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Annoncing my poem! You jey!

Eluard said:
Well, now I'm begging you — please take an avatar. I'm dying to see what it is anyway.
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Me too. Moostradamus is only up cause I was going to suggest it to him but couldn't figure out how to put a plain jpg into a post. Going back to evilness shortly.

really evil.

extra, now.
 
unpredictablebijou said:
Me too. Moostradamus is only up cause I was going to suggest it to him but couldn't figure out how to put a plain jpg into a post. Going back to evilness shortly.

really evil.

extra, now.
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If you want evil, try Cosa-Nostra-Damus.

And please get a Photobucket account — I want to see what glorious pictures you will post.
 
Sara Crewe said:
...I promise I will never kill Sara Crewe.
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Who Killed Sara Crewe? sounds like the title of a bad Agatha Christie knockoff novel set in, say, Smiths Falls, Ontario. Much gossip ensues, both as regards the murder and the not-so-clandestine assignations that occur in any smallish town. At least one retired Brigadier from Her Majesty's Royal Army, one ostentatious Québécois avocat, a librarian, an engineer, the local physician, and two or three women of questionable morals but ultimately pristine character are involved.

Other corpses unfortunately accrue (you are not alone, Sara). Our detective, a rather bland young man from the western provinces, seems to spend rather more time wooing the primary suspect, a fetching young schoolteacher from the Maritimes, than solving the case. The local police are baffled.

The surprise conclusion is that the victim had ingested rather too much rich poetry and had, to no one else's fault, choked on some overextended similes.

Our amateur marries his Mari-belle and all ends well.

And so, the end.
 
Bravo! Your cast is innovative and fiercely Canadian, much like the purported victim.

While I am entirely too retarded to acquire anything like a photobucket account, I will spend a few minutes going in and finding links for my Amaterasu post. Anyone who hasn't met Sheila-na-gigh really needs to, especially on this board.

I'm pretending to work on my 30 submission but really I'm just waiting till the last minute as usual. I'd rather play with the kids in here.

Today has been full of encounters with the psychotic and dislikable, so I'm in the perfect mood to work on a particular story I've been struggling with. I just know I'll be up til 5 again.

Happily, I found tonight an old friend that I hadn't seen in 20 years, since I worked the night shift monitoring alarm systems in college. It's an ally I will need in the morning, and i was so happy to see that it still existed. Medaglia d'Oro Instant Espresso was my best friend in college, and I now have a jar of my very own again. Even looking at the label gets me all hopped up.

on goofballs,
bijou
 
MTVM said:
Who Killed Sara Crewe? sounds like the title of a bad Agatha Christie knockoff novel set in, say, Smiths Falls, Ontario. Much gossip ensues, both as regards the murder and the not-so-clandestine assignations that occur in any smallish town. At least one retired Brigadier from Her Majesty's Royal Army, one ostentatious Québécois avocat, a librarian, an engineer, the local physician, and two or three women of questionable morals but ultimately pristine character are involved.

Other corpses unfortunately accrue (you are not alone, Sara). Our detective, a rather bland young man from the western provinces, seems to spend rather more time wooing the primary suspect, a fetching young schoolteacher from the Maritimes, than solving the case. The local police are baffled.

The surprise conclusion is that the victim had ingested rather too much rich poetry and had, to no one else's fault, choked on some overextended similes.

Our amateur marries his Mari-belle and all ends well.

And so, the end.
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You're very clever MeetieVietie, very clever indeed, but you missed one suspect entirely: the French-Knicker wearing jealous poet, codenamed RealWoman1967. Yes, I did it — and I'd do it again, a thousand times over! (I am also the retired Brigadier General of Her Majesty's Royal Army — one General Pudding.)
 
General Pudding?

He's good friends with General Purposes and General Disturbance, yes?

I've edited the Amaterasu post, in case anyone wants to see some classic porn. Really classic.

And it's time to start gearing up for the festival anyway. No underwear next week, kids. Going commando is all part of the celebration.

Round here, just for the furriners like Eluard, that means wearing no skivvies, no grunders, no unmentionables. Knickers, I believe you people call them.

It is contrasted to the term for wearing no pants at all, which is referred to as "Porky Piggin' It."

On a totally unrelated note, in the where-are-they-now category, I ran across a story last night that really impressed me. The author is SimonBrooke, from Scotland. I read a couple of his pieces, but this one, while not entirely perfect, impressed the hell out of me. The initial narrative is a fine thing, but the critical scene was one i'll remember for quite some time.

Good writers are everywhere. Here's the story in question.

http://www.literotica.com/stories/showstory.php?id=188946

So there ya go.
 
unpredictablebijou said:
General Pudding?

He's good friends with General Purposes and General Disturbance, yes?
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And of course, for the conspiracy theory fans, General Electric.
 
Eluard said:
And of course, for the conspiracy theory fans, General Electric.
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AHA! I knew it.

Aren't you glad I'm nocturnal? Who else in Kansas would talk to an Australian at this hour?

Still hooting. Were you asking me at one point about my current study of hatred and revenge?

Or was I hallucinating that?

it's possible.

bijou
 
unpredictablebijou said:
AHA! I knew it.

Aren't you glad I'm nocturnal? Who else in Kansas would talk to an Australian at this hour?
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Or at any hour, sheila.

unpredictablebijou said:
Still hooting. Were you asking me at one point about my current study of hatred and revenge?

Or was I hallucinating that?

it's possible.

bijou
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yes, i was asking (my typing will be erratic as I'm sitting in the freezing cold smoking a cigar and watching a very chilly sunset.)

Is it your old school friends from boarding school that you are going to avenge yourself upon? Or your Nemesis here?
 
Eluard said:
Or at any hour, sheila.



yes, i was asking (my typing will be erratic as I'm sitting in the freezing cold smoking a cigar and watching a very chilly sunset.)

Is it your old school friends from boarding school that you are going to avenge yourself upon? Or your Nemesis here?
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Ah excellent! You watched it!

Sheila's nice. I like the term.

And I envy you your cigar.

Actually, I'll be joining forces with my father to wreak havoc upon the entire western world. One wholesome, succulent young man at a time. Daddy will focus on the women, of course.

< snip. There's no reason to waste double the space on this silly vent. >

b
 
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As someone who has been demonised many times, and in many different ways, while the evil bastards of this world (who have done the demonising) go on about their evil business, I can say that I entirely empathise. Go get em, tiger!
 
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Eluard said:
As someone who has been demonised many times, and in many different ways, while the evil bastards of this world (who have done the demonising) go on about their evil business, I can say that I entirely empathise. Go get em, tiger!
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oh yes.

with sharp things.

and mental cruelty.

Rotwang explained everything to me. I understand now what I must do.

bijou
 
unpredictablebijou said:
Hey.

Go here
and look at this.

I think Eduardo is a woman.

In fact, a confession:
I am "Eduardo"



bijouduardo
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I misread this as "Eluardo" at first — I thought, "hey, I've been found out."
 
Eluard said:
I misread this as "Eluardo" at first — I thought, "hey, I've been found out."
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o you are SO not a woman.

I find myself entranced by Eduardo. There's clearly a story there. Look at the dark circles around the eyes. How does Eduardo come to be sideburn champion, so far from the humble beginnings in Mexico City? Too poor to afford even a last name, Eduardo is actually an orphan, a poor street urchin making her living peeling mangoes for fat white businessmen in town for illegal penis enlargement procedures. Not only is she poor and underpriveleged and illiterate, at puberty she begins to generate copious amounts of facial hair. She is fired from her part-time job at the copetina and is considering ending it all under the wheels of a speeding cab when she is caught, and taken in, by a mysterious german stranger with enormous muttonchops...

Here, narrates Eduardo, is where my life truly began...
 
Angeline said:
I thought it said Eldorado, the gilded one.
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Not gilded in the least. Did you see those eyes? They have seen things... I'm quite sure of it. What's going on under those award-winning sideburns, anyway?

*becoming obsessed*

bijou
 
I have just spent far too long reading through all your ramblings interspersed with a very good read from Bijou's story link ... ermmm can I ramble too. I once submitted a story which was not accepted as it was too short and not true to life .. as it was a true story this was very worrying leading one to wonder if one is living in a different parallel to everyone else. After reading this today I see that I have company ..
 
I have just got round to downloading Google Earth been playing with it for hours look out I can find you now
 
UnderYourSpell said:
I have just got round to downloading Google Earth been playing with it for hours look out I can find you now
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Sorry, you will fail. I can produce signed affidavits verifying that I am not on this planet.

For others on this thread I cannot vouch, but I can tell you that several of them have come to visit me on my planet and they strike me as being suspiciously native.

Join us.

bijou
Regional Administrator, Campus Crusade for Chthulhu
 
Funny you should say that because when I typed in my address it said it didnt exist which was a tad worrying. The road at the top existed as did the one at the bottom but not the bit in the middle where I live .. perhaps I have my own Brigadoon.
 
UnderYourSpell said:
Funny you should say that because when I typed in my address it said it didnt exist which was a tad worrying. The road at the top existed as did the one at the bottom but not the bit in the middle where I live .. perhaps I have my own Brigadoon.
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Clearly you belong here.
 
MTVM said:
Who Killed Sara Crewe? sounds like the title of a bad Agatha Christie knockoff novel set in, say, Smiths Falls, Ontario. Much gossip ensues, both as regards the murder and the not-so-clandestine assignations that occur in any smallish town. At least one retired Brigadier from Her Majesty's Royal Army, one ostentatious Québécois avocat, a librarian, an engineer, the local physician, and two or three women of questionable morals but ultimately pristine character are involved.

Other corpses unfortunately accrue (you are not alone, Sara). Our detective, a rather bland young man from the western provinces, seems to spend rather more time wooing the primary suspect, a fetching young schoolteacher from the Maritimes, than solving the case. The local police are baffled.

The surprise conclusion is that the victim had ingested rather too much rich poetry and had, to no one else's fault, choked on some overextended similes.

Our amateur marries his Mari-belle and all ends well.

And so, the end.
Click to expand...

MTVM — :: suspicious:: why do you have a picture of Tzara for an avatar? Or is that Spike Milligan, hard to tell…
 
Eluard said:
You're very clever MeetieVietie, very clever indeed, but you missed one suspect entirely: the French-Knicker wearing jealous poet, codenamed RealWoman1967. Yes, I did it — and I'd do it again, a thousand times over! (I am also the retired Brigadier General of Her Majesty's Royal Army — one General Pudding.)
Click to expand...



Just a minute now...

Tzara said that all 'ended well' and I was DEAD. And even worse I was last alive in Smiths Falls which means I already had one foot in the grave. AND Eluard apparently is extremely proud of the fact that he killed me while wearing French lace panties.

I'm insulted.

No. Really. I am.

Smiths Falls? You couldn't have killed me in Toronto or Vancouver? I hope, I at the very least, died in a vat of chocolate at the Hershey Factory in downtown S.F.


Viiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiizier. Hope everything is as okay as it can be.
 
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