#if I accomplish nothing else on this terrible planet I would like to have sparked curiosity for someone in places

[sforzesco]

dude. friend. im obsessed with your art, i wish i could eat it and learn the secret behind the amazing noses you draw and those crisp lines...... but im also obsessed by the fact you love roman/italian history and literature so much?? i studied them for most of my school years (500 years ago) and i wasnt the best student but im loving to get back to it/learn more through your comics and your works!!!!

waaaaay back when I was in high school, I took a class because I heard that a teacher covered Dante’s Divine Comedy and it sounded like a good time, but it ended up being like. revelatory in some kind of way. I owe a huge debt of gratitude to her for encouraging my interest in the text beyond the classroom (from letting me look at her teaching notes to recommending a translation with the Italian alongside English), and also to my home room teacher that year who saw me reading it and told me that the ideal way to experience Dante is to be in Florence in the summer, or to listen to an audiobook in Italian while reading along lmao

also I was in high school while the Desmond era of Assassins Creed games came out and a lot of us were insufferable about analyzing history to try and figure out what the next game’s plot would be, it was a deeply fun time! all of this combined into a creative intersection with history (as much history as bunch of 16 yr olds with access to a public library can do) and I have been living in that kind of creative space ever since

bc all of this overlapped at once and I think the end result is that I just. really love history and storytelling at a very loud frequency. I tried to be normal about Crassus and that lasted less than a week lmaooo I have put that man in a narrative blender and he is never getting out

so! all of that is to say that I am forever delighted if I am able to pass along any amount of this enthusiasm for history forward to someone else the way those two teachers did for me

(also thank you, I love drawing noses so much, the secret is that I spend a lot of time drawing profiles in my sketchbooks because I like the shapes. just pages of noses)

[pikemoreno]

a lovely night

pairing: cassian andor x gn!reader

word count: 2k

warnings: nothing at all

a/n: really really excited to finally write for my main man cassian andor. this takes place before the events of rogue one, obviously, i’d say multiple years before. and it’s loosely inspired by the song ‘a lovely night’ from la la land, feel free to listen to that before or as you read for the ~vibes~.

wanna join a taglist? | masterlist 

You hated this planet already.

Well, not the planet necessarily. 

Alderaan’s title of “the planet of beauty” was well-deserved. You’d spent the better part of the day traipsing through the Alderaanian wilderness in pursuit of an Imperial arms dealer who supposedly had a secret store in the Isatabith rain forest, but to call it all “wilderness” seemed too unruly a word. Even the mossy trees and rocky slopes had a certain elegance about them. The waterfalls fell in gorgeous curtains and the trees formed natural, breathtaking rooves above the forest floor.

Now, the cities, you were finding, were just as breath-taking. Here in the capital of Aldera the landscape remained unspoiled-- industry and nature working in harmony, growing together. The water that completely surrounded it shone with all of the colors of a sunset as the golden light fell behind the great peaks on the horizon.

No, you loved the planet, It was the company that was the problem. You looked to your left at the aforementioned offender as he checked you into the beautiful silver-towered hotel you were staying at-- a gift from the Alderaanian government in return for you helping them weed out the Imperials. His dark hair was wind-tossed from the long day in the mountains. His eyes were tired but still crinkled at the edges as he gave his most friendly smile to the person at the front desk

Captain Cassian Andor. 

To say you hated him was an overstatement. You didn’t. His gruff demeanor and barking orders when in “Captain Mode” did not tend to win him any favors in the friend department for anyone, but he wasn’t a terrible person. In fact, you’d been friends as children, though that fact didn’t necessarily help his cause. He was so annoying back then, so loud. He was always bothering you and getting you into trouble-- and yet there came the paradox that you continued to seek out his companionship until you split ways as teenagers. You had been fond of the skinny little kid, filled to his very brim with fierce energy.

He’d come back into your life two years ago when you formally joined the rebellion. He had mellowed out an insane amount since then. However, he was just as much of a nuisance in your eyes now as he had been as children-- just in a different way. Now he would contradict everything you say. Any thought, any stance you had, he seemed to automatically take the opposite approach. You would often catch him smiling as he did so, making it more than clear that he was only doing it to get a rise out of you.

At least for the sake of missions, you couldn’t complain. He was a more-than-competent partner. Frankly, he was really good at what he did and there wasn’t anyone else you could think of who you’d prefer from a strategy standpoint. 

So, no, you didn’t completely hate him. You just hated it here. With him. 

It all could’ve been such a dream: a half-mission, half-romantic getaway with the elegance and beauty of the planet’s scenery and culture inspiring a wanna-be couple to take leaps and bounds forward in their blossoming relationship.

But you were here with your local nuisance, the man who frustrated you more than anyone else in the galaxy.

You’d have to come back with someone else. 

Cassian’s hand on your shoulder brought you out of your musings as you appeared to him to simply be looking thoughtfully at a hand-sculpted stone pillar’s delicate flower design. 

“Ready to go up?” 

You nodded, hoisting the small bag of your personal effects up onto your shoulder. “More like ready to collapse.” 

“What? You’re not going to stay up and party?” Cassian supplied with a distinct tone of sarcasm as you stepped onto the elevator.

“A party?”

“They just warned me about some big “Founder’s Day” party that’s happening throughout the city tonight and said they hoped it wouldn’t bother us. That’s all.”

“I see. Well, if it bothers me enough, I might just have to go out then,” you teased. “Are you joining me?” He had never been the type. Never. You had been forced to drag him to the last party celebrating a huge win against the Empire-- a party that was mostly to celebrate his accomplishment.

“Of course not. I’m with you. It’s been a long day.” 

“Did you just agree with me?” You added a fake gasp for effect. “You? Captain Cassian Andor, Rebel Intelligence heard me say something and agreed with it?”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get used to it,” he muttered with a crooked smile, his hand hovering at your back as you stepped off the elevator and into your designated room directly across from it.

The Alderaanian government was far too kind. The suite was beyond luxurious, looking more like an expensive apartment than a hotel room. It had a full kitchen and living space, all decorated to the nines. Chandeliers were hung throughout; there was a water feature in the middle of the space for kriff’s sake! But your focus was on the view directly ahead. On the far side of the living space, the wall was made up of floor to ceiling windows leading out to a balcony. The purples and pinks and oranges of dusk filled your vision and you momentarily forgot your tiredness, walking in a near daze to open the door to the balcony and step out. You felt Cassian’s presence beside you as you reached the railing and looked to the streets below, filled with color and exquisitely decorated people like you’d never seen before.

“Not much to look at huh?” Cassian deadpanned.

“I’ve seen better.” You shrugged. Yet you both stood there awed at the celebrations happening around you underneath a sky that seemed to celebrate in swirling hues of its own. A moment later you murmured before you could even realize what you’d said, 

“‘s so romantic.”

“What?” The word was breathy with a laugh, but his body language was as if he had bristled-- back-stepping feet, shoulders squared to you.

“It’s romantic. It’s just too bad I’m here with you,” you teased, sticking your tongue out at him. He visibly relaxed, crossing his arms. 

“Is that so? I have to say I agree. I’ll have to remember this for… Future romantic endeavors.”

You scoffed. “You? Romantic endeavors?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” 

“I can’t say you seem like much of a romantic Mr. Married To The Rebellion.” 

“Perhaps you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

“Perhaps not,” you conceded.

“And what about you, hmm? You seemed very adamant about being here with someone else.” 

You smiled, giving an over dramatic sigh.

“It’s a shame really. I could’ve been here with that new pilot. But instead I’m here with the life-long pain in my ass.”

“Kenan? That new pilot?” 

“Yeah.” Cassian matched your earlier scoff and you turned to face him, matching his crossed arms. “What? What’s wrong with Kenan?” 

“He’s a hot-shot,” you rolled your eyes turning back to face the party below as he spoke, “He never listens to orders. He’s arrogant. And a notorious flirt. And--,” you see him shake his head out of the corner of your eye, “He’s just not good enough for you.”

You shrugged simply in return. His surprisingly scathing response had caught you severely off guard.

“It was just a joke,” you offered after a moment, “I’m not interested in Kenan. At all.” He nodded, but didn’t respond further.

The silence that followed was interrupted as blue and silver fireworks suddenly bursted into the air above you. You held your breath, watching the sparks rain back down and disappear into the darkening sky. The music grew louder to keep up with the controlled explosions fighting for airspace, an up-tempo, fiery melody that made your fingers tap on the ivory colored rail. 

A hand came to rest on yours, stopping the movement. You froze, looking over to Cassian who offered no hint as to what he was going to do next. He readjusted his light grip so that his hand was under yours, gently lifting it and leading you in closer.

“What are you doing?” you asked as calmly as you could though your voice shook with sudden nerves.

“Dancing,” he said simply, “We used to dance all the time as kids. Remember?”

“I do,” you grinned as both of your hands followed muscle memory to their proper placement: hands joined out to the side, a hand gently holding your waist, and your left hand resting on his shoulder. He grinned back at you as he started to move. He led you in a way that felt so natural, twirling you, laughing with you, trying to bring back to memory all of the little tricks you could do, just like it always was. It was so normal, yet so new. You’d truly danced about a hundred times before, but this was something different entirely. 

It was, in a word: romantic. The view, the elegant suite inside, the music, the… The companionship. It sent your heart aflutter in a way that was entirely unexpected and absolutely annoying. 

“It’s just Cassian!” You yelled at the butterflies in your stomach. 

But there was something about it all that wasn’t “just.” It hadn’t been “just” since you reconnected with him two years ago, though you had previously been reluctant to admit it.

You’re not quite sure how long you danced; you didn’t stop until the music did. All of the partiers below now paused their movements to watch the finale of the fireworks. You both likewise dropped the hands that been clasped together at shoulder height, but the hand on his shoulder and the one on your waist remained, keeping you close as you watched new colors and shapes rise and fall in the now-starry sky. 

“That was fun,” you whispered, giving his shoulder a light squeeze and gazing out to the mountains. “You do continue to surprise me, Cassian Andor.” You saw him look over to you in your peripheral and you turned to meet his gaze. The sparks bursting overhead reflected in his dark eyes so they shined, highlighting their mischievous glint. You were almost too close now, it would only take you leaning in to- 

“You questioned my romantic abilities; I had to prove myself,” Cassian explained with an unmistakable confidence. His thumb drew the smallest of circles where it rested on your waist. It seemed to be an unconscious action, but you’d be a liar if you said you wanted him to stop doing it. 

“Point made. But you never have to prove yourself to me. I knew you during your ‘Kade Genti, Master of Section Nine’ phase and I’m still here aren’t I?” 

“Oh not the cartoons phase,” he groaned, but his eyes were bright with memories.

“The cartoons were fine. It was the ‘never taking off the costume’ part.” 

“I remember Sura Tik making fun of me for it.”

“And I made her eat dirt for making fun of you,” you smirked.

“Yeah, you did.” A beat. “You were always there.” 

“I tried.”

There you stood in front of the bursting sky and just looked at each other-- at your old friend. You weren’t speaking, but the moment was anything but silent, thoughts from both sides equally loud. 

Maybe it’s been always been you.

It only took him making the smallest of glances towards your lips for you to close the fragile gap that remained between you, an action which he did not hesitate to return, a hand moving to rest against your cheek.

Thank goodness for that grounding hand, you thought, or else you might just have collapsed. For there in your midst were fireworks: louder and brighter than any on Alderaan.

[writeyouin]

Swerve X Reader – Changes - Chapter 7

Chapter 7 – A Rescue Without a Plan

A/N – Finally back to this baby, and boy am I glad to be back.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

“Making your way in the world today, takes everything you've got. Taking a break from all your worries, sure would help a lot.” You sang the Cheers song quietly in your cell, concentrating heavily on the cell bars.

Ever since you had forced yourself to calm down, streams of information had come flooding across your optics, revealing structural strengths and weaknesses to everything you looked at. You hoped to find something about the electrified bars that might lead to your escape, but so far, all the weaknesses were ones you couldn’t exploit from within the cell. You had long since given up on desperately trying to contact the Lost Light, figuring that something was blocking your comms.

You sighed, giving up on your song, a childish idea coming to mind. You knew nothing would come of it, but a smile reached your lips as you stared at your hand, “Go-Go-Gadget, Lock Pick.”

Naturally, nothing happened, but at least you were entertained, so you continued the game, taking comfort in the familiar words. “Go-Go-Gadget, Gun. Go-Go-Gadget, Scanner. Go-Go-Gadget, Blow Torch-” You jumped back in shock as one of your fingertips split open at the command, a strong blue flame roaring up from the split. You didn’t know whether you should be praising Brainstorm, for this was most certainly his addition, or cursing him for the cartoonish way you had accessed the tool. You were almost afraid to wonder how many of your body’s other commands were linked to the phrase Go-Go-Gadget.

Without wasting any more time, you put the flame to the bars, beginning the laborious process of escaping your cell.

As you worked, you had one more idea which you hastily tried, “Go-Go-Gadget, Manual.”

Before your optics, a string of writing cropped up, instructions on how your Cybertronian body worked. “Play audio,” You said, having been introduced to the opening menu. Perceptor’s voice filled your audials, starting your tutorial on your new body. You vented air through your systems and got to work, studying during your attempted escape.

Once he had been released from his cell, Swerve spent all of his time at the Lost Light’s shooting range, his aim never improving despite his efforts. He knew he had little hope of becoming a soldier in the time it would take to get to you, but he didn’t care, so long as he had something to keep him occupied. How could other humans be so cruel as to throw you of all people in a battle arena? You were kind and compassionate, and you would never have even considered harming another species, claiming that all were equal.

Swerve had often found you crying over books wherein humans had treated others terribly, mostly among their own species. He remembered asking you why you chose to read such books as The Diary of Anne Frank or Boy Erased, if they only served to make you upset, and you had replied that they were important to read lest history be repeated from ignorance. It was awful to think that you, the most empathetic of souls, were going to be scrapped for the entertainment of others.

Swerve knew they didn’t have long to rescue you. If the Arena’s advertisements were to be believed, you would be entering one of their battles in less than three cycles, when the new contestants would arrive to scrap you.

Swerve couldn’t forget the picture they had uploaded of you on the advertisement. You had been harmed in ways he never wanted to see, deep gashes in your arms and visible dents everywhere, yet in the picture, you were defiantly angry. He alone could recognise the fear beneath, but he couldn’t be prouder to see that you weren’t giving your captor the satisfaction of your apprehension.

He reloaded his gun, aiming it at the target, imagining it was your captors. Despite his anger, he missed, hitting a spot on the wall at least six feet from the target. Coolant sprung to his optics. You were in danger and he was completely useless. He couldn’t pilot the ship, he couldn’t shoot, it wasn’t even him that had discovered your location; that had been Nightbeat while he was too busy feeling sorry for himself. He was useless.

Rodimus’ voice rang clear through Swerve’s comms. It was a channel he had left open until you were found; that way anyone who needed him could contact him.

“Swerve, get to the board room. We have news on (Y/N).”

Swerve brusquely wiped the coolant from his optics, throwing the gun on the table before leaving. As soon as he was in the hallway, he transformed, speeding to the board room, eager for any information he could get, yet also terrified about what it could mean for you.

He didn’t say anything as he entered, his attention, like everyone else’s drawn to the video-feed of the Arena, where a human woman in acid-green armour was speaking.

“Greetings to fans, peasants, and nobles alike. It is I, Lady Ouida, your adored host of the Arena.”

Lady Ouida. Swerve glared at her holographic form, now having a name and a face to put to his enemy.

“As all of us betting royals know, there is to be a new competitor here. The foul-mouthed mini menace has refused to state her name, but we don’t care about that. We only care about one thing and one thing only. Which of our noble competitors will be the one to take her out?”

Banners depicting different armoured competitors unfurled around Lady Ouida; the scumbags that would try to take your life.

“In this message to all of you, my lovely subjects, I would like to make a special announcement. Although we had planned to set the battle for three cycles time, we have hit a little snag.”

Warmth flared in Swerve’s spark, as he hoped that the battle would be delayed even further, giving the Lost Light more time for your rescue.

Lady Ouida snapped her fingers, motioning for someone off-screen to do her bidding. The hope that Swerve had dared to feel was quickly extinguished as several trucks with chain attachments drove forward, dragging you behind them, the chains affixed to your arms.

“Our little menace here was caught roaming the halls of our fair kingdom, trying to escape her fate. She may not look like much, but she has proved to be very resourceful indeed, which I am sure you’ll keep in mind when betting.”

It looked like you desperately wanted to retort, but a modified gag stopped you from doing so. It didn’t stop you from attempting to kick at several of your captors, your pede falling short of its mark.

“NO!” Swerve cried out as you were electrocuted, making you fall to the floor. The others in the room spared him looks of pity before their attention returned to Lady Ouida.

“Spirited, is she not?” The Lady continued, spurred on by your attempted attack. “Alas, that brings me to my next point. We cannot keep her subdued for long and as such, we will have to cut betting short. You will have till the end of the cycle, for at dawn THE BATTLE BEGINS.”

The feed ended with a screen of competitors and their odds against you.

Rodimus wasted no time in addressing the room, all traces of his usual playfulness gone. “ETA to the Arena?” He asked no one in particular.

“Two cycles at most,” One of the Co-pilots answered.

“Not good enough. If you have to burn out the engines, you’ll get us there tonight. Strategy?”

Megatron brought up a hologram for the planet, pointing out the building on the map, a modernised castle with plasma-turrets as its main defences. “If it were me, I’d have the turrets hacked. The fastest route to the Arena itself is by the West wall. The ship is far too big to hide, so our best option is an outright assault. We could blast through the walls with an Alpha team. Meanwhile, a smaller Beta Team could attack the Northern ramparts, where we believe the prison cells to be located, in case (Y/N) is still being held there.”

“Who’s our hacker for this?”

“We have an accomplished team that will be led by Skids.”

“What will we need to get through the castle’s walls?”

“Ultra Magnus assures me that he has a supply of confiscated weapons from Whirl and Brainstorm.”

Rodimus nodded in acknowledgement, “You know Megatron, it’s rare, but on occasions such as this, I’m glad that you’re a crazed war-lord with a lot of strategic experience.”

Megatron looked uncomfortable at the compliment but didn’t comment.

Swerve raised his hand in what he assumed was a military fashion, “I’d like to be in the Alpha team.”

Rodimus took in some air with an awkward hiss, “Yeahhh, about that. Don’t you think you’d be better off, uh waiting to comfort (Y/N) in the med-bay or something? You’re um- You’re not exactly a good shot.”

Swerve bristled at the veiled insult. “THAT IS MY CONJUNX ENDURAE. I’LL BE GOING DOWN THERE EVEN IF I HAVE TO STEAL A POD-SHIP!”

“Okay, yep, cool. You’re there to rescue (Y/N), got it. Just… Maybe stay behind the rest of us, okay? Wait no. You go in front, I don’t want to be shot in the back or anything-” Rodimus stopped talking when he noticed more than one bot glaring at him for his lack of tact. “I mean, uh- You just go where you think is best, buddy. You got this.”

“Let’s just continue going over the plan,” Megatron interrupted, turning his attention back to the planetary holograph.

Thankfully, nobody questioned Swerve further, and he was free to remain undisturbed as the meeting went on.

Once again, you were behind bars but this time you were outside of the prison block. You were now in the centre of the Arena, which greatly resembled the Ancient Colosseums of Earth. You cradled your servo close to your body, the pain immense where your captors had crushed it after they had caught you trying to use the blow torch a second time; if there was any hope of returning to Swerve, it wouldn’t be the same way you escaped before.

With nothing else to do, you resumed listening to the recorded manual. Theoretically, you knew how to scan a vehicle and transform, so long as you found something to scan. Maybe you could convince Ouida to show you a vehicle in order to make the games more interesting. You doubted that plan would work, but if Ouida thought you were going to die in her games anyway, she might grant the request.

“In the event that you are in danger and need to record a message into your processor for an ally to discover-”

You focused on Perceptor’s instructions. Now seemed like the perfect time to record a message for Swerve, should he ever find your body. You tried to focus as your processor informed you that your voice and surroundings were being recorded.

“Swerve, I wish I could see you right now to tell you everything that’s on my mind, but if you’re watching this… Well, we know what’s happened.” You tried to keep your tone happy, but it proved to be impossible when thinking of the last time you had seen Swerve and how badly that had gone. You couldn’t stop from crying as you continued.

“Swerve, you are my whole world. I love you so much and I’m so sorry about how I acted. I was scared and confused, and… That’s no reason for the way I was. I’m terrified of what might happen to you if I die. Please, don’t think sadly on this. You have so much time left in the universe, and it’s a brighter place with you in it. No matter what happens, I need you to remember, I’m sticking with you. Never forget that you have my heart, always. I’m sorry that this is goodbye. I love you.”

Ending the feed, you hugged your knees to your chassis with your good hand, while you sat in silence and wept.

Swerve gripped the base of his chair, in the cruiser that the Alpha team had taken, hard enough to dent it. Upon reaching a close enough proximity to the planet’s surface, he had received a few dozen delayed private comms from you, the last of which was time-stamped only one hour prior. You were being kept in a cage, telling him how sorry you were and how much you loved him. If you were sticking with him, then he was going to stick right back to you.

Turbulence hit the ship, but Swerve’s determination didn’t waver. He knew it was just the first volley of attacks from the turrets, until Skids’ team would be able to disable them. Swerve remembered feeling like this thousands of times in the war. The feeling that you could be shot down at any moment on the way to your goal, but that you couldn’t think about death, lest it leech into your processor, freezing out all other thoughts. Swerve wouldn’t die. He couldn’t. Not while you were in danger. You were his mission and this was just another, smaller, war.

Swerve remembered his very first mission. His entire squadron had died, except for him. Being a mini-bot, he’d managed to hide without being discovered; he’d spent centuries hating himself for living as a coward instead of dying a hero with the rest of his squad. As it turned out, many bots had had similar experiences which haunted them. This time, he would not hide, his team would survive, they would rescue you, and Swerve would tell you every minute of every day that he loved you.

“SKIDS,” Rodimus yelled over the comms, “A LITTLE HELP WITH THE FRAGGING TURRETS.”

“Working on it,” Skids replied frantically. “They have one hell of an IT team there, Rodimus. The turrets are encrypted at least five times over.”

“Great. I’ll pass on the compliment when I meet them. Can you stop the turrets or not?”

There was a sharp silence on Skids end which was answer enough; the team would have to go in under fire.

“Okay,” Rodimus looked to his team. Ultra Magnus, Tailgate, Cyclonus, and Swerve were there, along with a few other volunteers that made their number twenty. “Plan B. We drive fast and furious, ploughing through their defences.”

The team were less enthusiastic at the thought of being shot, but none of them buckled under pressure; everyone was ready to go to your aid.

“Beta team, in position?” Rodimus asked, as they had planned to do before the Alpha Team dropped down onto the planet’s surface.

“Negative,” Megatron replied. His team comprised of Drift, Nautica, Nightbeat, and Brainstorm. It was decided that a smaller team would be better for infiltration. “The blueprints were wrong. We landed right in their armoury and are facing heavy fire.”

“HEY, NO, NOT COOL. WE WERE FACING HEAVY FIRE FIRST.” Rodimus pouted. “THAT’S OUR THING. GET YOUR OWN THING.”

“Don’t be a sparkling,” Megatron hissed. “Rendezvous here. We need backup.”

Swerve crushed another part of his chair. Meeting up with the beta team would lead them further away from you. They should face the turrets, consequences be damned. Swerve imagined reaching over to the control panel and forcing the team to drop. If he wasn’t afraid to have their energon on his servos, he’d do it. However, frustrating as it was, he left the planning up to the Co-Captains, itching for the moment that he would finally be useful. So far, everything in the plan was falling apart.

“Get ready to fight, crew,” Rodimus warned as the cruiser approached the Beta Teams location. Everyone stood up, heading to the back of the ship, “Dropping in three, two, one.”

The doors opened, leaving all the transformed vehicles to drive out on the ramp, jumping the gap onto the planet. There, the battle began. A handful of Cybertronians against a few hundred organics, none of whom seemed to be human; perhaps Lady Ouida was the only human among the organics that inhabited the planet.

Swerve raged with every shot he took. In hallways full to the brim of enemies, even he couldn’t miss. His blaster kept ringing off with compliments. Good job. Nice shootin’ Tex. You’re my hero.

However, as many shots as he got in, the enemies didn’t drop. It seemed that they were immune to most of the weapons, only stumbling slightly before they got back up to fight.

“This isn’t working,” Cyclonus growled through gritted teeth, him and Drift being the only ones to do any real damage with their swords, though they kept getting pushed back by the horde.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Rodimus said sardonically. “Time for plan C.”

“We don’t have a plan C,” Ultra Magnus reported.

“Then improvise.”

From the corner of his optic, Swerve saw a flash of green and he spun around to see Lady Ouida herself. She was climbing over the rubble, apparently trying to reach the fast-firing ballista behind the invaders of her castle. Full of rage at the human who had dared to harm his Conjunx Endurae, Swerve rushed at her, screaming. He tackled her to the ground, grunting as she stabbed a plasma dagger into his side. He would worry about the pain later, when you were safe. For now, he didn’t care, as that was the only weapon she had and she couldn’t retrieve it from his side now that he had her arms firmly in his grasp.

Swerve had always prided himself on being gentle with you, his beloved human. However, with Ouida in his grip, he was all too aware of how easy it would be to crush every bone in her body with only the slightest bit of pressure.

“WHERE IS MY CONJUNX?” He spat at her.

“Dead.” Lady Ouida lied. “As you will be soon enough, robotic scum.”

Swerve didn’t bother to press her on her deception, knowing instinctively that she wouldn’t talk, no matter what he did. Instead, he carried her towards her army, making sure the creatures could see her.

“I HAVE YOUR LEADER,” He roared at them. “LET US PASS, OR I’LL CRUSH HER.”

The organics stopped shooting, eerily expressionless as they lowered their weapons. Ouida shot her captors a disgusted look, hating that they had bested her experimental mutants. They were made to follow orders and protect the castle, but they had also been designed to ensure that she wouldn’t be harmed; with her as a captive, they were useless.

Swerve made his way forward, but Rodimus grabbed his shoulder-plate, pulling him back.

“Hey, loving the energy buddy,” Rodimus complimented Swerve. “Great improv and all, but uh, the Arena is the other way.”

“Oh,” Swerve looked at the mutant army, who were watching Ouida like a dog watching its master. “In that case, don’t follow us, or I’ll crush her.”

“YEAH,” Rodimus fist-pumped the air. “LET’S GO RESCUE (Y/N).”

You didn’t know what to say as you were faced with the many faces of the Lost Light that you thought you’d never see again, but most importantly Swerve. For a moment, you were half-convinced that you were hallucinating again, but then he had pushed Lady Ouida into Drift’s arms and he was holding you.

He kissed your helm, pulling you into his chassis, checking over every inch of you for injuries. “(Y/N),” he murmured. “My (Y/N).”

“Swerve,” You cried his name. “Swerve. I was so scared I’d never see you-”

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m here now. I love you. Always,” He repeated your message to you, letting you alone know that he had received it.

“Not to interrupt this reunion,” Megatron said sombrely, “But enemy reinforcements could arrive at any moment, and we need to get you two to medical treatment immediately.”

For the first time, you noticed the gash in Swerve’s side, coated with freshly congealed energon; he had taken the dagger out prior to seeing you.

“She hurt you… She-”

It was your turn to scream at Ouida, “YOU HURT MY CONJUNX ENDURAE.”

You reached out to crush her with your good arm, but Drift dragged Ouida into safety, “Sorry (Y/N), but she’s our ticket out of here. If we kill her, we have no leverage.”

You glared at Ouida, “You’re lucky he values all life, you hateful witch.”

Ouida rolled her eyes, unperturbed by the raving antics of a non-organic.

“Come on, (Y/N),” Swerve ushered you ahead of the group. “It’s time for us to go home.”

Home. You thought of your hab-suite aboard the Lost Light where you had built your life with Swerve; you couldn’t wait to get back to it. Letting Swerve cradle you in his arms, you leaned on him and took your first steps back towards home.

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[opinuun]

Do you guys remember when this was a studio Ghibli blog and I’d post gifs? 2017 was a good year lol. Anyway. As a child, I never knew I’d thirst for a 2-D otome man, but sadly I’ve stopped. Yes, after two years of obsession, it’s time I retire from the fandom. I’m keeping the blog though. Ran this shit for years, ain’t gonna give up now that my horny-meter has plummeted to an all time record low. Did you guys know blogs don’t have a character limit??

Oh god. I didn’t know this blog would suddenly receive so much attention. Please, I am begging you to not scroll down. It’s endless MysticMessenger posts from two years ago.

Hey, I'm once again: back, you can't possibly have more time than I do. I mean, after all, I made this blog. You're only browsing it. And most people don't even come here. Not even my friends...*sniffle* The just ignore this poor, pathetic little page. All they do is fill out the TAB form and leave. I think. Maybe they're here right now! HI! HOW ARE YOU DOING? I'M FINE! THANKS FOR COMING! YES, I'M YELLING! Who am I kidding. This page won't get a single hit, unless I bribe people...now that has possibilities. Okay, fill out the TAB form, so I have proof that you bothered to come here and...uh...I'll...uh...send you a sandwich? Please allow 6-8 weeks for delivery. I'm bored. I'm gonna go hug a moose. MOOSE! I love-d you moose! Hey, I'm back again! Yea...*waits for applause* okay! Now I want all you loyal fans...*cricket chirps* to go to the link to see what I'm like. I took a whole bunch of personality quizzes and posted them there. I'm an evil villain, kitty and a freakazoid so far. And I only took the quiz once, too. Spooky how accurate they are...anyway, I command you to go! I'm going. I'm back. I'm gonna start counting how many times I say back. Let's see: 1...2...3...4...5! Wow. I must really be desperate for something to do. I now officially have proof that someone has been here! It was one of my friends. Apparently this page really is getting long, because my friend said something to that effect. Maybe. Anyway, moving on! I'm just basically typing nothing. Just like all those reports people have to do. You know? With a specific number of words. They start out with half that number, and then just fill in words until they have the right amount. I salute those people. You're great tradition is being carried out here, on the second most pointless site ever! Well. Maybe eventually some weird, bored person will wander onto my site on accident and be mildly entertained be my site until they wander onto a live video feed of a coffee maker. Or maybe not. I only know that I'm entertaining me, which was my original goal. So. I've done what I've set out to accomplish. Yea, me! I'm so special. You see, most people, they don't like reading or writing. So if you're not most people, you've made it down this far without skipping, skimming or getting the spark notes version. (Which I think does not exist) My point is, if you've bothered to read this, then, (like me) you probley have also read the ketchup bottle so many times that you have it down verbatim. Look verbatim up. It's a word. But, you should know that, since you like reading. Or maybe you're just skimming. Anyway, there's nothing wrong with reading food labels. You might be asked a question about them on a quiz show. And now, for the million-dollar question: How many calories are there in a single serving of Mustard? I can just see it now...It could be called Know-Your-Food. Or You are What you Eat. It'd probley be as popular as those game shows that no one's ever heard of. Speaking of food, what's up with pie? There's strawberry pie, apple, pumpkin and so many others, but there is no grape pie! I know. I'm just as upset about this unfortunate lack of development in the pie division. Think about it. Grapes are used to make jelly, jam, juice and raisins. What makes them undesirable for pie? Would they dry into raisins? Couldn't you just stick some jelly in a piecrust and bake it? It just doesn't make any sense. Another thing that bothers me is organ grinders. You know, the foreign guys with the bellhop hats and the little music thingy and the cute little monkey with the bellhop hat who collects the money? Okay. They're basically begging on the street. How did they ever afford an organ-thingy? Wouldn't it make more sense to get a kazoo, if you're broke? And if they're so poor, what possessed them to buy a monkey? I mean, I don't think I could afford a monkey, and I'm not exactly on the streets. Obviously I at least have a computer...so, back to the organ grinders. I would have sold the monkey and the organ and been able to eat for at least a year. Or, if I was weirder than I am, I could at least kill the monkey with the organ and eat it. Why on earth did they keep the monkey? It must have cost a fortune to feed...not to mention the mess. That's just one of those many facts of life that are better left mysteries. Especially since no one but me would ask the question. I better go. I think I hear a monkey...Okay...now I'm back. That's the sixth time I've said back! I realize that this longest text ever must be very boring and not worth anyone's time. But I'd like to take this time to thank the 2 and 1/2 people in the entire universe who have bothered to read this entire thing. I'm not exactly sure who they are, but: thanks! Right now, my spacebar is malfunctioning...that's not good...I have to press it two or three times just to insert a freaking space. Maybe the evil little faeries with the sharp little teeth have put their evil faerie dust on my computer. Or maybe not. This is too frustrating. Goodbye for now...Now I'm back. And still frustrated. But for a different reason. Today I had the misfortune of playing a Treasure Planet game on neopets.com It was terrible. Apparently the point of the game was to get your character to shout "Whoo-Hoo!" as many times as possible before you splattered your brains on the rocks, all the while listening to a soundtrack that is similar to a dying ceiling fan. Of course, when I started out I accidentally hit the rocks approximately three million times. Halfway though I used my four remaining brain-cells to decide that the game was dumb. So my goal changed from surviving to laughing evilly while my character died. So the game naturally did everything it could to preserve my life. The stupid game is still going on and I refuse to quit because I want my points. My character is actually dodging the stupid rocks better now then when I controlled him. I hate irony. Seeya. Okay. Now I'm back again. Today I added an update page, which is basically a less chaotic, outlined version of this without all the ranting. It's more like techno talk about arrays and how much I suck and whether or not the Braves will win this year. Okay, the whole braves thing is made up. But everything else I've said so far is true. I think. Maybe I should start on a boring disclaimer...Eh-hem. All contents of this site were designed for entertainment purposes only. Any use thereof that is not stated in the above mentioned statement would make the author, hereby referred to as Patron Saint of Paper Clips, very angry. Should you violate the purpose of this site: i.e. become not entertained, the Patron Saint of Paper Clips will be forced to take drastic measures. This is specified in Code: 343 of the Flaming Chicken Handbook. Ooooo…that’s a great idea! I’m gonna start quoting from the Flaming Chicken Handbook! Code: 343 of the Flaming Chicken Handbook states that the Patron Saint of Paper Clips (that’s me) is allowed to cause vague, pain like sensations while the offending person (or alien life form, dog, etc.) isn’t paying attention. Now I have a purpose in life! To make up quotes from the non-existent Flaming Chicken Handbook, which I’m sure you have a copy of. No? Too bad. It’s in the mail, I promise! Now I must take my leave…and remember. Cheese is watching. Okay...I'm back...I think that eventually half of this thing will consist of the word back over and over again...that's just weird. Which fits the motif of the rest of the site. There's even a money back guarantee. Isn’t' that nice? See? Now no one can ever say that I don't take care of my viewers. Especially since I don't have viewers. I have readers. Wait...I really don't even know if anyone bothers to read this. Even if I put it in a less chaotic, more user-friendly format people would still ignore this because it involves: reading. Yes. Sad to admit, but the majority of people would rather read the summary at the back of a book rather than the whole book itself. What has the world come to? It's pathetic. Especially since I'm bothering to write all this. It's not fair! Why can't I have more readers?! All the other internet writers have nothing on me, except they're better at advertising, having a central theme/plot and basically more talented. Whereas I'm more into the whole ranting and raving stage right now. Plus, I am horrible at spelling. Which is bad. Thank the powers that be for spell-check. The single greatest invention of the computer gods. I'm getting bored, so I think I'm done for the day. May your day be shiney! I'm back again! And I feel weird! I found at that yet another one of my friends is reading this. Creepy. Just how much time do they have on their hands. Perhaps their just trying to be nice. I can just see it now...an organization devoted not to feeding the hungry, or peace, or love or whatever, but to giving recognition to all those poor, pathetic, unpopular websites. I wonder what it's name would be. Don't Ignore Sites? Would it be called DIS? Isn't that like a slang term for an insult? Would that be considered poetic justice, or just a nice coincidence? And why do I even care? I'll tell you why. Because I have nothing else to do right now. I could be playing neopets, but ever since my bad experience with Treasure Planet, I don't feel like it. Oh, by the way, I noticed that whenever I use spell-check, my stupid computer turns the word probley into to word problem. To prevent this, I did nothing. So, it is now up to you, the imaginary reader, to decide whether I mean probley or problem...it's almost like a game! But without the bad sound track. And I promise not to force you to live when you would rather die. Moving on, I have nothing else to say, but don't feel like quitting just yet. I'm like the little engine that could. Or maybe the Energizer Bunny. I just keep going, and going and going. Or I could be like that annoying guy on T.V. who keeps asking if you can hear him. If my site manages to last a decade, my readers *snicker* will probley wonder what I'm talking about. My answer is simple. It doesn't matter. I'm just rambling. Which means that it doesn't matter if you understand anything I say. Doesn't that make you feel better? I bet it does. Wow. Look how long this has gotten. I even impress myself. Who would have thought I have this much free time? And I congratulate any reader who has gotten this far. Ooooooo! You must check out the fortunes section of the random stuff page! I've just gotten an idea for some more, original, fortunes...I gotta go!(may the moose be with you) And now I am back. I swear. If iI fill out the fake tab form I'm gonna have to put back as my favorite word...I already have filled it out, though. Would it be cheating to fill it out again? Only if I had multiple personalities. Or would it be cheating if I didn't have multiple personalities? The world may never know. Just like how many licks it takes to get to the bottom of a tootsie pop. Would it vary? The number of licks, I mean. Someone could have super-disolving spit, or watery-spit. Or what if you took big ol' slobbery licks? Does the commercial take that into account? No. It doesn't. And let me tell you, it's an outrage. It deludes all of American's sweet, innocent, candy-loving children into thinking that a cartoon owl is smarter than they are! "Mr. Owl, can you tell us how many licks does it take to get to the bottom of a tootsie pop?" Or whatever. And "Mr. Owl" replies "One...Twoo...Three! Chomp" And he bites it. That teaches our youth that it's okay to agree to help someone, and then ruin their experiment. Well...it's not. I am going to start a protest group. Teens Against Cartoon Owls. We could call ourselves TACO! I love the little tacos, I love them good! That is a direct quote from GIR, co-star and comic-relief on INVADER ZIM. Hmmmm...intersting. I put hyphens in both of his titles...it must be a conspiracy! I gotta go. Those TACO buttons don't make themselves, you know. I'm back again. And not so cheesed off about the whole tootsie roll pop thing. Right now, I have another twenty minutes on the Internet before I'm gonna watch T.V. And I can't think of anything else to do. So, predictably, here I am. It's not like I have anything better to do. Obviously, you know this. After all, look how long this text is. I wonder if I've made the world record? If I did, would I stop this? Why bother asking? I'll will most likely still be adding to this on my death bed. Hmmmmm...has any old, senile person ever written anything? Was it coherent? Did it make more sense that this text? Is it possible to make less sense? Am I enjoying asking retorical questions? Yes. Yes, I am. But I seriously wonder what something written by a senile person would be like. I've heard of poems and stuff written by people who were high, insane or paranoid. But never senile. Can a senile person write? Aren't they regressed to a child-like state? Does it even matter? Is anyone even reading this? Did I resume asking retorical questions? Do you care? Is this eating up time? I feel like I'm playing questions only on whose line is it anway. I probley should have capitalized something, or underlined but I'm feeling lazy...hey, you try to keep your two and a half readers happy! It's really stressfull. Someday, I'm gonna snap and just delete this entire thing. Gee, I hope not! I worked sorta hard on this. It's great for making random topics weave together to form an overall infrastructure of chaos. That made little sense. That's why it's here, and not some critically acclaimed site. Ooooooooooooo! I'm gonna quote from the FLAMING CHICKENS HANDBOOK again! Yep! I bet you were just breathless in anticipation. Okay. Here goes. Code: 472 of the Flaming Chickens Handbook states that this site in no way aknowledges the existance of other, better sites (hereon reffered to as the Losers) The Losers are a myth. The Patron Saint of Paper Clips (me again!) claims no knowledge as to where that particullary nasty rumor started, but confirms that this is the best site ever. It would be a sin against humanity for a better site to exist. Should you refuse to aknowledge the Patron Saint of Paper Clips as the ruler of the Internet, you will be subjected to punishment as stated in Code 343 of the Flaming Chicken Handbook (i.e. Experience vague, pain-like sensations when you're not paying attention) This has been a public service announcement. This is a test, I repeat only a test. Had this been an actual emergency, we would have bought up all the can openers and charged 3 cows and a pig for each one. I repeat, lock all you doors and windows, this is it. I repeat, there is nothing to worry about. Everything is fine. The end is not here. I'm going, you're on you're own! Ahhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'm back!*smiles brightly* And apparantly delusional! Anyway, I just finished rereading my longest text ever. And I became inspired to talk about nothing. You see, I periodically read the longest text ever to check the constant downward spiral of my sanity. Hmmm...I seem to be entertaining myself though, even while reading what I wrote. Which is why I still go to the Really Really Big Button That Doesn't Do Anything website. Because I am easily amused and have lots and lots of time on my hands. Maybe, some day far in the future (like next Thursday) I'll print a copy of this insane text. And then go door to door distributing it. Eventually, this would become a monthly tradition. Whole families would gather around their front door, in breathless anticipation while they attempted to barracade me out. I can just see the whole community rising to thwart my attempts to spread love, joy and insane chaos. I probley wouldn't actually print this out (think how much paper it would take!) but if I do, only friends and enemies will receive copies. Hmmmm...maybe my condition is worsening. Or not. I'm still peeved about the cartoon owl from the Tootsie Roll Pop commercials. He is pure evil. TACO will eventually destroy him. Unless he has already been destroyed by an even more radical Anti-Cartoon-Owl group. I hope not. Or, would that be good? I suppose I could let someone else have the glory. After all, I'm not in this line of buisness for the fame, fortune and power. What line of buisness, do you ask? Why, the assasinating annoying cartoon characters buisness. (Actually I just question them untill they spontaneously combust, I ask lots of questions) So, in conclusion, ladies and gentleman of the jury(that's you) I could not have possibly tortured "Mr. Owl" to death. I love owls. Hmm...I seem to be jumping from one subject to another more frequently. Either I am growing more comfortable with my on-line writing, or I am progressivly getting more insane and chaotic. I also am psyco-analyzing myself a lot today...hmmmm...I'm even saying "hmmmmm..." a lot. Just like a real psychologist. Hmmmmmmm. Time for another boring disclaimer!!!!!!! Code: 742 of the Flaming Chickens Handbook states that in no part does the Patron Saint of Paper Clips (That's still me!) actually claim to be mentally ill. That's either a) a publicity stunt b) An attempt at humor c) a cry for help or d) none of the above You can e-mail your responses by conducting a scavenger hunt of this site. Some of the pages of this site contain a link encouging the two and a half people to e-mail the Patron Saint of Paper Clips. There may also be evil little links that are designed to confuse you. These links send stuff to someone named johnjones66@hotmail.com Saint of Paper Clips does not know who this individual is, but sincerly wishes that you send all your hate mail to him. Not that the aformentioned individual claims to have received hate mail (or mail of any kind) via a website link. Thank-you for your time. Remember to send your answers to my sanity quiz to the e-mail account, bigppmegashlong@gmail.com Oh, and once I refer to myself in the first person again, the handbook quote is over. I just thought that I might like to mention that. Oh. You're still here. I figured you rush right on over to e-mail me. Perhaps you don't have time to waste e-mailing me. HA! HA! HA! That's funny!!!! If you you don't have time to waste, what are you doing here?!!! Oh, who am I kidding. I figure that even the people I manage to lure onto my site from neopets don't even bother to come to this particular page. Maybe I should make the link come here directly...Hey! What a good idea! That way I can spread my love, joy and insane chaos to more people! I'm a genius. Gotta go, must lure innocent victems to the second most pointless site ever!!!! I'm back. And really angry, and confused. I've always known that I was weird, that's always been a given. But now I realize that I am considerably more normal than the rest of my family. Today we had a "family outing." Now, most families will go bowling, or putt-putt golfing. They may go to a resteraunt with an arcarde, or the movies or to a theme park. Not my family! No, we got the greatest family outing of all. We got to go to a bar and play pool!!!!!*waits for readers to become insanely jealous* Yep, that's right, a bar with a pool table! Not only did we get world class cuisine (under-cooked hotdogs and over-cooked hamburgers), my little sister (age 10) got taught pool by someone I strongly supect is an ex-convict! Naturally when it was announced that we'd be eating dinner in this place, I could hardly contain my excitment(I glared at my mother and asked why we couldn't go to Pizza Hut) When we arrived, we were promptly served (after thirty minutes) In the meantime, we played a family game of pool(my parents played while my brother and sister and I watched) After two rousing rounds, our food came. The food was superb, (our food came the exact opposite of how we ordered it, and half of the onion rings were missing) Then we joyfully returned to our game(my sister and the ex-con played my mom) We spent hours there (from 5p.m.-7:15p.m.) There were many people that were the same age as me and my siblings (no one in the room but us were under 30) Us kids had to be dragged kicking and screaming from the bar ( I almost fell asleep during the last game I watched) As we left, there was a feeling of goodwill and fellowship between all(my sister locked me out of the car and wouldn't let me in untill I started yelling profanity in her general direction) The high point of the entire night was when my mother gave me $21 for my report card. She promptly borrowed $1 to help with the waitresses tip(This part I'm not being sarcastic about) All in all it was a night I'll remember forever (as the lowest point in "family outing"history, except for that time my mom dragged me to a church thing on the concept of truth.) My brother(age 13) even decided upon a new job he wants when he's old enough to work, a busboy at the bar. We had to tell him that he would probley have to wait untill he was 21.(Absolutly nothing about that statement was sarcastic) As you can see, I love my families outings(Not unless you're blind...or stupid) &#!#%&&!!!(*%$ WHAT THE %$#@ WAS MY MOTHER $#$#%$# THINKING!!!!!!!???? BRINGING $#$$# KIDS IN A BAR!? I know it was her idea, 'cause my dad hates it, too. My mom and my stupid little 10-year old sister loves it, though. *sighs* Why does my life have to be so weird? I'm leaving...now I'm back! And not so pissed at my weird family. Now is the time to mourn the loss of one of my most loyal readers (I think she's read the entire thing one time, which is more than anyone else has done so far) She has been banned from accesing any portion of the Internet, do to reasons that must remain confidental due to security reasons. If I told you, I'd have to kill you and all that stuff. So...now I am down to one and a half readers. Untill such time that I have more. I wonder why anyone would read this? You would have to have several characteristics that I possess. First of all, you'd have to have an extrodinary amount of free time. Second of all, you would have to have the patience to read through all of this. And lastly, you'd have to know where the heck this site is. I admit it. I haven't exactly advertised this site. Nor can I find it on any search engines. Some of my pages have stuff written in to make search engines recognize me, but it doesn't seem to be working. What must I do to rise above obscurity? I tell people I know about this site, but they either ignore this page, or don't even bother coming to the site in the first place. I suppose that is the bane of all authors. To pour your heart and soul into a passage, and have everyone ignore it. *sniffle* Why must this be? Maybe I should just give up. After all, no one would really care if I quit updating this site. But I can't help but think of stuff like the evil over lord list and REALLY REALLY BIG BUTTON THAT DOESN'T DO ANYTHING. They are not great neccesarily because of the content, (although that helps some) they are great because of their sheer length. You can read a little each day. And almost never finish. Also, I guess I still am trying to get the world record. I have heard some feedback suggesting that I make someway for people to remember where they stopped reading. It can be very confusing, especially if you weren't paying attention in the first place. Well, I dont want to organize this page, in any manner. This is chaos. And insanity. Not neat little text in classifiable rows, in alphabetical order. If you want neat, go to some other site(though, as mentioned in Flaming Chickens Code:472 there is no such thing as a site better than this one). Otherwise, I guess you're stuck with me. Awwwww...I'm touched! You didn't run screaming to another site, thankfull for the chance to escape this insanity. You're still here, which must mean that you'd rather be here than anywhere else! Hey, where are you going?! I thought you were gonna stay here and keep me company?! *drags reader back* See, I knew you'd stay! *gagged reader glares* What's that? I know this is the best site ever, thanks for the compliment! *reader starts inching towards freedom* I better go...I think that I may have a problem brewing. I'm back. And very concerned about this new, younger generation (all 10 year olds who were born in 1992) They are supposed to be the future. Instead they appear to be a nuclear armagedon in the form of a fifth grader. I chanced to have an interview with an informant from this evil generation (my little sister) who will be called Mrs. X for security reasons (no, she's not married, the "Mrs" makes it good as a disguise) I was quizing Mrs. X on Civil War History for an upcoming test in her classroom (whose location can not be devulged) Mrs. X seemed fluent in the subject. Using prior knowledge, I deduced that Mrs. X was full of crap. Out of sheer curiosity, I asked Mrs. X who participated in the Civil War. She immediatly replied "Clara Barton". I clarified, which countries fought in the Civil War. She answered: England, Russia, and (out of sheer desperation) Iraq. I believe that she was just listing countries she knows America has fought against. Now, correct me if I'm wrong...but Iraq? I don't know if Iraq even existed in the Civil War Era! Why on earth would we go have way across the world to fight them when we didn't even really need oil?!! Moving on, I finaly managed to coax my sister (I'm tired of writing Mrs. X) to tentativly guess that America fought in the Civil War. I mean, who'd a thought? America? Fighting in the American Civil War? In a moment of inspiration, I asked her who America fought. Her first guess was enslaved africans. Well, at least she knows that slaves were involved in the war. Before she could start listing all of America's enemies, I gave her a hint. I said "The Union fought..." With a crack, snaple and pop, some random synapses in her brain connected in the right order and she said "CONFEDERACY!!!" I was very proud of her, just as you would be proud of a two-year-old who has just announced: "I WENT POO-POO ON THE POTTY!!!!!" What I mean is, you wouldn't be very proud if the average person said that they just took a dookey on the toilet, and you wouldn't be very proud if they knew who fought against the Union in the Civil War. I confirmed that the Union was Northern and Free, and that the Confederacy was Southern and Slave. We resumed quizzing and she got every question on the worksheet correct. This is because she memorizes the questions. That way, she can pass the test without actually learning anything. You see, if you memorize stuff, you only have to remember that the answer to number 6 is Clara Barton for a week, rather than having to remember that Clara Barton started the Red Cross for the rest of you life. I sincerely appologize if anyone is offended by my view of memorization. I also would like such persons to immediatly leave my site. You don't belong here. You see...knowledge is good. If my sister...uh...Mrs. X were ever asked a question on the Civil War on a quiz show, she'd come up with nothing. With knowledge you can win money and the opportunity to look like a dork on national television. My sister is a big believer in the memorization system. I previous time when I was studying with her (American Revolution, this time) I was trying to help her remember the difference between the Patriots(Patriotic to America) and the Loyalists (Loyal to Britain) She didn't know what the word patriotic meant. I tried to explain. I asked her how you dress on the forth of july (she said nice) I asked what the colors red, white and blue were (pretty). I gave up in exasperation. More recently, I was trying to instill a sense of empathy and niceness in her. I asked her what the golden rule of christianity was. She didn't know. When I pressed her, she confessed she didn't know what chrisianity was. Completly defeated, I told her that it was the religion she practiced every Sunday when she went with her friends to church. This confirmed my suspicion that she only went so that she could have the use of the church's playground equipment. My family also strongly suspects that she stole $20 from the donation thingy. Anyway, that's my rant on the new generation that contains my little sister. When someone of her generation runs for president, I'm gonna do a complete background check. If they're anything like my sister, I'm movin' to Canada. Gotta go...the Russian-Brittish-Iraqi-enslaved-Africans are coming to defeat the Mexicans. I'm back! *there's that darn cricket again* And I have a genuine question to ask all of my loyal readers *cough-cough* Okay, here it is: Is it normal for a non-gender specific sibling to carry around various dead reptiles (snakes, turtles, lizards etc.) Furthormore, is it considered accepted behavior to talk to these dead reptiles, in a cooey, baby talky kind of voice? Finnaly, is it expected for said sibling's non-gender specific parent to encourage such behavior, citing "I was just like that as a child" as an excuse? It's an honest question as I fear that my non-gender specific sibling is weird. Who am I kidding? My entire family is weird. It's just a matter of degree. Hey, by the way. I'm sorry that my last few entries have been only about my various family antics. Although I can't see why you care, because there is a large probability that you do not exist, because I don't think anyone is reading this anymore. How discouraging. People need to make the time to waste time. It's a time honored tradition. Who'd thought that I could use time that many times in only a few sentences? It's been pretty quiet here lately, which is why I haven't added anything to this text in awhile. I know, you were just crushed that nothing new was happening. It's a sad, cold, cruel world out there and you had nothing to relieve the monotony of it. *sniffle* I feel so sorry for you! Next thing you know, you're internet connection will die. Well, too bad! Do you know I never even had a computer untill just a few months ago (that's why I'm obsessivly writing here) So I won't pity you if you're computer dies for unexpected reasons. Time for another quote from the FLAMING CHICKEN HANDBOOK!!! Code: 843 of the Flaming Chicken Handbook states that in no way is the Patron Saint of Paper Clips (guess who?) responsible for any faulty wiring or lack thereof in your computer. The Patron Saint of Paper Clips in no way wishes harm on your computer. Any derogatory statement is simply an opinion of an individual, not of the flaming order of the flaming chickens. Said order will in no way be held responsible for any damages, injuries, loss of life, limb, head, or organs. Okay, quote is done. Maybe I should put quotation marks around them...nah, too much work. But I probably will eventually get around to having a seperate page just for the FLAMING CHICKEN HANDBOOK. That way all the members (what members) can print out a copy of it for themselves (if they didn't get that copy in the mail) I guess I'm done for the day...I know. You want me to stay. It's okay. Because eventually, I'll be back! Seeya! I'm back. And once again suprised. When I was at a TAB poetry thingy (TAB is good TAB is great We love TAB) I met some new people. One of these people (who shall remain nameless untill such time that I have explicit permission to use her name) turned out to be almost as weird as me. As in...she read the ENTIRE Longest Text Ever. The whole thing. So far two whole people (to my knowledge) have read the entire thing, and a few people have skimmed it. That means I really can justify claiming to have two and a half readers! I'm so happy! That means my pointless obsession has actually entertained someone besides me! Perhaps, one day, far in the future, this will actually be a world record and random people will acutally voluntarily read this text every day. Or maybe not. The point is that it is nice to have readers. Or maybe it's not...I mean...won't the quality *snicker* of my work deteriorate if I am no longer writing for the target audience of me? If that happens, then no one will read this. And then I'll be writing for me again. And then the quality will rise. And then people will start reading. And then the quality will go down and the vicious spiral of good and bad will continue untill I either give up this text, or go crazy...er. In any case...I should probably find a topic. Yeah...a topic would be good. Or...I could just continue to write about finding a topic. Ooooo! I know a topic! Ice cream trucks! This has been bothering me for a while. You see...when it's hot, you want something cold to eat. Conviently, ice cream trucks come around during the hottest part of the year (it must be a conspiracy). As you may or may not know, small children swarm the ice cream trucks. The vendors even play whimsical music which I strongly suspect contains subliminal messages to make you hungry for ice cream. The vendors get oodles of cash, and the kids get ice cream. Now, in today's society of buying groceries on-line and getting them delivered, why hasn't any other food industry marketed this ingenius idea to bring the product to the consumer. I can just see Hot Dog, and Pizza trucks roaming the neighbor hoods, selling treats to hungry children...and adults. Of course, said adults would have to peel their butt-cheeks off the couch...but they'd have to do that for the delivary man anyway. The food trucks could even play music that made you hungry for their food. Then the problem with obesity in America would be blamed on evil food truck drivers as opposed to the harmless, benificient television and computer. We could all breath a sigh of relief as parents kept their children inside, away from the evil truck drivers and near the T.V. Gone would be the days when parents told children to play outside, it's a nice day. Parents would buy their children computers, video games and other television neccesities. This, of course would expand the market for such products. This would lead to a better, more stable economy. Food industires would be buying cars, gas and music. Parents would increase the purchase of entertainment items. In return companies would make a profit, pay their workers better. The workers would then be able to afford more entertainment items and the upward spiral would continue, as opposed to the evil downward spiral of my writing. In conclusion, Ladies and Gentlemen...if you implement my idea, there will be peace and prosperity for all. As long as you don't mind a few more couch potatoes. Gotta go...I think I hear a catchy jingle. I'm back...it's been awhile since I've written here. A lot has happened. Like my EVIL school computer deleting my updates page. But it's all good. Especially since I just saw The Matrix: Reloaded. The following text may spoil the movie for you, so WARNING: do no read this unless you have already seen the movie. Okay. What I liked best was the philosophy on choices. (the mindless fight scenes were really cool, too). It's like this. In the beginning of the movie, Neo is having dreams about Trinity's death. Later, The Oracle tells him that he has already decided her fate. Towards the end of the movie, Neo chooses to tell Trinity to stay out of the Matrix, since he saw her die in it. She agrees, but only after seeing how important it is to him. After a horrific chain of events (is it coincidence, or fate) the people who will deactivate the secondary power source of the building Neo is infiltrating, die. So...the plan is going to fail. Unless someone does something, Neo, Morpheus and many others will die. Trinity, who is of course outside of the Matrix, knows this and chooses to enter the Matrix to save the day. The events of Neo's dream unfold. So...when the oracle said that the choice had already been made, she was completely correct. The moment Neo woke from dreams of Trinity's death, he made a choice. He would do everything in his power to keep his dream from becoming reality. So he kept her out of the Matrix, and she saw the problem, and entered the Matrix to fix it. If she had been in the Matrix, she would have likely been with Morpheus, never would have known about the plan's failure, would therefore not have been in the situation that resulted in her death. And the plan would have failed and Neo might have died, along with a large portion of the city (the building was set to blow if there was any intruders) So...Neo's choice to attempt to save Trinity triggered the sequence of events that led to her death. As Neo realizes all of this, through a nearly omniscient Architect of the Matrix, he makes another choice. This choice is simply an extension of his original choice: he will save Trinity at all costs. Neo is told that he has two choices. He can save mankind, and doom Trinity. Or he can try to save Trinity and doom mankind. No guarantee that he'll succeed in saving Trinity. He goes for Trinity, makes it just in time to catch her body, and starts her heart back up. In return for not taking the easy route, he gains a power in the more or less real world. He can deactivate the machines, (squidies) but at great personal cost. The movie ends with him in a coma. Now, you must realize that I have described only one aspect of this movie of all movies. There are not enough words in the English language to describe the sheer coolness of the fight choreography, special effects and the plot. I highly recommend you see the movie yourself. I'm sorry that today's rant isn't random, insane or completely chaotic, but I must right my experience with The Matrix before I forget. I am so buying this movie when it comes out on DVD. I love it! You have to admit its sheer coolness. I mean, come on! It's the sequel to the movie that revolutionized the standard by which we judge special effects. I better stop typing before I have a heart attack...just remember...The Matrix has you...I'm back. And throughly pissed off at my school system in general. You see...they feel that the only way to reward academic achievement...yada-yada-yada...is to force the smart kids to be ushers for Senior Honor Nite, and Graduation. Where is the logic in this? I for one, didn't know about such dire consequences for not deliberatly failing classes. It was bad enough that I was forced to "volunteer" my precious time (i could have worked on this site)...no...I was forced to wear formal attire. My school system is stuck in the past...and formal attire means...a dress...a white dress...(for those you who never bothered to find out...I am indeed female). So...for the first time in about 5 years...I wore a dress...and something that was complelty white. What cruel fate is this? To compound the EVIL situation...I was forced to wear feminine shoes. In other words...they hurt. And they pushed my toes together. Since I have a rather weird phobia of touching my own skin...this made my evening my own personall torture session. I think that such gender-specific torture should be deemed inhumane and abolished from our great society...of flaming chickens. Henceforth...Code: 666 of the Flaming Chickens Handbook states that under no circumstance will the Patron Saint of Paper Clips (guess who) be forced to wear anything other than a t-shirt and preferably black jeans. Should you violate this right, you will become destroyed or possibly dizzy. I'm leaving now...I have some destruction to do. i'm back. from graduation. we had to get there one hour and fifteen minutes early because there was traffic. After standing around a lot...the ceremony started. Lots of people spoke. by the time I had to do my part (tell people where to stand before getting their diploma) it was dark. there were bugs. they liked landing on me. then...i got to go stand while people said a lot of stuff. i couldn't hear it because someone had put the speakers facing the audience. we clapped. the whole time, even during the name-calling, seniors were playing with silly string and beachballs. afterwards...they turned off the lights. there were lots of fireworks. i wandered around for 20 minutes looking for a cell phone. i called home, and waited another hour for my ride...traffic to the school was one way. i felt sorry for my dad. i am tired...but cannot go to sleep. i'll copy and paste this to my site. maybe the longest text ever. you will all suffer as i have suffered when and if you graduate. i cannot feel my feet. i hate dress shoes. I'm back. Today, I'm here to salute the Pointless Signs Of America! The PSOA have been whole-heartedly working for you, and what have you done for them? NOTHING! These so-called "pointless" signs are doing just what they were meant to do: entertain you! You cannot judge them simply because they have no apparant function. They expand your mind, making you think about all the things they could do. They could do anything they wanted to, if they just put their minds to it. If you judged everything by what it doesn't acomplish, then the entire world is populated by pointless beings. Noone can do everything, so how can you expect a SIGN, with the I.Q. of toilet paper, to do everything. You people sicken me. You expect far to much of the inanimate world. The inanimate world, on the otherhand, expects nothing of you. Which is exactly what it gets. If you expect nothing, and get nothing, you feel nothing. If you expect nothing and get something, you're happy. But, if you expect something and get something you feel nothing. And if you expect something and get nothing, you feel cheated. If you're following along, and not completly confused, you'll realize that it is better to be a pessimist than an optomist. Yep that's right. This entry went from saluting the PSOA to making a statement about my ideals. This has been a weird day. You can thank my associate "Meg" she came up with the PSOA acronym. Everyone, clap for "Meg".I gotta go...seeya later! I'm finnaly back! Today, I took a long look at this site, which is the acomplishment of almost a year of work. And I asked myself "How could I have better spent my time?" And so, in the interest of wasting even more time, I made a list. Here we go! Number One: I could have cured cancer. Not that I know anything about medicine...or cancer for that matter. But I'm sure that if I just would have put my mind to it, I could have done it. Number Two: I could helped the earth to find eternal and lasting peace. Which would be boring. So I at least have an excuse for not doing that. Number Three: I could have studied and stuff. Uh...don't think so...Number Four: I could have learned to drive. This would have resulted in the deaths of numerous pedistrians...and I would still probably be wondering around in search of a McDonalds. Number Five: I could have read more books, played more video games and watched more mindless television. Gee...I wish I'd thought of that sooner. Number Six: I could have implemented one of several plans for world domination. Or, as an alternative, I could have ruined several plans for world domination that other people made. Number Seven: I could drive people crazy. Wait...aren't I already doing that? Scratch number seven. And on to: Number Eight: I could have...uhhhh...ummmmm...actually thought up these things before hand. Number Nine: Now it's just getting redundant, isn't it? Number Ten: This is the list that never ends. Yes, it goes on and on my friend. One person, started typing it not knowing what it was, and they'll continue typing it forever just because this is the list that never ends, yes it goes on and on my friends, some person started typing it not...etc, etc. Okay...I admit it. I have officialy run out of ways I could have better spent my time. I don't think there actually are any. Except for maybe five and six. Now, those have possibilities. However, I am currently content to just sit here and type. For the benefit of you, the reader...who may or may not exist. Either way, I'm continuing to sort of entertain myself. I feel like I should be outraged about some topic or another. I just can't work up the energy to be outraged. Perhaps a nice, soothing mistrust. Yeah. I can work with mistrust. I definitly mistrust lots of stuff. Like organ grinders, and the evil conspiracies. Did you know, that Kodak was part of the conspiracy to assasinate John F. Kennedy. Now, some of you are probably thinking "Gee, Really?", or "Wow, I never knew that!" while others are thinking "Who's John F. Kennedy?" or possibly "Who or What is Kodak". I fervently hope that you're not thinking the last two...especially about Kodak. Kodak, as you may know, is a film developing company. And John F. Kennedy (JFK) was an alien bent on global domination. Or possibly a really good president who wanted to fly to the moon. Either way, he got assasinated. And ever loony in America decided that it was a conspiracy. Some even go so far as to claim that Kodak "changed" the pictures of the assasination to make an assasination in the bushes become a tree's shadow. I didn't know that they had such good technology back then. I have to wonder...why would Kodak do such a thing. Perhaps Kodak is actually a front organization for a shadowy governmental system that controls the entire world and didn't want mankind to obtain the freedom of the stars and so tried to sabotauge the space program even though it didn't work as well as they planned. Or perhaps not. Either way, Kodak is undeniably evil. How can any company that takes so many "wholesome" pictures not be? You can just bet that they look at every one that get's turned in to them, judging blackmail value, and whether or not you could get arrested. It's just sickening, you can't even take a simple photo nowadays. Unless you have a digital camera, which are a symbol of freedom from the old ways and willing enslavement to the new ways. We can only hope that the digital camera manufacturers are kinder masters than the evil Kodak Lords. I better go...I think Kodak is tracing my site....I'm back now! And, once again, I have proof that someone actually took the time (two hours) to read this entire Longest Text Ever! It's amazing, it's incredible, it's unbelievable. But true. Even more incredible, this time it's someone I don't even know! Wooooooo! I feel inspired and happy and other really good emotions and stuff. And so, I'll take a trip down memory lane, to the dark depths of the past, to when I decided to make this page. It was inspired, in part, by my sheer and utter boredom. In school, back before I even owned a computer, I'd type random words for long periods of time, 'cause I had nothing better to do. Once I got this computer, I decided to do something similar on my beloved site. But, it ended up making more sense than I anticipated (scary thought, huh). Oh, well...I tired of nostalgia. Back to the present. Right now, I'm just typing so that no one can say that I've been slacking off. I don't think I have any conspiracy theories...except pop-ups/pop-unders. Have you ever had the evil pop-up that says that if you click here, it'll get rid off all the annoying pop-ups? Isn't that sort of ironic? Could the pop-up blocker people have chosen a better means to advertise their product? It's like grand-theft auto 3's talk show, you know, the one where there are Citizens Raging Against Phones? Or CRAP, for short. And the lady representing them, calls the radio station...on a phone. It's stupid and ironic and just shouldn't exist in a better world. Pop-Up ad's help you get rid of pop-up ads? Insane, chaotic...hmmmmm...I wonder who thought of it? Was it on purpose, or was it just some mistake? It is now my civic duty to discover this ancient mystery, and reveal it to the uncaring world. Or maybe I'll go make a frozen pizza. Yeah. That sounds good, too. Since I'm not particualarly inspired at the moment, I should leave and let you gather what is left of your sanity. I just can't seem to stop, though. Okay...I can do it. I'm leaving. I'm back...and it's several hours later. I've decided to imortalize the stupidity of my dog, Moose. She is a heavy-set Yorkshire Terrior (12 lbs.) In otherwords, she's a small yappy dog who is big for her breed. Today, I met her arch-enemy. An enemy so terrifying that Moose cannot stop shaking. An enemy so hideous that Moose must destroy it at all costs. An enemy so dangerous that Moose fears it above all others. Now you may be wondering what horrible beast is Moose's arch-enemy. And you probably suspect that it is something pathetic. You would be correct in your suspiciousness...for Mooses arch-enemy is...*dramatic drumroll*...a small, white, feather. Now, Moose has seen many feathers, birds even. But none have struck terror in her little moose heart like this particular feather. So...naturally I put her arch-enemy in my pocket and brought it home with me. This action has made her very suspicious of where my loyalties lie. She tracks the feather smell all over the house, and goes crazy whenever I take it out of my pocket. She even got her sister and mother in the spirt of things. Now her sister sounds an alarm whenever she sees the evil feather. Now, you may be wondering what is so terrifying about a small, white, feather. So am I. It doesn't smell funny, (I asked my brother, since I don't have a sense of smell), it seems perfectly ordinary. So, I've decided that Moose works for some secret government organization, and that the feather is the key to the destruction of the world, and I am just blithely letting it enter our home, so that it may furthur its evil plans to destroy the universe. That is the only possible explanation as to why it upsets her so much. Or...maybe it's the feather off of the cartoon owl from the tootsie-roll pop comercials (one...two...three..*crunch*). Whatever the case, I decided that the whole world, (or three of four random people) deserve to know that if the world and or universe are destroyed, it's the evil, little, white, feather's fault. Now I'd better go and torture my Moose with it...:) I am officially back. And you, the potentially non-existant reader gets a once in a lifetime chance to hear me rant and rave about my Horrible, Horrible Family Vacation. I know. You feel very, very honored. It's like this. My mother is a control freak, and she decided on the spur of the moment that we were going north to visit relatives. Later that day, she decided we were NOT going north, we were going south to a beach resort. Still later that day, she got offended at some trivial thing and decided that we weren't going anywhere at all. The very next day, she decided that we were going north, after all. So, we packed everthing up. Before we knew it, we were on the road. The first part of the trip was fairly easy. As in, I was half-asleep, hoping that we'd arrive while I slept. Then, in an inspired move, my brother talked my mother into letting him sit up front. That meant that my mother would be in the back, with me and my younger, eviler sister. Immediatly, my mother started complaining. It was uncomfortable in the back, it was too hot, it was too cold. Then, she accidently woke our three yappy dogs up, and they relized that they were in a car. That meant only one corse of action for them. They started shaking and barked their little heads off. This annoyed my mother further, untill she asked, no, demanded that my father turn the car around so that we could go home. Unfortuantly, we had already driven 337 miles toward our destination. After much argument, my father was going to turn around, untill he realized that my mother was going to drop the dogs and me off, and then turn around and continue north. This seemed slightly unpracticle, so we ended up not taking that 337 mile detour. We eventually reached our destination after 16 hours of virtually non-stop driving. We got there, we ate. We slept. My mother visited relatives. And so the week went by. I got to go to a huge library, and see Terminator 3 at the local theater. That was the high point of the entire trip. The last day, we were deciding where to eat. My mom said that she didn't care. So my dad picked a steak place. My mother tried to order a mushroom-swiss burger...only to discover that the place had no swiss-cheese. So she decided on a salad, only to discover that they didn't have her favorite salad dressing. After much deliberation, she decided that she wouldn't eat. After complaining how hungry she was, and about the poor quality of the resteraunt, she walked out of the resteraunt, instructing the rest of us to "enjoy our meals". And I wonder where my little sister gets her annoyingness. Not that my mother is annoying...just set in her ways. The whole meal thing was about the only interesting thing to happen during the week. On the way home, we had gotten approximatly 4 hours into the trip when my mother predicatably decided that we had to go back and eat at the 50th aniversary of her favorite ice cream place. Needless to say, we ignored her. Oh, and when my sister had to go to the bathroom very badly during a traffic jam, my mother had the good taste to making hissing/water noises to make my sister's problem worse. She claimed that my little sister always did it to her, and she was getting pay-back. Between her bickering with my sister, and obsessivly playing neopets games, I don't know what to do with her. Anyway...that was my family vacation rant. It sucked. No suprise. At least it's over. Sorry if I complained a lot. If you don't like it, start your own longest text ever. Anyway, I promise to go back to my usual routine the next time I rant here. I thought of a topic on the way home, but forgot it. Seeya. I'm back! I know, I took you completly by suprise. You thought you'd gotten rid of me. *cheesy super-hero voice* Well, fear not, random citizen, for I, PSOPC am here! *normal voice* Today I have a very important to discuss with you in this: PERFECTLY NORMAL PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCMENT. Yes, that's right. It's time to warn you, the viewer...er...reader...about the evils of various stuff. Today's lesson is: subliminal messages . That's right, folks, mass hypnosis via commercials. Now, I'm sure you've at least heard of subliminal messages , right? No? Well...prepare to be enlightened. Subliminal messages are an advertising technique that puts hidden pictures and words into a main image. You don't see them, but your subconsious (dreaming) mind does. Your subconsious mind acts on whatever it is told. What does this mean to you? It means that WAL-MART TV IS EVIL! EVIIIIIIIIIIIIL!!!!!! Why else would they invest all that money to show commercials in their own store? Because they put subliminal messages in them, of course! Subliminal messanging also explains the successes of certain fast-food resteraunts, and brand name items. BEWARE YOUR TOASTER OVEN! Okay. That had nothing to do whatsoever with subliminal messages...it's just cool to say. Anyway, only watch wal-mart if you WANT to be subliminaly entertained into purchasing a new set of TUPERWARE, even though your old set is PERFECTLY fine. This has been a public service announcment. Pretty cool, huh? Uh...you don't have to take the subliminal stuff seriously. It's true, and all, but I have no proof about wal-mart, or certain fast food resteraunts. It makes sense, though. Wal-mart TV is evil. You cannot deny it. Seeya...hmmm..I wonder if there's subliminal stuff in my computer...I'm back. And I feel that it's time for a FAKE commercial break, for the highly informed, obviously brain-dead consumer. And now, a word from our non-existant sponsor. Ketchup: The only food that you'll want to eat after traveling to the 5th Dimension. It's been practically proven that Ketchup transforms into a highly intoxicating (non-addictive) delicious substance upon returning from the 5th Dimension. Stock up now with our Valu-Pak to recieve 3-metric tons of Ketchup, all for the low, low price of your brain, since you're obviously not using it anyway. Then, just wait for technology to "catch-up" (get it, catch-up, Ketchup?)so you can travel to the 5th Dimension like our scientists almost did. (Next Commercial) Get ready fo: Faux's new "reality" TV show, "How Low Can We Go?" It's about six contestants who compete to create the worst, least likely "reality" TV show. The winner not only gets the million-dollar prize, they get the chance to produce the show they created. Remember: if the show sucks, it's their fault, not ours!(Next exciting commercial!)And for all the idiots out there: Try new and improved Dum-B-Gon! Dum-B-Gon stimulates brain activity, making you up to 10 times smarter! Not only that, Dum-B-Gon: stimulates weight loss, cures "any" illness, does simple houshold chores, never leaves the toilet seat up and is the perfect gentle companion for your kids. How can you pass up this revolutionary new product? It's yours for only 3 bi-monthly payments of $3.95 ($3,95,000 on days ending in "y")Don't forget, Dum-B-Gon is practically guaranteed!* (*Not a guarantee) (Next commercial)Have you ever wondered why food sometimes goes bad in your fridge, even if you've only had it a few years? It's because of the "evil little faeries with sharp little teeth." These "faeries" sprinkle your food with highly toxic "age dust" and ruin a perfectly good four-year-old meatloaf. How do you stop them? With our patented "spray". Our "spray" kills over 99.9% of "faeries" (which are much to small to see) Our "spray" also kills most disease causing agents, like rats, or pigeons. WARNING: Leave food sit in an open, well-venilated spot for a week before eating. And now, back to our featured presentation. Wasn't that semi-entertaining? I bet you wanna go eat some Ketchup covered Dum-B Gon right now, while watching "reality" TV. Just make sure you "spray" your food first. Pathetic, wasn't it? Oh, well. I was bored, and a dilligent reader suggested I make fake commercials, so...therer they are. Happy? Good. I'm leavin', for now. I'm back. And I'm willing to enlighten you, the potentially you-know-what reader. Today, I was checking out some weird news. At one point, I read an article that stated that it had been proven, conclusivly, that Kansas was flatter than the standard pancake. The researches even used highly advanced technololgy to map the surface of a pancake and compare it to documented geology of Kansas. Some people disagree, the director of the Kansas Geological Survey said "I think this is part of a vast breakfast food conspiracy to denigrate Kansas. It's a cheap shot." So...doesn't that make you want to take Kansas' side (I sincerly appologize if you are from Kansas). It just seems extremly weird (and worthy of mentioning) that this semi-important guy from Kansas believes in a "vast breakfast food conspiracy". Makes you think that the long held belief that Kodak conspired with the JFK assasin(s) is normal. Another article claims that an anitseptic turned a polar bear purple, drawing large crowds of people. I sure hope other zoos won't copy them. Before you know it, we'll have orange alligators, pink tigers and blue lions. School children won't be able to correctly identify the color of a zebra. Random people will think they've gone crazy, after a seemingly innocent visit to the zoo. It's wrong, I tell you. A complete and total degregation of our societies values. What values, you say? The basic moral belief that Polar bears should be WHITE. Unless we spray-painted the snow purple, too. Then it would be okay. As long as the bear blends in, you know? Speaking of animals, there's a cat in California who is a kleptomaniac (likes to steal stuff). He sneaks into neighboring homes, and takes clothing, wrapped christmas presents, and anything he can find. He then leaves them under his owners car. Okay, better leave. I'm back. And I don't really have a topic today. I'm just bored. Sometimes I just do this, you know? Start typing without any idea about what it is I intend to say. Maybe I subconsiously DO know what I'm doing here, but refuse to admit it to myself. Or maybe I am monumentally bored and don't have anything else to do at the moment. Either way, I'm here. You must be pretty bored, too. Otherwise, why on earth (beta, krpto, zkdjf, Planet X, whatever) would you be here? It would make no sense. If you have something better to do, why wouldn't you be doing it right now? I would be. But, maybe that's just the difference between you and me. Yeah. That must be it. Unless you're bored. Then I completly understand. I need to find a topic. Here, topic, topic, topic! Come on, I won't hurt you, I promise! *hides large ax behind back* Come here, topic! Why are you afraid of little ol' me? *sigh* There are no topics anywhere near me. Kinda like me and "Meg" webcomic we are trying to do. It's called Hit-Or-Miss, any topics, plot, etc. are completly accidental and are not the fault/responsibility of the creators. That was sort of a topic, even though it was sort of random. Which is what I do best. Okay, I'm done with that litte commercial. What now...hmmmmm...should I share with you more of my paranoid/delusional conspiracy theories? Or have I been doing that too much lately? Oooooo! I know, I'll start of list of why it's fun/good to be insane/weird! #1You can say or do anything and normal people will agree with you in the hopes that you'll be satisfied, shut up, and go away. Far away. I will show you an example with this completly true stuff that I experienced several years ago. ME: My vicious, psychotic, flesh-eating bunny-rabbit wants to rule the world. RANDOM PERSON: Uh-huh, that's nice. ME: Yeah, but I told her that she'd be a terible ruler. I mean, she traded Asia for a carrot! And she doesn't even LIKE carrots! RANDOM PERSON: You don't say? ME: Yep. She also is the goddess of red jello. RANDOM PERSON: *head explouding from sheer insanity* As you can see, I was a very weird child (this happened in elementary school...uh...except for that head-explouding part). Okay...on to: #2 You can get out of practically anything by saying: a)It's against my religion b)I'm allergic to that. c)I have an extremly irrational fear of that. d)I already did that in a past life and it sucked. e)My psychotic bunny predicted I'd die doing it. Unfortunalty, several of those reasons LEGITAMITLY apply to a certain activity I do every Tuesday, which WILL NOT BE NAMED HERE LEST I GIVE IT POWER OVER ME! I'm allergic to parts of it, have irrational fears about others and I'm pretty sure it's against my Jenny religion...along with eating mashed potatoes, or potatoes of any kind. I'll add that to the FLAMING CHICKENS HANDBOOK. Thou shalt not eat spuds. Hmmmm...time for #3You can obsessive over ANYTHING, and people will think nothing of it. I, personally, am obsessed with, kitties, bunnies, bats, this website, drawing, making intriate little patterns with strings, doing mildly repetitive activities, being weird, apparantly making lists and cheese...and chickens...and flame. Fire is good. Fire is free. Fire is my friend...until it burns me. Then it must die...painfully. And on to:#4You make your friends look normal in comparison. And #5: You can give each of your pets several weird names such as: Ringling-Raison-Bailey-Suzana-Midnight-Schultz, Squirell, Moose, Moose-Moose, Moosey-Moose, Linzey-Moose, Muffin, Squirell-Muffin, Yabby-Doodle, Abby Normal, Wiggle-Baby, Wiggle-Muffin, Witle-Baby, Cheese-Monkey, Muffin-With-Squirell-Juice, Squirell-With-Muffin Juice, Moosey-Juice, Squirell-Monkey, etc. Now, wasn't that a fun list!? Doesn't that just make you proud to be weird? I should make bumber stickers saying that. Proud to be weird. It'd be cool. Anyway, gotta go! *yawn* I'm back. Last night I was super-charged with lots of sugar and not a lot of sleep. I ended up writing things during the time of night when EVERYTHING is hilarious, including the word sheep. To compound things, I wasn't alone, and things just escalated. The following is everything I wrote during that sugar-coated time period. Some are answers to e-mails, the rest are just stuff I wrote.

Definitly. THen we go to library. Guess what? Me and Josh ate lots and lots of sugar, and it's late at nite and everything is funny but we can't laugh 'cause everybody is sleepin' so it's even funnier but ever since we drank the water we sobered up even though we weren't drunk but we ate sugar...lots and lots of sugar. MOstly donut cake. Okay. JOsh says it was only one piece of cake. WE got it at Wal-mart. Or his mom did. OR something. Goodbye..

[saintcanardmoved]

Do you guys remember when this was a studio Ghibli blog and I’d post gifs? 2017 was a good year lol. Anyway. As a child, I never knew I’d thirst for a 2-D otome man, but sadly I’ve stopped. Yes, after two years of obsession, it’s time I retire from the fandom. I’m keeping the blog though. Ran this shit for years, ain’t gonna give up now that my horny-meter has plummeted to an all time record low. Did you guys know blogs don’t have a character limit??

Oh god. I didn’t know this blog would suddenly receive so much attention. Please, I am begging you to not scroll down. It’s endless MysticMessenger posts from two years ago.

Hey, I'm once again: back, you can't possibly have more time than I do. I mean, after all, I made this blog. You're only browsing it. And most people don't even come here. Not even my friends...*sniffle* The just ignore this poor, pathetic little page. All they do is fill out the TAB form and leave. I think. Maybe they're here right now! HI! HOW ARE YOU DOING? I'M FINE! THANKS FOR COMING! YES, I'M YELLING! Who am I kidding. This page won't get a single hit, unless I bribe people...now that has possibilities. Okay, fill out the TAB form, so I have proof that you bothered to come here and...uh...I'll...uh...send you a sandwich? Please allow 6-8 weeks for delivery. I'm bored. I'm gonna go hug a moose. MOOSE! I love-d you moose! Hey, I'm back again! Yea...*waits for applause* okay! Now I want all you loyal fans...*cricket chirps* to go to the link to see what I'm like. I took a whole bunch of personality quizzes and posted them there. I'm an evil villain, kitty and a freakazoid so far. And I only took the quiz once, too. Spooky how accurate they are...anyway, I command you to go! I'm going. I'm back. I'm gonna start counting how many times I say back. Let's see: 1...2...3...4...5! Wow. I must really be desperate for something to do. I now officially have proof that someone has been here! It was one of my friends. Apparently this page really is getting long, because my friend said something to that effect. Maybe. Anyway, moving on! I'm just basically typing nothing. Just like all those reports people have to do. You know? With a specific number of words. They start out with half that number, and then just fill in words until they have the right amount. I salute those people. You're great tradition is being carried out here, on the second most pointless site ever! Well. Maybe eventually some weird, bored person will wander onto my site on accident and be mildly entertained be my site until they wander onto a live video feed of a coffee maker. Or maybe not. I only know that I'm entertaining me, which was my original goal. So. I've done what I've set out to accomplish. Yea, me! I'm so special. You see, most people, they don't like reading or writing. So if you're not most people, you've made it down this far without skipping, skimming or getting the spark notes version. (Which I think does not exist) My point is, if you've bothered to read this, then, (like me) you probley have also read the ketchup bottle so many times that you have it down verbatim. Look verbatim up. It's a word. But, you should know that, since you like reading. Or maybe you're just skimming. Anyway, there's nothing wrong with reading food labels. You might be asked a question about them on a quiz show. And now, for the million-dollar question: How many calories are there in a single serving of Mustard? I can just see it now...It could be called Know-Your-Food. Or You are What you Eat. It'd probley be as popular as those game shows that no one's ever heard of. Speaking of food, what's up with pie? There's strawberry pie, apple, pumpkin and so many others, but there is no grape pie! I know. I'm just as upset about this unfortunate lack of development in the pie division. Think about it. Grapes are used to make jelly, jam, juice and raisins. What makes them undesirable for pie? Would they dry into raisins? Couldn't you just stick some jelly in a piecrust and bake it? It just doesn't make any sense. Another thing that bothers me is organ grinders. You know, the foreign guys with the bellhop hats and the little music thingy and the cute little monkey with the bellhop hat who collects the money? Okay. They're basically begging on the street. How did they ever afford an organ-thingy? Wouldn't it make more sense to get a kazoo, if you're broke? And if they're so poor, what possessed them to buy a monkey? I mean, I don't think I could afford a monkey, and I'm not exactly on the streets. Obviously I at least have a computer...so, back to the organ grinders. I would have sold the monkey and the organ and been able to eat for at least a year. Or, if I was weirder than I am, I could at least kill the monkey with the organ and eat it. Why on earth did they keep the monkey? It must have cost a fortune to feed...not to mention the mess. That's just one of those many facts of life that are better left mysteries. Especially since no one but me would ask the question. I better go. I think I hear a monkey...Okay...now I'm back. That's the sixth time I've said back! I realize that this longest text ever must be very boring and not worth anyone's time. But I'd like to take this time to thank the 2 and 1/2 people in the entire universe who have bothered to read this entire thing. I'm not exactly sure who they are, but: thanks! Right now, my spacebar is malfunctioning...that's not good...I have to press it two or three times just to insert a freaking space. Maybe the evil little faeries with the sharp little teeth have put their evil faerie dust on my computer. Or maybe not. This is too frustrating. Goodbye for now...Now I'm back. And still frustrated. But for a different reason. Today I had the misfortune of playing a Treasure Planet game on neopets.com It was terrible. Apparently the point of the game was to get your character to shout "Whoo-Hoo!" as many times as possible before you splattered your brains on the rocks, all the while listening to a soundtrack that is similar to a dying ceiling fan. Of course, when I started out I accidentally hit the rocks approximately three million times. Halfway though I used my four remaining brain-cells to decide that the game was dumb. So my goal changed from surviving to laughing evilly while my character died. So the game naturally did everything it could to preserve my life. The stupid game is still going on and I refuse to quit because I want my points. My character is actually dodging the stupid rocks better now then when I controlled him. I hate irony. Seeya. Okay. Now I'm back again. Today I added an update page, which is basically a less chaotic, outlined version of this without all the ranting. It's more like techno talk about arrays and how much I suck and whether or not the Braves will win this year. Okay, the whole braves thing is made up. But everything else I've said so far is true. I think. Maybe I should start on a boring disclaimer...Eh-hem. All contents of this site were designed for entertainment purposes only. Any use thereof that is not stated in the above mentioned statement would make the author, hereby referred to as Patron Saint of Paper Clips, very angry. Should you violate the purpose of this site: i.e. become not entertained, the Patron Saint of Paper Clips will be forced to take drastic measures. This is specified in Code: 343 of the Flaming Chicken Handbook. Ooooo…that’s a great idea! I’m gonna start quoting from the Flaming Chicken Handbook! Code: 343 of the Flaming Chicken Handbook states that the Patron Saint of Paper Clips (that’s me) is allowed to cause vague, pain like sensations while the offending person (or alien life form, dog, etc.) isn’t paying attention. Now I have a purpose in life! To make up quotes from the non-existent Flaming Chicken Handbook, which I’m sure you have a copy of. No? Too bad. It’s in the mail, I promise! Now I must take my leave…and remember. Cheese is watching. Okay...I'm back...I think that eventually half of this thing will consist of the word back over and over again...that's just weird. Which fits the motif of the rest of the site. There's even a money back guarantee. Isn’t' that nice? See? Now no one can ever say that I don't take care of my viewers. Especially since I don't have viewers. I have readers. Wait...I really don't even know if anyone bothers to read this. Even if I put it in a less chaotic, more user-friendly format people would still ignore this because it involves: reading. Yes. Sad to admit, but the majority of people would rather read the summary at the back of a book rather than the whole book itself. What has the world come to? It's pathetic. Especially since I'm bothering to write all this. It's not fair! Why can't I have more readers?! All the other internet writers have nothing on me, except they're better at advertising, having a central theme/plot and basically more talented. Whereas I'm more into the whole ranting and raving stage right now. Plus, I am horrible at spelling. Which is bad. Thank the powers that be for spell-check. The single greatest invention of the computer gods. I'm getting bored, so I think I'm done for the day. May your day be shiney! I'm back again! And I feel weird! I found at that yet another one of my friends is reading this. Creepy. Just how much time do they have on their hands. Perhaps their just trying to be nice. I can just see it now...an organization devoted not to feeding the hungry, or peace, or love or whatever, but to giving recognition to all those poor, pathetic, unpopular websites. I wonder what it's name would be. Don't Ignore Sites? Would it be called DIS? Isn't that like a slang term for an insult? Would that be considered poetic justice, or just a nice coincidence? And why do I even care? I'll tell you why. Because I have nothing else to do right now. I could be playing neopets, but ever since my bad experience with Treasure Planet, I don't feel like it. Oh, by the way, I noticed that whenever I use spell-check, my stupid computer turns the word probley into to word problem. To prevent this, I did nothing. So, it is now up to you, the imaginary reader, to decide whether I mean probley or problem...it's almost like a game! But without the bad sound track. And I promise not to force you to live when you would rather die. Moving on, I have nothing else to say, but don't feel like quitting just yet. I'm like the little engine that could. Or maybe the Energizer Bunny. I just keep going, and going and going. Or I could be like that annoying guy on T.V. who keeps asking if you can hear him. If my site manages to last a decade, my readers *snicker* will probley wonder what I'm talking about. My answer is simple. It doesn't matter. I'm just rambling. Which means that it doesn't matter if you understand anything I say. Doesn't that make you feel better? I bet it does. Wow. Look how long this has gotten. I even impress myself. Who would have thought I have this much free time? And I congratulate any reader who has gotten this far. Ooooooo! You must check out the fortunes section of the random stuff page! I've just gotten an idea for some more, original, fortunes...I gotta go!(may the moose be with you) And now I am back. I swear. If iI fill out the fake tab form I'm gonna have to put back as my favorite word...I already have filled it out, though. Would it be cheating to fill it out again? Only if I had multiple personalities. Or would it be cheating if I didn't have multiple personalities? The world may never know. Just like how many licks it takes to get to the bottom of a tootsie pop. Would it vary? The number of licks, I mean. Someone could have super-disolving spit, or watery-spit. Or what if you took big ol' slobbery licks? Does the commercial take that into account? No. It doesn't. And let me tell you, it's an outrage. It deludes all of American's sweet, innocent, candy-loving children into thinking that a cartoon owl is smarter than they are! "Mr. Owl, can you tell us how many licks does it take to get to the bottom of a tootsie pop?" Or whatever. And "Mr. Owl" replies "One...Twoo...Three! Chomp" And he bites it. That teaches our youth that it's okay to agree to help someone, and then ruin their experiment. Well...it's not. I am going to start a protest group. Teens Against Cartoon Owls. We could call ourselves TACO! I love the little tacos, I love them good! That is a direct quote from GIR, co-star and comic-relief on INVADER ZIM. Hmmmm...intersting. I put hyphens in both of his titles...it must be a conspiracy! I gotta go. Those TACO buttons don't make themselves, you know. I'm back again. And not so cheesed off about the whole tootsie roll pop thing. Right now, I have another twenty minutes on the Internet before I'm gonna watch T.V. And I can't think of anything else to do. So, predictably, here I am. It's not like I have anything better to do. Obviously, you know this. After all, look how long this text is. I wonder if I've made the world record? If I did, would I stop this? Why bother asking? I'll will most likely still be adding to this on my death bed. Hmmmmm...has any old, senile person ever written anything? Was it coherent? Did it make more sense that this text? Is it possible to make less sense? Am I enjoying asking retorical questions? Yes. Yes, I am. But I seriously wonder what something written by a senile person would be like. I've heard of poems and stuff written by people who were high, insane or paranoid. But never senile. Can a senile person write? Aren't they regressed to a child-like state? Does it even matter? Is anyone even reading this? Did I resume asking retorical questions? Do you care? Is this eating up time? I feel like I'm playing questions only on whose line is it anway. I probley should have capitalized something, or underlined but I'm feeling lazy...hey, you try to keep your two and a half readers happy! It's really stressfull. Someday, I'm gonna snap and just delete this entire thing. Gee, I hope not! I worked sorta hard on this. It's great for making random topics weave together to form an overall infrastructure of chaos. That made little sense. That's why it's here, and not some critically acclaimed site. Ooooooooooooo! I'm gonna quote from the FLAMING CHICKENS HANDBOOK again! Yep! I bet you were just breathless in anticipation. Okay. Here goes. Code: 472 of the Flaming Chickens Handbook states that this site in no way aknowledges the existance of other, better sites (hereon reffered to as the Losers) The Losers are a myth. The Patron Saint of Paper Clips (me again!) claims no knowledge as to where that particullary nasty rumor started, but confirms that this is the best site ever. It would be a sin against humanity for a better site to exist. Should you refuse to aknowledge the Patron Saint of Paper Clips as the ruler of the Internet, you will be subjected to punishment as stated in Code 343 of the Flaming Chicken Handbook (i.e. Experience vague, pain-like sensations when you're not paying attention) This has been a public service announcement. This is a test, I repeat only a test. Had this been an actual emergency, we would have bought up all the can openers and charged 3 cows and a pig for each one. I repeat, lock all you doors and windows, this is it. I repeat, there is nothing to worry about. Everything is fine. The end is not here. I'm going, you're on you're own! Ahhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'm back!*smiles brightly* And apparantly delusional! Anyway, I just finished rereading my longest text ever. And I became inspired to talk about nothing. You see, I periodically read the longest text ever to check the constant downward spiral of my sanity. Hmmm...I seem to be entertaining myself though, even while reading what I wrote. Which is why I still go to the Really Really Big Button That Doesn't Do Anything website. Because I am easily amused and have lots and lots of time on my hands. Maybe, some day far in the future (like next Thursday) I'll print a copy of this insane text. And then go door to door distributing it. Eventually, this would become a monthly tradition. Whole families would gather around their front door, in breathless anticipation while they attempted to barracade me out. I can just see the whole community rising to thwart my attempts to spread love, joy and insane chaos. I probley wouldn't actually print this out (think how much paper it would take!) but if I do, only friends and enemies will receive copies. Hmmmm...maybe my condition is worsening. Or not. I'm still peeved about the cartoon owl from the Tootsie Roll Pop commercials. He is pure evil. TACO will eventually destroy him. Unless he has already been destroyed by an even more radical Anti-Cartoon-Owl group. I hope not. Or, would that be good? I suppose I could let someone else have the glory. After all, I'm not in this line of buisness for the fame, fortune and power. What line of buisness, do you ask? Why, the assasinating annoying cartoon characters buisness. (Actually I just question them untill they spontaneously combust, I ask lots of questions) So, in conclusion, ladies and gentleman of the jury(that's you) I could not have possibly tortured "Mr. Owl" to death. I love owls. Hmm...I seem to be jumping from one subject to another more frequently. Either I am growing more comfortable with my on-line writing, or I am progressivly getting more insane and chaotic. I also am psyco-analyzing myself a lot today...hmmmm...I'm even saying "hmmmmm..." a lot. Just like a real psychologist. Hmmmmmmm. Time for another boring disclaimer!!!!!!! Code: 742 of the Flaming Chickens Handbook states that in no part does the Patron Saint of Paper Clips (That's still me!) actually claim to be mentally ill. That's either a) a publicity stunt b) An attempt at humor c) a cry for help or d) none of the above You can e-mail your responses by conducting a scavenger hunt of this site. Some of the pages of this site contain a link encouging the two and a half people to e-mail the Patron Saint of Paper Clips. There may also be evil little links that are designed to confuse you. These links send stuff to someone named johnjones66@hotmail.com Saint of Paper Clips does not know who this individual is, but sincerly wishes that you send all your hate mail to him. Not that the aformentioned individual claims to have received hate mail (or mail of any kind) via a website link. Thank-you for your time. Remember to send your answers to my sanity quiz to the e-mail account, bigppmegashlong@gmail.com Oh, and once I refer to myself in the first person again, the handbook quote is over. I just thought that I might like to mention that. Oh. You're still here. I figured you rush right on over to e-mail me. Perhaps you don't have time to waste e-mailing me. HA! HA! HA! That's funny!!!! If you you don't have time to waste, what are you doing here?!!! Oh, who am I kidding. I figure that even the people I manage to lure onto my site from neopets don't even bother to come to this particular page. Maybe I should make the link come here directly...Hey! What a good idea! That way I can spread my love, joy and insane chaos to more people! I'm a genius. Gotta go, must lure innocent victems to the second most pointless site ever!!!! I'm back. And really angry, and confused. I've always known that I was weird, that's always been a given. But now I realize that I am considerably more normal than the rest of my family. Today we had a "family outing." Now, most families will go bowling, or putt-putt golfing. They may go to a resteraunt with an arcarde, or the movies or to a theme park. Not my family! No, we got the greatest family outing of all. We got to go to a bar and play pool!!!!!*waits for readers to become insanely jealous* Yep, that's right, a bar with a pool table! Not only did we get world class cuisine (under-cooked hotdogs and over-cooked hamburgers), my little sister (age 10) got taught pool by someone I strongly supect is an ex-convict! Naturally when it was announced that we'd be eating dinner in this place, I could hardly contain my excitment(I glared at my mother and asked why we couldn't go to Pizza Hut) When we arrived, we were promptly served (after thirty minutes) In the meantime, we played a family game of pool(my parents played while my brother and sister and I watched) After two rousing rounds, our food came. The food was superb, (our food came the exact opposite of how we ordered it, and half of the onion rings were missing) Then we joyfully returned to our game(my sister and the ex-con played my mom) We spent hours there (from 5p.m.-7:15p.m.) There were many people that were the same age as me and my siblings (no one in the room but us were under 30) Us kids had to be dragged kicking and screaming from the bar ( I almost fell asleep during the last game I watched) As we left, there was a feeling of goodwill and fellowship between all(my sister locked me out of the car and wouldn't let me in untill I started yelling profanity in her general direction) The high point of the entire night was when my mother gave me $21 for my report card. She promptly borrowed $1 to help with the waitresses tip(This part I'm not being sarcastic about) All in all it was a night I'll remember forever (as the lowest point in "family outing"history, except for that time my mom dragged me to a church thing on the concept of truth.) My brother(age 13) even decided upon a new job he wants when he's old enough to work, a busboy at the bar. We had to tell him that he would probley have to wait untill he was 21.(Absolutly nothing about that statement was sarcastic) As you can see, I love my families outings(Not unless you're blind...or stupid) &#!#%&&!!!(*%$ WHAT THE %$#@ WAS MY MOTHER $#$#%$# THINKING!!!!!!!???? BRINGING $#$$# KIDS IN A BAR!? I know it was her idea, 'cause my dad hates it, too. My mom and my stupid little 10-year old sister loves it, though. *sighs* Why does my life have to be so weird? I'm leaving...now I'm back! And not so pissed at my weird family. Now is the time to mourn the loss of one of my most loyal readers (I think she's read the entire thing one time, which is more than anyone else has done so far) She has been banned from accesing any portion of the Internet, do to reasons that must remain confidental due to security reasons. If I told you, I'd have to kill you and all that stuff. So...now I am down to one and a half readers. Untill such time that I have more. I wonder why anyone would read this? You would have to have several characteristics that I possess. First of all, you'd have to have an extrodinary amount of free time. Second of all, you would have to have the patience to read through all of this. And lastly, you'd have to know where the heck this site is. I admit it. I haven't exactly advertised this site. Nor can I find it on any search engines. Some of my pages have stuff written in to make search engines recognize me, but it doesn't seem to be working. What must I do to rise above obscurity? I tell people I know about this site, but they either ignore this page, or don't even bother coming to the site in the first place. I suppose that is the bane of all authors. To pour your heart and soul into a passage, and have everyone ignore it. *sniffle* Why must this be? Maybe I should just give up. After all, no one would really care if I quit updating this site. But I can't help but think of stuff like the evil over lord list and REALLY REALLY BIG BUTTON THAT DOESN'T DO ANYTHING. They are not great neccesarily because of the content, (although that helps some) they are great because of their sheer length. You can read a little each day. And almost never finish. Also, I guess I still am trying to get the world record. I have heard some feedback suggesting that I make someway for people to remember where they stopped reading. It can be very confusing, especially if you weren't paying attention in the first place. Well, I dont want to organize this page, in any manner. This is chaos. And insanity. Not neat little text in classifiable rows, in alphabetical order. If you want neat, go to some other site(though, as mentioned in Flaming Chickens Code:472 there is no such thing as a site better than this one). Otherwise, I guess you're stuck with me. Awwwww...I'm touched! You didn't run screaming to another site, thankfull for the chance to escape this insanity. You're still here, which must mean that you'd rather be here than anywhere else! Hey, where are you going?! I thought you were gonna stay here and keep me company?! *drags reader back* See, I knew you'd stay! *gagged reader glares* What's that? I know this is the best site ever, thanks for the compliment! *reader starts inching towards freedom* I better go...I think that I may have a problem brewing. I'm back. And very concerned about this new, younger generation (all 10 year olds who were born in 1992) They are supposed to be the future. Instead they appear to be a nuclear armagedon in the form of a fifth grader. I chanced to have an interview with an informant from this evil generation (my little sister) who will be called Mrs. X for security reasons (no, she's not married, the "Mrs" makes it good as a disguise) I was quizing Mrs. X on Civil War History for an upcoming test in her classroom (whose location can not be devulged) Mrs. X seemed fluent in the subject. Using prior knowledge, I deduced that Mrs. X was full of crap. Out of sheer curiosity, I asked Mrs. X who participated in the Civil War. She immediatly replied "Clara Barton". I clarified, which countries fought in the Civil War. She answered: England, Russia, and (out of sheer desperation) Iraq. I believe that she was just listing countries she knows America has fought against. Now, correct me if I'm wrong...but Iraq? I don't know if Iraq even existed in the Civil War Era! Why on earth would we go have way across the world to fight them when we didn't even really need oil?!! Moving on, I finaly managed to coax my sister (I'm tired of writing Mrs. X) to tentativly guess that America fought in the Civil War. I mean, who'd a thought? America? Fighting in the American Civil War? In a moment of inspiration, I asked her who America fought. Her first guess was enslaved africans. Well, at least she knows that slaves were involved in the war. Before she could start listing all of America's enemies, I gave her a hint. I said "The Union fought..." With a crack, snaple and pop, some random synapses in her brain connected in the right order and she said "CONFEDERACY!!!" I was very proud of her, just as you would be proud of a two-year-old who has just announced: "I WENT POO-POO ON THE POTTY!!!!!" What I mean is, you wouldn't be very proud if the average person said that they just took a dookey on the toilet, and you wouldn't be very proud if they knew who fought against the Union in the Civil War. I confirmed that the Union was Northern and Free, and that the Confederacy was Southern and Slave. We resumed quizzing and she got every question on the worksheet correct. This is because she memorizes the questions. That way, she can pass the test without actually learning anything. You see, if you memorize stuff, you only have to remember that the answer to number 6 is Clara Barton for a week, rather than having to remember that Clara Barton started the Red Cross for the rest of you life. I sincerely appologize if anyone is offended by my view of memorization. I also would like such persons to immediatly leave my site. You don't belong here. You see...knowledge is good. If my sister...uh...Mrs. X were ever asked a question on the Civil War on a quiz show, she'd come up with nothing. With knowledge you can win money and the opportunity to look like a dork on national television. My sister is a big believer in the memorization system. I previous time when I was studying with her (American Revolution, this time) I was trying to help her remember the difference between the Patriots(Patriotic to America) and the Loyalists (Loyal to Britain) She didn't know what the word patriotic meant. I tried to explain. I asked her how you dress on the forth of july (she said nice) I asked what the colors red, white and blue were (pretty). I gave up in exasperation. More recently, I was trying to instill a sense of empathy and niceness in her. I asked her what the golden rule of christianity was. She didn't know. When I pressed her, she confessed she didn't know what chrisianity was. Completly defeated, I told her that it was the religion she practiced every Sunday when she went with her friends to church. This confirmed my suspicion that she only went so that she could have the use of the church's playground equipment. My family also strongly suspects that she stole $20 from the donation thingy. Anyway, that's my rant on the new generation that contains my little sister. When someone of her generation runs for president, I'm gonna do a complete background check. If they're anything like my sister, I'm movin' to Canada. Gotta go...the Russian-Brittish-Iraqi-enslaved-Africans are coming to defeat the Mexicans. I'm back! *there's that darn cricket again* And I have a genuine question to ask all of my loyal readers *cough-cough* Okay, here it is: Is it normal for a non-gender specific sibling to carry around various dead reptiles (snakes, turtles, lizards etc.) Furthormore, is it considered accepted behavior to talk to these dead reptiles, in a cooey, baby talky kind of voice? Finnaly, is it expected for said sibling's non-gender specific parent to encourage such behavior, citing "I was just like that as a child" as an excuse? It's an honest question as I fear that my non-gender specific sibling is weird. Who am I kidding? My entire family is weird. It's just a matter of degree. Hey, by the way. I'm sorry that my last few entries have been only about my various family antics. Although I can't see why you care, because there is a large probability that you do not exist, because I don't think anyone is reading this anymore. How discouraging. People need to make the time to waste time. It's a time honored tradition. Who'd thought that I could use time that many times in only a few sentences? It's been pretty quiet here lately, which is why I haven't added anything to this text in awhile. I know, you were just crushed that nothing new was happening. It's a sad, cold, cruel world out there and you had nothing to relieve the monotony of it. *sniffle* I feel so sorry for you! Next thing you know, you're internet connection will die. Well, too bad! Do you know I never even had a computer untill just a few months ago (that's why I'm obsessivly writing here) So I won't pity you if you're computer dies for unexpected reasons. Time for another quote from the FLAMING CHICKEN HANDBOOK!!! Code: 843 of the Flaming Chicken Handbook states that in no way is the Patron Saint of Paper Clips (guess who?) responsible for any faulty wiring or lack thereof in your computer. The Patron Saint of Paper Clips in no way wishes harm on your computer. Any derogatory statement is simply an opinion of an individual, not of the flaming order of the flaming chickens. Said order will in no way be held responsible for any damages, injuries, loss of life, limb, head, or organs. Okay, quote is done. Maybe I should put quotation marks around them...nah, too much work. But I probably will eventually get around to having a seperate page just for the FLAMING CHICKEN HANDBOOK. That way all the members (what members) can print out a copy of it for themselves (if they didn't get that copy in the mail) I guess I'm done for the day...I know. You want me to stay. It's okay. Because eventually, I'll be back! Seeya! I'm back. And once again suprised. When I was at a TAB poetry thingy (TAB is good TAB is great We love TAB) I met some new people. One of these people (who shall remain nameless untill such time that I have explicit permission to use her name) turned out to be almost as weird as me. As in...she read the ENTIRE Longest Text Ever. The whole thing. So far two whole people (to my knowledge) have read the entire thing, and a few people have skimmed it. That means I really can justify claiming to have two and a half readers! I'm so happy! That means my pointless obsession has actually entertained someone besides me! Perhaps, one day, far in the future, this will actually be a world record and random people will acutally voluntarily read this text every day. Or maybe not. The point is that it is nice to have readers. Or maybe it's not...I mean...won't the quality *snicker* of my work deteriorate if I am no longer writing for the target audience of me? If that happens, then no one will read this. And then I'll be writing for me again. And then the quality will rise. And then people will start reading. And then the quality will go down and the vicious spiral of good and bad will continue untill I either give up this text, or go crazy...er. In any case...I should probably find a topic. Yeah...a topic would be good. Or...I could just continue to write about finding a topic. Ooooo! I know a topic! Ice cream trucks! This has been bothering me for a while. You see...when it's hot, you want something cold to eat. Conviently, ice cream trucks come around during the hottest part of the year (it must be a conspiracy). As you may or may not know, small children swarm the ice cream trucks. The vendors even play whimsical music which I strongly suspect contains subliminal messages to make you hungry for ice cream. The vendors get oodles of cash, and the kids get ice cream. Now, in today's society of buying groceries on-line and getting them delivered, why hasn't any other food industry marketed this ingenius idea to bring the product to the consumer. I can just see Hot Dog, and Pizza trucks roaming the neighbor hoods, selling treats to hungry children...and adults. Of course, said adults would have to peel their butt-cheeks off the couch...but they'd have to do that for the delivary man anyway. The food trucks could even play music that made you hungry for their food. Then the problem with obesity in America would be blamed on evil food truck drivers as opposed to the harmless, benificient television and computer. We could all breath a sigh of relief as parents kept their children inside, away from the evil truck drivers and near the T.V. Gone would be the days when parents told children to play outside, it's a nice day. Parents would buy their children computers, video games and other television neccesities. This, of course would expand the market for such products. This would lead to a better, more stable economy. Food industires would be buying cars, gas and music. Parents would increase the purchase of entertainment items. In return companies would make a profit, pay their workers better. The workers would then be able to afford more entertainment items and the upward spiral would continue, as opposed to the evil downward spiral of my writing. In conclusion, Ladies and Gentlemen...if you implement my idea, there will be peace and prosperity for all. As long as you don't mind a few more couch potatoes. Gotta go...I think I hear a catchy jingle. I'm back...it's been awhile since I've written here. A lot has happened. Like my EVIL school computer deleting my updates page. But it's all good. Especially since I just saw The Matrix: Reloaded. The following text may spoil the movie for you, so WARNING: do no read this unless you have already seen the movie. Okay. What I liked best was the philosophy on choices. (the mindless fight scenes were really cool, too). It's like this. In the beginning of the movie, Neo is having dreams about Trinity's death. Later, The Oracle tells him that he has already decided her fate. Towards the end of the movie, Neo chooses to tell Trinity to stay out of the Matrix, since he saw her die in it. She agrees, but only after seeing how important it is to him. After a horrific chain of events (is it coincidence, or fate) the people who will deactivate the secondary power source of the building Neo is infiltrating, die. So...the plan is going to fail. Unless someone does something, Neo, Morpheus and many others will die. Trinity, who is of course outside of the Matrix, knows this and chooses to enter the Matrix to save the day. The events of Neo's dream unfold. So...when the oracle said that the choice had already been made, she was completely correct. The moment Neo woke from dreams of Trinity's death, he made a choice. He would do everything in his power to keep his dream from becoming reality. So he kept her out of the Matrix, and she saw the problem, and entered the Matrix to fix it. If she had been in the Matrix, she would have likely been with Morpheus, never would have known about the plan's failure, would therefore not have been in the situation that resulted in her death. And the plan would have failed and Neo might have died, along with a large portion of the city (the building was set to blow if there was any intruders) So...Neo's choice to attempt to save Trinity triggered the sequence of events that led to her death. As Neo realizes all of this, through a nearly omniscient Architect of the Matrix, he makes another choice. This choice is simply an extension of his original choice: he will save Trinity at all costs. Neo is told that he has two choices. He can save mankind, and doom Trinity. Or he can try to save Trinity and doom mankind. No guarantee that he'll succeed in saving Trinity. He goes for Trinity, makes it just in time to catch her body, and starts her heart back up. In return for not taking the easy route, he gains a power in the more or less real world. He can deactivate the machines, (squidies) but at great personal cost. The movie ends with him in a coma. Now, you must realize that I have described only one aspect of this movie of all movies. There are not enough words in the English language to describe the sheer coolness of the fight choreography, special effects and the plot. I highly recommend you see the movie yourself. I'm sorry that today's rant isn't random, insane or completely chaotic, but I must right my experience with The Matrix before I forget. I am so buying this movie when it comes out on DVD. I love it! You have to admit its sheer coolness. I mean, come on! It's the sequel to the movie that revolutionized the standard by which we judge special effects. I better stop typing before I have a heart attack...just remember...The Matrix has you...I'm back. And throughly pissed off at my school system in general. You see...they feel that the only way to reward academic achievement...yada-yada-yada...is to force the smart kids to be ushers for Senior Honor Nite, and Graduation. Where is the logic in this? I for one, didn't know about such dire consequences for not deliberatly failing classes. It was bad enough that I was forced to "volunteer" my precious time (i could have worked on this site)...no...I was forced to wear formal attire. My school system is stuck in the past...and formal attire means...a dress...a white dress...(for those you who never bothered to find out...I am indeed female). So...for the first time in about 5 years...I wore a dress...and something that was complelty white. What cruel fate is this? To compound the EVIL situation...I was forced to wear feminine shoes. In other words...they hurt. And they pushed my toes together. Since I have a rather weird phobia of touching my own skin...this made my evening my own personall torture session. I think that such gender-specific torture should be deemed inhumane and abolished from our great society...of flaming chickens. Henceforth...Code: 666 of the Flaming Chickens Handbook states that under no circumstance will the Patron Saint of Paper Clips (guess who) be forced to wear anything other than a t-shirt and preferably black jeans. Should you violate this right, you will become destroyed or possibly dizzy. I'm leaving now...I have some destruction to do. i'm back. from graduation. we had to get there one hour and fifteen minutes early because there was traffic. After standing around a lot...the ceremony started. Lots of people spoke. by the time I had to do my part (tell people where to stand before getting their diploma) it was dark. there were bugs. they liked landing on me. then...i got to go stand while people said a lot of stuff. i couldn't hear it because someone had put the speakers facing the audience. we clapped. the whole time, even during the name-calling, seniors were playing with silly string and beachballs. afterwards...they turned off the lights. there were lots of fireworks. i wandered around for 20 minutes looking for a cell phone. i called home, and waited another hour for my ride...traffic to the school was one way. i felt sorry for my dad. i am tired...but cannot go to sleep. i'll copy and paste this to my site. maybe the longest text ever. you will all suffer as i have suffered when and if you graduate. i cannot feel my feet. i hate dress shoes. I'm back. Today, I'm here to salute the Pointless Signs Of America! The PSOA have been whole-heartedly working for you, and what have you done for them? NOTHING! These so-called "pointless" signs are doing just what they were meant to do: entertain you! You cannot judge them simply because they have no apparant function. They expand your mind, making you think about all the things they could do. They could do anything they wanted to, if they just put their minds to it. If you judged everything by what it doesn't acomplish, then the entire world is populated by pointless beings. Noone can do everything, so how can you expect a SIGN, with the I.Q. of toilet paper, to do everything. You people sicken me. You expect far to much of the inanimate world. The inanimate world, on the otherhand, expects nothing of you. Which is exactly what it gets. If you expect nothing, and get nothing, you feel nothing. If you expect nothing and get something, you're happy. But, if you expect something and get something you feel nothing. And if you expect something and get nothing, you feel cheated. If you're following along, and not completly confused, you'll realize that it is better to be a pessimist than an optomist. Yep that's right. This entry went from saluting the PSOA to making a statement about my ideals. This has been a weird day. You can thank my associate "Meg" she came up with the PSOA acronym. Everyone, clap for "Meg".I gotta go...seeya later! I'm finnaly back! Today, I took a long look at this site, which is the acomplishment of almost a year of work. And I asked myself "How could I have better spent my time?" And so, in the interest of wasting even more time, I made a list. Here we go! Number One: I could have cured cancer. Not that I know anything about medicine...or cancer for that matter. But I'm sure that if I just would have put my mind to it, I could have done it. Number Two: I could helped the earth to find eternal and lasting peace. Which would be boring. So I at least have an excuse for not doing that. Number Three: I could have studied and stuff. Uh...don't think so...Number Four: I could have learned to drive. This would have resulted in the deaths of numerous pedistrians...and I would still probably be wondering around in search of a McDonalds. Number Five: I could have read more books, played more video games and watched more mindless television. Gee...I wish I'd thought of that sooner. Number Six: I could have implemented one of several plans for world domination. Or, as an alternative, I could have ruined several plans for world domination that other people made. Number Seven: I could drive people crazy. Wait...aren't I already doing that? Scratch number seven. And on to: Number Eight: I could have...uhhhh...ummmmm...actually thought up these things before hand. Number Nine: Now it's just getting redundant, isn't it? Number Ten: This is the list that never ends. Yes, it goes on and on my friend. One person, started typing it not knowing what it was, and they'll continue typing it forever just because this is the list that never ends, yes it goes on and on my friends, some person started typing it not...etc, etc. Okay...I admit it. I have officialy run out of ways I could have better spent my time. I don't think there actually are any. Except for maybe five and six. Now, those have possibilities. However, I am currently content to just sit here and type. For the benefit of you, the reader...who may or may not exist. Either way, I'm continuing to sort of entertain myself. I feel like I should be outraged about some topic or another. I just can't work up the energy to be outraged. Perhaps a nice, soothing mistrust. Yeah. I can work with mistrust. I definitly mistrust lots of stuff. Like organ grinders, and the evil conspiracies. Did you know, that Kodak was part of the conspiracy to assasinate John F. Kennedy. Now, some of you are probably thinking "Gee, Really?", or "Wow, I never knew that!" while others are thinking "Who's John F. Kennedy?" or possibly "Who or What is Kodak". I fervently hope that you're not thinking the last two...especially about Kodak. Kodak, as you may know, is a film developing company. And John F. Kennedy (JFK) was an alien bent on global domination. Or possibly a really good president who wanted to fly to the moon. Either way, he got assasinated. And ever loony in America decided that it was a conspiracy. Some even go so far as to claim that Kodak "changed" the pictures of the assasination to make an assasination in the bushes become a tree's shadow. I didn't know that they had such good technology back then. I have to wonder...why would Kodak do such a thing. Perhaps Kodak is actually a front organization for a shadowy governmental system that controls the entire world and didn't want mankind to obtain the freedom of the stars and so tried to sabotauge the space program even though it didn't work as well as they planned. Or perhaps not. Either way, Kodak is undeniably evil. How can any company that takes so many "wholesome" pictures not be? You can just bet that they look at every one that get's turned in to them, judging blackmail value, and whether or not you could get arrested. It's just sickening, you can't even take a simple photo nowadays. Unless you have a digital camera, which are a symbol of freedom from the old ways and willing enslavement to the new ways. We can only hope that the digital camera manufacturers are kinder masters than the evil Kodak Lords. I better go...I think Kodak is tracing my site....I'm back now! And, once again, I have proof that someone actually took the time (two hours) to read this entire Longest Text Ever! It's amazing, it's incredible, it's unbelievable. But true. Even more incredible, this time it's someone I don't even know! Wooooooo! I feel inspired and happy and other really good emotions and stuff. And so, I'll take a trip down memory lane, to the dark depths of the past, to when I decided to make this page. It was inspired, in part, by my sheer and utter boredom. In school, back before I even owned a computer, I'd type random words for long periods of time, 'cause I had nothing better to do. Once I got this computer, I decided to do something similar on my beloved site. But, it ended up making more sense than I anticipated (scary thought, huh). Oh, well...I tired of nostalgia. Back to the present. Right now, I'm just typing so that no one can say that I've been slacking off. I don't think I have any conspiracy theories...except pop-ups/pop-unders. Have you ever had the evil pop-up that says that if you click here, it'll get rid off all the annoying pop-ups? Isn't that sort of ironic? Could the pop-up blocker people have chosen a better means to advertise their product? It's like grand-theft auto 3's talk show, you know, the one where there are Citizens Raging Against Phones? Or CRAP, for short. And the lady representing them, calls the radio station...on a phone. It's stupid and ironic and just shouldn't exist in a better world. Pop-Up ad's help you get rid of pop-up ads? Insane, chaotic...hmmmmm...I wonder who thought of it? Was it on purpose, or was it just some mistake? It is now my civic duty to discover this ancient mystery, and reveal it to the uncaring world. Or maybe I'll go make a frozen pizza. Yeah. That sounds good, too. Since I'm not particualarly inspired at the moment, I should leave and let you gather what is left of your sanity. I just can't seem to stop, though. Okay...I can do it. I'm leaving. I'm back...and it's several hours later. I've decided to imortalize the stupidity of my dog, Moose. She is a heavy-set Yorkshire Terrior (12 lbs.) In otherwords, she's a small yappy dog who is big for her breed. Today, I met her arch-enemy. An enemy so terrifying that Moose cannot stop shaking. An enemy so hideous that Moose must destroy it at all costs. An enemy so dangerous that Moose fears it above all others. Now you may be wondering what horrible beast is Moose's arch-enemy. And you probably suspect that it is something pathetic. You would be correct in your suspiciousness...for Mooses arch-enemy is...*dramatic drumroll*...a small, white, feather. Now, Moose has seen many feathers, birds even. But none have struck terror in her little moose heart like this particular feather. So...naturally I put her arch-enemy in my pocket and brought it home with me. This action has made her very suspicious of where my loyalties lie. She tracks the feather smell all over the house, and goes crazy whenever I take it out of my pocket. She even got her sister and mother in the spirt of things. Now her sister sounds an alarm whenever she sees the evil feather. Now, you may be wondering what is so terrifying about a small, white, feather. So am I. It doesn't smell funny, (I asked my brother, since I don't have a sense of smell), it seems perfectly ordinary. So, I've decided that Moose works for some secret government organization, and that the feather is the key to the destruction of the world, and I am just blithely letting it enter our home, so that it may furthur its evil plans to destroy the universe. That is the only possible explanation as to why it upsets her so much. Or...maybe it's the feather off of the cartoon owl from the tootsie-roll pop comercials (one...two...three..*crunch*). Whatever the case, I decided that the whole world, (or three of four random people) deserve to know that if the world and or universe are destroyed, it's the evil, little, white, feather's fault. Now I'd better go and torture my Moose with it...:) I am officially back. And you, the potentially non-existant reader gets a once in a lifetime chance to hear me rant and rave about my Horrible, Horrible Family Vacation. I know. You feel very, very honored. It's like this. My mother is a control freak, and she decided on the spur of the moment that we were going north to visit relatives. Later that day, she decided we were NOT going north, we were going south to a beach resort. Still later that day, she got offended at some trivial thing and decided that we weren't going anywhere at all. The very next day, she decided that we were going north, after all. So, we packed everthing up. Before we knew it, we were on the road. The first part of the trip was fairly easy. As in, I was half-asleep, hoping that we'd arrive while I slept. Then, in an inspired move, my brother talked my mother into letting him sit up front. That meant that my mother would be in the back, with me and my younger, eviler sister. Immediatly, my mother started complaining. It was uncomfortable in the back, it was too hot, it was too cold. Then, she accidently woke our three yappy dogs up, and they relized that they were in a car. That meant only one corse of action for them. They started shaking and barked their little heads off. This annoyed my mother further, untill she asked, no, demanded that my father turn the car around so that we could go home. Unfortuantly, we had already driven 337 miles toward our destination. After much argument, my father was going to turn around, untill he realized that my mother was going to drop the dogs and me off, and then turn around and continue north. This seemed slightly unpracticle, so we ended up not taking that 337 mile detour. We eventually reached our destination after 16 hours of virtually non-stop driving. We got there, we ate. We slept. My mother visited relatives. And so the week went by. I got to go to a huge library, and see Terminator 3 at the local theater. That was the high point of the entire trip. The last day, we were deciding where to eat. My mom said that she didn't care. So my dad picked a steak place. My mother tried to order a mushroom-swiss burger...only to discover that the place had no swiss-cheese. So she decided on a salad, only to discover that they didn't have her favorite salad dressing. After much deliberation, she decided that she wouldn't eat. After complaining how hungry she was, and about the poor quality of the resteraunt, she walked out of the resteraunt, instructing the rest of us to "enjoy our meals". And I wonder where my little sister gets her annoyingness. Not that my mother is annoying...just set in her ways. The whole meal thing was about the only interesting thing to happen during the week. On the way home, we had gotten approximatly 4 hours into the trip when my mother predicatably decided that we had to go back and eat at the 50th aniversary of her favorite ice cream place. Needless to say, we ignored her. Oh, and when my sister had to go to the bathroom very badly during a traffic jam, my mother had the good taste to making hissing/water noises to make my sister's problem worse. She claimed that my little sister always did it to her, and she was getting pay-back. Between her bickering with my sister, and obsessivly playing neopets games, I don't know what to do with her. Anyway...that was my family vacation rant. It sucked. No suprise. At least it's over. Sorry if I complained a lot. If you don't like it, start your own longest text ever. Anyway, I promise to go back to my usual routine the next time I rant here. I thought of a topic on the way home, but forgot it. Seeya. I'm back! I know, I took you completly by suprise. You thought you'd gotten rid of me. *cheesy super-hero voice* Well, fear not, random citizen, for I, PSOPC am here! *normal voice* Today I have a very important to discuss with you in this: PERFECTLY NORMAL PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCMENT. Yes, that's right. It's time to warn you, the viewer...er...reader...about the evils of various stuff. Today's lesson is: subliminal messages . That's right, folks, mass hypnosis via commercials. Now, I'm sure you've at least heard of subliminal messages , right? No? Well...prepare to be enlightened. Subliminal messages are an advertising technique that puts hidden pictures and words into a main image. You don't see them, but your subconsious (dreaming) mind does. Your subconsious mind acts on whatever it is told. What does this mean to you? It means that WAL-MART TV IS EVIL! EVIIIIIIIIIIIIL!!!!!! Why else would they invest all that money to show commercials in their own store? Because they put subliminal messages in them, of course! Subliminal messanging also explains the successes of certain fast-food resteraunts, and brand name items. BEWARE YOUR TOASTER OVEN! Okay. That had nothing to do whatsoever with subliminal messages...it's just cool to say. Anyway, only watch wal-mart if you WANT to be subliminaly entertained into purchasing a new set of TUPERWARE, even though your old set is PERFECTLY fine. This has been a public service announcment. Pretty cool, huh? Uh...you don't have to take the subliminal stuff seriously. It's true, and all, but I have no proof about wal-mart, or certain fast food resteraunts. It makes sense, though. Wal-mart TV is evil. You cannot deny it. Seeya...hmmm..I wonder if there's subliminal stuff in my computer...I'm back. And I feel that it's time for a FAKE commercial break, for the highly informed, obviously brain-dead consumer. And now, a word from our non-existant sponsor. Ketchup: The only food that you'll want to eat after traveling to the 5th Dimension. It's been practically proven that Ketchup transforms into a highly intoxicating (non-addictive) delicious substance upon returning from the 5th Dimension. Stock up now with our Valu-Pak to recieve 3-metric tons of Ketchup, all for the low, low price of your brain, since you're obviously not using it anyway. Then, just wait for technology to "catch-up" (get it, catch-up, Ketchup?)so you can travel to the 5th Dimension like our scientists almost did. (Next Commercial) Get ready fo: Faux's new "reality" TV show, "How Low Can We Go?" It's about six contestants who compete to create the worst, least likely "reality" TV show. The winner not only gets the million-dollar prize, they get the chance to produce the show they created. Remember: if the show sucks, it's their fault, not ours!(Next exciting commercial!)And for all the idiots out there: Try new and improved Dum-B-Gon! Dum-B-Gon stimulates brain activity, making you up to 10 times smarter! Not only that, Dum-B-Gon: stimulates weight loss, cures "any" illness, does simple houshold chores, never leaves the toilet seat up and is the perfect gentle companion for your kids. How can you pass up this revolutionary new product? It's yours for only 3 bi-monthly payments of $3.95 ($3,95,000 on days ending in "y")Don't forget, Dum-B-Gon is practically guaranteed!* (*Not a guarantee) (Next commercial)Have you ever wondered why food sometimes goes bad in your fridge, even if you've only had it a few years? It's because of the "evil little faeries with sharp little teeth." These "faeries" sprinkle your food with highly toxic "age dust" and ruin a perfectly good four-year-old meatloaf. How do you stop them? With our patented "spray". Our "spray" kills over 99.9% of "faeries" (which are much to small to see) Our "spray" also kills most disease causing agents, like rats, or pigeons. WARNING: Leave food sit in an open, well-venilated spot for a week before eating. And now, back to our featured presentation. Wasn't that semi-entertaining? I bet you wanna go eat some Ketchup covered Dum-B Gon right now, while watching "reality" TV. Just make sure you "spray" your food first. Pathetic, wasn't it? Oh, well. I was bored, and a dilligent reader suggested I make fake commercials, so...therer they are. Happy? Good. I'm leavin', for now. I'm back. And I'm willing to enlighten you, the potentially you-know-what reader. Today, I was checking out some weird news. At one point, I read an article that stated that it had been proven, conclusivly, that Kansas was flatter than the standard pancake. The researches even used highly advanced technololgy to map the surface of a pancake and compare it to documented geology of Kansas. Some people disagree, the director of the Kansas Geological Survey said "I think this is part of a vast breakfast food conspiracy to denigrate Kansas. It's a cheap shot." So...doesn't that make you want to take Kansas' side (I sincerly appologize if you are from Kansas). It just seems extremly weird (and worthy of mentioning) that this semi-important guy from Kansas believes in a "vast breakfast food conspiracy". Makes you think that the long held belief that Kodak conspired with the JFK assasin(s) is normal. Another article claims that an anitseptic turned a polar bear purple, drawing large crowds of people. I sure hope other zoos won't copy them. Before you know it, we'll have orange alligators, pink tigers and blue lions. School children won't be able to correctly identify the color of a zebra. Random people will think they've gone crazy, after a seemingly innocent visit to the zoo. It's wrong, I tell you. A complete and total degregation of our societies values. What values, you say? The basic moral belief that Polar bears should be WHITE. Unless we spray-painted the snow purple, too. Then it would be okay. As long as the bear blends in, you know? Speaking of animals, there's a cat in California who is a kleptomaniac (likes to steal stuff). He sneaks into neighboring homes, and takes clothing, wrapped christmas presents, and anything he can find. He then leaves them under his owners car. Okay, better leave. I'm back. And I don't really have a topic today. I'm just bored. Sometimes I just do this, you know? Start typing without any idea about what it is I intend to say. Maybe I subconsiously DO know what I'm doing here, but refuse to admit it to myself. Or maybe I am monumentally bored and don't have anything else to do at the moment. Either way, I'm here. You must be pretty bored, too. Otherwise, why on earth (beta, krpto, zkdjf, Planet X, whatever) would you be here? It would make no sense. If you have something better to do, why wouldn't you be doing it right now? I would be. But, maybe that's just the difference between you and me. Yeah. That must be it. Unless you're bored. Then I completly understand. I need to find a topic. Here, topic, topic, topic! Come on, I won't hurt you, I promise! *hides large ax behind back* Come here, topic! Why are you afraid of little ol' me? *sigh* There are no topics anywhere near me. Kinda like me and "Meg" webcomic we are trying to do. It's called Hit-Or-Miss, any topics, plot, etc. are completly accidental and are not the fault/responsibility of the creators. That was sort of a topic, even though it was sort of random. Which is what I do best. Okay, I'm done with that litte commercial. What now...hmmmmm...should I share with you more of my paranoid/delusional conspiracy theories? Or have I been doing that too much lately? Oooooo! I know, I'll start of list of why it's fun/good to be insane/weird! #1You can say or do anything and normal people will agree with you in the hopes that you'll be satisfied, shut up, and go away. Far away. I will show you an example with this completly true stuff that I experienced several years ago. ME: My vicious, psychotic, flesh-eating bunny-rabbit wants to rule the world. RANDOM PERSON: Uh-huh, that's nice. ME: Yeah, but I told her that she'd be a terible ruler. I mean, she traded Asia for a carrot! And she doesn't even LIKE carrots! RANDOM PERSON: You don't say? ME: Yep. She also is the goddess of red jello. RANDOM PERSON: *head explouding from sheer insanity* As you can see, I was a very weird child (this happened in elementary school...uh...except for that head-explouding part). Okay...on to: #2 You can get out of practically anything by saying: a)It's against my religion b)I'm allergic to that. c)I have an extremly irrational fear of that. d)I already did that in a past life and it sucked. e)My psychotic bunny predicted I'd die doing it. Unfortunalty, several of those reasons LEGITAMITLY apply to a certain activity I do every Tuesday, which WILL NOT BE NAMED HERE LEST I GIVE IT POWER OVER ME! I'm allergic to parts of it, have irrational fears about others and I'm pretty sure it's against my Jenny religion...along with eating mashed potatoes, or potatoes of any kind. I'll add that to the FLAMING CHICKENS HANDBOOK. Thou shalt not eat spuds. Hmmmm...time for #3You can obsessive over ANYTHING, and people will think nothing of it. I, personally, am obsessed with, kitties, bunnies, bats, this website, drawing, making intriate little patterns with strings, doing mildly repetitive activities, being weird, apparantly making lists and cheese...and chickens...and flame. Fire is good. Fire is free. Fire is my friend...until it burns me. Then it must die...painfully. And on to:#4You make your friends look normal in comparison. And #5: You can give each of your pets several weird names such as: Ringling-Raison-Bailey-Suzana-Midnight-Schultz, Squirell, Moose, Moose-Moose, Moosey-Moose, Linzey-Moose, Muffin, Squirell-Muffin, Yabby-Doodle, Abby Normal, Wiggle-Baby, Wiggle-Muffin, Witle-Baby, Cheese-Monkey, Muffin-With-Squirell-Juice, Squirell-With-Muffin Juice, Moosey-Juice, Squirell-Monkey, etc. Now, wasn't that a fun list!? Doesn't that just make you proud to be weird? I should make bumber stickers saying that. Proud to be weird. It'd be cool. Anyway, gotta go! *yawn* I'm back. Last night I was super-charged with lots of sugar and not a lot of sleep. I ended up writing things during the time of night when EVERYTHING is hilarious, including the word sheep. To compound things, I wasn't alone, and things just escalated. The following is everything I wrote during that sugar-coated time period. Some are answers to e-mails, the rest are just stuff I wrote.

Definitly. THen we go to library. Guess what? Me and Josh ate lots and lots of sugar, and it's late at nite and everything is funny but we can't laugh 'cause everybody is sleepin' so it's even funnier but ever since we drank the water we sobered up even though we weren't drunk but we ate sugar...lots and lots of sugar. MOstly donut cake. Okay. JOsh says it was only one piece of cake. WE got it at Wal-mart. Or his mom did. OR something. Goodbye..

[ceilingwaxandmagicstuff]

36 Questions to Fall In Love

1. Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?

I would love the opportunity to sit down to dinner with my grandfather again as he was before he began losing his memories. 

2. Would you like to be famous? In what way?

One of my deepest hopes is to contribute to the betterment of humanity in some measurable way. I would like to be famous posthumously for discovering or creating something that makes the world better off. 

3. Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why?

Before I entered the military I didn’t pay a lot of mind to scripting my responses, and I still don’t rehearse my phone calls, but I definitely write things out beforehand to ensure any extra emotion has a chance to vent itself to ensure I present myself as cool and collected. 

4. What would constitute a “perfect” day for you?

Alone I would love to play Nintendo DS in a sunny place and eat delicious food. With my friends I would love to explore a new city and eat delicious food.

5. When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?

I sing to myself in the shower daily. I sang at my mother’s friend’s wedding.

6. If you were able to live to the age of 90 and retain either the mind or body of a 30-year-old for the last 60 years of your life, which would you want?

The mind is the obvious choice for me. The body would just be odd. Assuming the “mind of a 30 year old” means the mental clarity and not the knowledge gained at 30, because I wouldn’t stop evolving at 30. 

7. Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?

Car accident.

8. Name three things you and your partner appear to have in common.

I would hope they would be kindness, intellect and a love of deep conversation. 

9. For what in your life do you feel most grateful?

My family and friends are high caliber people. 

10. If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?

My father got remarried and attempted to blend family’s so many times which I felt was very stressful for my brother and myself. 

11. Take four minutes and tell your partner your life story in as much detail as possible.

My parents divorced when I was seven. I’ve always been quite precocious. I had a hard time fitting in until I got to college where I met my best friend Katy. After college I couldn’t find work that made me feel relevant and wanted to do something good for humanity so I joined the Navy to learn Korean and I hope to one day teach and do embassy work. I have a lovely relationship with my family, especially my mother’s side and my younger brother is my favorite person in the world. Also I have a cat and she lives with my mom.

12. If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be?

Speak Korean fluently.

13. If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future or anything else, what would you want to know?

Whether we will ever continue our society on other planets. Will we survive climate change, and how will it pan out?

14. Is there something that you’ve dreamed of doing for a long time? Why haven’t you done it?

I’ve dreamt of living in another country, I haven’t done it because I didn’t feel adult enough and always had a partner to think about. Now that I am more independent I am much closer to actualizing my ideas. 

15. What is the greatest accomplishment of your life?

I felt the most proud of myself the day I graduated from basic training. I feel that I didn’t think I would make it and was so surprised that I could do it. I became so much stronger.

16. What do you value most in a friendship?

Soulmates and loyalty. You have to have a spark with me from the onset, endurance and be a friend forever.

17. What is your most treasured memory?

Spending time at my grandparent’s home in Arizona.

18. What is your most terrible memory?

Tyler Newman not couple skating with me and turning me down in front of my whole family in first grade at skate night.

19. If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living? Why?

I would travel as much as possible, but I wouldn’t tell any of my family. 

20. What does friendship mean to you?

Infinity.

21. What roles do love and affection play in your life?

The most important roles.

22. Alternate sharing something you consider a positive characteristic of your partner. Share a total of five items.

Loving, Loyal, Compassionate, Deep, Intellectual

23. How close and warm is your family? Do you feel your childhood was happier than most other people’s?

My family, particularly my mother’s side is extremely close and warm. I am very close with my father’s side as well, but my childhood was not particularly happy because of my parent’s divorce and my father’s many attempts to blend families. 

24. How do you feel about your relationship with your mother?

I hope I can be like her. She is such a beautiful person and I love her so much. She raised me to be weird and warm and wonderful. 

25. Make three true “we” statements each. For instance, “We are both in this room feeling ... “

We are both magical. We are both smiling. We are both good people.

26. Complete this sentence: “I wish I had someone with whom I could share ... “

every part of myself, and food.

27. If you were going to become a close friend with your partner, please share what would be important for him or her to know.

I lie sometimes.

28. Tell your partner what you like about them; be very honest this time, saying things that you might not say to someone you’ve just met.

I like that you know what you want out of life, and that you are so passionate and driven, moreso than most people you have the makings of greatness. 

29. Share with your partner an embarrassing moment in your life.

When I didn’t win the poetry competition, but I had been told I won. I gave my mother divinity to chew on in case she got nervous when I went on the stage, and then found out I wouldn’t be called up. I felt so stupid and wished I hadn’t been so proud. 

30. When did you last cry in front of another person? By yourself?

I cried in front of my best friend because I was sad about what happened in April and I thought I wouldn’t get better. I last cried by myself last week for no reason in particular. 

31. Tell your partner something that you like about them already.

I like your eyes, and I like your laugh.

32. What, if anything, is too serious to be joked about?

There is an appropriate way to involve humor in any subject as long as you know and respect your audience and there is a point to be made by adding a humorous tack.

33. If you were to die this evening with no opportunity to communicate with anyone, what would you most regret not having told someone? Why haven’t you told them yet?

I feel very comforted by the fact that everyone I know knows how I feel about them and there is nothing more I need to say to anyone. I would most regret not having them there with me to say my final goodbye.

34. Your house, containing everything you own, catches fire. After saving your loved ones and pets, you have time to safely make a final dash to save any one item. What would it be? Why?

My fossilized clam that I found with my grandfather. 

35. Of all the people in your family, whose death would you find most disturbing? Why?

My younger brother. Somehow I feel like he wouldn’t know it was happening, would be scared and in pain and wouldn’t be accepting of it, or know he had died. I wouldn’t be content in the idea that he would have gone off well and wouldn’t want me to worry or be sad.

36. Share a personal problem and ask your partner’s advice on how he or she might handle it. Also, ask your partner to reflect back to you how you seem to be feeling about the problem you have chosen.

I feel undeserving of love. 

[poedameronstories]

Motivation

Summary: General Organa has sent out a distress signal. Reader is stuck in the Outer Rim, but she is desperate to answer the call and willing to go alone.

Word Count: 5,527

Pairing: Poe Dameron x reader

Warnings: Canon-divergent!!!, light cursing, TLJ SPOILERS, fluff, poe dameron’s super attractiveness, uh...I think that’s it?

A/N: I don’t know why I wrote this. I’m not really sure why I wanted to see this play out. I don’t really think there was a point other than gratuitous need for Poe. This is my second SW story ever posted. Thanks to everyone who helped me by answering my questions. PS - Spoilers.

“Commander, we’ve received a distress signal from an old rebel base on Crait.”

You glanced up from your datapad as your superior officer moved around you to the opposite side of the makeshift command center, where a junior controller was gesturing wildly.

There wasn’t much to most of the signals your outpost had received lately. The last confirmed transmission from home base came from Lieutenant Connix as the final transport left D’Qar. After that, intelligence was at a loss. It was like someone flipped a switch and the Resistance had gone quiet.

You were an X-wing pilot, still green behind the controls but talented and not ashamed to say so. Though you weren’t on any of the flashy squadrons, your commander had promised that someday you’d be good enough to lead your own.

She was gone now, though, lost in a dogfight just outside D’Qar.

Now you were at the outpost working as a tech instead of flying. Your ship was practically collecting dust.

Anyway, grey. Grey was a nice color. It was neutral. You always hoped you’d be Grey Leader or something cool like that, if you ever managed to be promoted.  

Commander Tari stared the screen, holding the receiver to his ear as you and everyone else in the small room stared at his face.

After a moment, the panic in his eyes gave him away.

It was a real distress signal. Had to be.

The others were in trouble.

Tari looked over at the only other X-wing pilot besides you that had been assigned to your group. “Pava, would you know General Organa’s personal code well enough to confirm this?”

Jessika Pava made her way over to them, listening just as intently as the signal looped again. Her eyes narrowed, then she gave a sharp nod. “It’s most definitely the general’s personal code.”

It didn’t take a genius to see that she was reeling. Those were her people, too. Unlike you, she had been on the flashy Blue Squadron during the run at Starkiller Base. That’s not just something you get through and forget, and the bonds she made that day would last forever.

It was hard not to envy her, though it sounded stupid in your head. Who envies someone who had to risk their life like that? You didn’t long for battle, you just longed to be useful.

Commander Tari cringed as the loop started for a third time. “What should we do?” He straightened his back as he stared at the rest of the faces in the room. To him, there were too few around to make a difference.

You knew better.

The room might have been dimly lit, but you could still gauge reactions. From the looks on the faces around you, General Organa wouldn’t be hearing from any of you anytime soon.

“We don’t have the resources,” one mechanic spoke up. “Not enough fuel, not enough munitions. We just…we’re not equipped to help right now.”

“I agree with the mech,” a transport pilot named Guari added. She wouldn’t look up, wouldn’t look anyone in the eye as she said it, though. “Without fuel, we’re just as trapped as them. We’d be picked off in no time. It’s safer here.”

Your blood was starting to boil where you sat, and the second Jessika made eye contact with you, she gave a slight shake of her head.

She wasn’t telling you to keep quiet. She was telling you to calm down.

Jessika was a nice person like that.

Too bad you rarely listened.

“When will we be equipped then, in the middle of war, to finally help the cause?” 

All eyes turned to you, though most looked thoroughly unconcerned with your question.

“It’s not that simple,” Guari insisted, lacing her claw-like fingers together. “You heard him. If we went out now with what little we have, we’d be more of a hindrance. We have to live to fight another day.”

“Of course we do,” you agreed, standing up in front of the console where you’d been watching passing debris for hours. That’s all you ever saw these days.  “I understand that, as long as by ‘we’ you mean the Resistance and not just yourselves, right?”

Guari’s black eyes blinked at you. “What if it’s a trap? Y/N, think rationally.”

By now, you were shaking. Think rationally? What’s rational about letting the spark of fight die out in the shadows on a salt planet in the middle of nowhere?

“Keep to your post, Captain,” Commander Tari warned, his face grim. “We all need to be on board with whatever actions we do or do not take. There are plenty other groups like ours in the Outer Rim.”

“So surely one of them will answer instead, right?” You took a few steps forward, ignoring the warning look in Jessika’s eyes. “What if every outpost feels the same as this one and no one goes?”

“I said stand down!” Tari’s face was red now, but you didn’t care. What good did it do to have a Resistance post when the Resistance was snuffed out? You felt kind of bad about going against your superior, but you had to be heard.

“So you’re all resigning then, right?” you asked, glancing from face to face for emphasis. Your eyes met Tari’s again. “All due respect, Commander, but the general wouldn’t put out her own code if it wasn’t a desperate situation.”

“They’re all desperate situations!” he roared, his anger bubbling over. “You are to return to your post immediately, and there will be no further discussion on the matter.”

Before you could come up with any retort, he fixed his uniform and stalked out of the room, leaving everyone to stare at you or roll their eyes or whatever else.

Jessika made her way over to you, regret in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Y/N. You know I don’t like it either.”

The receiver was silent now. No more distress signal, and certainly no replies.

Ah, hell. So much for that promotion you were thinking about earlier.

You shook your head once, then again, fists clenching at your sides. The thought of General Organa reaching such a low point as to request an SOS…you couldn’t live with it. “I’m going.”

Her eyes widened. “You’ll be formally reprimanded, maybe even dismissed.”

“Who cares? If someone doesn’t go, then there’s a chance the Resistance won’t even exist by morning. I’m going.”

Jessika nudged you. “This isn’t about the general at all, is it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. The Resistance is-“

“Poe is there,” she interrupted. “At least as far as we know, right? And he might be in trouble.”

Ah…Commander Poe Dameron. He was the most handsome man you’d ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. He was talented, funny, smart, charming, a little cocky, and fiercely loyal, too.

You’d loved him since the moment you first heard him shoot off that big mouth of his.

Luckily, you’d caught his eye, too. In an effort to get your attention, Poe had approached you about your X-wing. There was nothing remarkable about the ship, no upgrades to brag about like he had on his Black One. There was only one reason he’d be over by you. You could hardly believe the best pilot in the Resistance was hitting on you that day.

Your mouth opened and closed a few times as nostalgia hit you. “So?”

She rolled her eyes as if you were oblivious. “The two of you dated for a while, too, right?”

“Three times,” you clarified. “It was only three dates, and the third was interrupted. His comm went off halfway through and he had to leave for a classified…why am I telling you this? You already know.”

That had been a terrible night. Those first two dates had gone so well, and it was really hard to find time for someone else in the middle of a war…especially when that someone was a Commander and the best pilot in the Resistance.

He told you right from the start that the Resistance would always be top priority, but the way he’d said it left you feeling hopeful for some reason, like there was a part of him that was working hard now to have peace later.

You wondered then if you would fit into the picture somehow.

There was no way to be sure now, but you were pretty sure that right before his comm went off on that ill-fated third date, he’d been about to kiss you. The two of you had been sitting close on the grass above the landing strip. The sun was setting and stars were starting to dot the sky above, but you only had eyes for each other.

Poe had leaned over, his eyes glancing down to your lips…

Then the damn comm went off.

The General paged him, and with a quick apology and a peck on your cheek, he was gone. He never did get around to kissing you.

Not yet, at least.

So much had happened since then. You had heard about everything he’d been through, everything he’d accomplished. What if he was a totally different person now?

No, you didn’t dare to hope. What right did you have to expect anything?

The base on D’Qar was long gone, and so were your chances. There was so much at stake right now, no time to lose, no time to focus on anything else but the cause. You knew it, and Poe definitely knew it.

It was a nice dream for a few days, though, and something you still dreamed about from time to time. 

Jess cleared her throat, breaking you out of your reverie. “Poe really likes you.”

You scoffed, checking the holoclock behind her. If you were going to go, it had to be soon.

“How would you know? We haven’t seen him, Jess. We haven’t been in the same room in a long time. He probably forgot all about me, and rightfully so. You’ve heard the reports.”

“I don’t think so,” she shook her head. “Poe doesn’t give up on people he cares about. And frankly, it’s obvious you haven’t given up on him either.”

The idea was absurd. “A little crush isn’t going to send me across the galaxy, Pava.”

She had the indecency to smirk at you. “A little crush? Come on, Y/N. I’m your best friend, whether by default or not. You can tell me the truth.”

“No, I already told you it’s for Leia,” you insisted, turning from your post and your best friend. “We’re wasting time. Ten minutes and I’m gone, with or without you.”

It wasn’t that you felt the need to prove anything. You certainly didn’t want to be known as a deserter or a troublemaker, least of all a traitor. But when General Organa puts out a distress signal, you move. That’s all you really knew.

It didn’t hurt that...other people you cared about were there, too.

Before you could turn away, Jessika grabbed your elbow with a sigh.

“Let me just get Guari to give us clearance.”

You arched a brow. “Why the hell would she do that? She just made her opinion pretty clear.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Because I think she has a crush on me, and she doesn’t need to know that we aren’t out on routine training exercises.”

You stared back at your friend, eternally grateful for her company. “I don’t know what I did to get stuck out on this mud ball, but I’m glad I’m here with you at least.”

“No time for this sentimental stuff, Y/N. Let’s get going.”

“We got lucky,” Jessika lamented, staring at the red soil below the white salty surface. “Everyone’s gone.”

You knew she meant lucky that the First Order was gone.

Whatever had happened here before you arrived, well…it was so far from good you couldn’t think of a scary enough word for it. The pristine white landscape was marred with red, smeared like blood from a fresh wound. Smoke poured from every direction as pieces of TIE fighters and ski speeders lay in ruin.

The old blast door on the base now had a huge gap in the center, just big enough for the likes of the First Order to get in and decimate what was left of the Resistance.

The good news was there was no sign of anyone now. There were no bodies, no signs of fight inside the base.

“Do you think the majority got out alive?” you asked, eyeing the abandoned command center. The equipment was still up and running like they had left in a hurry. “The tech is outdated but it’s functioning. I’m stunned that they didn’t light this place up.”

“The Resistance won’t ever come back to Crait,” Jessika reasoned, glancing around. “Unfortunately, we got here too late to see where they were headed.”

“They probably think everyone ignored the distress signal.” Your fingers swept gently along the communication console. You could almost see Lieutenant Connix at the controls, listening intently, desperate for word from any allies. Your heart ached in your chest at the very idea that they felt abandoned by their allies.

“Most everyone did ignore it,” Jess reminded you, turning with a sigh. “We should leave, just in case the First Order is monitoring this planet. It isn’t safe to stay here with marked X-wings.”

You gave a nod, though your eyes were still roaming the ground. No trace was left behind besides a few footprints. Where the hell had they gone?

“Look, Jess. They escaped that way,” you whispered, eyes following a trail leading to the back of the cavern. “Someone had to have helped them.”

“And for that we can be grateful, but for now…”

You relented, turning toward the door. “Let’s get out of here.”

Just then, a slight shimmer caught your eye. There on the ground in the last bit of Crait’s sunlight sat an inconspicuous chain with a steel washer on it.

You leaned down to grab it, inspecting it closely. It wasn’t something you had ever seen before, though you were sure it had to mean something to someone. It was too polished, too well-kept to be discarded like that. Someone lost it during the quick exit.

“Hey Jess?” you called out, causing her to stop in her tracks up ahead of you. You jogged a little to meet her, carefully holding the chain out. “Does this look familiar to you?”

The smile that curled her lips was one of the biggest you’d ever seen from her.

“That’s Poe’s. Figures you’d find it.”

Almost immediately, your face heated up. “Poe’s?” you echoed.

You didn’t remember him having this on D’Qar. What would he be doing with a ring on a chain? Was he engaged since the last time you saw him? Did he already promise someone that he’d come back to them (well, besides BB-8)? Did he tell them he was theirs forever?

The thought made your stomach lurch, and you felt guilty for worrying about that when there were bigger things at hand to focus on.

Force, what a stupid time to be thinking about all that.

“It’s his mother’s wedding ring,” Jessika explained, her eyes watching you carefully. She didn’t seem to mind talking about it for a minute. “Poe must have started wearing it around his neck to keep her close. I knew he had it, but it wasn’t on a chain before.”

You glanced back down at the ring, not sure what to say. He never mentioned it to you.

“Shara was the one that taught him how to fly, you know. It’s a shame she died so young.”

“Yeah.” That was all you could manage as the emotional weight of what you’d found hit you. Your fingers closed around the metal with a silent promise to Poe that you’d protect the precious item with your life.

You turned away from Jessika, not wanting her to see what you were about to do. Putting the ring in your pocket was too risky, so you tied the broken chain around your neck as best you could and tucked it under your flight suit. The metal was cold against your skin.

You’d heard about Shara Bey, not only from rumors around base but from stories your family and friends used to tell. Even Poe had mentioned her on occasion, mostly when he talked about flying.

She was a hero, a leader, someone you looked up to before you even knew the Resistance existed. Force, if you could be half the pilot, half the person she was…you’d be proud of yourself for once in your life.

Not that you needed Jessika to know that…she already thought you were crazy for Poe, you didn’t want to give her any more reasons to call you out on it.

Without another word you walked out to your X-wing, with Jessika rushing to keep up with you this time. It wasn’t until your helmet was back on and engines ignited that she added the rest of what she wanted to tell you.

“So…the ring? He was keeping it to give to his future spouse, you know. It’s what his mom wanted.”

What could you say to that? That you were relieved he hadn’t given it to anyone just yet? That you were sad it would never be intended for you?

No, you cared too much about him to think like that. He deserved a great love, even if it wasn’t you.

Your focus was sharp, your motivation reinvigorated. You lifted your X-wing off the ground, adjusting the ship’s altitude for a smoother exit from this old abandoned base.

“I’ll make sure it gets back to him.”

Somewhere along the path between Crait and your current trajectory, a ping sounded in your ear over the comm.

“OI, what is that?” you asked the droid positioned behind you.

OI-107 was your trusty astromech, nestled snuggly in the droid socket as it decrypted the mysterious ping. A series of enthusiastic beeps piqued your interest.

“Are you sure? Check again, please.”

More beeps, as the droid tried to confirm the ping’s origin.

You pulled your comm unit closer. “Jess, are you reading this signal?”

“It has to be Resistance,” you heard over the line. Her voice crackled a little but her message was clear. “It’s a code from command, though I’m not sure whose code exactly. They probably spotted us on radar. What should we do?”

“Sweep for trackers,” you instructed. “And try to pinpoint a source, Jess, they wouldn’t be signaling if they didn’t know we were friendlies.”

“Copy that,” she replied.

You watched as she pulled her X-wing in line with yours, as if trying to align herself with the rest of the universe to make sure neither of you were hearing things.

A different sound filled your ears. This time, the more you heard it the more it sounded like a specialized signal, one that wasn’t meant to reveal their true location.

“I think it’s a meeting request,” you said finally, after listening for another minute. “I don’t think they’d…“

“…Reveal themselves so soon,” Jess finished your thought. “That would make more sense. Should we signal back? It’s too dangerous for us to be cruising around like this. If we aren’t careful, we’ll run out of fuel, too.”

“Not to mention we didn’t listen to the commanding officer at our post, so there’s no way we can go back to that post now.” You bit your lip, trying to reason with your conflicting emotions. “We could always play dumb if it’s not who we think. There are merchants out this way, and they don’t tend to pick sides when there’s money to be made.”

“Worth a shot.”

“OI, send a signal back requesting a meeting location, please.”

Your droid beeped happily, and within seconds you heard both the outgoing signal and an incoming reply.

“Boy, whoever it is must be eager,” Jess commented.

“Yeah,” you muttered, checking out the translation from OI on your screen. “Or desperate.”

“I’ve never even heard of this place,” you grumbled, pulling off your flight suit and tucking it into your X-wing’s cockpit.  Both of you had stashed your ships behind some thick brown foliage. It was a big risk, but you had no choice but to take it.

Lucky for you, the black pants and tan linen shirt you were wearing blended in pretty well with the rest of the life on this planet.

Bland and boring would be overlooked, meaning you would be safer, but you had your blaster on you just in case things went sour.

You glanced up at your droid. “Hey pal, if anything happens contact me, all right? I’ve got my comm.”

OI beeped an affirmative, and with a final nod, you turned to Jess.  “So who do you think we’re looking for?”

Jessika shrugged. “Hard to tell. They weren’t about to give up a description over the line. They said we’d know when we saw them.”

After walking away from your ships a little, the two of you came across a dirt path that led to what appeared to be a marketplace. Little pop-up shops lined both sides of the path, selling everything from consumables and clothing to ship parts and droids.

It’s not like you weren’t used to acting inconspicuous, since the dumbest thing someone could do is identify as Resistance out in the open, but it was incredibly different this time.

For one, this whole place was over-stimulating. Though the planet itself wasn’t much too look at, there was a lot going on with big crowds everywhere. Second, you were anxious to find the contact, anxious to reach the remainder of the Resistance that you’d been trying so hard to get back to.

Unconsciously you reached up to make sure Poe’s necklace was still in place, feeling a little bit of tension leave you as your fingers touched the cool metal. It felt strangely reassuring, as if a piece of him was there with you. There was no way you were gonna flash it around here, though. Too many creatures would be after it to trade or steal.  

Jessika was having a much easier time. She was used to coming to places like this on supply runs, something you hadn’t had the chance to be a part of just yet. Maybe you never would.

“Do you see him? Just there?” she murmured, looking away toward a row of new boots and acting interested. “Up ahead, on your right?”

“Who?” Your eyes did a quick scan before you turned as well. You didn’t notice anyone out of the ordinary, much to your dismay.

The nearest thing to you was a barrel of koyo melons, ranging between freshly picked and half-ripe. That little ache in your chest came back…you knew Poe liked these, that he and his parents had farmed them. Now was not the time to be reminiscing about your silly crush, though.

A small creature you’d never seen the likes of before meandered over to you. “Two-for-one deal for the pretty lady?”

You shook your head. “I’m sorry, I don’t have enough credits on me.”

The creature narrowed its eyes. “How much you got?”

With another shake of your head, you were about to apologize again when a hand reached past you, dropping credits in the creature’s palm.

“Two,” the hooded figure said, their voice so low you barely heard anything. “Half-ripe. Thank you.”

As soon as they had the koyo fruits in their grasp, they turned and offered you one.

Your polite refusal caught in your throat as the figure turned.

Poe Dameron was standing beside you, chomping down on a koyo melon like it was nothing!

He gave a slight shake of his head, silently telling you not to visibly react, then dropped the second fruit in your hand before turning away. You stared after him in shock until the shopkeeper shooed you away, disinterested in a credit-less human.

You glanced over your shoulder.

Blast!

Jessika was no longer wandering behind you. The nervous tension you always felt on missions made yet another appearance, with your heart racing and your palms growing sweaty.  

Stay calm, stay calm!

There was nothing to do now but keep walking as you bit into the koyo. Anything else would look out of place, and who knew the types in this marketplace? Some of these creatures looked like they would sell you for a single bolt.

Poe knew where you were, surely he wouldn’t have turned and walked away without keeping some sort of-

You worried thoughts were interrupted as a hand reached out and tugged you into a side alley. Your wild eyes met Jessika’s, and she held a finger to her lips, gesturing for you to follow her into a small stone building.

Poe was there.

His eyes were dark, his hair wild and curly as he stood in front of you, hands spread. “Hey, nice of you to join me.”

It took all your willpower not to move to him and throw your arms around him in relief. Force, if he only knew how worried you had been...

Then again, you didn’t want him to think you were weak. No, you wanted to be brave for Poe, for Leia, and all the others that needed your help.

So instead, you stood there and gave a noncommittal nod in his direction.

Jessika moved closer, taking the lead. “What’s the plan, Commander?”

“Man it’s good to hear that again,” he muttered, running a hand down his face. “The plan is that we don’t have a plan right now, Jess. We’re looking for a new base, trying to find anywhere to hunker down for a while and regroup. We took some heavy losses, probably three-fourths or more of our…well, I can’t get into it right now, there’s not much time. I just saw you on radar during my recon and I wanted to make sure you guys knew what was going on.”

You watched as his brows furrowed and he glanced between you both.

“Normally Snap would go on recon, but…hey, how are you out here anyhow? Weren’t you stationed in the Outer Rim?”

“We sort of…well, we heard Leia’s distress call,” Jess said, her tone careful. If you told Poe about your sort-of desertion it probably wouldn’t go over well.

“But we didn’t get any replies from that.” He looked over at you, shaking his head. “Connix said it was received in multiple points but no one answered.”

“Our commanding officer told us not to answer,” you confessed, unable to stop yourself. “But…”

“But you did anyway?” Poe nodded. “You’re gonna be in deep. I know all about going against superiors, and now is not the time-“

“Are you serious?” you asked, stepping forward and feeling months’ worth of inactive frustrations come to the surface. Your fists clenched; there was no holding back now. “Poe, we had to answer the call! We were just sitting around waiting to be discovered and blown up instead of being useful, and now we’re here trying to help!”

“There’s not much we can do until we find a safe base,” he replied, shaking his head. He looked down at the ground for a second. “That’s top priority.”

There was a brief pause, some silence as the thought sunk in. The Resistance was probably a handful of people now, plus the Outer Rim posts. So much had to be rebuilt, so many new recruits were needed.

“Though,” he continued softly, “it is good to see you two.”

You blinked, wondering if you’d heard right after his little reprimand. A quick glance at Jessika confirmed that she was just as surprised by his words.

“Oh come on, I’m not that bad, am I?” Poe glanced back up with the barest hint of a smile on his face, his eyes sparkling.

When neither of you reacted, Poe made the first move and pulled Jessika into a big hug. You stood there with your eyes averted, not wanting to interrupt a private moment between two old friends and squadron-mates.

But when he reached for you next, Force, your heart rate spiked again. His arms wound around you and he held on tight, for a little longer than he did with Jessika.

You figured you weren’t going to get a chance like this again, so you responded by wrapping your own arms around his neck and burying your face in his shoulder.

“Hey,” Poe murmured, reaching up to stroke the back of your head. “It’s okay. We’ll live to fight another day, I promise.”

He was mistaking your clinginess with fear.

You were far from afraid while in his arms.

After another beat, you pulled yourself away and a few steps back, not wanting to seem like you were having a total meltdown. Poe offered you a warm smile, and you only saw understanding in his eyes, and…

…and there was something else there, something you couldn’t put your finger on.

“Oh, wait.” You reached for the chain around your neck, delicately removing it and holding it out to him. “I found this on Crait, in the old control room. You must have dropped it.”

Poe’s hand immediately went to his neck in surprise. “I- I didn’t even notice, to be honest with you.” He stared at it, not making a move to reach for it.

You held it a little higher, a gesture for him to take the necklace back since you knew how much it meant to him, what he was saving it for.

“You know what?” he mused, rubbing his chin tiredly as his eyes flickered back up to yours. “You hang on to it for me.”

“I…what?”

The smile Poe Dameron gave you this time was tinged with unmistakable affection, feelings you didn’t know he still had toward you. It’d been so long since you last saw him…

“Hang on to it,” he repeated. “You’ve kept it safe, you know? I appreciate that.”

You glanced wide-eyed at Jessika, who offered you a sly grin before glancing away at the wall, the doorway, at anything that wasn’t you.

What did she know that you didn’t?

“Poe, this is your mother’s ring, I can’t possibly…I can’t…” You shook your head, eyes flitting back to his. “What if I lose it?”

“You won’t,” Poe replied confidently, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I trust you.”

This wasn’t right. None of this was right. You were running out of daylight on a strange market planet, and you were supposed to be getting instructions on helping the Resistance, and Poe was here, being him, doing this…

“But what if you meet someone?” you blurted out. “It’s better to have it at the ready, wouldn’t you say?”

Poe gave a short chuckle, looking over at Jess. “I’m really out of practice, aren’t I, Pava?”

“So bad,” she confirmed, still blatantly grinning at you both. “Just kriffing say it, Dameron.”

If there was ever a time you felt like you were having an out-of-body experience that was it.

He looked back to you, his hand on your shoulder moving up to caress your cheek gently. “Y/N…I meant what I said. I think you should hang on to it.”

“Why?” The question came out in a soft, pitiful voice, but you had to ask…you had to know if you were reading the signs right.

That’s when Poe Dameron gave you that famous, charming smile, and his eyes crinkled just a bit at the corners. You could stare at his brown eyes all day and never get bored.

“I want you to keep it because I was going to give it to you anyway,” Poe informed you, his dark eyes searching yours. “Eventually, I mean. I know this isn’t the time or place, though, so hang on to it for me, okay? Keep it safe, sweetheart, until we find our moment.”

“Our…moment?” You stared at him, trying to process what he was saying. “You mean…?”

He chuckled again, then moved forward and pressed his warm lips to your cheek, letting them linger for a moment longer than someone offering a polite kiss would. When it was over, your cheek felt cold.

Before he could get too far, you reached up and grasped him by his collar, pulling him back and planting your lips firmly on his. There was no promise of another moment, no promise that both of you would make it out of this war alive. Just like the hug earlier, you were seizing the moment while you still could.

Jessika cleared her throat and reminded you that you couldn’t linger on this planet. It was time to go.

Poe pulled away slowly, his breath warm as it fanned across your face. His thumb traced the curve of your cheek, and in his eyes there was a new look of longing.

“We’ll have our moment,” you promised, brushing an errant curl off his forehead with a small smile of your own. “I know it.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, his eyes bright. “And I thought I had motivation before...”

merry christmas, if you celebrate. if not, have a nice day :)

[indiepulserocks]

Interview with Singer & Songwriter, Scott Howard

Please introduce yourself to the readers and how you first got into this field of work –and who were some of your influences growing up?

Welcome to the world of Scott Howard. Growing up, my world revolved around music.  As a child, I was always around music.  We would have family come by once a month to gather (back then, they called it… The Cousins Club). The adults would all congregate around the piano and take turns singing a favorite song.  My mother was an opera singer and with my stepfather started Long Island Lyric Opera in the 70’s.  I was 8 years of age and a friend of my mother’s played an acoustic guitar.   I fell in love with folk music and was fascinated by the sound and overall message of the songs played…hope, love, a better world. 

I took piano lessons, but it didn’t stick…but the guitar, that became an obsession. I put together my first band when I was 9 and I played my first gig at a place called Maimonides Home for Special Children, our performance was terrible, but they loved and supported us. Since then, I was hooked on performing.  Then I was introduced to Cat Stevens, Moody Blues, Peter Gabriel, Yes, Crosby Stills, Nash & Young… their albums were books to be read and obsessed over… music became my friend, it became my drug of choice and the lullaby I slept to.

What kind of training have you had, if any? 

Again, my mother was an Opera singer and both my stepfather and mother started Long Island Lyric Opera in the 1970’s.  I was a stagehand, so I was exposed to the world of the Classics.  In addition, at age 7 or 8, I began to learn to play trumpet, and ended up playing the Sousaphone.   I played in All County bands up to Junior High School and could write and read music for orchestra.   I performed in both Brass Jazz bands and Orchestral.  

What has been your favorite project to work on so far?

I am finishing up my first full length film called “World Ascension Tour, (A Lightworker’s Journey) …live at Village Studios in 432 Hz”.   This is a biopic Rockumentary that spans the time of my Awakening about 4 years ago and continues on every day.   The film incorporates interviews of my life and the music that mirrors the pain, healing and glimpses of light at the end of this tunnel of this magical journey.   As I write prophetically, there are some new songs added to this film that will hopefully resonate with those in need of healing through these trying times. This new genre of music in this Rockumentary film will also have a limited vinyl record in 432 Hz circulated, as well as, an e-book called “The Language of Clouds” …  We will be taking pre-orders starting in the next few weeks on my website scotthowardmusic.com. 

Why did you choose to pursue a career as a musician? 

I have always been a musician, but not full-time.  I always had questions in my mind… Am I good enough… is the music good enough?    However, these questions were answered when my Son Maxx was taken on 8/8/2018….  I went through a change in spirit…. AN AWAKENING …. with this loss, I wrote music for months cathartically… I did not know what else to do. A new genre of music from Source was born in 432 Hz…. a completely interactive journey.  And, I’ll continue in this career not only for me, but as a gift to heal the world. I’ve proven through my own experience that music heals.    

What has been the biggest highlights/achievements of your career?

The birth of my two children: my son who is gone, Maxx, and my daughter Alyx. In meeting my soulmate and wife Debbie, and, the continued evolution of my spirit & the writing of music that people will resonate with from Source in 432 Hz.

If you had a chance to work alongside anybody in the field who would that be?

Cat Stevens, CSNY, Yes, Moody Blues, Peter Gabriel…MY SON MAXX.

What projects do you have coming up?

I am setting up a Patreon page that will allow my fans to interact with me & each other. They’ll receive current information in the portal with all the latest on my music, film, ebook, and my new Ascension432Wear clothing line. 

Currently, I am finishing my first full length Rockumentary film…” The World Ascension Tour… (A Lightworker’s Journey) …live at Village Studios in 432Hz”.  In conjunction with the film will be a Limited-Edition vinyl album of the film that will comprise of about 12 songs…all played in 432 Hz.  

The Language of Clouds e-book is a compilation of my Awakening and has photos of the 5D realm, that will cause you to never look at the sky again the same way… Currently, the e-book is being reformatted. It is slated for launch, and will be distributed worldwide Sept/Oct later this year. 

The film, as well as, all other contents, will be on my Patreon page.   I have also come out with an amazing line of clothing available now on my website for purchase.  The clothing incorporates both ancient protection symbols & embedded crystal healing stones… great for those who meditate or just want to work towards their own ascension, manifestation & spiritual or physical abundance.   

Where would be your ideal place to perform in?

I would love to perform in high energy places around the world... venues that help raise the frequency of the listener and in turn resonate throughout the world. 

What do you wish to accomplish as a musician? 

I feel I am on the path that will help raise the frequency of the those on the path and then those who are watching from the sidelines. I desire for my music to bring us all to a path of highest good… I think I have done this already… whether it be in this realm or in some other parallel reality.

What would be your advice to aspiring music makers?

Life is a plethora of experiences of pain and love & how to cope with karma. There are many philosophies that believe the karmic slate will be wiped clean for some, but not for all. It is our responsibility as humankind to learn the real history so it does not repeat itself. Learn how to not give your energy away to people as that is your most valuable power… your thoughts, your emotions, time - these things are invaluable.

Find your SOUL SPARK, … experience, the right frequency. There are very little redeeming qualities to much of today’s music, but some select musicians are awakening and beginning to play their music at the healing frequency of 432 Hz.  I feel very little when I hear a popular song, especially at the 440 Hz frequency. I believe the industry could have a renaissance... and I hope as music makers we can help.

Lastly, use your voice and bring awareness to social causes you are passionate about. Personally, I want to give a percentage of revenue from my music & content to help fight Child Trafficking. I would also like to support in fighting the epidemic of drug addiction and mental health, as well as, to bring awareness to the needs of our planet. 

“I asked the man with the faceless mask what is this madness for … a world with nothing left for us…no peace… no love…no war… All the saints and sinners are standing in line…there’s plenty of room for everyone…. but we’re running out of TIME!”

BE A DREAMER……Be light!

[mst3kproject]

Reptilicus

I defy you to find something in this movie that doesn't qualify it for MST3K.  Giant lizardy monster?  Check.  A musical number that has nothing to do with the plot?  We have that.  Actors who appear to be dubbed despite also appearing to speak English?  The entire cast!  Black and white footage tinted blue in an effort to make it look like it belongs in a colour movie?  You betcha!  Wooden acting?  Beakers of kool-aid standing in for SCIENCE? Foreigners pretending to be Americans?  Toy boats?  Yep, Reptilicus has it all, wrapped up in a bright technicolour package by our old friend, American International Pictures!

It seems tailor-made for the show, and Joel apparently agrees.  I wrote most of this review before I found out that Reptilicus was slated to be the Season 11 debut, and now I’m looking forward to seeing how many of my predictions here come true when the episode hits Netflix on Friday.

SPOILERS: none of them! Not a damned one!

Copper miners on the tundra of Lapland discover a piece of a frozen prehistoric monster in the arctic permafrost (never mind that the scene was shot on a nice spring day in the woods somewhere).  A guy named Sven is charged with bringing the find back to civilized parts for study.  I hope you like Sven, because he's going to keep hanging around for the entire movie, and apparently possesses the same all-purpose security clearance as a Japanese child.  He's still in town when the chunk of monster thaws out and begins to regenerate. Ultimately the regrown beast escapes its tank at the Copenhagen Aquarium and goes on a cartoon-people-devouring, scale-model-smashing rampage.  Because what else is a prehistoric lizard monster going to do with its spare time?

Yep, that's the quality of effects we're talking about here.  I like the windows that appear to be drawn on with crayon.

Being as the movie is set in Denmark, the sign on the building where the monster parts are being kept says AKVARIUM.  I don't know why, but my friends and I used to find that outrageously funny.  Every time it appeared on screen we would all shout AKVARIUM! in obnoxious faux-German mad scientist voices.  Of course, that was years ago.  We're now thirty-somethings with mortgages, children, and assorted professional qualifications – but I bet if we all got back together and watched this movie, it would be exactly the same.  AKVARIUM!

Had the MST3K of the 90s ever seen fit to tackle Reptilicus, I'm pretty sure they would have made some kind of running joke about the AKVARIUM.  I can also imagine them asking Reptilicus if he'd like some coffee with that Danish, the two monsters taking turns on the hexfield to offer competing stories of why Gamera vs Reptilicus fell through, and Dr. Forrester and Frank putting together a 'Visit Beautiful Deep Thirteen' campaign – with or without a lounge act.

It almost feels kind of unfair to attempt any actual analysis of this movie.  Analysis is for movies that have higher ambitions, and Reptilicus really does not.  If I squinted hard enough I might be able to pull something about scientific over-reach or cooperation between nations out of the mess, but whatever I came up with would be sort of a Last Minute 11th Grade King Lear Essay, made mostly out of coffee and bullshit.  All Reptilicus wants is for the audience to have a good time (and maybe to visit Copenhagen), and it does accomplish that even if not quite in the way it wants to.

Rather than talking about what Reptilicus fails at (and believe me, it fails at quite a bit), then, let's talk about how it succeeds.  What we really have here is a very fine example of how having something fun to look at can go a long way towards saving a lousy movie.

When you get right down to it, just about everything in Reptilicus is bad.  The plot is contrived and full of holes – why do we keep Sven around when by all rights he should be back in the arctic doing his damn job instead of hanging around in Copenhagen?  How stupid is just about everybody at the AKVARIUM to let the tail thaw out?  Could they really not come up with a better way to suggest drugging the monster than the old trope about 'somebody offhandedly says I wish we could do Thing and somebody else goes why not'?  How does General Grayson keep forgetting about the monster's regenerative powers so that he starts shooting at it again?

The acting is terrible.  Apparently there's a reason for this – the Danish actors who starred in the production didn't speak any English and had no idea what their lines meant!  That's why everything had to be dubbed over later, which means each performance in Reptilicus is a collaboration between two un-talented actors who were truly less than the sum of their parts.  Worst of all is Carl Ottosen as General Grayson and the uncredited guy doing his voice.  Ottosen almost always looks like he's not entirely sure what he's reacting to, and voiceover guy has only two modes: grouchy grump and solemn declaration.  Sometimes he manages to do both at the same time.  I hate to say it, but the best actor in the movie is probably Dirch Passer as Petersen the Comic Relief Janitor, who has a passable sense of physical comedy.  He almost manages to sell his reactions to things like the electric eel and the microscopic view of his sandwich, even when the jokes themselves aren't particularly funny.

The characters don't have much to them.  Sven is a terrible main character, without charisma or recognizable personality or even any motivation.  He sticks around for the whole movie and spends most of it just standing there watching other people do stuff.  Sometimes he answers phones or acts as a chauffer.  He comes across less as the movie’s hero and more as its administrative assistant.  Grayson's just there to shout orders and complain, but he's still closer to being a proper protagonist than Sven – maybe this is why they have him narrate a few scenes, in an attempt to correct this bizarre oversight.  The professor's two horny daughters never amount to much, and Passer's comedy can't quite save Petersen from being the character everybody most wants to see die (he does not, but at least he's out of the story once the rampage begins).  The Scientists are Movie Scientists, too interested in what they might learn to think about things like consequences and personal safety.

The effects are the opposite of convincing, always drawing attention to themselves as effects rather than contributing to the story.  I've seen some ridiculous movie monsters, but Reptilicus himself (everybody in the movie refers to the creature as male) is right up there in the top ten.  He looks something like a very silly Chinese dragon – a long, skinny, snakelike beast with a forked tongue, a mane of ratty fur down his back, tiny useless legs, and a pair of small wings that are, tragically, never used. Apparently a scene of Reptilicus flying was filmed, but was deemed ‘too unbelievable’ and cut from the film.  The monster's acid-spitting consists of squiggles of green goo that resemble radioactive silly string.  When he eats a farmer, it is represented by an animated cutout of the man in Reptilicus' mouth.

Okay, so I did just talk about how the movie fails, and I could keep doing so for some time.  The comic relief isn't funny. The movie stops for a moment to break into a travel ad.  Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.  The point is, Reptilicus objectively sucks and if it were shot like a modern disaster film, all gritty and gray and trying for realism, it would be insufferable.  Instead, however, it's cartoony and colourful, and while the effects aren't convincing they're always at least creative.  The sets always look like sets, and the models always look like models, but they're elaborate and inspired.  Everything sucks, but movie are a visual medium, so if it's fun to watch the viewers will forgive all kinds of sins.

It's also a perfect example of an important bit of bad movie truth: you can't make a bad movie on purpose, not the good kind of bad movie.  People can try, but they come up with stuff like The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra, which I couldn't even watch all the way through.  A truly enjoyable bad movie is one that's trying hard to be a good movie and fails in just the right sort of ways – an intentional bad movie is the equivalent of a belabored explanation of a punch line that wasn’t that funny to begin with.  The thing that makes Reptilicus so much fun is the same spark that animates Teenagers from Outer Space, or Starcrash, or even Troll 2 – its sincerity.

Reptilicus is one of the most utterly unapologetic movies I've ever watched.  We've all seen movies that seem a bit embarrassed by themselves – remember Being from Another Planet, which wishy-washily tried to be a Serious Movie about Serious People instead of just embracing the fact that it was about a fucking space mummy?  Reptilicus is the opposite of that. It's not ashamed of anything, even in the places where by all rights it should be.  Its monster is an immobile puppet in a scale model, but the shots linger lovingly on every shoddy detail. Peterson the Comic Relief Janitor ought to be painful, but the script is so earnest that he somehow becomes a meta-joke: the very fact that he's not funny is itself funny.  Somebody thought the movie could be used to sell Copenhagen as a tourist destination, so they have the characters tour the city and talk about what a great time they're having.  The movie never gives less than its all to anything it puts on the screen.

So yeah, I love Reptilicus.  It's never boring and it’s frequently laugh-out-loud funny, and there's nothing in it that's either offensive or scary.  There are much worse ways to waste eighty minutes of your life.

[calcinators-blog]

Two Irons (Part 9.)

Saying nothing for the pain, he appeared before you as something still vaguely human, wraith-like from the neck down in the Commander’s outfit with each of his gloved fingers firmly casing the exposed skin of your wrist. Determining the ungodly heat, and by association the supernatural occurrence of it, would eventually silence itself only as you assumed it had to. Yes it burns but no it can’t always. In spite of what you wanted to believe, wishful thinking set aside, it lingered. Stretching. Growing?

By his hand— the sweat of contempt, the crucible of dreadful proximity— you were devoured by the feeling.

Almost.

The weight of his being slumped on you, sparing you not from becoming an extension of his own mind; the lock-box for an unendurable, snarled mess of emotion. Perhaps he was able to tolerate the burden of his darkness at all times, or, perhaps more reasonably, he couldn’t. You couldn’t.

Hate tightened your chest, impaired your vision. He was blurry before you, visibly, but if anything, you better understood the flares in his temper. The flicker and spark. If I felt this all the time, I would break more than just consoles— you thought, half-hardheartedly, before the cavity of guilt nestled around your brain for taking a step towards rationalizing his atrocious behavior.

He was a machination. You had no sympathy to give, and reminded yourself of just that in a contained paroxysm of self-disgust, under a wave of stronger, suffocating hate.

It burned still. No more or less. His hand, though around your wrist still to interrupt the vengeful collision of your knuckles to his jaw, was just the same through your miserable sternum and around your heart.

Refusing to look at him, keeping your eyes tightly shut as to not acknowledge the face of the executioner, your mind raced forward.

Why haven’t you killed me yet?

Your question ricocheted without any consequence. He had no reply to give.

Decaying on the surface in the presence of the thing before you, his impression twisted and manipulated your features. You were certain that you no longer resembled the person you had seen in the morning, certain that the anger's hold over you was turning you into a monster or metal. Self-disgust again. But total self-disgust is an almost peaceful destination.

Craning your chin upwards, reluctantly letting your eyelids fall back, your awareness shifted over the face before you. After everything, your continued search for testimony of remorse about his features was laughable. Miserable. You wanted a suggestion that he had been leveled by acts of cruelty, something that proved he didn’t want to do what he had done. And yet, this time...

Something in him had ended, visibly. He was contained and still, there and not there all at once. He gazed down at you, in quiet awe; the mirror of when Nines had caught a glimpse of a rare white thunderstorm as it shocked a nearby planet with vaporizing ammonia-rich clouds.

He was passive, experiencing true silence after years of continued noise. It felt, as ludicrous as you knew it would have been to say it out loud, as if the Commander had left and a different person had stood in his place. Someone softer, gentle. Someone deeply afraid.

You saw what you assumed couldn’t exist. And it was beyond unsettling. You saw a man that could have well tried to scour blood from his hands in the same way you had seen yourself trying to chase away the heat of his touch with the freezing tap water. You saw, of all things, futility. Total annihilation of the self.

What happened to you?

The heroic thing would have been to take advantage of the lull, continuing what you had tried to accomplish in the first place, but the once overpowering urge to hurt him had ripened and rotted.

Hypnotically, the folded cage of his bones generously heaved and pushed the heavy robes as if they were entirely weightless. Filling his lungs with the scent of you, a semblance for a type of closeness you had no desire to establish, he languidly blinked. Still close, still touching. Understanding what? The intimacy of a kill, maybe, his only comparable experience...

Yet, his chest rose and fell, and rose and fell just as anyone else would have.

With a slow crawl, you moved the hand that had been raised with intention downwards. Slowly, steadily, as if he would snap back to himself if you were too quick. Denying separation, his grip resisted letting go and followed, allowing you to lead.

His dark hair, hardly matted at all by the helmet— or wig, fell around his face in soft crescents. Constellations threaded across his face. His bottom lip fell open from the soft pout he had been holding. With great anticipation you waited for him, appearing to be on the verge of speaking, words perpetually on the tip of his once-diabolical tongue.

He pleaded, almost inaudible even at your terrible closeness, “Help me.”

Heartsick and bloodguilt. Exhaustion.

Each time his eyelids snapped closed, they would flicker open to reveal how unstable the conflagration had become. His eyes flecked with reddish gold— were they before?— were glazed and opaque.  The inferno was quiet. How he broke apart before you, how it unnerved you to watch the constant become inconsistent.

Kylo Ren could never be attached to such familiar desperation; he took such careful attention to be above the nuances of liability. And yet, now to your great disbelief, something had seized his body in a merciless grip. Something was forcing him to be— human.

Your hand.

It’s me.

And then, quickly, the words tumbling with urgency, “How do I help you? What do I do?”

Brow creasing, he took up his bottom lip with his teeth, having heard you or heard himself. He wanted to say, but refused to. And his refusal to elaborate would prove to haunt you later.

Feeling his grip on you slowly come loose, you tried to coax more out of him, ”We shook hands, remember?” Pressuring more, unsure if even you believed it as you said it, “You can trust me.”

Then, you were afraid to speak again in fear of shattering it, or being detected by what waited beneath. Thinking to yourself the same phrase in slow repetition, afraid of speaking, you assumed he was still inside your head.

We made a deal and I’m going to help you.

He looked from you, down to the bridge of your arms. You mirrored his movements as if it would grant you sudden clarity of his thoughts. Though free to pull away, being no longer restrained, you feared to do so at the risk of waking him. The spitting Commander would never be transparent, which made it critical neither of you let go until he was absolutely clear.

If you need something from me, tell me now.

Negotiating, as if to free a hostage. As if to say— Tell me now before I loose you, this you, to the other.

You had to know and it was no more complicated than that. You didn’t have the nerve to keep playing his dangerous, bloody game. Standing idly by while bodies piled up, tending the flames as they grew and licked your vulnerable skin. You came close enough to the black hole to feel it wrench you in, inch by dreadful inch.

"I can’t..." An orison, not to be broken by a voice above a whisper. He fought to say so much.

He was a flare of nostrils and twitching jaw framed by the stiff collar. Fighting for it or against it, you couldn’t be certain. You felt your eyes pleading– oh by the Eternal, don’t let go, I don’t understand yet– but still, softness turned sharp.

Once more, the monster exhaled and flowed again. Pulling his hand back, he straightened into his full height. Metal again, the mask was redundant. You became the opposite. Shrinking, diminishing in vain.

Unblinking and unholy, his whole body shuttered though mangled breaths.

The sudden flap of his heavy robes as he moved about solidified both his want to avoid your now unbearable presence and his determination to leave you without exchange; you and your questions that required a forgotten language to reply in. Facing his frayed cowl and cloak, both dripping down his spine, his voice was low and tethered to lungs that struggled to respire calmly.

He simply refused, in any form, to exist calmly.

“This changes nothing,” a ragged exhale which severed your thought, masterfully concealing his own terror for the matter. Terror for what his intention had been, and where it had taken him. Terror that he was not strong enough to separate what he wanted from what he had to do.

You cried out after him, your voice cutting the air, “So, that’s it?” His reply had been more than unsatisfying. It was a catastrophe. “You asked me for help. I think I deserve to know why.”

He refused to acknowledge that you had said anything. Though, he had stopped moving for a fraction of a moment, poised before the entrance of his quarters.

You fiercely stared at the back of his head, wondering if he was capable of feeling the daggers; your emotions, the burden of confusion and irritation, were so heavily dependent on him as everything had become. "None of this makes sense. I need answers."

His refusal to answer you was apparent only when he fully cleared the frame, allowing the hatch to shut coldly behind him, without consideration of what you had asked of him.

Wait, you can’t do this. You can’t leave me out here like this.

“Hey!” Marching back to the room you had earlier come flying out of, your knuckles scraping against the entrance, “Tell me what’s happening!” Which maybe wasn’t the most informed decision, but you wanted to catch his bluff, believing if you annoyed him enough, he would come roaring out and have to deal with you.

Deafening silence was your only response. You followed it up by knocking slightly harder. Nothing still. A second crescendo, the echo, then the rush of oblivion. Nothing.

You had to keep trying, though each knock only wore you down.

We both know you can hear me.

More knocking, with two hands. Both shook in the air between contact. All visuals and sounds, a cinematic recount of all that he had dragged you though, mantled your brain once again. And just like that, you were a passenger in your body, overthrown by feelings that easily overthrew you.

Pathetic! Just open the door!

You kicked the door, scaring yourself with the tremendous sound of your boot hitting the surface. After momentary shock subsided, you kicked again with added gusto. Malediction numbed your toes to the stinging that you should have felt; the anarchic release healed faster than any traditional therapy you would have unquestionably needed. You knew he couldn’t ignore you– not like this, not for a second. Each strike was validation of your presence— I know what I saw and you can’t hide.

You knew there was a real person somewhere underneath all the armor. You wanted this to reach him.

Switching back to your fists, feeling the burden of exertion, you slammed your dominant hand into the door. You couldn’t feel it anymore, yet you carried on. Each punch chipped away at the feeling that had overtaken you, until you your heaving chest was the only strong sensation left. One last strike, your open palm against the door giving a final pitiable resonance.

Leaning forward in exhaustion, your forehead met the surface. Before anything else, it was cool to the touch and inadvertently dulled the headache you had regained consciousness to.

How am I supposed to help you? Huh? I don’t want to see more people die just because you’re afraid of anything that can’t be solved with “recreational murder.”

On another plane of existence, someone cleared their throat. “Are you quite finished?” The saturation of near-boredom, a seen-it-all tedium at your sudden outburst that had not fazed them in the slightest.

Without pulling your head away or anything of the sort, you spoke to assure him you were aware of his presence, “General. Nice to see you again.” Now in your slight breathlessness, speaking was strange. Is that my voice? Have I always had this voice?— as if, suddenly you were briskly unfamiliar with the nuances of conversation. Your focus was still wound around the intention of breaking the door down.

He made no effort to say more. You felt his eyes on your back, as if, he was only truly quiet because you had not turned to face him. A dull, throbbing ache in your palms, like laughter at numbness that should have came in all your madness but didn’t, caused you to wince and abandon diplomacy. In a voice twice as severe as you had intended, you finally asked, “What?”

What could you possibly want now?

Offended horribly at your one word reply, his lips compressed into a fine line before the indignity carried forward, “Well! By all means, let’s be causal.”

Due to the circumstances, events occurring just before his presence, you could do nothing but discard him as a badly timed inconvenience. On some level, he must have understood or appreciated that, as no serious precaution was served except his chiding.

If you had looked, you would be right to assume he had been standing as rigidly as always. Parade rest, spine in impeccable, irritating alignment. His intense eyes tapered in distaste, “You know how it thrills me to have our conversations.”

It’s mutual. Trust me.

“Did Ren teach you all that? The destruction of my base?”

You finally pressed away from the door, standing independently of its support. It seemed worth something to deny what he had just said, but the desire left you. The headache prevailed.

The General surveyed your movements, suggesting without further pause, “I think it best that we go for a walk.” Noticing you physically recoil at his seemingly ill-timed suggestion, he clarified with gratuitous and revolting sarcasm, “Of course it is because I find myself so charmed by you and the destructive habits you’ve picked up that I would like nothing more than to take a causal stroll with you. It is most certainly not in relation to the fact that a certain supernatural menace can still hear us should he choose to listen.”

You turned your head, looking over your shoulder towards the still-shut hatch behind you. There was enough conviction in the General’s voice for you to momentarily believe the door had opened as he spoke.

Even if you were to move away from his quarters, as far as you were concerned, the entire base was to close. If the General had only suggested a shuttle off the ice planet, then you would have had something to look forward to.

You began moving towards the General before something urged you to look back. You peered over your shoulder, once again, but not towards the hatch. After Captain Phasma had left Kylo Ren alone with you, he had pulled his helmet off and left it on the ground. It sat, seemingly forgotten, a severed head but an ominous presence all the same. Turning your gaze over it, you had pieced together why he had brought you back to his quarters in the first place. He had to change out of Matt’s blood speckled uniform to his standard shell. Killing the trooper in a public area was reckless enough, though giving up his disguise in the process would have dismantled both the plan and contract.

You reached back to the moment where FN-2199 had picked up his deactivated lightsaber, plotting to throw it in the trash compactor. Perhaps it was the tremendous weight of stress, but you finally laughed, as if the mere sight of it were a joke. It was a severely delayed but you were helpless all the same to hold back.

Maybe I should... For Nines sake...

“Oh, leave it,” the General commanded, pressing a hand to his temples.

As you quieted yourself, a sly roll of your eye came out of instinct for the scolding, though, you quickly attempted to pass it off as indiscriminately turning your attention towards ceiling.

His tolerance for you and the situation rapidly thinning, “As you can guess, there are various other matters that demand my attention. Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

So, you followed.

He had reverted back into the General’s character, stressing each syllable as if he loved to hear himself speak but for distaste with whom he addressed, “In case you were wondering...“ Faltering, in a very “is it even worth it to mention it” kind of fashion.

Formalities obsolete in dissecting your previous interaction, you asked, blunted, “What?”

“I kriffing saw that.” 

He had felt it. All of it.

Unknown to you was the feast that he had made of your gentleness, of your realization. Unknown to you was how strongly it called to him, such a bright light for one whose presence cast total darkness.

It was all too clear from the other side of the door, how you had taken to the dark, the imprint he had left with you. His body, pressed to the flat of the hatch as it shut, experienced each wave of your limbs colliding upon the surface that separated you. He drowned inside your thoughts; your intentions, to hurt him and then to mend him— all too familiar. He understood the internal division and in each impact, he curved his spine to realign himself against the durasteel barrier, only to feel it all in pious repetition.

Interrupting his devotion, as the waves of his own anger fought useless against him in a weaker vessel, a voice in his brain slithered and burrowed. It should have driven him to his knees. – "Master of the Knights of Ren, have you forgotten who you are?"– It brought so much guilt. The voice knew him, seen all the ugly truths, understanding how he had been easily dissembled in the presence of light.

"Oh, most intolerable... You crumble, you decay. What is the lighter part of a shadow? A partial eclipse is still the dark lifting. Remember your birthright."

Retrieval of all sound became punctuation, the phrase silenced the heartbeat of knocking too, instilling cruel isolation.

All I do is remember.

Crumpled, he pressed his back flat to the wall. The emotional casualty was great and became the cause for panicked breathing, which he fought as he mourned and lamented light. What it was, who he was. It all became a meaningless storm, hissing and hammering at his ribs. All-enveloping, washing him away. Feelings, which he had ignored for so long, they had begun feeling more like open wounds and less like anything else.

He shut his eyes tightly against all thoughts. He killed to tame this and had done so before and many times over. He killed and watched them burn, curling into dust and ash. And he would keep them, to remember what they made him into. To see them as they should be seen. But they didn’t need to be kept. Well, of course they did. 

Curling his lip, allowing a contortion of his expression, he was damped in humiliation. His eyes had become wet. He passed a gloved hand over his inflamed cheeks, along the bones of his skull, pulling tears away.

As long as there were others, like you, flaunting what he had learned to live without— the light, you keep coming to me, not I to you—  he would feel this pain. He would be tempted, and he would be weak.

Unsure if hearing it would calm or further provoke his mind, your name slipped past his lips. Nothing interjected in response, the voice in his head fails to spawn, shutting him into silence. Your name was hard to say, it came out as a wreck of sound and shivers with his hands sliding over his scalp, to secure fistfuls of hair. He knew without being told that he should have killed you long ago. The others. But FN-3181? What was his excuse for failing his own cause?

He slid down the wall until he met the ground, his mind stretched thin. Both tears and sweat had inundated, as they rolled down his face. Ache settled in his palms. He was weighted to the spot, sinking into the stone beneath, struck by the pain of one side clawing back to the other. He had never felt closer to light, yet, howled like a wolf to the lonesome moon.

“Do not let this momentary lapse be your end. They will test you, you must not succumb to it.”

The voice could feel how he had faltered; he would prove that it was only a misstep. As if the words had primed him, he was impervious to the virus of fault and shame. He would allow no second longer to sit, pathetic and weak, licking his wounds. A certain relic would anchor his focus; he would return to the Finalizer immediately. Meditation, centering. The list of names of those who evaded his might was growing considerably. Rumination would make everything simple again.

Slamming a fist on the release panel to open the hatch, he moved to collect his helmet as it patiently waited to return to him, imperially securing it over his head. Though he had not intended to, he stopped first to admire the plane of the door as it shut and locked. You had left no mark for the untrained eye but he saw what no one else could.

The modulator twisted his scoff, an ingot cast with the likeness of a snarl, “Do you see what you've done? Do you see who you can be?”

[brilliantpride]

LOSTBELT 4: SAMSARA OF GENESIS AND TERMINUS (YUGAKSHETRA) FINAL COMMENTS: YAKO KOIZUMI. 

Pepe had asked her at one point, sitting beside her as they ate grilled bananas: “What are you thinking about?” It was probably meant to be lighthearted. They didn’t actually want to know, it’s a pleasantry, just meant to get her talking. She watched the flames, absent-minded, her mind quiet for once. 

“My parents.”

They didn’t ask more questions after that. She didn’t expand on it. 

...Can she remember their faces?

Their hands. The sound of their voices. Their laughter. Their eyes. Their wrinkles. The way her father practiced his handwriting. The way her mother loved to make artwork. The smell of her mother’s cooking. The smell of her father’s pancakes. Their angry voices. Their sad voices. Their happy voices. The family photographs decorating the fridge. The evenings, when Yako was done her homework, and there was nowhere to go, and they sat in quiet, her father reading a fantasy book and Yako and her mother watching some drama her mother was really into (and, to be fair, so was Yako, but she was too cool to say so.)

Yako sits in the warmth of the flames. It’s a relief. Even if she might struggle to remember things, at least she hasn’t lost the memories most important to her.

...How cruel, to take these things away from people.

Her parents will die someday. It’s an inevitable fact of life, unless she wants to get into some real sketchy Magecraft. She will be left alone, with only their memories to comfort her. Maybe her father will go first, and the house will be empty without his gentle spark; maybe her mother will go first, and the house will feel bare without her decorative touches in rebellion of the austerity enforced by Yako’s grandparents. Maybe, in a terrible accident, they’ll both leave this world at once, and she’ll be left by herself once again. 

But she’ll have their memories. She’ll have the parts of herself made of their successes and mistakes. The quirks she picked up from them. The way her mother taught her how to write, the way her father taught her how to whistle, the way she twirls her pencil because she saw her father do it, the way she folds her laundry to save space in a drawer like her mother showed her.

It’s the same with everyone else. Servants will disappear when their job is done, but she’ll still have her memories of them to carry her forward. Ritsu and Mash might move on without her, but she’ll still have the memories of the trials and friendship she shared with them. 

To erase those things...

...she just can’t accept that. 

“It’s always someone deciding for other people,” she mumbles, “what’s good for them, instead of letting them decide for themselves. It makes me sick."

“I’d say you’re doing the same thing,” Pepe replies sharply. It’s cutting. It’s every bit accusatory, even if their tone doesn’t seem to indicate it, and even if they still smile at her, friendly and easygoing.

That’s right. “Yeah. Guess so.” Just because she wouldn’t want to live here... there’s plenty of people who would. People who already do. They have their own culture, here, their own lives, their own experiences. And she, without the input of every single person on this planet, has chosen to end their existences so that she can save the people she loves most. 

Why is it wrong for her to want to do everything she can to see her home again? It’s not like she was the one who put everyone in this position---if anyone, it’s Kirschtaria Wodime who should take the blame! She’s just fighting for her home! It’s not like she raised the Trees of Emptiness that killed off her world and planted new ones in its place! She’s just trying to take back what was taken from her! 

...But if she’s doing the right thing, why does she still feel a weight in her chest?

-

“In your world, the powerful decide the fates of the weak,” Pepe says later, standing in a field of white flowers. “It’s cruel and unforgiving, and so many things slip through the cracks. At least here, it’s peaceful. There’s hope for the future, and love to be had just by being alive. You could live a full life here. It’s never been troubled by war or revolt. Life is simple here. People are happy.” 

Ritsu is sturdy. Yako isn’t. Her guilt, that never quite sunk in before, sits heavily in her stomach now---maybe because she’d never thought of it as her doing it. ...No, it was Ritsu and Mash this whole time absorbing the fault, wasn’t it? The Master of Chaldea, their Shielder-class partner, and some punk who plays with magic and thinks it makes her a hero. She’d been standing by their side, but never quite saw herself as important enough to be seen. 

But Pepe sees her for what she is: not just an accomplice, but an agent of devastation to the Lostbelt they’re trying to protect. In fact... this is kind of her story, too, isn’t it? She’s the one Pepe journeyed with, as she tried to right a sinking ship. She’s the one they entrusted themself to (as a prisoner, but more than that, as a temporary ally), not Ritsu. And now, even though it’s Ritsu standing against them as a Master, they’re not blind to her, like Akuta, Kadoc, and Ophelia had been. They see her, they judge her, and the weight of that judgment presses down on her.

“You people fighting for humanity always say you want peace, but then you go and reject a world like this---a truly peaceful place. It’s like you can’t conceive of a world not dominated by pain and suffering. So I don’t ever want to hear you say that Proper Human History is more peaceful than any of these worlds.” 

With an easygoing grin, they say, 

“Trust me---your world is a crueler, more disgusting hell than any world you’ll find in a Lostbelt.”

...Pain and suffering, huh. 

Yeah, it’s not like she hasn’t felt that. 

War. Revolt. Rebellion. Death. Disease. Plague. Lack. Starvation. Thirst. Exposure. Machines and crimes of society that grind humans into pulp and then expect them to put themselves back together or be cast out completely. It’s not like Yako doesn’t understand their disillusionment; it’s something she’s felt keenly, as a person who never seemed to fit in with a normal life, who wondered what the point of living was when all that waited for her at the end was to be forgotten, who spent all her time wishing for a fiction to whisk her away because normality was so unbelievably painful and numbing. 

It would be wrong not to call it a cruel, disgusting hell. 

“But at least we have a future,” she says, stepping forward. She stares at Peperoncino with the full weight of her guilt, and her decision. “Hoping you wake up tomorrow isn’t hope for the future. Just wanting to live isn’t enough.” 

She takes another step forward. Karna stares down at her. 

They don’t dream of tomorrow. They don’t wish for anything from their future. Somebody’s gotta show them what it means to hope! To wish! Not just someone---

It’s gotta be ME!

"Making something happen when it all seems lost is what it means to be human!”

Our struggles and our suffering aren’t for nothing! It’s because we struggle now that we can dream of a better tomorrow! But when everything’s perfect, what do we have left to dream about?! When you rip away the people we love the most, and don’t even leave their memories behind, who do we have left to fight for, and carry on the dreams of?!

“I know I’m fighting selfishly... I know I’m not always fighting for good reasons. But I can’t accept this kind of world where heroes don’t exist and life is always easy! Because a world without heroes... Without stories or memories or hardships... Where your loved ones just disappear, and you don’t even know it, because they aren’t perfect enough... I can’t accept that! I refuse it, with everything inside of me! And if that means I have to take down everyone else with me, then so be it!”

Her chest heaves. Her throat hurts. But this is her honest declaration of war: she will make her stand here, one way or the other.

“...You’re right, Mx. Peperoncino. I agree with you,” Holmes pipes up, as Yako gets more tongue-tied the more she talks. Has he always been so eager to pipe up? “I doubt that any Lostbelt is as awful as the modern world Mr. Ritsu and Ms. Yako hail from. But that’s all the more reason for us to be proud of it! Any history daring to call itself Proper Human History should aspire to overcome all manner of hells!” He sounds resolute---a kind of determination she’s never seen from him before. (Maybe it’s his protagonist-ish side coming through? He’s a hero, in some respects, too.) “If anything, this journey has only made me more certain that mankind has chosen the most difficult route possible, and these two have spent their whole lives on the forefront of that route. If they wish to continue down this path, we will be there with them every step of the way!”

...So that’s what it is. That’s what keeps her fighting. Because it’s a world where things are hard, she can dream, and feel accomplishment, and look back on legends of people who did amazing things for inspiration. It’s because of that that Heroic Spirits can be born from humanity’s wishes! Memories, stories, and heroics... Those are the things she’s fighting for! 

Pepe smiles the same as always: perfect, beautiful, and strong. The Karna beside him disappears, and Ashvatthama takes his place. ...Truly, it’s a battle between Masters once more. They’re not about to get at that Tree without breaking past these two. 

“You’ve fought hard and bravely to get this far, right? And not just here in India, but everywhere you’ve been. So now’s the time to take responsibility for making it all this way.”

Yako swallows, and lifts her head. Flames crackle around her body; the flowers under her feet catch fire, but don’t burn. She won’t run away. No way. She’s more fired up than ever! 

Scandinavia Peperoncino, enemy to Humanity, Crypter and iconoclast, declares,

“I want you to thrill me one last time, just like you’ve been doing all along.”

-

"...And that’s the end of my report.” 

Yako shuts off the audio recorder. That about wraps it up, she thinks... She taps Ody’s notification in the corner of her tablet; a pleasant chime comes out of the speakers. A bubble reading [ Glad you’re safe. ] pops up. ...Hehe, but you were there the whole time, weren’t you? Right beside her, like everyone else. 

“Ody...” she says, tapping on the voice-assistant icon, “do you think I’m doing the right thing?”

A buffering icon pops up. [ What do you mean? ] they say, after a moment. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Yako flops over in bed, her tablet beside her. “I’m just... tired, I think.”

The silence stretches on, until the tablet chimes again. [ I don’t know, Yako. ] Their voice sounds... indistinct? [ I am the Chaldea Simulator Observation Delegation Unit, Odysseus. I can’t dream of a better future. I have no attachment to the past. I can see all of Proper Human History in a text file. But I do not exist inside of it like you do. ]

‘So what do you think, as a human from Proper Human History?’ is the unsaid follow-up. 

“I’m worried,” she sighs. ...It’s her own room. She’s talking to a machine like it’s a therapist. But... Ody is basically her friend now, too, right? It’s not the first time she’s rambled aimlessly at them. “...Sometimes I get dreams where I’m standing in front of the Enma-Tei, but I know I’m not allowed to go in. Or if I do go in, it’s like... I’ll have to answer for everything I’ve done. Can I do that yet? ...Do I even know what I’ve done?”

[ Would you like me to go through Chaldea’s database of dream symbolism? ]

“Nnnno thanks. Just. Thinking. I guess it weighs me down more than I thought.”

Another quiet beep. 

[ I am glad you survived, ] they say, finally. [ I know without the advancements of Proper Human History, I would never have been created. We would not have met. I would never have gotten to meet Chiemi. Or Ritsu. Or Mash. Or Leonardo da Vinci. Or Meuniere. Or Kawata. Or Octavia. Or Tomarin. Or--- ]

"You can stop there.” No need to go through the entire roster. ...Haha. Is that really enough to make it all worthwhile? ...For Yako, it just might be. Selfish, loving, possessive, and above all, striving for her own future. If she’s going to be selfish, she’d better not be conflicted about it. 

Do what you want to do because you want to do it. Pursue the things you want to obtain because you want to have them. Clasp your future in your hands, because it’s yours.

That’s how she’s always lived her life. And that’s how she’ll answer for it, when it’s reached its end. ‘I did what I thought I should do, and I have no regrets.’

Even if it’s a lie, she’ll make herself believe it.

[ Would you like to go sailing, Yako? ]

Know what? Yeah! She sure the hell does! “Alright, fuck it. Let’s go together. I’ll take you on a thrill ride around the ice floes, how’s that sound?”

[ Cold. ]

“You’d better get used to it! A sailor’s gotta be ready for all kinds of weather!”

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Subsequenting off the final collection from Social Media Advertising and marketing webinars where we covered the rudiments from Twitter as well as other Social Media tools as well as internet sites, I have actually been getting concerns concerning utilizing Twitter for business reasons. Perhaps the ways in which companies might carry themselves aboard on the latest trends in Twitter as well as various other sites is by making using of Anticipating Study to establish social media insights in to adequately developing a marketing approach for the hyper-networked world. DOCTOR Engelberg found that people who spent a considerable amount of opportunity online had lower credit ratings on scales from psychological intelligence as well as social skill-sets.

It is made for marketers currently making use of social media systems which wish to examine their plan and also boost their brand. If you are short in a timely manner as well as you are enabled open book exams, completion of chapter reviews are actually a wonderful introduction from the chapter without needing to review each section in entirety. Additionally, PPC ads are rather simple to put on hold and activate whenever you should accomplish this, they are actually quick and easy to upgrade and they give near actual time tracking advantages you will not obtain along with most various other elements in your Web marketing tactic. Our company are likewise happy with why clients select our team for solutions in Website Concept, Material Management Unit, Shopping web site design, Bespoke Advancement, Hosting, Email Advertising, Virus-like Gamings, Internet search engine Marketing, Social network Advertising and marketing, Pay Per Click Advertising and marketing, Flash Computer animation, Digital advertising and marketing consultancy as well as Branding and also Print Style. Mobile-friendly online videos might operate best with lower-tech providers who are actually seeking to develop satisfied promptly and also easily and create a niche market on their own. They are actually well-stocked with experienced search engine analysts as well as social media sites specialists that have actually uprised growing social media sites projects in lots. This may additionally be actually very efficient for media firms, and also could be a great means to promote a business weblog. Social network has actually become one of the best strong advertising tools for companies. Tv discussed real-life accounts, printing described many of the very same stories as well as online prolonged each right into a positive knowledge along with which the customer might engage along with HP. The initiative likewise utilized spent hunt to capture queries concerning HP companies and items. Some also reach to acquire social networks marketing in addition, which can target your reader based upon certain demographics and also rate of interests. Looking for a knowledgeable hands on social networks online marketer to construct our label, followership, user interaction, web content for social media etc For multi level marketing excellence, you must choose to team up with a commendable provider and repay to your organisation through promoting the product virtually each day. Since I am actually not so much worried regarding various other social networks channels as I have used them incredibly much less previously. Utilizing for MBA training program, it is actually alright, yet it goes through as if social media is actually the holy grail as well as there nothing else as helpful means from advertising. Past the primary platforms, brand new media websites like Vevo, SoundCloud, and Apple Songs are actually sparking more straight digital hookups. You'll produce social media advertising that much easier for on your own if you may obtain your mission statement right. When you loved this article and you would like to receive details relating to yellow pages advertising (webpage) kindly visit the website. When carried out appropriately as you thus rightly aim out, and also that is why web content marketing and also social media advertising and marketing overlap. With social networks, there is actually a whole brand-new planet of data, ideas as well as tracking out there. While if you create that they are going to come" is a wonderful pipes off a motion picture, that's a terrible advertising program. Michelle Buckley is actually a full time mum, net marketing, organisation & entrepreneur coach and Owner of Fate Expecteded - an income opportunity developed to aid people make their own home business in the private advancement market. Dahl synthesises a considerable amount of appropriate literary works which assists the students to get their scalps around numerous subjects in the context of social networking sites as well as electronic marketing. Our team likewise offer bespoke social media advertising and marketing programs for groups, people as well as organisations. Social media are anticipated to possess 2.5 billion individuals by 2018, baseding upon information mentioned by the infographic, and also they use a significant chance for marketers to target based upon internet actions and preferences. Remember, Social networking site Advertising is actually the future of on-line advertising, and also in comparison to marketing in print or other media, is fairly simple as well as economical. When this pertains to promoting content, social media is just one of the best powerful resources available; having said that, very most content marketing professionals cannot truly optimize its ability. In the past, marketing professionals faced the obstacle from ensuring their material reached out to customers in the least achievable time. Regularly begin small to find what you need to count on if you make a decision to use paid marketing on social media. This publication was placed on the recommend reading listing as this will certainly deliver important ideas for trainees wishing to dive more in to theory. The results of the new-fangled mobile phone talking app has brought in the social network titan to place an eye on its attributes. The next measure includes making use of a multi-channel approach for consumer purchases and service. Our CEO literally created the (best-selling) manual on social networks marketing, and also our staff of social networking sites professionals recognize the secret formulas to creating magic take place on each other social media system, from Facebook, Google.com+, and Twitter, to LinkedIn, Pinterest, and also Instagram' and anywhere more your target market congregates. Reddit is one more university stemmed social media sites website as well as an incredibly unique one at that. Usage tools like Twitterfeed to automatically Twitter update web content off an RSS nourishes from your various other blogs or sites, and also Alterthingy, another tool that helps you aggregate as well as repost your information across the a number of sites, and profile pages you have to preserve. That is vital to start talks along with customers as well as the media that influence those consumers.