Lauren CW

Originally Posted By: JamesMighty Oh Avadon is some mystical island on a sea surrounding Averforge/Genernum whatever, and is so far away no ship has ever sailed to the lands of Lyneaus. Read: Sholai

I always entertained the fancy that if you go back far enough in time, the Shapers from Geneforge are in fact derived from Vahnatai shapers, who at some cataclysmic event all migrated underground and started hibernating, and that geneforge/avernum are just vastly different points in time of the same universe.

Honestly I am not entirely certain why it is important that all this data be kept secret. It seems to me most people would willingly volunteer their answers anyways, as we the forum are pretty good about discussion and not judgement or derision. Maybe I'm just optimistic?

In other news, Trent's avatar is actually what I had been using for my Facebook Default up until just recently, when I swapped it for a photo of me in my zombie-walk makeup.

Nickelback - Everyone leaves.

I can't log into the chat, but if you manage to check this before I wander away, I want to put in a request for Beyond Her Garden (Tombstone Remix).

I am the most un-notorious lurker on these boards? Given I have been on here for the better part of the decade, have less than 300 posts, and usually am on here at least twice a week.

When I saw the 52 links each 22 minutes long I IMMEDIATELY knew what it was. I applaud, sir (Madam?)

Originally Posted By: Dintiradan Originally Posted By: HOUSE of S That was an SNES screenshot. NES, SNES, that's an mistake anyone can make, Slarty. No it is not. It is wholly unacceptable.

Lol, war on drugs... The money they spend on the war on drugs is less than 10% of what the marijuana industry ALONE generates. The war is OVER, they lost. They might as well call it the war on minding your own business and money.

This looks like fun. Mayhap I shall learn to play if I have time.

It's being bound?! No way! Now my friends HAVE to read it. (I was secretly hoping people would see me calling them out on being close-minded and say "CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!" But no such luck...)

Yeah, I see it more similar to Netflix.

I would also suggest Fallout: Equestria. Pony-related stigma aside, it is one of the more well written things I have read, and would easily earn a place in my library among LoTR, the Millennium trilogy, and the Dune universe books. Unfortunately, it's 2000+ pages, and I doubt people are open-minded enough to give it a try. So I'll trust in the taste of my fellow spiderwebbers and read whatever is decided upon.

Yes! I have a stupid large amount of books/stories on my list of things to read, but I would be willing to join a spiderweb book club in order to discuss with you lot, as I also tend to appreciate what most of you have to say.

IIRC, Phil and Kaja Foglio were at the AFK once for some event or other, and since then I have daydreamed of running into Jeff there, shaking his hand, and buying him a beer. (The AFK is a local nerd bar in Everett, which is near Seattle) Edit: Previously Beer and Motor Oil.

Originally Posted By: Master1 Pretty much this. Except that "kids these days" is one of my most used phrases. Yeah, but that's pretty much because kids these days... EDIT: And I'm only 22.

One thing I have noticed, there are still several people wondering what happened to Shepard in the endings in which Shepard is (Maybe?) still alive. I get the feeling that this may be a main story point in ME4.

I have 2, they are a bit long. Richard Siken's Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out Click to reveal.. Every morning the maple leaves. Every morning another chapter where the hero shifts from one hoof to the other. Every morning the same big and little words all spelling out desire, all spelling out You will be alone always and then you will die. So maybe I wanted to give you something more than a catalog of non-definitive acts, something other than the desperation. Dear So-and-So, I’m sorry I couldn’t come to your party. Dear So-and-So, I’m sorry I came to your party and seduced you and left you bruised and ruined, you poor sad thing. Your want a better story. Who wouldn’t? A forest, then. Beautiful trees. And a lady singing. Love on the water, love underwater, love, love and so on. What a sweet lady. Sing lady, sing! Of course, she wakes the dragon. Love always wakes the dragon and suddenly flames everywhere. I can tell already you think I’m the dragon, that would be so like me, but I’m not. I’m not the dragon. I’m not the princess either. Who am I? I’m just a writer. I write things down. I walk through your dreams and invent the future. Sure, I sink the boat of love, but that comes later. And yes, I swallow glass, but that comes later. And the part where I push you flush against the wall and every part of your body rubs against the bricks, shut up I’m getting to it. For a while I thought I was the dragon. I guess I can tell you that now. And, for a while, I thought I was the princess, cotton candy pink, sitting there in my room, in the tower of the castle, young and beautiful and in love and waiting for you with confidence but the princess looks into her mirror and only sees the princess, while I’m out here, slogging through the mud, breathing fire, and getting stabbed to death. Okay, so I’m the dragon. Big deal. You still get to be the hero. You get magic gloves! A fish that talks! You get eyes like flashlights! What more do you want? I make you pancakes, I take you hunting, I talk to you as if you’re really there. Are you there, sweetheart? Do you know me? Is this microphone live? Let me do it right for once, for the record, let me make a thing of cream and stars that becomes, you know the story, simply heaven. Inside your head you hear a phone ringing and when you open your eyes only a clearing with deer in it. Hello deer. Inside your head the sound of glass, a car crash sound as the trucks roll over and explode in slow motion. Hello darling, sorry about that. Sorry about the bony elbows, sorry we lived here, sorry about the scene at the bottom of the stairwell and how I ruined everything by saying it out loud. Especially that, but I should have known. You see, I take the parts that I remember and stitch them back together to make a creature that will do what I say or love me back. I’m not really sure why I do it, but in this version you are not feeding yourself to a bad stallion against a black sky prickled with small lights. I take it back. The wooden halls like caskets. These terms from the lower depths. I take them back. Here is the repeated image of the lover destroyed. Crossed out. Clumsy hooves in a dark room. Crossed out. There is something underneath the floorboards. Crossed out. And here is the tabernacle reconstructed. Here is the part where everypony was happy all the time and we were all forgiven, even though we didn’t deserve it. Inside your head you hear a phone ringing, and when you open your eyes you’re washing up in a stranger’s bathroom, standing by the window in a yellow towel, only twenty minutes away from the dirtiest thing you know. All the rooms of the castle except this one, says somepony, and suddenly darkness, suddenly only darkness. In the living room, in the broken yard, in the back of the car as the lights go by. In the airport bathroom’s gurgle and flush, bathed in a pharmacy of unnatural light, my hooves looking weird, my face weird, my hooves too far away. And then the airplane, the window seat over the wing with a view of the wing and a little foil bag of peanuts. I arrived in the city and you met me at the station, smiling in a way that made me frightened. Down the alley, around the arcade, up the stairs of the building to the little room with the broken faucets, your drawings, all your things, I looked out the window and said This doesn’t look that much different from home, because it didn’t, but then I noticed the black sky and all those lights. We walked through the house to the elevated train. All these buildings, all that glass and the shiny beautiful mechanical wind. We were inside the train car when I started to cry. You were crying too, smiling and crying in a way that made me even more hysterical. You said I could have anything I wanted, but I just couldn’t say it out loud. Actually, you said Love, for you, is larger than the usual romantic love. It’s like a religion. It’s terrifying. No one will ever want to sleep with you. Okay, if you’re so great, you do it— here’s the pencil, make it work . . . If the window is on your right, you are in your own bed. If the window is over your heart, and it is painted shut, then we are breathing river water. Build me a city and call it Jerusalem. Build me another and call it Jerusalem. We have come back from Jerusalem where we found not what we sought, so do it over, give me another version, a different room, another hallway, the kitchen painted over and over, another bowl of soup. The entire history of pony desire takes about seventy minutes to tell. Unfortunately, we don’t have that kind of time. Forget the dragon, leave the gun on the table, this has nothing to do with happiness. Let’s jump ahead to the moment of epiphany, in gold light, as the camera pans to where the action is, lakeside and backlit, and it all falls into frame, close enough to see the blue rings of my eyes as I say something ugly. I never liked that ending either. More love streaming out the wrong way, and I don’t want to be the kind that says the wrong way. But it doesn’t work, these erasures, this constant refolding of the pleats. There were some nice parts, sure, all lemondrop and mellonball, laughing in silk pajamas and the grains of sugar on the toast, love love or whatever, take a number. I’m sorry it’s such a lousy story. Dear Forgiveness, you know that recently we have had our difficulties and there are many things I want to ask you. I tried that one time, high school, second lunch, and then again, years later, in the chlorinated pool. I am still talking to you about help. I still do not have these luxuries. I have told you where I’m coming from, so put it together. We clutch our bellies and roll on the floor . . . When I say this, it should mean laughter, not poison. I want more applesauce. I want more seats reserved for heroes. Dear Forgiveness, I saved a plate for you. Quit milling around the yard and come inside. And Jeffrey McDaniel's Archipelago of Kisses Click to reveal.. We live in a modern society. Husbands and wives don't grow on trees, like in the old days. So where does one find love? When you're sixteen it's easy, like being unleashed with a credit card in a department store of kisses. There's the first kiss. The sloppy kiss. The peck. The sympathy kiss. The backseat smooch. The we shouldn't be doing this kiss. The but your lips taste so good kiss. The bury me in an avalanche of tingles kiss. The I wish you'd quit smoking kiss. The I accept your apology, but you make me really mad sometimes kiss. The I know your tongue like the back of my hoof kiss. As you get older, kisses become scarce. You'll be driving home and see a damaged kiss on the side of the road, with its purple thumb out. If you were younger, you'd pull over, slide open the mouth's red door just to see how it fits. Oh where does one find love? If you rub two glances, you get a smile. Rub two smiles, you get a warm feeling. Rub two warm feelings and presto-you have a kiss. Now what? Don't invite the kiss over and answer the door in your underwear. It'll get suspicious and stare at your toes. Don't water the kiss with whiskey. It'll turn bright pink and explode into a thousand luscious splinters, but in the morning it'll be ashamed and sneak out of your body without saying good-bye, and you'll remember that kiss forever by all the little cuts it left on the inside of your mouth. You must nurture the kiss. Turn out the lights. Notice how it illuminates the room. Hold it to your chest and wonder if the sand inside hourglasses comes from a special beach. Place it on the tongue's pillow, then look up the first recorded kiss in an encyclopedia: beneath a Babylonian olive tree in 1200 B.C. But one kiss levitates above all the others. The intersection of function and desire. The I do kiss. The I'll love you through a brick wall kiss. Even when I'm dead, I'll swim through the Earth, like a mermaid of the soil, just to be next to your bones. Jeffrey McDaniel is probably my favourite poet. Edit: I'm too lazy to change this, some of the words may have been ponified by my browser. You can look up the poems really easily if you for some strange reason want to see them un-ponified.

Scrubs is one of the only shows that, when I am flipping through cable channels and come across it, I will always stop for it. No matter how many times I have seen the episode, I'll stop and watch it again. That being said, Arrested Development is the funniest show on television. At the scene where someone picks up a certain man in a banana suit with a claw-crane, I laughed for 5 minutes straight tears running down my face and my sides felt like I did 500 sit-ups in a matter of minutes. No exaggeration. I've never laughed that hard at ANYTHING on television.

I'm with Nikki and Dintiradan on this.

@Sylae The ponies in MLP:FiM ARE nothing like human world ponies. They are SO much better. Also, as Fallout: Equestria is one of the better literary works of this century, using it as an example for literary elements is totally okay. @Dikiyoba That implies that there is a wrong age to enjoy the show. This is false.

http://jeff-vogel.blogspot.com/ Giant Intelligent Friend Talking Ponies anyone? One can only hope

Originally Posted By: Dintiradan Objection! Walken might have a badass face, and may have acted as a badass on occasion, but I don't think he qualifies as a historical badass. If we start listing off all actors who merely look badass, we might be here a while. I think Walken is a perfect intersect between looking and being badass. His acting career is a reflection of his personal taste and sense of humor, and what he has contributed to the film industry has definitely made him a historical badass. Plus, getting stoned with Clinton is badass.

^dose?