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Post by Failure on Sept 18, 2008 16:52:45 GMT -5
What's that in the sky!? A cloud, a sunset!? CONDENSATION!? NO.
IT'S MABLE! Watch as she frolics through the meadow and transforms into a magical failcorn, yet again.
So mystical.
Oh so gallant.
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Post by -+//Sire//Aszrielle//+- on Oct 11, 2008 7:35:27 GMT -5
If one were to gaily amble across the meadows and suddenly stumble upon another gaily ambling there also, how would one feel? Would thee stare uponeth the perfumed breath of the fresh gay airs and honour nothing but the morning sweetness? Ignore thee company that bade down uponeth thineself?
None of that above crap made any sense to Spider whatsoever, so he pushed it to the back of his mind and began to ponder why ever morbidly and not-so-morbidly obese people wore jogging pants when it was plain to day that none of them had ever been jogging in their life. Many questions flew through his tiny head as he gaily ambled.
If a tree fell down in a forest would it still make a noise if nobody was there to hear it? He thought not.
Why are there parking spaces outside pubs and bars if you are not supposed to drink and drive?
The answer to many of these questions he knew, but could not be bothered to put it to paper for fear of staining himself with ink.
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Post by Failure on Oct 11, 2008 7:54:01 GMT -5
Spider’s loud thoughts reached Mable’s now unicorny ears. His petty mind was oh so small.
Of course a tree would not make a sound if somebody wasn’t there to hear it. Everyone knows that trees have been secretly stealing children for years, now. They have a choice. Sound waists too much energy. The sound medium carbon dioxide is not easy to travel through. Sound is a delicate thing to master. So why would a tree do such a thing when they don’t need to? Anyways, everybody knows that it’s not even considered sound unless the vibrations through a medium reach the cochlea-region and the nerve hairs sense the vibration, thus making the ear dru-These thoughts were interrupted as she stepped on a rake, impaling her face. The sharp needle-like points, etching a deadly, red drawing onto her face. Her eye popped out from the pressure, her other unicorny eye shriveled up like a dried eggplant left out to be dried up anyways so it’s not very visual. But no fear. No fear my children. For there was a fine explorer gaily being gay through the meadow that afternoon. Mable hoped she would finally be eaten alive so that the resurrection could finally begin. Hopefully he brought salt. All twas well.
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