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you gotta hand it to 'em...
Aug. 3rd, 2012 02:46 pmwhat i have learned from the mc tumblr crowd:
one (1) controversial post will inspire ten thousand and then some (10,000+) reaction posts.
i spent almost 15 minutes scrolling down the mc tag, past all the 'this is not cool u guys' posts, until i found the instigator of the whole thing. by the time i got there, i just had to laugh at the absurdity of it all-- not so much of the nature of the controvery itself, but the instinctive desire PLUS guilt for so many people to have opinions and then say 'i don't want to clutter up your dashes, but I'LL DO IT ANYWAYS...'. i miss journals and journal entries ala lj or dw in the sense that if some shit is going down, that it's mostly contained in the entry itself, not sprawled out like some virus.
then again, what do i know. /goes back to reddit.
one (1) controversial post will inspire ten thousand and then some (10,000+) reaction posts.
i spent almost 15 minutes scrolling down the mc tag, past all the 'this is not cool u guys' posts, until i found the instigator of the whole thing. by the time i got there, i just had to laugh at the absurdity of it all-- not so much of the nature of the controvery itself, but the instinctive desire PLUS guilt for so many people to have opinions and then say 'i don't want to clutter up your dashes, but I'LL DO IT ANYWAYS...'. i miss journals and journal entries ala lj or dw in the sense that if some shit is going down, that it's mostly contained in the entry itself, not sprawled out like some virus.
then again, what do i know. /goes back to reddit.
SPAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACE
Jul. 30th, 2012 12:57 pmIt's like the universe screams in your face: "Do you know what I am? How grand I am? How old I am? Can you even comprehend what I am? What are you.. compared to me?" And when you know enough science, you can just smile up at the universe and reply "Dude. I am you."
and what a stupid big round ball of water:
gushing over....a fandom?
Jul. 26th, 2012 06:42 pmI think the Bastion fanfiction community has to be one the most talented that I've ever seen. It's tiny, but holy shit. I went on AO3 and pretty much kudos'd everyone. I think that being immersed in the brilliant narration of the game has something to do with it, and it might be my appreciation for quiet, contemplative fics, but all of them at such a high caliber? This can't be a continued fluke. Nothing is rambly, everything is touched with a kind of thoughtful, selective, and cautious eye to detail and incredible headcanons.
A+, Bastion, you continue to be wildly impressive by having such a talented fanbase.
A+, Bastion, you continue to be wildly impressive by having such a talented fanbase.
FLIRTY BURNERS
Jul. 20th, 2012 05:38 pmA tiny fanmix of just some songs that I think would be the kind of stuff each Burner would be blasting from their cars and then slow down next to some Motorcity hottie all, "...how about a ride?"
:)c
( UH OH, GERONIMO )
ONGOING LIST OF HEADCANONS
Jul. 10th, 2012 12:15 amThere's still Reddit (or a permutation/evolution/bastard great great grandchild version of it) in the dystopian future, only Chuck refuses to go on it because r/aww and the front page is riddled with cats. Chuck's hometown is New Berlin (settlement on the moon) and came down to earth when he was 4 and bounced around the globe with his parents, leaving him pretty shy as he never stuck around in one place for too long to make too many lasting friendships. He's technically attending boarding school down in Chicago, though he already graduated and as a result is just in MC to pass the time. He keeps his J-1 visa on his person at all times and if worst comes to worst and he gets captured by Kane, he'll just rip it up and demand to be deported. (Mike thinks that's pretty stupid, but he never says it out loud.)
Texas has about 5 older sisters and a younger brother and about another 12 or so girl cousins, and his closest Ate, Ginger, is an even bigger martial arts nut than he is, though she's traveling around as a professional MMA fighter and he rarely sees her nowadays. Sisters are named after spices while his younger brother is named after another place with a rich cowboy history, Calgary. He was also born in Singapore, but has been in the US long enough to become a citizen. His stomach is basically solid titanium and he FUCKING LOVES FOOD, which is why he can withstand almost anything Jacob throws at him. Favorite dish is satay beehoon.
Mike's father used to be part of the US military, stationed overseas and rarely able to come home. Mike loves him dearly though and wants to emulate him in every way, leading him to skip secondary school and joining Kane's ranks and quickly moving up the ladder. His grandmother who raised him opposed it, not wanting him to turn into her oft-unavailable son, but she supported him through the basic training and the rest.
Texas has about 5 older sisters and a younger brother and about another 12 or so girl cousins, and his closest Ate, Ginger, is an even bigger martial arts nut than he is, though she's traveling around as a professional MMA fighter and he rarely sees her nowadays. Sisters are named after spices while his younger brother is named after another place with a rich cowboy history, Calgary. He was also born in Singapore, but has been in the US long enough to become a citizen. His stomach is basically solid titanium and he FUCKING LOVES FOOD, which is why he can withstand almost anything Jacob throws at him. Favorite dish is satay beehoon.
Mike's father used to be part of the US military, stationed overseas and rarely able to come home. Mike loves him dearly though and wants to emulate him in every way, leading him to skip secondary school and joining Kane's ranks and quickly moving up the ladder. His grandmother who raised him opposed it, not wanting him to turn into her oft-unavailable son, but she supported him through the basic training and the rest.
AN: Some words I took from Clockwork Orange while others I made up with a Russian/onomatopoeia dictionary. Mentions of drugs/alcohol, though no one is using them. And no ultra-violence, sorry. :|
"So what's it going to be then, eh?"
There was me, that is Mike, and my three droogs, that is Chuck, Dutchie, and Texas. Texas being...Texas with big rooks and little mozg to control them with, and we sat in the Mutt Dogs making up our rassodocks what to do with the evening, a bolshy, wet nochy, with pale fluorescents flick-flacking above our gullivers.
Kane's rubes are gone, for the time-being, but Chuck's still trying to cram himself into the polyester seat, rrrr-rrr-rrring and hardly able to even take in the moloko-fizz in front of him. I try to move the chasha closer, right under his nose, though it’s hard to get him right blanked out heaven-and-hell pyahnitsa these days.
"Och, och, och," he cawauls, fingers flitting over his luscious glory, unable to leave it alone, creeching heartily on like a prayer to Bog, "och, och, och. Percentages, Mike, percentages. Any more and we'll hit to negative sometime."
He means well, from the depths of his sluiced out guttiwuts, but O my brothers, it drives true little malchicks like Dutchie, Tex and Your Humble Narrator up the stenata some-to-all the times. Even the starry veck in the corner wiping down the slab isn't interested in all the boohoohoo in our roundtable and skilletted on out through the back door.
And then she walks in, all horrorshow boots click-click-click across the poltek, litso painted up, glazzies rimmed with black kohl. Texas, with his gromky voice, started creeching at the devotchka all, "owww owww oww" like a sick wolf, and Dutchie slaps a hand over his rot to shut out the howls.
She looks over, viddying us with a sort of contempt I’m more used to getting from other malchicks like myself, but I open my rot wide in merryshine and she looks away, tucking into a seat across the way in a right skorry click-click-click.
I look 90dg to Chuck, still chumbling to his lonesome self with his litso covered in screens and floating lists, a 45dg back to see Dutchie and Texas snipe dratsing. The din only gets bloshier and I step off, careful to maintain a good, clean rastyanae before reaching down the line to the ptitsa, looking all spitting-razdraz and glowering up at Your Humble Narrator.
"In for a nightcap?" I start to say, refraining the nadsat speak for a mo, holding out a rook for her to shake, though she leans away.
"A light mounch," she replies, "toikol, if you don't mind."
So she knew her way around nadsat. "All by your lonely lonesome?"
"Watching me eat isn't much of a horrorshow pasttime."
I wave towards the veck behind the counter, "two moloko-fizzes." He glances over at the ptitsa but nods, and sets up the drinks, the froth piling high. She viddies me taking a peet, but doesn't touch her own, probably thinking I done put in some synthemescs to shut her system.
Instead, she leans forth and hails back the veck, and dots along an entire column of pischi platters. She looks back, roz pulled back and I try an in-grin of my own. Starry old veck comes back from vareeting and sets down a whole tray of kartoffels and syri. Vellas in between thick klebs comes next, followed by tilochips drenched in maslo. She inhales it all in a minoota, rot gnawing ra-ra-ra, globby and no napkin in sight, all the while the moloko-fizz I ordered stood by-- she bought a chai-caffi instead.
And after she's finished with a brapp and a sigh, "it's been fun," she says, rubbing away a bit of tomatillo plastered on her bottom goober, and hops off the seat and a click-click-click back she goes into the nochy with the exact amount of deng tucked under the chai chasha.
I find the veck behind me, clearing away the damage as if nothing prozsizoed in front of his very glazzies.
"She new?"
The veck guffed and smecked, crack-snap-wheeze, "Best customer by far." A pas as he viddies me, and I could almost hear the tick-tock-tick-tock in his gulliver as the brazny ballick sizes me up.
"She drives, too." He says, finally.
"On her lone lonely lonesome?"
"Speak english, kid," he snaps at Your Humble, Pitiful Narrator, and he goolies to the back door, no doubt kvetching to himself about the Destruction of Western Society. But strange, unsightly devotchka aside, I still had the same dilemma I started the nocht with and came back to Chuck, Dutchie, and Texas-- trying to make up our rassadocks what to do with the evening.
"So what's it going to be then, eh?"
There was me, that is Mike, and my three droogs, that is Chuck, Dutchie, and Texas. Texas being...Texas with big rooks and little mozg to control them with, and we sat in the Mutt Dogs making up our rassodocks what to do with the evening, a bolshy, wet nochy, with pale fluorescents flick-flacking above our gullivers.
Kane's rubes are gone, for the time-being, but Chuck's still trying to cram himself into the polyester seat, rrrr-rrr-rrring and hardly able to even take in the moloko-fizz in front of him. I try to move the chasha closer, right under his nose, though it’s hard to get him right blanked out heaven-and-hell pyahnitsa these days.
"Och, och, och," he cawauls, fingers flitting over his luscious glory, unable to leave it alone, creeching heartily on like a prayer to Bog, "och, och, och. Percentages, Mike, percentages. Any more and we'll hit to negative sometime."
He means well, from the depths of his sluiced out guttiwuts, but O my brothers, it drives true little malchicks like Dutchie, Tex and Your Humble Narrator up the stenata some-to-all the times. Even the starry veck in the corner wiping down the slab isn't interested in all the boohoohoo in our roundtable and skilletted on out through the back door.
And then she walks in, all horrorshow boots click-click-click across the poltek, litso painted up, glazzies rimmed with black kohl. Texas, with his gromky voice, started creeching at the devotchka all, "owww owww oww" like a sick wolf, and Dutchie slaps a hand over his rot to shut out the howls.
She looks over, viddying us with a sort of contempt I’m more used to getting from other malchicks like myself, but I open my rot wide in merryshine and she looks away, tucking into a seat across the way in a right skorry click-click-click.
I look 90dg to Chuck, still chumbling to his lonesome self with his litso covered in screens and floating lists, a 45dg back to see Dutchie and Texas snipe dratsing. The din only gets bloshier and I step off, careful to maintain a good, clean rastyanae before reaching down the line to the ptitsa, looking all spitting-razdraz and glowering up at Your Humble Narrator.
"In for a nightcap?" I start to say, refraining the nadsat speak for a mo, holding out a rook for her to shake, though she leans away.
"A light mounch," she replies, "toikol, if you don't mind."
So she knew her way around nadsat. "All by your lonely lonesome?"
"Watching me eat isn't much of a horrorshow pasttime."
I wave towards the veck behind the counter, "two moloko-fizzes." He glances over at the ptitsa but nods, and sets up the drinks, the froth piling high. She viddies me taking a peet, but doesn't touch her own, probably thinking I done put in some synthemescs to shut her system.
Instead, she leans forth and hails back the veck, and dots along an entire column of pischi platters. She looks back, roz pulled back and I try an in-grin of my own. Starry old veck comes back from vareeting and sets down a whole tray of kartoffels and syri. Vellas in between thick klebs comes next, followed by tilochips drenched in maslo. She inhales it all in a minoota, rot gnawing ra-ra-ra, globby and no napkin in sight, all the while the moloko-fizz I ordered stood by-- she bought a chai-caffi instead.
And after she's finished with a brapp and a sigh, "it's been fun," she says, rubbing away a bit of tomatillo plastered on her bottom goober, and hops off the seat and a click-click-click back she goes into the nochy with the exact amount of deng tucked under the chai chasha.
I find the veck behind me, clearing away the damage as if nothing prozsizoed in front of his very glazzies.
"She new?"
The veck guffed and smecked, crack-snap-wheeze, "Best customer by far." A pas as he viddies me, and I could almost hear the tick-tock-tick-tock in his gulliver as the brazny ballick sizes me up.
"She drives, too." He says, finally.
"On her lone lonely lonesome?"
"Speak english, kid," he snaps at Your Humble, Pitiful Narrator, and he goolies to the back door, no doubt kvetching to himself about the Destruction of Western Society. But strange, unsightly devotchka aside, I still had the same dilemma I started the nocht with and came back to Chuck, Dutchie, and Texas-- trying to make up our rassadocks what to do with the evening.