titusnowl: (Harper's Jig)
Xanon was of House Vulpin in a village named Balneum: a place of sulfur-smelling springs, in the southern fringe of the hill-country. He had the fair hair and pale eyes of a southerner, but spoke with an accent soft and burred like a northerner's. He was an emotional man, given to poetry, and he took leavings hard. When they went skyborne he wept silently and unashamed. The true southerners - there were none in the unit Annie'd been given sergeantry of, but plenty surrounded them in the hold - looked down their long thin noses at him; the northerners closed ranks around him defensively. Southerners, they muttered amongst themselves, held themselves too close and high: not that they would shed tears in public, personally, for that sort of display was a private thing, done at the hearth, but to look at the southerners you would think a man couldn't have any feelings at all. Annie offered his arms to Xanon - then still a slight-built little thing, 15 years behind him, like the rest of them - and let the young man's tears salt his shoulder until his weather cleared.

They all shared their tears after battles, and Xanon's gift of words brought songs for fallen comrades: thus did they speak farewell to their friends' spirits, to keep them from feeling lost and alone when they died on those strange foreign worlds.

Xanon's sorrowing at leavings returned when they left their temporary home, where he had found a woman he called wife, and she had given him a child he'd named Xia. All of the men who wanted women had found them there, and for few was it an easy leaving, but again it was Xanon whose tears fell in plain air. Annie opened his arms again - this time taking into them a larger man, for Xanon had grown broader and heavier though not much taller with the years - and thought of his own woman, Carli, and the swelling beneath her shirt when they spoke their private farewell.

There were plenty of southerners in the centuria by then, but they had all become brothers, and one man's emotion gave pause to none. Annie's far-northern accent was as familiar and homelike as the crisp, sharp-voweled enunciation of the deep south spoken by some of the men: they were all Fimimundan; and skyborne, their home was in each other.

Of the southerners who became Annie's nephews, noteworthy was Simon, of House Iagus in Aquine, a great city. He'd found he had a natural talent for speaking to the spirits of machines, adjusting to their acquaintance and use long before any of his comrades. By now all were accustomed to it, and could laugh speaking of their early days of puzzlement at every new thing: and think what our mothers, our fathers, our sisters would say if they came to these ships, then! But Simon had known the machine spirits longest and learned to know them best, and had even spoken in friendship with the strange men or once-men who made themselves priests of those spirits. It was to Simon you went with a recalcitrant rifle, or a question of working some new machine. Annie had less talent than he, but he enjoyed the company of the machine spirits, and they two could speak of them together. Simon would have liked life on Nadys-21; to make the acquaintance of the servo-skulls would have pleased him immensely. Annie would have a great deal to tell of, if they could speak again.
titusnowl: (typewriter keys)
The name of the village was Boragerwix, with the X pronounced SH, of course, and the meaning of the name was North Farmhill. A very generic name, and one that came in a set: there was Meragerwix to the south and Oxagerwix to the west and of course Oragerwix to the east, and that was all of Agerwix that there was. Agerwix proper was a city, a few miles away and a bit southwest of center, all of them built on natural hills covering a good portion of the countryside. You could just see the beaconfires of Agerwix from Boragerwix, and of Oragerwix if the air was clear, but Oxagerwix was further off, out of sight even in the still, leafless, water-pure skies of early winter - it wasn't a perfect square, the figure drawn by those villages. It was because they were so far north that the towns were called wixes; that was a native word, something tribal. The closer you went to real civilisation the fewer Whateverwixes you'd find, although the names of places in the north still held descriptions, villages called by the names of landmarks; in the south the cities had proper names like people, which was of course the right way to do things, to honor the spirit of the place.

The name of the house was Lupus, presumably because the place where it was built was where someone had seen a wolf once, or because a wolf had visited, or at any rate wolves were likely to have been involved. It couldn't have been any time recently. There were still wolves, but they stayed away, deep in the woods and fens. Once in a while in the winter you could hear them howling, although that might be the tribespeople, some of whom wore the skins of the wolves for warmth and, according to the stories told to children (children who weren't your own, so you wouldn't be bothered when they couldn't sleep that night), sometimes turned into wolves - taking wolf-shape to attack the settlements.

"So maybe that's why your house is named Lupus," one of Anacreon's friends put forth. They two were sitting in the shade, under the deep-holded doorway with its wide-winged aquila carved into the lintel, discussing the wolf-shape story which had been told to them by Kleiton's older brother the night before. "Your ancestors were wolf-people who settled here." He looked hopeful that this slight upon Anacreon's lineage might spark a fight. Kleiton had lost the last tussle they'd had, and was keen to even the score.

"My ancestors didn't build this house," said Anacreon, unruffled. "My father's father came here from the south with the Fourth Legion. That's why we have light eyes. If anyone's family came from wolf-people it's yours. Your brother's been sniffing around my oldest sister like a dog, anyway."

"He has not been, either, you slanderer," came Amelisa's voice from inside, shrill. Anacreon flinched slightly; the wrath of women was a terrible thing to raise, especially when the woman was one of his sisters, both of whom were well-praised hunters who would not hesitate to lay a trap for a younger brother just as for a washing-bear. 
titusnowl: (denis leary fuck you)
jeffie: FUCK BITCHES
jeffie: I KILLED A BEAR
jeffie: MOVE THE FUCKING WAGON
jeffie: OVER
jeffie: TO
jeffie: THE
jeffie: BEAR
jeffie: DO YOU *LIKE* LICKING THE SWEAT OUT OF EACH OTHER'S ARMPITS FOR DINNER
jeffie: BECAUSE RIGHT NOW YOUR OPTIONS ARE BASICALLY KEEP DOING THAT
jeffie: OR BRING THE FUCKING WAGON TO MY BEAR
titusnowl: (kiefer what)
I had a patient named Jamesina this week.

Jim Dalton VI has only this to say:



(I forgot to draw her collarbone tattoo.  Ah well.)
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: AHAHAHA
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.
Jen: HAHAHAHA
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: (duel)
I finally got some GI Joe type dudes.  I've been wanting them forever.

So I could do this with 'em.
titusnowl: (flock of ducks)
There's not really any logics here, is there?

This is confusopalooza!

Maybe I'll knock somebody on the head or something.  Or something.  Something is always good, or something.

Childrens are always dependable.

I can't fly away on the coattails of dreams and sorrows.

There's nothing to say about Yoshi, other than he is resistant to change.

There is a fish in a bubble, and that's how I define greatness.  And there's a trampoline in a marshmallow, and that's how I would define breakfast.

I don't want a napple that came out of my horse's rear end.  I may be unique in that sense, but I do have my principles that I wish to adhere to.

Join me next time where we go into a pig farm and laugh at them. Laugh at a pig, laugh at their misery.  It's very awesome.
titusnowl: (etouffe the cookin' catfish)
Those are frozen dudes, when you unfreeze them in de microwave they make their own gravy. They're like dog food, only sentient, vegetable, and they eat you instead.
 
Do not question foreign cultures, for they will magical powers and may destroy your soul. Don't trust me, trust General Motors. Not sure what they have to do with this, but, still, you can trust American car companies.

You're allowed to change the pronounce-iation. That's how the language works.
 
Now what do we trust, the landscape or the map? Now if you ask a 19th-century explorer, they're going to answer, "you trust the Bible." But, I'm, you can't always trust your Bible for your directionary needs.
 
You can see that my attention is focused like a laser beam. A wobbly laser beam. That is not very well calibrated. But a laser beam nonetheless.

You know I'm afraid of bright and colorful things. Put me in front of a multicolored skunk, and I'm going to be scared like the dickens.
 
Yeah, I get hit a lot. That's just how I roll.
Fruit roll-ups, they're part of a complete breakfast. Depending on your definition of complete.
 
Also remember to go to your recycling center to recycle your gold into green mushrooms.
 
You just don't do that. That's like hiring a maid and not sexually assaulting her.
 
Ooh, that was awesome. And that was just as anti-awesome.

MORE RAOCOW

Oct. 3rd, 2007 01:16 am
titusnowl: (gonzo)
This is like Chaotic Central Zone on Eastern Standard Time!

What the hell, guy?  What the hell?

Fireballs: nature's crumpet
 
Another place to investigate once I get that friggin e-quine of hell-ish persuasion

Have a block in the belly of your mouth

this is awkward

Little breathing room here, in case you want to breathe in a room

And God knows that I am a slave to Communism

Need to ride a bulldozer to happiness, soaring above the midnight sky
titusnowl: (buttz lol)
Cloudscapes, do not give up your dreams and follies, because we would not be as quite human if we were perfect like little snowflakes.

YOU FRIGGIN HORSE

Panicking is what being a man's all about.

You wish you could kill ghosts with silk.  That's the American dream.

(To the ghosts:) You friggin spheres - beachballs!  That's right, I just treated you beachballs, because that's what you friggin are!

Don't pull your tongue out at strangers!  That's rude and unsightly!

Everyone has Football Charlies in their intestines, that's a medicinal fact.  ("Intestines" rhymes with "lines," "medicinal" is "medicine-al.")

There's probably something good in there, so I'm not gonna get it.  That's how raocow works.

Pipes aren't reliable floors.  Remember that next time you're reconstructing your house for some reason.

STOP DYING! GOD!

Tacos were invented during Jesus Christ's reign over Mesopotamia.

HITTING THINGS AT RANDOM, HOPING FOR THE BEST

CHIPMUNK TIEM

Oh, curses, Santa Claus!  Why must you poison our life so?

The Milky Cheese of the Moon - it sounds like a totally awesome metal song, but it's not.

Fungus McCloud was the one who originally discovered Newfoundland, but when we were about to give him his medal he kind of declined.  He was a really really humble guy.  A smart guy.  He was a good pool player too.  I had a lot of fun with him back in the 1700s, from whence I came.  You know, you remember, I said that before - I kind of got lost in time there, and suddenly BAM, here I am in two thousand and something and playing video games.

With the power of imagination, you can do anything.  You can be a rainbow.  You can be a clown.  You can kill a thousand sheep and not be mortally repressed.

Go eat a friggin' cow.

That's an important part of a complete breakfast, like cheerios, and canned desert things.

We are back in the great nature state and the astral thingies are having their revenge.

Ever higher!  One day we might run out of oxygen, but Luigi doesn't care - that's his special ability. He grew a third lung somewhere between his ribcages and it gives him the ability to breathe in space apparently.  It's hardish to prove whether or not having an extra lung makes you breathe in space better, because for some reason scientists are kind of wary about trying that out.  Tsch, chickens.
titusnowl: (Simon Templar)
oh hoppy you GLORIOUS RETARD

you know why simon keeps him around? because deep down inside everybody secretly wants a pet tardo

he is there to lift heavy things and smack people in the skull and point a gun and also for simon to make fun of mercilessly because he will NEVER REALIZE HE IS BEING MOCKED

roger knew when he was being made fun of and made fun back
hoppy is just stupid
simon is a gigantic ass

also

simon was TTLY GONNA BITE A DUDE ON THE NECK JUST BECAUSE HE COULD

ONLY CHANGED HIS MIND B/C THE NECK WAS FILTHY

I LOVE HIM

I LOVE HIM SO HARD IN THE FACE
titusnowl: (The Saint)
1.  Horrible puns are TERRIFIC.
"Shall we get him an owl?" Simon suggested.
"What for?" asked Patricia unguardedly.
"It would be rather nice," said the Saint reflectively, "to get Titus an owl."
Patricia Holm shuddered.

2. I'm twelve.
"He collects stamps, but I've got an even better hobby.  I collect queer friends."
titusnowl: (justifie liquor nothing else matters)
One empty Martini & Rossi Vermouth bottle
Approx. 1/3 of a fifth of Smirnoff
One empty teabag
Some dried, pulverized juniper berries

Juniper goes in teabag.  Teabag goes in bottle.  Vodka goes in bottle.  Let sit for a while.  Taste it until it tastes good.

Dried juniper berries have a spicier taste than the fresh ones used in real gin, so it has a bit of a peppery kick after it goes down.  I like it.

For the wedding I want to buy an actual bathtub, one of those footy deals, and make some more of this in there, with $5 vodka.  (Have I mentioned in these pages the plan to have the wedding be set in the very early 1930s, with the reception in a basement done to be a speakeasy, and when Justin and I are ready to run out and hop the train to NYC, we'll give a prearranged signal to his brother, who will lead a group of "G-men" in to "raid the speak" and arrest Justin and I and trundle us into the back of a Model A to carry us down to the [train] station?  Because that will be the best wedding EVER.)
titusnowl: (being a bastard works)
Today we drove to Gainesville just because it's there!  There wasn't really anything to look at, but it was fun anyway, and I saw a nifty old theater with a colour and font scheme that I'm going to use for the next redesign of my journal.  (Lime green, orange, and rust, with white and a nifty upright script font.)

And we decided to go to IKEA when we were heading home, and the Mexican (whoa-oh) radio station was there, and I got my picture taken with their mascot bear!  (Picture to be posted shortly, once Justin's got Photoshop going.) 

Also the radio station guy took my photo too.  And I was doing The Shocker.  So hahaha awesome.

Watch this space for a picture of me with a bear doing The Shocker!

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titus n. owl

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