#everything2

[aliu0130]

I will admit, however, that my cerebellum guards those moments with the help of my ribs, like dogs and dragons;

[cr3v]

I thought paper cuts were like lightning-brief and fast and sharp. But sometimes, they take a while and linger. Painful, yes. Unexpected, yes. But not q...

sometimes i think about all the people who bled their hearts out on e2

[gardenharuspex]

I might not believe in God, but I sure as hell believe in the power of prayer

To the guns of the firebase, a Psalm of deliverance.

Though we are not holy men, we hope for Earthly salvation found by your power. Though we are not covenanted, we pray for your wrath against our enemies. The maps of this place are the maps of our souls and mortal coils, lo: We search them under red light for the answers we seek, wondering where we are. And so we will search ourselves in the red of the morning in ten years, wondering where we go.

With a prayer whispered skywards in our time of need, forgetting the lessons of Israel, We turn in our impatience to another: Pilot, if you can hear me, I need your parabolic blessing. I need the strength of your metal wings, and the grace of your kneeboard hymns. I give you my offering, my infrared sacrifice on this altar of aluminum and steel.

But there is no answer, and in our shame and loathing we return to you, The force of our enemies increased a thousandfold by the delays of our transgressions. Now, then, in observance, I return to your laws. I have in my heart and my hands the laws of heading and bearing. I feel with my heart and my hands the laws of trajectory and fuzing. I know with my heart and my hands the laws of radius and area.

For each of the prayers, a sacred intonation of: Four-two, sierra-whiskey-delta, and the final canticle: Fire for effect. I pray to you, guns, let your bores be true, let your crew be alert, let your fire be hot. Deliver me from my mistakes and the anger of my enemies. May your footsteps be ruin and your word be Law.

haqiqat, I might not believe in God, but I sure as hell believe in the power of prayer

[gardenharuspex]

The way to the Angel of the Journeys

Timing is important. Take the bus schedule for the #2 from the kiosks on the mall, walk the length of the sidewalk as rush hour begins and commuters stream from buildings with shining floor to ceiling windows like pigeons from the ledges of the older stone remnants of the 1900s.

Do not descend into the subway: the Underworld will not take you. Today, you must find the Angel of the Journeys.

Wait until three #2s have passed the stop at the end of the transit mall: take the fourth, the one called Express, whose timetable is not published in your schedule. They will not want fare: the bus driver will have no face, and each businessman, businesswoman, each janitorial worker, fast food employee, each high-end clothing boutique salesperson, shall be as indistinct and unremarkable as the other.

You too are unremarkable. No one will share your seat. No one will speak to you.

Take the #2 Express out of downtown, and down the long, smooth expanse of the freeway shoulder. It will travel faster than the frozen packs of cars: it will travel as the sun sets into the horizon.

The bus will not stop. You may doze: it is a long way, and dim. When you wake in fits and starts as the bus brakes, now and then, passengers will thin.

In time, you will come to another downtown in an empty bus, and exit out the back when it stops at another airport. The skyscrapers are dark: all but one, with a marble lobby lit by chandeliers gleaming in ivory vaults.

The night watchman at the security desk will stop you if you hesitate. Commit to your intrusion. Stride with confidence across the tile through the lobby, through the elevator lobby, to the restrooms. The third door is not janitorial: it is the way to the utility room, left conveniently unlocked.

Take the cargo elevator to the 10th floor, and the cement staircase to the roof.

Out there in the dark, wings dappled with the light of distant windows, of red signal lights, the Angel waits with your timetable, your tickets, your itinerary for nothing less than the future.

[gardenharuspex]

[Everything2] Professor Evil, prepare to be struck down by this shovel I found over in the corner! For JUSTICE!

(Original: Professor Evil, prepare to be struck down by this shovel I found over in the corner! For JUSTICE!  )

Mister Aarons, I'm going to have to ask you to put down the ceremonial piece and discuss this rationally. I'm afraid neither of us are super-powered beings capable of resolving this through the force of Incan agricultural tools.

That kind of language is unacceptable in this office, Mister Aarons. May I remind you that office hours are a privilege, not a right.

Your last name is not Odinson. Please return the shovel to the display case: it is quite fragile.

I'm afraid we can no longer discuss your term paper, Mister Aarons. I will be submitting a score of zero. It is three weeks beyond the date I asked for your drafts, and this is sub-par work. Papers are to be written in the Queen's English, not runes you found on the Internet.

Mister Aarons, that is simply uncalled for. If you continue to exhibit threatening behavior, campus security will be called.

Your idea of justice, Mister Aarons, quite justifies your failing grade in philosophy. Please leave my office immediately.

I will remind you, Mister Aarons, that I am neither a tenured professor or Professor Malice, and my surname is Eville, not Evil.

Christ, the undergrads get worse every year.

[xydexx]

It’s mean to hide a kitten in a puppy’s butt

And yet, sadly, sometimes you must do just that.

It seems, at first blush, that everything will be fine...the puppy in question is patient, the kittens are small and resolutely nonsquirmy, your kitten-wrangling and puppy-stuffing skills are paramount.

But as the puppy begins to feel the effects of kitten-crammage (stumbling about as if inebriated, barking in confusion, speaking French) your resolve will waver. You will begin to fear that the capacity for kitten placement in a puppy will fall short and you will be left with that duo of puppy-stuffing shames: a partially-filled puppy and extraneous kittens.

With dawning hope and horror in equal amounts, realization steals over you; the puppy's butt remains vacant of feline presence. A lone kitten looks at you plaintively, mutely pleading for canine succor, perhaps even meowing in adorable confusion at the whereabouts of its recent kitten friends, now fully ensconced in canus.

Though your eternal soul will no doubt be roasting on a demonic spit within hours, a simple lift and push and a moment's struggle with the domestic representatives involved completes your task.

Kittens: out of sight (if not of mind) Puppy: thoroughly filled with kittens

Relax for a moment and reflect on your deeds this day. You have done the nearly-impossible. You depraved bastard.

Source: It’s mean to hide a kitten in a puppy’s butt by Ninja-Lad

[woodsaddle]

E2 bugs|Nathan, this is unacceptable I've come home from days away and find my house in doom|ruin. Nathan, this is unacceptable. The sun has been out f...

i forgot that this site existed

[kontextmaschine]

Second highest was this at 105 (+109/-4)