#i see you carefully cropped twitch screenshot

[landinrris]

Yes yes yes Lando is probably most likely in either Monaco or London and not Los Angeles, but I do think it's funny as hell the timing of his and Martin's Insta Stories. And now all I can think about is Martin working away and Lando off to the side sprawled out on a couch watching that twitch stream. He spends the entire time trying not to lose it in fits of laughter because he doesn't want to disturb Martin, but it doesn't really matter because his poorly suppressed giggles serve as the perfect background noise.

[xiaolin-chronicles-recaps]

I know you don’t want to dwell on the gags, but the redacting is making me very curious and I don’t want to watch the episodes myself. Like wtf is going on with Dojo in episode two? I’m afraid to speculate

So…I am not up for going back and taking screenshots, but otherwise…alright. You asked for this.

His butt swells.

That was the short answer. I am giving you a buffer before I dive into any detail. This is your only warning, and I need you to think about your next action carefully.

…Are you sure?

…OK.

Dojo’s tail end swells abruptly, balloon-like, into a grotesque tumorous mass so large that Dojo’s upper body becomes but a vestigial limb on a creature one might believe has been so claimed by cancer that it’s entire being has been reduced to what occasional twitch of agony that it’s ailment allows. It oozes a white pus from every pore folded under deformed cellulite, dripping on the table where the monks eat their food, seeping into the wood grain, never to be clean again. Raimundo utters words of feeble despair disguised as sarcasm, his only shield against the inevitable horror, his dignity so thoroughly stripped from himself and Dojo and all involved that he can make only wain jokes as the situation spirals out of control.

My God! An explosion rings out and I pray. I pray for the dragon’s death, as do all things that love rightness and decency. I pray for the monks to leave this place of horror and humiliation and seek light out from under the shadow of the beast they have been conditioned, nay, been broken by and forced to accept as one of their own.

But no. Dojo is seen, still suffering, but lessened in agony and therefore he has been fooled into believing the situation is tolerable. He grows in size to bring the monks to the Wu. Tragically, his tumor has grown in size with him, and as they fly to what they must now delude themselves into calling their destiny, Dojo’s liquor puris trails behind them, hitting the ground in thick splatters, despoiling the countryside. We do not see them, perhaps we cannot see them and maintain the single thread of spider silk that holds our sanity to us, but we must imagine the innocence lost among the civilians as they go. Farmland poisoned by bacteria of unknowable ancient origin, the sickness it spreads to their crops, once-peaceful homes lying in tatters as everywhere the unfortunates cry “Nepenthe! Nepenthe!”

It’s not real funny is what I’m saying.