Dec. 25th, 2010 11:50 am
titusnowl: (Default)

I look at these pictures, and what I see is NPC: Party Lich. He wants people to party with.  The adventuring party can of course opt to kill him on sight because he's a lich and therefore evil according to How The World Of D&D Works. If you do so, you get his magical vuvuzela (uncharm spell: drives people away when you play it). Also the town is appreciative and you get XP and all that.  If you DON'T opt to kill him, it turns out he was only there to try and invite you to this TOTES MAGOATS RADICAL party he was throwing at his house. He throws these all the time and hires a dj and everything but nobody ever shows up. :C If you go, he'll be so thrilled to finally have a bro that he'll give you the magical vuvuzela as a gift, and afterward he'll be bros 4 lyfe and will help you out - he's got all kinds of arcane magical ingredients and shit just lying around his kitchen that he's not doing anything with, sure you can have 'em bro!

titusnowl: (tf2 pyro)
So I like picking up crappy 1960s romance novels, and I got this one that is like SUPER GOFFIK. It is "Orphan of the Shadows" by Paula Minton. The main character is an orphan whose father was a Nazi. Her non-Nazi uncle (dad's brother) and his wife took her in and raised her like she was their own. The heroine spends all her time doing pottery and angsting about how terrible it was that her father was a Nazi.

This is the uncle's first appearance:
Otto Miller stood framed in the doorway, hands in his pockets. He was six feet tall, and at fifty-five he was still wiry and sinewy. His black hair, heavily streaked with grey, retained a youthful curl over one side of his high-vaulted forehead. His mouth was thin and firm, his chin deeply cleft, with a tiny jagged scar disappearing under it all along the left jaw line. His brows were extremely thin and short, giving an accentuated prominence to his large, widely spaced, grey eyes set on either side of the pronounced bridge of a strong aquiline nose. He wore riding boots, khaki trousers and a light blue blazer over a khaki shirt - his customary attire.
And then the girl wants to take a trip to Europe and her uncle is way down on the idea and doesn't want her to go. OBVIOUSLY it's going to turn out that he's afraid she will discover the truth: HE was the Nazi, and he framed his brother for it so he could escape!

And this book was written in 1965, so obviously after the girl finds this out her uncle has to go into hiding, so he takes up a job as a mercenary by 1968. There. I've solved TF2.
titusnowl: (t rex science bitches)

you're the most beautiful girl i've ever seen
you're a shining star, a movie queen
you're lovely and you fill my heart with joy
the day i first saw you
i knew all my dreams would come true
including the one where there's a planet to destroy
you're the only thing that warms my heart
but you can't blow a planet apart

THAT'S WHY I HAVE A DEATH RAY (deaaaath raaaaay)

you make my heart flutter and dance
you fill me up with sweet romance
the way you make me feel is just sublime
and though it might sound quite cliche
i need you more and more each day
you're all i think about at least half of the time
you're the only one i love
but you can't rain death from high above

THAT'S WHY I HAVE A DEATH RAY (deaaaath raaaay)

baby take my hand
i'll make you understand
we'll take over the world together
you know i love you best
but i really must confess
you're just not as effective at striking fear into world leaders when aimed at the eurasian land mass

THAT'S WHY WE HAVE A DEATH RAY (deaaaaath raaaaay)
titusnowl: (Stealth Cello)

me: he killed three men to get that drumstick - their blood is spattered on his shirt - and now this woman is insisting upon presenting her buttocks when all he wishes to do is dine
other: I'm thinking it's a bbq sauce made from the blood of the men he killed, which the drumstick then was marinated in.
me: and now this woman, she farts on his head
me: why do you fart on my head? he asks
me: i want only to eat this drumstick marinated in the blood of the men i have killed
me: i do not ask for farts on my head
other: Oh, but it's a greeting native to her country.
me: this was not outlined in his pre-mission briefing
other: his superiors know.  they're actually laughing at him right now.
me: those bastards
other: too right
me: even as he looks at her and attempts not to inhale too deeply lest he be put off his drumstick, he is attempting to frame his report in his mind
me: "Do I mention this head-farting?"
other: ".. No.  They'll talk about it for WEEKS around the water-cooler."
me: he gets back and hands in the report, sans head-farting, and they drop hints - "how did you enjoy the native hospitality?"
other:  And then he kills them and marinates a turkey in their blood-bbq-sauce.  And eats it.  After cooking, of course, because we don't want any diseases.
me: He's had to switch agencies a lot.
(the peanut gallery): the correct response is not "it STANK" because that is a terrible pun.
me: he sure does like his blood-bbq-sauce - is he a vampire, or just strange?
other: I think he's one of those vampire-enthusiasts who pretend to be vampires.
other: With the ceramic fangs.
other: from Hot Topic.
me: and yet he's very good at being a secret agent otherwise, so it's just kind of accepted.
me: "oh, yeah, he thinks he's a vampire.  good guy, though."
other: "The cape around the office is kind of weird."
me: "oh, is that why he's always late to work - like, won't go out in the sun or something?" "no, that's just because he keeps taking the B train instead of the D and ends up having to walk the last six blocks."
me: (it's a very laid-back secret agent office. in manhattan.)
other: Secret Squirrel is their mascot?
me: entirely.
me: he keeps petitioning to change it to a bat
me: "Bats are very detectivey.  Batman, for instance, is a detective."
me: "We all know it's because you think you're a vampire, Jack."
titusnowl: (TF2 Scout)
So I made this icon:

Jen: that's pretty cool -
Jen.: only he usually wears his hat, but.
Jen: i can see him flipping the shit out
Jen: because the sniper put a hole in his hat
Jen: and throwing it on the ground even though they're telling him over the comms he has to wear the hat, it's uniform
Jen: so he throws the COMM on the ground
Me: that is so exactly yes.
Jen: 3 kills seems awful a lot, for such small teams - (nitpicking again sorry)
Me: maybe it's like, cumulative.
Jen: yeah
Jen: This is from the season-ender or some shit
Jen: (two soldiers and a sniper he found once and accidentally batted his head clean off.
Jen: can you even fucking do that?
Jen: 'cause it'd be awesome
Me: Justin says no :(  You can put a bat clean THROUGH a skull, but the skull would give way before it came off.  But even that -
Jen: lol the sniper all focused on a target
Jen: and michael focused on the sniper -
Jen: haha great footage for the cameras, man
Jen: michael'd be SO FUCKIN PLEASED with himself
Me: man, straight the fuck THROUGH THE BACK OF THE SKULL
Me: that's another of those manic-laugh things
Jen: crowin' out the window at whoever the fuck the sniper was aiming at
Jen: i wanna say the pyro
Jen: and she throws him the thumbs up and has no fuckin' clue what he's talking about only that he's shouting at her
Jen: and the spy raises an eyebrow when michael's trying to tell this story "he's all fuckin focused, man, and I just WHOOOMP -"
Jen: and is all "you are filthy, 'tit."
Jen: and michael looks down and he's just COVERED with blood. "well, yeah, fuck. his head fucking like, exploded, cockfag."

Plus, ESPN - ESPN is owned by fucking DISNEY, lol.

So, like, posited:  The edited Real World style show, for the Blues at least, is aired on Friday nights on ABC (another Disney channel); the live feed of the fight is available on ESPN, and that's what the "screengrab" in the icon is from.  The Reds get aired on NBC or some shit, makes it real easy to follow just your own team.  Sports bars on opposite sides of the street showing the different teams, and the inevitable streetfighting riots breaking out in South Boston as the pubs empty after the airing, one side of the street flipping off the other one and shouting about kicking their asses.

Further implications of Team Fortress being aired by a Disney property include a possible TF attraction at MGM studios - laser tag, maybe, or one of those 3D video things which inevitably end with the audience being squirted with water (currently they've got one where you get "sneezed" on and one where a bug "squirts" you; obviously it'd be "blood" for the TF one).
titusnowl: (cup of tea and a lie-down)
Found this elsewhere, don't think I ever posted it:

I can readily imagine Psmith getting into a sort of Plunkett and Macleane style highwayman act - I shall write in the second person for ease of pronouns as otherwise there'd be an awful lot of "he"s - you may imagine that the "you" is Mike.

"I cannot bear to see you wasting the best years of your life toiling away, back bent over your work, hair gone grey with the factory-dust, grown old before your time," he would say to you as the two of you walk home from your jobs at some sort of dull grim Industrial Revolution thing.  "Two such masterminds as we ought to strike out for ourselves.  You may say what you will about the glories of Industry, Commerce, et al., but I see the utility of Entrepreneurship.  Be what you make of yourself!  I've a fool-proof plan, you see."  He explains the scheme to you with grandiose phraseology and deceptive turns of phrase, but you get the gist of it, which is that he shall attend all manner of glitzy parties, classy gambling dens and society events, ingratiating himself to the upper crust and sussing out the particularly rich and stupid, and you shall rob them.  It is unclear whether he intends to assist in the physical robbery, and you have a vague uneasy feeling that you're getting the short end of the stick, but he convinces you anyway.

All is well for a while, and it turns out that he does, in fact, assist in the physical robbery - seems to enjoy it, actually, although he acts terribly bored and blasé about the entire thing if he's called on it - and the two of you are soon enough sitting on a pretty little sum.  Yet when it all falls apart, and it inevitably does, it is you who are arrested and he who disappears without a trace, leaving you feeling more than a little bitter and abandoned.  But before you are brought to trial, the gaoler releases you.  You haven't the slightest idea why until you pass a cryer hawking broadsheets which explain in lyrical format with accompanying woodcut illustration (which makes him look far more romantically handsome than he is) that the Gentleman Highwayman has confessed all - the man they'd caught before was an innocent bystander, a mere decoy - his wild adventurous tale told in full - and he is to be hanged today.

At noon.

Which was at least twenty minutes ago, by the first watch you find.

You run full-tilt to Tyburn, where you find with a flush of relief that they'd made the mistake of asking him if he'd any last words.  You fight your way to the front of the crowd and he sees you; his bombastic speech falters for the barest instant, then he smiles at you reassuringly - never a care in this world or the next - and finishes his statements to a roar of applause from the gathered audience.

A moment later the drums start, and the world goes silent except for that dread tattoo.

He refuses the mask.

He complains to the hangman that the rope is too tight the first time he puts it on, eliciting one small, final smattering of laughter from the assembly.

He never takes his eyes off yours or loses his slight smile.

Then the drums stop, and up he goes, trying not to kick - but there's not enough starch in the world to keep an upper lip stiff through a hanging.

For a moment you're frozen, unsure of what to do.

Then you do something very brave, and somewhat heroic, and incredibly stupid.

And because the crowd, bloodthirsty as they are, are even more thirsty for mayhem and a poke in the eye of the law, it works.

Somehow you save him, and get away in the press of people, half-carrying and half-dragging him and hoping you weren't too late, but of course this is a story with a happy ending, and you weren't too late, and he is fine after a while (though not as soon as he wants you to believe).  He tells you he never doubted you for a moment - he knew if he got you sprung you'd spring him too - he'd the utmost faith in your abilities as a man of action - and he keeps going until you're red at the ears and ducking your head, though he never actually says "thank you." 

"There was," he says, "the most amazing view from up there.  I had never before appreciated how small this country is.  Far too cozy for me, I think.  We should emigrate.  There's more of a chance for advancement for the self-starting man in the Americas..."

titusnowl: (wacky on the junk)
Jeffie: koalas are basically retardeder ewoks!
Jen: hahaha
Jeffie: and ewoks, as we all know, are the larval form of the wookiee
Jen: koalas are retarded ewoks WITH THE DOWNS ON TOP
Jeffie: similarly, the earth koala enters into its chrysalis stage when it reaches five years of age, and emerges as a yeti.
Jen: hahaha
Jen: does the chlamydia prevent such things? is that why it's such a problem?
Jeffie: yes, it interferes with their spinnarets
Jeffie: so that they cannot make a proper coccoon
Jen: roflmao
Jeffie: occasionally an enterprising chlamydic koala successfully coccoons inside a vacationer's sleeping bag; in such cases, the emergent yeti invariable eats the hiker, and the australian government hushes it up for fear of impacting tourism.
titusnowl: (kiefer what)
Penelope was a platypus, as I've just said, and she resided in Guava Guava, which was a small village on the island of Kapingamarangi, which lies off the coast of Papua New Guinea. It is a peculiarity of Micronesian culture that the only animals they breed for meat are pigs, which is I suppose good news for cows but not nearly so good for the local porcine population; and Penelope, being a soft-hearted soul, could never bring herself to eat bacon, restricting herself instead to a strict diet of carrots and whey.

It happened that a young pig by the name of Francisco Soledad managed to escape from his sty in a neighbouring village and run off to Guava Guava, where he remained in fear for his life as the natives there were just as fond of ham as those of the town he had recently left.  Taking cover beneath a paw-paw tree, he was surprised to find himself nose to nose with Penelope, who had been resting in the shade on her way back from her afternoon stroll.  Penelope could see that something was troubling Francisco, and she encouraged him to unburden himself; upon hearing his sad story, she immediately offered to take him directly to her home, where he could live in peace and safety, provided he too was willing to subsit upon carrots and whey - a decision he was entirely pleased to make.

After a few days in close contact with one another the sexual tension was thick enough to cut with a dull soup-spoon; and finally Penelope could restrain herself no more, and flung herself upon Francisco, crying "Take me!"  Unfortunately for her he found himself incapable of dominating her in the manner which she desired; because as we all know...

pork bottoms.
titusnowl: (owl jolson)
The most recent Tropical Storm is named Noel.  My first thought was "I've been to a wonderful hurricane party."
 Any little wind can gust,
 Any little gale can blow,
 Any little storm can cause a little rain
 Raise a little hell, be a little hurricane
 Any little cloud can float
 Over any little island, too
 But I can't do anything at all
 But just love you!

Apparently he's really upset about not getting enough egg rolls, and is taking it out on the poor Caribbean. 
titusnowl: (WOT)
title: A Modern Prometheus, If That's The Greek Chap I'm Thinking Of: A Romance
by: [ profile] chikkiboo
fandom: P.G. Wodehouse
characters: Mostly original, using characters from Psmith's world, and also cameos from characters from The Saint
rated: G
for: [ profile] all_hallows_fic
prompt: monster: Frankenstein's Monster
disclaim: The characters of Euphonia Smith and Beatrice Van Walden belong to me.  All others are the property of their respective creators.  No infringement upon the rights of P.G. Wodehouse, Leslie Charteris, Mary Shelley, or anyone else is intended.  Do not take internally.
notes: The horror element is very understated.  Also, it's about 3,600 words, so you might want to get a cup of tea to drink while you read.

It all started when I accepted that invitation to stay a few weeks in Shropshire... )
titusnowl: (duel)
I finally got some GI Joe type dudes.  I've been wanting them forever.

So I could do this with 'em.
titusnowl: (whatte ye swyve)
I had a dream in which I was meeting my mother, sister, and Jen for dinner somewhere, and on my way there I passed this little courtyard which contained three ghostly green boys - a pair of twins who were about eight, and their older brother who was 12 or so.  They were from the 1880s and I think they were some weird kind of vampires.  I was afraid of them but Jen, like, adopted them. And insisted on bringing them to dinner. 

Only we couldn't get the waiters to wait on us because we had the glowing green ghosts, so I had to go into the kitchen to find food.  And all I had was half a loaf of bread that had been sat on, and a bag of cake.  The cake was sliced like bread and was like a month old but it was still good so I ate it for a lack of anything else to eat.

That's all I remember.  I was really really annoyed at Jen for adopting the fucking ghost-boys though because they scared me and had pointy teeth and bad manners.
titusnowl: (work)
Conversation between Peacock and I.

"I've got a credit card call for you.  And I'm sorry, I called you a girl."


"I usually try to call you all ladies.  They're going to think we're all 15, 16-year-old girls - except me, of course.  I have the manly-man voice."

"Oh, you so do.  The testosterone emanating from your cubicle threatens to overwhelm me on a regular basis."

"I have that effect on people.  As I'm walking down the hallway, it's just coming off me in waves, spurting everywhere - "

"OK, you've just crossed a line.  I don't really need to hear about when and where you're spurting - "

" - getting all over the filing cabinets, people - "

"Maybe you'd just better transfer that call now."
titusnowl: (wacky on the junk)
It is my turn to have strange dreams!

The end of the world and a painted mirror )
titusnowl: (house made of awesome)
One is an elegantly overproduced Victorian steam-powered dildo.

The other is a rough-and-tumble Hirondel hot rod rebuild.


They Fight Crime!

"We don't kill people.  We give them le petit mort."
" OK... sometimes we kill people."

Rated X for adult content

(Fans affectionately refer to it as They Fuck Crime)


titusnowl: (Default)
titus n. owl

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