Do tell.So how is everyone today?Looks like a Brand New Day is in effect.
What is the meaning of this?
What in the world?
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Bella Sara Charter Superscriber
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First, he came for the original FAWTL, and I said nothing, because it was a grade A epic clusterf!~$ of nuttiness.
Then, he came for FAWTL II, and I screamed bloody murder.
Some other stuff happened.
And now this!
Don't you see the tyranny at our door Paizoians? We must put down the threat of the Post Monster once and for all and claim these boards in the name of the people!
FREEEEEDOM!!!!
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All hail the glorious rodent!
TACOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!I had tacos last night. do not need more
{remembers Sara's previous Christina Hendricks comment, makes WILL save not to post what is running through her head}
First, he came for the original FAWTL, and I said nothing, because it was a grade A epic clusterf&~@ of nuttiness.
Then, he came for FAWTL II, and I screamed bloody murder.
Some other stuff happened.
And now this!
Don't you see the tyranny at our door Paizoians? We must put down the threat of the Post Monster once and for all and claim these boards in the name of the people!
FREEEEEDOM!!!!
Ha. You went all German in your Niemöller parody post.
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It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way--in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.
There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that things in general were settled for ever.
It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured period, as at this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made for the swallowing up of London and Westminster. Even the Cock-lane ghost had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its messages, as the spirits of this very year last past (supernaturally deficient in originality) rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the earthly order of events had lately come to the English Crown and People, from a congress of British subjects in America: which, strange to relate, have proved more important to the human race than any communications yet received through any of the chickens of the Cock-lane brood.
France, less favoured on the whole as to matters spiritual than her sister of the shield and trident, rolled with exceeding smoothness down hill, making paper money and spending it. Under the guidance of her Christian pastors, she entertained herself, besides, with such humane achievements as sentencing a youth to have his hands cut off, his tongue torn out with pincers, and his body burned alive, because he had not kneeled down in the rain to do honour to a dirty procession of monks which passed within his view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty yards. It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of France and Norway, there were growing trees, when that sufferer was put to death, already marked by the Woodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in it, terrible in history. It is likely enough that in the rough outhouses of some tillers of the heavy lands adjacent to Paris, there were sheltered from the weather that very day, rude carts, bespattered with rustic mire, snuffed about by pigs, and roosted in by poultry, which the Farmer, Death, had already set apart to be his tumbrils of the Revolution. But that Woodman and that Farmer, though they work unceasingly, work silently, and no one heard them as they went about with muffled tread: the rather, forasmuch as to entertain any suspicion that they were awake, was to be atheistical and traitorous.
Anyone seen my car keys?
Sharoth thought they were miniatures and stole them.
Oops, sorry. ~m~i~n~i~a~t~u~r~es~
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Bella Sara Charter Superscriber
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Anyone seen my car keys?Sharoth thought they were miniatures and stole them.
Oops, sorry. ~m~i~n~i~a~t~u~r~es~
Ah crap. You're right. These aren't my keys. It's a rock wrapped in tinfoil with the word "Dra~gon" on it.
Seriously, once I find my keys, I'm leaving and never returning.
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Bella Sara Charter Superscriber
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I've drafted the following letter to express my extreme anger at this recent development:
I feel that it is my duty to convince obstinate, dangerous hucksters to stop supporting Mr. Gary Teter and tolerating his ipse dixits. Here's a quick review: Mr. Teter is a perfect specimen of Pestiferous Degenerateus, a species known for palliating and excusing the atrocities of Mr. Teter's brethren. If that fact hurts, get over it; it's called reality. And for another dose of reality, consider that every time Mr. Teter tries, he gets increasingly successful in his attempts to force people to act in ways far removed from the natural patterns of human behavior. This dangerous trend means not only death for free thought but for imagination as well. He has repeatedly indicated a desire to sell us fibs and fear mixed with a generous dollop of McCarthyism. Is that the sound of rarefied respectability that Mr. Teter's cronies so frequently attribute to Mr. Teter? The dirty blathering of a deranged scalawag is more like it. In fact, if it were up to Mr. Teter, we'd all be grazing contentedly in the pasture of radicalism right now. We'd be utterly unaware of the fact that his dream is to assume total control over society's means of production. Those with membership cards in Mr. Teter's posse will be given whatever they want while the rest of us will be sent away empty-handed. In addition to being entirely unfair, such policies promote insulting the intelligence, interests, and life plans of whole groups of people. Furthermore, the unalterable law of biology has a corollary that is generally overlooked. Specifically, the earth presents a wonderful example of variety in all classes of the animal and vegetable kingdoms. People, beasts, and plants belonging to distinct classes all exhibit special qualities and peculiarities. Unfortunately, Mr. Teter's special quality is that he has had some success in pitting the haves against the have-nots. I find that horrifying and frightening, but we all should have seen it coming. We all knew that Mr. Teter has never disproved anything I've ever written. He does, however, often try to discredit me by means of flagrant misquotations, by attributing to me views that I've never expressed. In the end, all the deals Mr. Teter makes are strictly one-way. Mr. Teter gets all the rights, and the other party gets all the obligations.
To simplify, Mr. Teter's spleeny roorbacks exploit other cultures for self-entertainment. News of this deviousness must spread like wildfire if we are ever to institute change. I want to talk about the big picture: conclaves of Mr. Teter's stooges have all the dissent found in a North Korean communist party meeting. That's why no one there will ever admit that my purpose here is not to discuss the advantages of two-parent families, the essential role of individual and family responsibility, the need for uniform standards of civil behavior, and the primacy of the work ethic. Well, okay, it is. But I should point out that people used to think I was exaggerating whenever I said that when Mr. Teter repeated over and over the rumor that he can fan the flames of scapegoatism into a planet-spanning inferno and get away with it, his functionaries, never too difficult to fool, swallowed it. After seeing Mr. Teter subject us to the noxious yapping of callow cozeners these same people now realize that I wasn't exaggerating at all. In fact, they even realize that Mr. Teter's childish "Mine! Mine! Mine! Now! Now! Now!" attitude makes me think that maybe we should use our words to create understanding and progress, not hatred and division. I will now cite the proof of that statement. The proof begins with the observation that Mr. Teter is a disrespectful prima donna. I use that label only when it's true. If you don't believe it is, then consider that I must ask that Mr. Teter's flunkies fight to the end for our ideas and ideals. I know they'll never do that so here's an alternate proposal: They should, at the very least, back off and quit trying to rot our minds with the hallucinatory drug of phallocentrism.
Mr. Teter doesn't want to acknowledge that frotteurism has impaired his ability to think straight. In fact, Mr. Teter would rather block all discussion on the subject. I suppose that's because we ought to debunk the nonsense spouted by his blackshirts. That'll make Mr. Teter think once—I would have said "twice" but I don't see any indication that he has previously given any thought to the matter—before trying to besmirch the memory of some genuine historic figures. The virus of absolutism took control of our country's political life long ago. Now, thanks to Mr. Teter's homilies, that virus will continue to spread until no one can recall that no one likes being attacked by narrow-minded, parasitic manipulators of the public mind. Even worse, Mr. Teter exploits our fear of those attacks—which he claims will evolve by next weekend into biological, chemical, or nuclear attacks—as a pretext to increase people's stress and aggression. If you think that's scary, then you should remember that we are observing the change in our society's philosophy and values from freedom and justice to corruption, decay, cynicism, and injustice. All of these "values" are artistically incorporated in one person: Gary Teter. The bottom line is that I have put this letter before you, without any gain to myself, because I care.
BWAHAHAHAHA!
It's funny because it's true.
sniff, sniff
smells like favoritism again.
And let me know if you see my car keys.
Keys? What keys?
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Because I don't know what his real voice sounds like, whenever I read something from Sebastian I can hear the voice of Aasif Mandvi in my head.
<shrug>
Hey...the posts are mysteriously unfunny now.
