Try to find a way to carry on. I know it will be hard. But I believe in you.
John’s not here. Weeeeee. Oh wait.
My day is shot!
I hope you’re happy with yourself.
We could all go slice our fingers on improbable objects. You know, out of solidarity. Or something.
Uh, never mind.
Nathan, I’ve been trying for literally minutes and I do not appear to be able to cut myself on an AAA battery. I feel somehow… unmanly.
The cat’s away, the mice read books. I’m in the middle of <The Android’s Dream and I alternate between giggling like crazy and scratching my head thinking “wait, this author is really crazy…”
Alas, I’m at work today and won’t be able to work on “Ghost Brigades”.
Guess it will have to wait for airport hell tomorrow. At least it should keep me amused whilest I travel.
DAAAAAAAAD-DY!!! The internets are boring me.
Here’s a good clip about instant gratification.
Nathan, I’ve been trying to cut myself with Weebles all weekend. Now that I’m back at work I can juggle razor blades.
I say we have a party while he’s gone. Anybody got a key to the liquor cabinet?
I have whiskey somewhere around here: Honest!
Please, please tell us that the grievous wound you suffered has not gone gangerenous and caused you to be transported to the ER!
This is excuse to take your new netbook somewhere, isn’t it?
Loved that clip.
John will be back, and we will be able to read his words very soon now. Just think back to when we would have to wait for those word to be printed on paper. Paper. I may even have some of those “words on paper” around here somewhere…
What, not even a gratuitous pet picture to help us carry on? May the cats hide presents where you only find them by smell!
Okay, we need an armed party organized to go over to John’s and find this dangerous pack of killer yogurt containers. Because clearly John isn’t man enough to do “what needs to be done”.
Anybody got a good handle of what sort of load you use for hunting killer yogurt containers? I was thinking 12 gauge deer slugs, myself. Or buckshot. Why take chances?
And does anyone know if Ohio is one of those pansy states which requires a permit for hunting killer yogurt containers?
“I say, nukem from space, it’s the only way to be sure.”
BTW, last time this happened I think Christian had the key to the liquor cabinet and I brought snacks.
I can still bring snacks 8D
Well while your waiting you can toddle over to webscriptions and buy “Hate Mail” and “Coffee Shop” by our host in electronic form.
$6 each but you get the first quarter or so for free to see if its worth it
I think I will spend the day making blogs that mention Scalzi.
That will draw him out, then all I need to do is throw this net over him and force him to blog all day!
Ashman: Brilliant! Everyone start talking about Scalzi on their blogs right now. He’ll never be able to leave his computer again.
You believe in me? *sniffle* I’m so touched! I think I’ll -ehm- continue drinking chocolate milk and eating licorice! Yay!
OK, let’s be honest here. He’s at the ER with a serious pudding injury.
You leave without even a picture of a sunset or a cat (or a sun setting on a cat) to tide us over? Cruel, John. Cruel.
eviljwinter, you mean he’s been…DESSERTED?
I say it’s time for a
*splorches eviljwinter in the face with a huge blob of raspberry ganache*
*begins firing cranberry jellies into the crowd at random*
Oh the humanity! My life is now officially over.
WHY JOHNNY WHY?!?!
Dr. Phil, it’s not the yogurt containers that are killers – it’s the yogurt itself! I say we should go in armed with high-powered vacuum cleaners.
Then you won’t be able to tell us that you’ve already gotten a few dozen e-mails with this link in them:
Tried spoons, toilet rolls, clocks, tables, my stuffed Cthulhu, a towel… no cuts. Not even chafing. *sighs*
Oh, food fight! *deploys a medium-range submunition Momo strike with extra tomato chutney*
I lived in Wisconsin several years ago. And yeah,they did have some license restrictions on hunting.
My suggestion is a retaliatory air strike. Several tons of cheese curd should do.
I’m just wishing I could be there when John comes home and finds his fridge all shot up. Door hanging off, riddled with holes from the AP rounds and deer slugs, yogurt leaking all over the floor, and a note attached: “You’re welcome! -Your Faithful Whatever Readers”
Dr. Phil, I believe the proper load is #00 Buck refilled with rock salt.
It’s sad when the stuffed Cthulhu fails you.
*scatters caltrops made from leftover candy corn.*
Mensley: It’s the aircraft carrier that’s been pumped full of custard and pilchards buried nose-first up to the superstructure in the south 40 that’ll draw comment, you betcha. Or, we may be talking about different things. Who can tell?
Fish whacking all around!
*strafes the assembled multitudes with assorted truffles from a Fokker Dreidecker*
John is a cat
We are mice
John is away
We need to do something.
How about ask the government for some money?
Claim we are Mutant Mice.
The government has 3 million to spend on mutant mice.
They don’t specify the mutations.
(ROUSes? Extra limbs? Maybe they can travel in time? Or are really good at taping bacon to a cat.)
Anyone a good hacker? I could come up with different flavour yogurt-blob models for Left4Dead while he’s away if someone who knows their way around a firewall can get ’em into this Steamapps folder…
Steve — I thought about rock salt loads, but who’d ever eat chocolate lowfat yogurt that’s been salted? Remember, a good hunter eats what he kills. Unless we want to classify killer yogurt containers as varmints. Then all bets are off.
Dave — I almost pointed out that in Wisconsin you can’t hunt cows, so I assumed Brown Cow yogurt wasn’t legal either. But we’re talking Ohio here.
I just cut my finger packing up a power supply to ship out.
But since I work at a Seattle Childrens Hospital, I got to put Daffy Duck bandaids on it.
So I get to join our host bleeding from the digits and have Daffy duck Bandaids.
I’m so lucky 8D
candy corn caltrops are against the Geneva Convention. have YOU ever stepped on one? It’s like leftover taquito punji sticks…
Clearly our mutation is intelligence- we’re on Whatever. (I realize that this argument could be reversed, but hey, we’re mice!)
(raises arm to defend self from the swinging fish of doom, finds self whallopped into the river…)
*dumps seven tons of arrowroot into the river, trapping Sub-Odeon in viscous goo*
Glanced at the headline and had an OMFG moment, what does he know about the economy… then a nice whew, can wait til the morrow for bacon-cat updates.
Has anyone ever considered John Perry as Orpheus, travelling the Styx of the CDF’s wars to rescue his love from the Underworld of the Ghost Brigades?
*splats a trifle into Xopher’s face*
Anybody got a key to the liquor cabinet?
I did, but I cut myself on it.
So, I was speaking to the spouse about how our new infant was becoming a bit of an e-mail celebrity, and perhaps this was our chance to achieve brief internet fame, and she told me, “You’re not putting bacon on the baby.”
Sniff. I’m so proud. Largely uninterested in the internet, yet so aware of all its traditions.
Dr Phil: On reflection, it did sound odd. I was trying to point out the upper midwest almost uniformly has license laws for hunting. And such laws. I almost hurt myself laughing the first time I saw a shotgun with a scope. The gun shop owner kindly informed me that rifles were illegal for deer hunting as the world is flat and stray bullets seldom land in the county they were fired from.
As far as yogurt is concerned, I believe it is not a native animal and therefore is probably considered an invasive pest by most state Departments of Fish and Game.
*licks up trifle, pulls string attached to giant fondant funnel, burying MarkHB in cherry-cordial fondant*
*proffers Xopher one triumphant glance over a curved surface labelled “FONDANT TOWARDS ENEMY” before it all goes lateral*
Xopher @ #42,
Frankly, sir, I am shocked — shocked! — that you would have so little regard for the environment. The EPA shall here of this! You haven’t seen the last of — (glub, glub, glub, glub, glub…)
(with head sliding under the gravy-like surface, only fist remains defiantly projected into the air)
here = hear
*can’t hear Sub-Odeon, having already died of cherry-cordial fondant overdose*
(insert cartoon image of Xopher’s ghost stumbling into the “Tour of Hell” scene from South Park)
*comes back as ghost with stone body, drags Sub-Odeon down into hell, singing
Subbodianni, a cenar teco
M’invitasti e son venuto!
while Sub-Odeon’s wife exclaims in horror*
Taunting the tauntable since 1998
John Scalzi, proprietor
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