to drool.

Would starve to death in a grocery store.

Wouldn't know a tram was up him if the conductor rang hisbell. (Australian)

Wouldn't know ore if it jumped out of the stope and bithim on the ass. (Said of mineral prospectors.)

Wouldn't make any sense if she ever made sense.

Wouldn't recognize a clue if he saw one / you showed himone (labelled "clue").

Wouldn't shout if a shark bit him. (Australianism meaning hewon't buy a round of drinks (shout) in turn.)

You can hardly tell that he's a simulation.

Zero K memory.