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May 18th, 2009, 11:50 PM
I'll start

From The Genius and the Goddess by Aldous Huxley:

How impossibly crude our language is! If you don't mention the physiological correlates of emotion, you're being false to the given facts. But if you do mention them, it sounds as though you were trying to be gross and cynical. Whether it's passion or the desire of the moth for the star, whether it's tenderness or adoration or romantic yearning-love is always accompanied by events in the nerve endings, the skin, the mucous membranes, the glandular and erectile tissues. Those who don't say so are liars. Those who do are labeled as pornographers. It's the fault, of course, of our philosophy of life; and our philosophy of life is the inevitable byproduct of a language that separates in idea what in actual fact is always inseparable. It separates and at the same time it evaluates. One of the abstractions is 'good,' and the other is 'bad.' Judge not that ye be not judged. But the nature of language is such that we can't help judging. What we need is another set of words. Words that can express the natural togetherness of things. Muco-spiritual, for example, or dermatocharity. Or why no mastonoetic? Why not viscerosophy? But translated, of course, out of the indecent obscurity of a learned language into something you could use in everyday speech or even in lyrical poetry. How hard it is, without those still non-existent words, to discuss even [a simple and obvious case.] The best one can do is to flounder about in metaphors. A saturated solution of feelings, which can be crystallized either from the outside or the inside. Words and events that fall into the psycho-physical soup and make it clot into action-producing lumps of emotion and sentiment.

Tsar Phalanxia
May 19th, 2009, 09:03 AM
Mr Leopold Bloom ate with relish the inner organs of beasts and fowls. He liked thick giblet soup, nutty gizzards, a stuffed roast heart, liverslices fried with crustcrumbs, fried hencods' roes. Most of all he liked grilled mutton kidneys which gave to his palate a fine tang of faintly scented urine.

Kidneys were in his mind as he moved about the kitchen softly, righting her breakfast things on the humpy tray. Gelid light and air were in the kitchen but out of the doors gentle summer morning everywhere.

Ulysses - James Joyce

May 19th, 2009, 01:00 PM
GOOD stuff there, Tsar!

The Laughing Man
May 19th, 2009, 01:34 PM
Punch ‘em in the dick
Punch ‘em in the dick
Fuckers talk shit
I’ma punch ‘em in the dick
Punch ‘em in the diiiiick
Punch ‘em in the diiiiick
Motherfuckers talk shit
I’ma punch ‘em in the dick

Yo look at that chump
See the way that he struts
Don’t kick him in the rump
Go nuts on his nuts
Just pop a squat
Start lettin’ off the shots
Like knock knock knock
Just coldcocked his cock
Yo, to all the cock-knockers
Keep on boxing your baby makers
With a sock to the jock
Better make that a double
Just a couple of rounds of knuckles
Beneath the buckle and he’ll buckle
If you’re in trouble
Give him some urine trouble
Hand him his balls
And tell him better learn to juggle
Turn his pebbles into rubble
Make him wonder what might’ve been
Make it so the South will never rise again

Now every man claims to be the toughest and the meanest
Watch your crocks, because soon the losers will be your weenus
And the winners in all the gladiator arenas
Are always the ones that go straight for the penis

So punch ‘em in the dick
Punch ‘em in the dick
motherfucker talk shit
I’ma punch ‘em in the dick
Punch ‘em in the diiiiick
Punch ‘em in the diiiiick
motherfucker talk shit
I’ma punch ‘em in the dick

Punch ‘em in the dick
Punch ‘em in the dick
motherfucker talk shit
I’ma punch ‘em in the dick
Punch ‘em in the diiiiick
Punch ‘em in the diiiiick
You motherfuckers talk shit
I’ma punch ‘em in the dick

I’ll give your willy a welt
Like you ain’t never felt
Soon as I’m knelt
I’ma pelt you below the belt
Like Bang!
Bust em’ in the wang
Like it ain’t no thang
Now you really can’t hang

But you ain’t gotta be a dude
Shit, I’ll dick-punch a chick
Because I don’t discriminate
When I punch em’ in the dick
Whether Suzie Homemaker or a floozy home-wrecker
I’ma deck’er in the pecker, mother-fecker

It could be your mama
Better be no drama
You could be the Dalai llama
I’ma still put it on ya
With a right, left, right, left
Yo dick punched
Then you say Goddam, my shit’s crunched
Scrotum? I damn near killed ‘em
I capped him in (?) the boner, man
Forget about children
You ain’t got enough kung-fu to bust some ninja shit
Fuck Sun-Tzu, you want to learn the Art of Won

Punch ‘em in the dick
Punch ‘em in the dick
Motherfuckers talk shit
Straight punch ‘em in the dick
Punch ‘em in the diiiiick
Punch ‘em in the diiiiick
You motherfuckers talk shit
Straight punch ‘em in the dick

Punch ‘em in the dick
Punch ‘em in the dick
Motherfuckers talk shit
Straight punch ‘em in the dick
Punch ‘em in the diiiiick
Punch ‘em in the diiiiick
You motherfuckers talk shit
Punch ‘em in the dick

A brand new dance
Called punch his ass right in the dick

A brand new dance
Called punch his ass right in the dick

Any of you snotty kids be talkin’ shit
I’ma drop a fist on your naughty bits
I got punches a’plentiful
You bet your rear-end it’ll sting
When I start swingin’ on your genitals
Because then it’ll swell up all out of proportion
Lookin’ like an eggplant forced into your foreskin
Nevermind abortion
Forget vasectomy
I got your birth-control… B’low!
Nut-check, homey

I punched God in the dick
I punched Mary in the dick
I punched Jesus Christ in the dick
Yo, I punched Cheney in the dick
I punched Powell in his colon
I punched George in his Bush
I punched Condoleezza Rice in the diiiiiick

Punch ‘em in the dick
Punch ‘em in the dick
Motherfuckers talk shit
Straight punch ‘em in the dick
Punch ‘em in the diiiiick
Punch ‘em in the diiiiick
You motherfuckers talk shit
What, I’ma punch ‘em in the dick

Punch ‘em in the dick
Punch ‘em in the dick
Motherfuckers talk shit
Straight punch ‘em in the dick

Punch ‘em in the diiiiick
Punch ‘em in the diiiiick
Motherfuckers talk shit
Yo, punch ‘em in the dick

Gonna punch ‘em in the dick
Watch me punch ‘em in the dick
Love to punch ‘em in the dick
Born to punch ‘em in the dick
Forever punch ‘em in the dick
Sucker punch ‘em in the dick
Fruit punch ‘em in the dick
Hawaiian punch ‘em in the motherfuckin’ diiiick

May 19th, 2009, 02:49 PM
Man designs for himself a garden with a hundred kinds of trees, a thousand kinds of flowers, a hundred kinds of fruit and vegetables. Suppose, then, that the gardener of this garden knew no other distinction than between edible and inedible, nine-tenths of this garden would be useless to him. He would pull up the most enchanting flowers and hew down the noblest trees and even regard them with a loathing and envious eye. This is what the Steppenwolf does with the thousand flowers of his soul. What does not stand classified as either man or wolf he does not see at all. And consider all that he imputes to "man"! All that is cowardly and apish, stupid and mean--while to the wolf, only because he has not succeeded in making himself its master, is set down all that is strong and noble.

- From Herman Hesse, "Steppenwolf"

May 19th, 2009, 03:13 PM
- From Herman Hesse, "Steppenwolf"
Good excerpt. I haven't read that one yet. Pretty good?
While we're on Hesse...

From "Siddhartha" (excerpt's a bit long but a very fun read):

When in the next morning the time had come to start the days journey, Govinda said, not without hesitation, these words: Before Ill continue on my path, Siddhartha, permit me to ask one more question. Do you have a teaching? Do you have a faith, or a knowledge, you follow, which helps you to live and to do right?

Quoth Siddhartha: You know, my dear, that I already as a young man, in those days when we lived with the penitents in the forest, started to distrust teachers and teachings and to turn my back to them. I have stuck with this. Nevertheless, I have had many teachers since then. A beautiful courtesan has been my teacher for a long time, and a rich merchant was my teacher, and some gamblers with dice. Once, even a follower of Buddha, travelling on foot, has been my teacher; he sat with me when I had fallen asleep in the forest, on the pilgrimage. Ive also learned from him, Im also grateful to him, very grateful. But most of all, I have learned here from this river and from my predecessor, the ferryman Vasudeva. He was a very simple person, Vasudeva, he was no thinker, but he knew what is necessary just as well as Gotama, he was a perfect man, a saint.

Govinda said: Still, oh Siddhartha, you love a bit to mock people, as it seems to me. I believe in you and know that you havent followed a teacher. But havent you found something by yourself, though youve found no teachings, you still found certain thoughts, certain insights, which are your own and which help you to live? If you would like to tell me some of these, you would delight my heart.

Quoth Siddhartha: Ive had thoughts, yes, and insight, again and again. Sometimes, for an hour or for an entire day, I have felt knowledge in me, as one would feel life in ones heart. There have been many thoughts, but it would be hard for me to convey them to you. Look, my dear Govinda, this is one of my thoughts, which I have found: wisdom cannot be passed on. Wisdom which a wise man tries to pass on to someone always sounds like foolishness.

Are you kidding? asked Govinda.

Im not kidding. Im telling you what Ive found. Knowledge can be conveyed, but not wisdom. It can be found, it can be lived, it is possible to be carried by it, miracles can be performed with it, but it cannot be expressed in words and taught. This was what I, even as a young man, sometimes suspected, what has driven me away from the teachers. I have found a thought, Govinda, which youll again regard as a joke or foolishness, but which is my best thought. It says: The opposite of every truth is just as true! Thats like this: any truth can only be expressed and put into words when it is one-sided. Everything is one-sided which can be thought with thoughts and said with words, its all one-sided, all just one half, all lacks completeness, roundness, oneness. When the exalted Gotama spoke in his teachings of the world, he had to divide it into Sansara and Nirvana, into deception and truth, into suffering and salvation. It cannot be done differently, there is no other way for him who wants to teach. But the world itself, what exists around us and inside of us, is never one-sided. A person or an act is never entirely Sansara or entirely Nirvana, a person is never entirely holy or entirely sinful. It does really seem like this, because we are subject to deception, as if time was something real. Time is not real, Govinda, I have experienced this often and often again. And if time is not real, then the gap which seems to be between the world and the eternity, between suffering and blissfulness, between evil and good, is also a deception.

How come? asked Govinda timidly.

Listen well, my dear, listen well! The sinner, which I am and which you are, is a sinner, but in times to come he will be Brahma again, he will reach the Nirvana, will be Buddhaand now see: these times to come are a deception, are only a parable! The sinner is not on his way to become a Buddha, he is not in the process of developing, though our capacity for thinking does not know how else to picture these things. No, within the sinner is now and today already the future Buddha, his future is already all there, you have to worship in him, in you, in everyone the Buddha which is coming into being, the possible, the hidden Buddha. The world, my friend Govinda, is not imperfect, or on a slow path towards perfection: no, it is perfect in every moment, all sin already carries the divine forgiveness in itself, all small children already have the old person in themselves, all infants already have death, all dying people the eternal life. It is not possible for any person to see how far another one has already progressed on his path; in the robber and dice-gambler, the Buddha is waiting; in the Brahman, the robber is waiting. In deep meditation, there is the possibility to put time out of existence, to see all life which was, is, and will be as if it was simultaneous, and there everything is good, everything is perfect, everything is Brahman. Therefore, I see whatever exists as good, death is to me like life, sin like holiness, wisdom like foolishness, everything has to be as it is, everything only requires my consent, only my willingness, my loving agreement, to be good for me, to do nothing but work for my benefit, to be unable to ever harm me. I have experienced on my body and on my soul that I needed sin very much, I needed lust, the desire for possessions, vanity, and needed the most shameful despair, in order to learn how to give up all resistance, in order to learn how to love the world, in order to stop comparing it to some world I wished, I imagined, some kind of perfection I had made up, but to leave it as it is and to love it and to enjoy being a part of it.These, oh Govinda, are some of the thoughts which have come into my mind.
Siddhartha bent down, picked up a stone from the ground, and weighed it in his hand.

This here, he said playing with it, is a stone, and will, after a certain time, perhaps turn into soil, and will turn from soil into a plant or animal or human being. In the past, I would have said: This stone is just a stone, it is worthless, it belongs to the world of the maya; but because it might be able to become also a human being and a spirit in the cycle of transformations, therefore I also grant it importance. Thus, I would perhaps have thought in the past. But today I think: this stone is a stone, it is also animal, it is also god, it is also Buddha, I do not venerate and love it because it could turn into this or that, but rather because it is already and always everything and it is this very fact, that it is a stone, that it appears to me now and today as a stone, this is why I love it and see worth and purpose in each of its veins and cavities, in the yellow, in the gray, in the hardness, in the sound it makes when I knock at it, in the dryness or wetness of its surface. There are stones which feel like oil or soap, and others like leaves, others like sand, and every one is special and prays the Om in its own way, each one is Brahman, but simultaneously and just as much it is a stone, is oily or juicy, and this is this very fact which I like and regard as wonderful and worthy of worship.But let me speak no more of this. The words are not good for the secret meaning, everything always becomes a bit different, as soon as it is put into words, gets distorted a bit, a bit sillyyes, and this is also very good, and I like it a lot, I also very much agree with this, that this what is one mans treasure and wisdom always sounds like foolishness to another person.

Govinda listened silently.

Why have you told me this about the stone? he asked hesitantly after a pause.

I did it without any specific intention. Or perhaps what I meant was, that love this very stone, and the river, and all these things we are looking at and from which we can learn. I can love a stone, Govinda, and also a tree or a piece of bark. This are things, and things can be loved. But I cannot love words. Therefore, teachings are no good for me, they have no hardness, no softness, no colours, no edges, no smell, no taste, they have nothing but words. Perhaps it are these which keep you from finding peace, perhaps it are the many words. Because salvation and virtue as well, Sansara and Nirvana as well, are mere words, Govinda. There is no thing which would be Nirvana; there is just the word Nirvana.

Tsar Phalanxia
May 19th, 2009, 03:21 PM
Niice. Sadly, being an avid Grunge fan, every time I see "Nirvana", I can Smell Teen Spirit, even whyen it has nothing to do with that.

The history of all hitherto existing society is the history of class struggles.

Freeman and slave, patrician and plebeian, lord and serf, guild-master and journeyman, in a word, oppressor and oppressed, stood in constant opposition to one another, carried on an uninterrupted, now hidden, now open fight, a fight that each time ended, either in a revolutionary reconstitution of society at large, or in the common ruin of the contending classes

In short, the Communists everywhere support every revolutionary movement against the existing social and political order of things.
The Communists disdain to conceal their views and aims. They openly declare that their ends can be attained only by the forcible overthrow of all existing social conditions. Let the ruling classes tremble at a Communistic revolution. The proletarians have nothing to lose but their chains. They have a world to win.


Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels - The Communist Manifesto

Stirring stuff. I'm not a Communist, but it's not hard to at least see why Marz was coming up with these ideas, given the state of the working class in the 1840's, when he was writing this.

May 19th, 2009, 04:17 PM
Unfortunately for him, he tried to start a revolution of the mind... But that's not where revolutions happen.

"Revolution is not something fixed in ideology, nor is it something fashioned
to a particular decade. It is a perpetual process embedded in the human spirit."
-Abbie Hoffman

At the risk of sounding ridiculous, a true revolutionary is guided by great feelings of love.
-Che Guevara

Dr Goofy Mofo
May 19th, 2009, 04:25 PM
Fuel - Innocent

Satan, you know where I lie
Gently I go into that good night
All our lives get complicated
Search for pleasures overrated
Never armed our souls
For what the future would hold
When we were innocent

Angels, lend me your might
Forfeit all my lives to get just one right
All those colors long since faded
All our smiles all confiscated
Never were we told
We'd be bought and sold
When we were innocent

This prayer is for me tonight
This far down that line and still ain't got it right
And while confessions not yet stated
Our next sin is contemplated
Never did we know
What the future would hold
Or that we'd be bought and sold
We were innocent

May 19th, 2009, 10:28 PM
"here kitty kitty kitty"

original author unknown

The Good Reverend Roger
May 19th, 2009, 10:31 PM
The Top 15 Bad Romance Novel Opening Lines

15."He snapped my bra like a Concord taking off, and I was unhooked for love."
14."Yes, she was a woman who had once been a man, but she still knew how to flutter her eyelashes as well as those other hussies."
13."The heaving waves on the vast, ink-black ocean sent a salty spray over the proud bow of the three-masted ship, leaving beads of water on the exposed alabaster skin above the bodice of the tall, raven-haired woman who stood sobbing on the deck, her salty tears mixing with the storm-tossed sea."
12."Scarlet's hair was as red as my persistent canker sore."
11."Nicole let the silk blouse fall from her shoulders, wrapped her left leg around James and deftly cut some cheese."
10."Robert was new at this prison thing, and he felt frightened and confused. But the moment he laid eyes on #472825994, he became a prisoner of love."
9."Sam liked to hump."
8."Though flanked by two swarthy state troopers, Paula found her gaze drawn to the chubby saxophonist."
7."It was a dark and horny night..."
6."Gentle cascades of vermilion poured over Daphne's heaving, lily-white bosom. 'Call 911, Scooby,' she breathed."
5."His flatulence reared up like a proud stallion."
4."'Miss Savannah, is there room for both of us in that hoop skirt?' Chandler mocked with a slight bow and a sweep of his top hat."
3."Within minutes of their meeting, Representatives Beth (D-Florida) and Eric (R-Montana) lumbered into the bedroom where soon the unmistakable sounds of wet, naked bodies engaged in sexual congress were heard."
2."He smelled of pork. Rotting pork, in fact -- and lots of it."
...and the Number 1 Bad Romance Novel Opening Line...
1."Omaha Beach, 0800 Hours: reinforcements from 2nd Panzer Korps arrive, their well-muscled young torsos glistening with man-dew."

The Good Reverend Roger
May 19th, 2009, 10:34 PM
by Dr. Alfred Charles Kinsey
Unpublished, 1955 work-in-progress
The unexpected discovery of this research paper on the sexual habits of hamsters by the late Dr. Alfred Kinsey put all those who received funding on Advanced Rodent Copulation (ARC) into a 'wheel of frenzied expectation' - according to the esteemed peer review journal 'What Hamster ?'. Kinsey's work was later turned into a best selling book in 2002. Here is an edited extract ..

May 19th, 2009, 10:35 PM
Worst thread ever.

The Good Reverend Roger
May 19th, 2009, 10:37 PM
Cole: "Could this have been caused by the serum you injected in that one rabbit?"
Roy: "I'm sure of it. It only takes one."
National Guardsman: "Ladies and gentlemen, reports from headquarters confirm that the horde of killer rabbits is getting closer to town. High voltage has been turned on into a section of the railroad tracks and it is your car lights we hope will funnel the rabbits onto them. There will be machinegun and rifle fire to both kill and divert these monsters. Do not panic."- Night of the Lepus

The Good Reverend Roger
May 19th, 2009, 10:37 PM
Worst thread ever.

I'm still gonna quote "literature". :icon_lol:

May 19th, 2009, 10:40 PM

The Good Reverend Roger
May 19th, 2009, 10:40 PM

What? Night of the Lepus isn't in the same league as Marcus Tullius Cicero?


May 19th, 2009, 10:41 PM
Well, it IS classic, I'll give it that!

The Good Reverend Roger
May 19th, 2009, 10:41 PM
And how can you not LOVE the line: "He snapped my bra like a Concord taking off, and I was unhooked for love."?

May 19th, 2009, 10:51 PM
And how can you not LOVE the line: "He snapped my bra like a Concord taking off, and I was unhooked for love."?

It's getting me kinda hot.

May 20th, 2009, 03:33 AM
"American Terrorist"
by: Lupe Fiasco
Close your mind
close your eyes
see with your heart
how do you forgive the murderer of your father?
the ink of a scholar is worth a thousand times more than the blood of a martyr

we came through the storm nooses on our necks
and a smallpox blanket to keep us warm
on a 747 on the pentagon lawn
wake up the alarm clock is connected to a bomb
anthrax lab on a w. Virginia farm
shorty ain't learned to walk already heavily armed
civilians and little children is especially harmed
camouflaged Torahs, Bibles and glorious qurans
the books that take you to heaven and let you meet the Lord there
have become misinterpreted, reasons for warfare
we read 'em with blind eyes I guarantee you there's more there
the rich must be blind because they didn't see the poor there
need to open up a park, just close 10 schools
we don't need 'em
can you please call the fire department they're down here marching for freedom
burn down their TV's, turn their TV's on to teach 'em

The more money that they make
the more money that they make
the better and better they live
whatever they wanna take
whatever they wanna take
whatever whatever it is
the more that you wanna learn
the more that you try to learn
the better and better it gets
American Terrorist

now the poor klu klux man see that we're all brothers not because things are the same because we lack the same
color that's green, now that's mean
cant burn his cross cause he can't afford the gasoline
now if a Muslim woman strapped with a bomb on a bus
with the seconds running give you the jitters?
just imagine an American-based Christian organization planning to poison water supplies to bring the second-coming quicker
nigga they ain't living properly
break 'em off a little democracy
turn their whole culture to a mockery
give 'em Coca-Cola for their property
give 'em gum, give 'em guns, get 'em young, give 'em fun
if they ain't giving it up, then they ain't getting none and don't give 'em all naw, man, just give 'em some its
the paper, some of these cops must be al-qaeda


It's like
don't give the black man food, give red man liquor
red man fool, black man nigga
give yellow man tool, make him railroad boulder
also give him pan, make him pull gold from river give black man crack, glocks and things, give red man
craps, slot machines...

May 20th, 2009, 06:57 AM
I'm waiting to hear about someone from the site walking across the park (you know the one) one dark night and getting jumped, gang-raped, and knived for his sneakers.

The Good Reverend Roger
May 20th, 2009, 04:26 PM
I'm waiting to hear about someone from the site walking across the park (you know the one) one dark night and getting jumped, gang-raped, and knived for his sneakers.

Daruko is scheduled for that next week, when he realizes nobody believes him about being hit by a car.

Tsar Phalanxia
May 21st, 2009, 11:45 AM
Nice, what book/song is that from?

May 21st, 2009, 01:14 PM
Daruko is scheduled for that next week, when he realizes nobody believes him about being hit by a car.
Why so many lies? Don't you like to be viewed as trustworthy?

May 21st, 2009, 01:33 PM
Vae, Gaudium Fugax!

There is a garden in the east, serene and perfect, But a Seraph guards it with a flaming sword. For God has seven thousand names, and one of them is Bastard.
- Lucifer, Neil Gaiman

All said and done, my friends, it will be an ill day for us if what most humans mean by "religion" ever vanishes from the Earth. It can still send us the truly delicious sins. The fine flower of unholiness can grow only in the close neighborhood of the Holy. Nowhere do we tempt so successfully as on the very steps of the altar.
- The Screwtape Letters, C.S. Lewis

It was four hundred years ago or more, when the Dothraki first rode out of the east, sacking and burning every town and city in their path. The khal who led them was named Temmo. His khalasar was not so big as Drogos, but it was big enough. Fifty thousand, at the least. Half of them braided warriors with bells ringing in their hair.

The Qohorik knew he was coming. They strengthened their walls, doubled the size of their own guard, and hired two free companies besides, the Bright Banners and the Second Sons. And almost as an afterthought, they sent a man to Astapor to buy three thousand Unsullied. It was a long march back to Qohor, however, and as they approached they saw the smoke and dust and heard the distant din of battle.

By the time the Unsullied reached the city the sun had set. Crows and wolves were feasting beneath the walls on what remained of the Qohorik heavy horse. The Bright Banners and Second Sons had fled, as sellswords are wont to do in the face of hopeless odds. With dark falling, the Dothraki had retired to their own camps to drink and dance and feast, but none doubted that they would return on the morrow to smash the city gates, storm the walls, and rape, loot, and slave as they pleased.

But when dawn broke and Temmo and his bloodriders led their khalasar out of camp, they found three thousand Unsullied drawn up before the gates with the Black Goat standard flying over their heads. So small a force could easily have been flanked, but you know Dothraki. These were men on foot, and men on foot are fit only to be ridden down.

The Dothraki charged. The Unsullied locked their shields, lowered their spears, and stood firm. Against twenty thousand screamers with bells in their hair, they stood firm.

Eighteen times the Dothraki charged, and broke themselves on those shields and spears like waves on a rocky shore. Thrice Temmo sent his archers wheeling past and arrows fell like rain upon the Three Thousand, but the Unsullied merely lifted their shields above their heads until the squall had passed. In the end only six hundred of them remained . . . but more than twelve thousand Dothraki lay dead upon that field, including Khal Temmo, his bloodriders, his kos, and all his sons. On the morning of the fourth day, the new khal led the survivors past the city gates in a stately procession. One by one, each man cut off his braid and threw it down before the feet of the Three Thousand.
- A Song of Ice and Fire, George R. R. Martin

"And then Jack chopped down what was the world's last beanstalk, adding murder and ecological terrorism to the theft, enticement and trespass charges already mentioned and all the giant's children didn't have a daddy any more. But he got away with it and lived happily ever after without so much as a guilty twinge about what he had done. Which proves that you can be excused just about anything if you're a hero, because no one asks inconvenient questions. "
- The Hogfather, Terry Pratchett

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
- Macbeth, Act 5, Scene V, Shakespeare

My queen, all you say is true. But Rhaegar lost on the Trident. He lost the battle, he lost the war, he lost the kingdom, and he lost his life. His blood swirled downriver with the rubies from his breastplate, and Robert the Usurper rode over his corpse to steal the Iron Throne. Rhaegar fought valiantly, Rhaegar fought nobly, Rhaegar fought honorably. And Rhaegar died.
- A Song of Ice and Fire, George R. R. Martin

"There are no true knights, no more than there are gods. If you can't protect yourself, die and get out of the way of those who can. Sharp steel and strong arms rule this world, don't ever believe any different."
- A Song of Ice and Fire, George R. R. Martin

"A good player who loses at chess is genuinely convinced that he has lost because of a mistake, and he looks for this mistake in the beginning of his game, but forgets that there were also mistakes at every step in the course of the game, that none of his moves are perfect. The mistake he pays attention to is conspicuous only because his opponent took advantage of it. How much more complex is the game of war, which takes place in certain conditions of time and where no single will is guiding lifeless mechanisms, but everything is the result of numberless collisions of various wills?"
- War And Peace, Tolstoy

Tsar Phalanxia
May 21st, 2009, 06:18 PM
Catcher in the Rye FTW

May 21st, 2009, 07:55 PM
I actually have a ton of quotes from ASOIAF I could post. I just need to prune out the ones which might give away too much of the plot...

May 21st, 2009, 08:02 PM
A Game of Thrones - George R. R. Martin

One day, Bran, you will be Robbs bannerman, holding a keep of your own for your brother and your king, and justice will fall to you. When that day comes, you must take no pleasure in the task, but neither must you look away. A ruler who hides behind paid executioners soon forgets what death is.

I swear to you, sitting a throne is a thousand times harder than winning one. Laws are a tedious business and counting coppers is worse. And the people . . . there is no end of them. I sit on that damnable iron chair and listen to them complain until my mind is numb and my ass is raw. They all want something, money or land or justice. The lies they tell . . . and my lords and ladies are no better. I am surrounded by flatterers and fools. It can drive a man to madness, Ned. Half of them dont dare tell me the truth, and the other half cant find it. There are nights I wish we had lost at the Trident. Ah, no, not truly, but . . . "

Let me give you some counsel, bastard, Lannister said. Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armor yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you.

We ought to count ourselves fortunate, the man said. The king might as easily have named one of his brothers, or even Littlefinger, gods help us. Give me honorable enemies rather than ambitious ones, and Ill sleep more easily by night.

"I must do my part for the honor of my House, wouldnt you agree? Yet how? Well, my legs may be too small for my body, but my head is too large, although I prefer to think it is just large enough for my mind. I have a realistic grasp of my own strengths and weaknesses. My mind is my weapon. My brother has his sword, King Robert has his warhammer, and I have my mind . . . and a mind needs books as a sword needs a whetstone, if it is to keep its edge. Tyrion tapped the leather cover of the book. Thats why I read so much, Jon Snow.

No. They hate you because you act like youre better than they are. They look at you and see a castle-bred bastard who thinks hes a lordling. The armorer leaned close. Youre no lordling. Remember that. Youre a Snow, not a Stark. Youre a bastard and a bully.
A bully ? Jon almost choked on the word. The accusation was so unjust it took his breath away. They were the ones who came after me. Four of them.
Four that youve humiliated in the yard. Four who are probably afraid of you. Ive watched you fight. Its not training with you. Put a good edge on your sword, and theyd be dead meat; you know it, I know it, they know it. You leave them nothing. You shame them. Does that make you proud?

I was younger than you, six, maybe seven. A woodcarver set up shop in the village under my fathers keep, and to buy favor he sent us gifts. The old man made marvelous toys. I dont remember what I got, but it was Gregors gift I wanted. A wooden knight, all painted up, every joint pegged separate and fixed with strings, so you could make him fight. Gregor is five years older than me, the toy was nothing to him, he was already a squire, near six foot tall and muscled like an ox. So I took his knight, but there was no joy to it, I tell you. I was scared all the while, and true enough, he found me. There was a brazier in the room. Gregor never said a word, just picked me up under his arm and shoved the side of my face down in the burning coals and held me there while I screamed and screamed. You saw how strong he is. Even then, it took three grown men to drag him off me. The septons preach about the seven hells. What do they know? Only a man whos been burned knows what hell is truly like.

Lord Baelish stroked his little pointed beard and said, Nothing? Tell me, child, why would you have sent Ser Loras?
Sansa had no choice but to explain about heroes and monsters. The kings councillor smiled. Well, those are not the reasons Id have given, but . . . He had touched her cheek, his thumb lightly tracing the line of a cheekbone. Life is not a song, sweetling. You may learn that one day to your sorrow.

Ah, but when the queen proclaims one king and the Hand another, whose peace do they protect?
Lord Petyr flicked at the dagger with his finger, setting it spinning in place. Round and round it went, wobbling as it turned. When at last it slowed to a stop, the blade pointed at Littlefinger. Why, theres your answer, he said, smiling. They follow the man who pays them. He leaned back and looked Ned full in the face, his grey-green eyes bright with mockery. You wear your honor like a suit of armor, Stark. You think it keeps you safe, but all it does is weigh you down and make it hard for you to move. Look at you now. You know why you summoned me here. You know what you want to ask me to do. You know it has to be done . . . but its not honorable, so the words stick in your throat.

Lord Tywin did not stir from his chair, but he did give his dwarf son a long, searching look. I see that the rumors of your demise were unfounded.
Sorry to disappoint you, Father, Tyrion said. No need to leap up and embrace me, I wouldnt want you to strain yourself. He crossed the room to their table, acutely conscious of the way his stunted legs made him waddle with every step. Whenever his fathers eyes were on him, he became uncomfortably aware of all his deformities and shortcomings. Kind of you to go to war for me, he said as he climbed into a chair and helped himself to a cup of his fathers ale.
By my lights, it was you who started this, Lord Tywin replied. Your brother Jaime would never have meekly submitted to capture at the hands of a woman.
Thats one way we differ, Jaime and I. Hes taller as well, you may have noticed.

Rhaenys was a child too. Prince Rhaegars daughter. A precious little thing, younger than your girls. She had a small black kitten she called Balerion, did you know? I always wondered what happened to him. Rhaenys liked to pretend he was the true Balerion, the Black Dread of old, but I imagine the Lannisters taught her the difference between a kitten and a dragon quick enough, the day they broke down her door. Varys gave a long weary sigh, the sigh of a man who carried all the sadness of the world in a sack upon his shoulders. The High Septon once told me that as we sin, so do we suffer. If thats true, Lord Eddard, tell me . . . why is it always the innocents who suffer most, when you high lords play your game of thrones? Ponder it, if you would, while you wait upon the queen.

Dr Goofy Mofo
May 21st, 2009, 08:03 PM
Didn't even need to read them to know they are good.

A banker is a fellow who lends you his umbrella when the sun is shining, but wants it back the minute it begins to rain.

A man cannot be comfortable without his own approval.

Always acknowledge a fault. This will throw those in authority off their guard and give you an opportunity to commit more.

Always do right. This will gratify some people and astonish the rest.

An Englishman is a person who does things because they have been done before. An American is a person who does things because they haven't been done before.

Barring that natural expression of villainy which we all have, the man looked honest enough.

Be careful about reading health books. You may die of a misprint.

By trying we can easily learn to endure adversity -- another man's I mean.

Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence on society.

Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear - not absence of fear.

Do something every day that you don't want to do; this is the golden rule for acquiring the habit of doing your duty without pain.

Don't go around saying the world owes you a living. The world owes you nothing. It was here first.

Don't part with your illusions. When they are gone you may still exist, but you have ceased to live.

Education: that which reveals to the wise, and conceals from the stupid, the vast limits of their knowledge.

Facts are stubborn things, but statistics are more pliable.

Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities. Truth isn't.

Get your facts first, and then you can distort them as much as you please.

Grief can take care of itself, but to get the full value of a joy you must have somebody to divide it with.

Habit is habit and not to be flung out of the window by any man, but coaxed downstairs a step at a time.

Honesty is the best policy - when there is money in it.

Humor is the great thing, the saving thing. The minute it crops up, all our irritations and resentments slip away and a sunny spirit takes their place.

I am opposed to millionaires, but it would be dangerous to offer me the position.

I didn't attend the funeral, but I sent a nice letter saying that I approved of it.

I don't give a damn for a man that can only spell a word one way.

I have a higher and grander standard of principle than George Washington. He could not lie; I can, but I won't.

I have been through some terrible things in my life, some of which actually happened.

I have never let my schooling interfere with my education.

I have never taken any exercise except sleeping and resting.

I thoroughly disapprove of duels. If a man should challenge me, I would take him kindly and forgivingly by the hand and lead him to a quiet place and kill him.

May 21st, 2009, 08:15 PM
A Game of Thrones - George R. R. Martin

“How I have yearned to have that eunuch’s tongue pulled out with hot pincers,” Cersei replied. “Has father lost his senses? Or did you forge this letter?” She read it once more, with mounting annoyance. “Why would he inflict you on me? I wanted him to come himself.” She crushed Lord Tywin’s letter in her fingers. “I am Joffrey’s regent, and I sent him a royal command !”

“And he ignored you,” Tyrion pointed out. “He has quite a large army, he can do that. Nor is he the first.”

“Joff will be no more tractable for you than for me.”
“He might.”
“Why should he?”
“He knows you would never hurt him.”

“You’ll have no one,” Yoren said stubbornly. “There’s laws on such things.”
The gold cloak drew a shortsword. “Here’s your law.”
Yoren looked at the blade. “That’s no law, just a sword. Happens I got one too.”
The officer smiled. “Old fool. I have five men with me.”
Yoren spat. “Happens I got thirty.”

“And yet he is no one,” Varys said. “He has neither crown nor gold nor favor of the gods, only a piece of pointed steel.”
“That piece of steel is the power of life and death.”
“Just so . . . yet if it is the swordsmen who rule us in truth, why do we pretend our kings hold the power? Why should a strong man with a sword ever obey a child king like Joffrey, or a wine-sodden oaf like his father?“
“Because these child kings and drunken oafs can call other strong men, with other swords.”
“Then these other swordsmen have the true power. Or do they? Whence came their swords? Why do they obey?” Varys smiled. “Some say knowledge is power. Some tell us that all power comes from the gods. Others say it derives from law. Yet that day on the steps of Baelor’s Sept, our godly High Septon and the lawful Queen Regent and your ever-so-knowledgeable servant were as powerless as any cobbler or cooper in the crowd. Who truly killed [removed] do you think? Joffrey, who gave the command? Ser Ilyn Payne, who swung the sword? Or . . . another?“
Tyrion cocked his head sideways. “Did you mean to answer your damned riddle, or only to make my head ache worse?”
Varys smiled. “Here, then. Power resides where men believe it resides. No more and no less.”
“So power is a mummer’s trick?”
“A shadow on the wall,” Varys murmured, “yet shadows can kill. And oft times a very small man can cast a very large shadow.”
Tyrion smiled. “Lord Varys, I am growing strangely fond of you. I may kill you yet, but I think I’d feel sad about it.”
“I will take that as high praise.”

“What Cersei does not know will never hurt me.”
“And if Her Grace were to discover your intentions before your plans are ripe?”
“Why,” he said, “then I would know the man who told her to be my certain enemy.” And when Varys giggled, he thought, Three.

The list of the slain was topped by the High Septon, ripped apart as he squealed to his gods for mercy. Starving men take a hard view of priests too fat to walk , Tyrion reflected.

“Do you take me for an utter fool, ser?” asked Stannis. “I have twenty thousand men. You are besieged by land and sea. Why would I choose single combat when my eventual victory is certain?” The king pointed a finger at him. “I give you fair warning. If you force me to take my castle by storm, you may expect no mercy. I will hang you for traitors, every one of you.”

The king was relentless. “You esteem this Penrose more than you do my lords bannermen. Why?”
“He keeps faith.”
“A misplaced faith in a dead usurper.”
“Yes,” Davos admitted, “but still, he keeps faith.”
“As those behind us do not?”
Davos had come too far with Stannis to play coy now. “Last year they were Robert’s men. A moon ago they were Renly’s. This morning they are yours. Whose will they be on the morrow?”
And Stannis laughed. A sudden gust, rough and full of scorn. “I told you, Melisandre,” he said to the red woman, “my Onion Knight tells me the truth.”

“Though you are wrong in one respect, Davos. There is a need. If I leave Storm’s End untaken in my rear, it will be said I was defeated here. And that I cannot permit. Men do not love me as they loved my brothers. They follow me because they fear me . . . and defeat is death to fear. The castle must fall.”

“Speak the name, and death will come. On the morrow, at the turn of the moon, a year from this day, it will come. A man does not fly like a bird, but one foot moves and then another and one day a man is there, and a king dies.” He knelt beside her, so they were face-to-face, “A girl whispers if she fears to speak aloud. Whisper it now. Is it Joffrey ?”
Arya put her lips to his ear. “It’s Jaqen H’ghar .”
Even in the burning barn, with walls of flame towering all around and him in chains, he had not seemed so distraught as he did now. “A girl . . . she makes a jest.”
“You swore. The gods heard you swear.”
“The gods did hear,” There was a knife in his hand suddenly, its blade thin as her little finger. Whether it was meant for her or him, Arya could not say. “A girl will weep. A girl will lose her only friend.”
“You’re not my friend. A friend would help me.” She stepped away from him, balanced on the balls of her feet in case he threw his knife. “I’d never kill a friend .”
Jaqen’s smile came and went. “A girl might . . . name another name then, if a friend did help?”
“A girl might,” she said. “If a friend did help.”
The knife vanished. “Come.”
“Now?” She had never thought he would act so quickly.
“A man hears the whisper of sand in a glass. A man will not sleep until a girl un-says a certain name. Now, evil child.”

May 21st, 2009, 08:22 PM
A Storm of Swords - George R. R. Martin

Stretched out over long leagues, the wildlings had no defenses to speak of, no pits nor sharpened stakes, only small groups of outriders patrolling their perimeters. Each group or clan or village had simply stopped where they wanted, as soon as they saw others stopping or found a likely spot. The free folk . If his brothers were to catch them in such disarray, many of them would pay for that freedom with their lifes blood. They had numbers, but the Nights Watch had discipline, and in battle discipline beats numbers nine times of every ten, his father had once told him.

Tyrion watched his father closely. Theres something hes not saying . He remembered those important letters Lord Tywin had been writing, the night Tyrion had demanded Casterly Rock. What was it he said? Some battles are won with swords and spears, others with quills and ravens . . . he wondered who the better option was, and what sort of price he was demanding.

One of the captives dropped to his knees. Mercy, sire. I killed no one, I only stood at the door to watch for guards.
Robb considered that a moment. Did you know what Lord Rickard intended? Did you see the knives drawn? Did you hear the shouts, the screams, the cries for mercy?
Aye, I did, but I took no part. I was only the watcher, I swear it . . .
Lord Umber, said Robb, this one was only the watcher. Hang him last, so he may watch the others die.

When Aegon the Dragon stepped ashore in Westeros, the kings of Vale and Rock and Reach did not rush to hand him their crowns. If you mean to sit his Iron Throne, you must win it as he did, with steel and dragonfire. And that will mean blood on your hands before the thing is done.

Blood and Fire, thought Dany. The words of House Targaryen. She had known them all her life. The blood of my enemies I will shed gladly. The blood of innocents is another matter. Eight thousand Unsullied they would offer me. Eight thousand dead babes. Eight thousand strangled dogs.

Your Grace, said Jorah Mormont, I saw Kings Landing after the Sack. Babes were butchered that day as well, and old men, and children at play. More women were raped than you can count. There is a savage beast in every man, and when you hand that man a sword or spear and send him forth to war, the beast stirs. The scent of blood is all it takes to wake him. Yet I have never heard of these Unsullied raping, nor putting a city to the sword, nor even plundering, save at the express command of those who lead them. Brick they may be, as you say, but if you buy them henceforth the only dogs theyll kill are those you want dead. And you do have some dogs you want dead, as I recall.

A knights a sword with a horse. The rest, the vows and the sacred oils and the ladys favors, theyre silk ribbons tied round the sword. Maybe the swords prettier with ribbons hanging off it, but it will kill you just as dead. Well, bugger your ribbons, and shove your swords up your arses. Im the same as you. The only difference is, I dont lie about what I am. So kill me, but dont call me a murderer while you stand there telling each other that your shit dont stink. You hear me?

The Second Sons have faced worse odds and won.
The Second Sons have faced worse odds and run. At Qohor, when the Three Thousand made their
stand. Or do you deny it?
That was many and more years ago, before the Second Sons were led by the Titans Bastard.
So it is from you they get their courage? Dany turned to Ser Jorah. When the battle is joined, kill this one first.
The exile knight smiled. Gladly, Your Grace.

Joffrey, when your enemies defy you, you must serve them steel and fire. When they go to their knees, however, you must help them back to their feet. Elsewise no man will ever bend the knee to you. And any man who must say I am the king is no true king at all. Aerys never understood that, but you will.

Theres the treacherous sow, he said. I knew youd come to get your feet kissed one day. His head was bald as a melon, his nose red and peeling, but she knew that voice and those pale green eyes. Im going to start by cutting off your teats. Dany was dimly aware of Missandei shouting for help. A freedman edged forward, but only a step. One quick slash, and he was on his knees, blood running down his face. Mero wiped his sword on his breeches. Whos next?

I am. Arstan Whitebeard leapt from his horse and stood over her, the salt wind riffling through his
snowy hair, both hands on his tall hardwood staff.

Grandfather, Mero said, run off before I break your stick in two and bugger you with

The old man feinted with one end of the staff, pulled it back, and whipped the other end about faster than Dany would have believed. The Titans Bastard staggered back into the surf, spitting blood and broken teeth from the ruin of his mouth. Whitebeard put Dany behind him. Mero slashed at his face. The old man jerked back, cat-quick. The staff thumped Meros ribs, sending him reeling. Arstan splashed sideways, parried a looping cut, danced away from a second, checked a third mid-swing. The moves were so fast she could hardly follow. Missandei was pulling Dany to her feet when she heard a crack . She thought Arstans staff had snapped until she saw the jagged bone jutting from Meros calf. As he fell, the Titans Bastard twisted and lunged, sending his point straight at the old mans chest. Whitebeard swept the blade aside almost contemptuously and smashed the other end of his staff against the big mans temple. Mero went sprawling, blood bubbling from his mouth as the waves washed over him. A moment later the freedmen washed over him too, knives and stones and angry fists rising and falling in a frenzy.

Why should I wish him dead? Littlefinger shrugged. I had no motive. Besides, I am a thousand leagues away in the Vale. Always keep your foes confused. If they are never certain who you are or what you want, they cannot know what you are like to do next. Sometimes the best way to baffle them is to make moves that have no purpose, or even seem to work against you. Remember that, Sansa, when you come to play the game.
What . . . what game?
The only game. The game of thrones.

In Kings Landing, there are two sorts of people. The players and the pieces.
And I was a piece? She dreaded the answer.
Yes, but dont let that trouble you. Youre still half a child. Every mans a piece to start with, and every maid as well. Even some who think they are players. He ate another seed. Cersei, for one. She thinks herself sly, but in truth she is utterly predictable. Her strength rests on her beauty, birth, and riches. Only the first of those is truly her own, and it will soon desert her. I pity her then. She wants power, but has no notion what to do with it when she gets it. Everyone wants something, Alayne. And when you know what a man wants you know who he is, and how to move him.

No matter what happened, Tyrion had the satisfaction of knowing that hed kicked Lord Tywins plans to splinters. If Prince Oberyn won, it would further inflame Highgarden against the Dornish; Mace Tyrell would see the man who crippled his son helping the dwarf who almost poisoned his daughter to escape his rightful punishment. And if the Mountain triumphed, Doran Martell might well demand to know why his brother had been served with death instead of the justice Tyrion had promised him. Dorne might crown Myrcella after all.

May 22nd, 2009, 02:24 AM
Great stuff Cain.

The Good Reverend Roger
May 22nd, 2009, 03:52 AM
Great stuff Cain.


May 22nd, 2009, 05:15 AM
Didn't even need to read them to know they are good. :icon_lol:

Tsar Phalanxia
May 22nd, 2009, 11:39 AM
did you even notice the book was in the title?

I never read the title. Ever.

May 22nd, 2009, 02:35 PM
Always the same,
If one is dreaming while in a dream does that mean that they are awake?

Enter here within a place, where tall tales told of a man with no face, where three suns are one and one is none, would you do kind a pleasure as to tell a short grace?
Should I be as bold, to linger when all thoughts've gone cold? Remember Gaia the days of Old, when one prays loss another prays a toss between the creation of the purple mans cross?
Be'est benign the sweet sublime, recalling the days when most didn't rhyme, to rhythm of life love and loss, freeing oneself from the timely cost. When all is lost to a poets repose, to quote a prose about the soul, one must remain hinder, hither bewildered for one may note like the obtrusive truth about ones self.

Introduction of Sands. - Written by Oliver Gunnerson.

The Laughing Man
May 22nd, 2009, 10:41 PM
"What you gon' do with all that junk?
All that junk inside that trunk?
I'ma get, get, get, get, you drunk,
Get you love drunk off my hump.
What you gon' do with all that ass?
All that ass inside them jeans?
I'm a make, make, make, make you scream
Make you scream, make you scream
Cos of my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump
My hump, my hump, my hump, my lovely lady lumps"

-Black Eyed Peas

May 22nd, 2009, 11:12 PM
Great green globs of greasy, grimy gopher guts,
Mutilated monkey meat
Dirty little birdie feet.
Great green globs of greasy, grimy gopher guts,
And me without my spoon.
Great green globs of greasy, grimy gopher guts,
Mutilated monkey meat
Little dirty birdies feet.
All mashed up and swimming in a pool of blood,
And I forgot my spoon.
Great green gobs of greasy, grimy gopher guts,
Mutilated monkey meat;Chopped up birdie feet;
French-fried eye balls rolling up and down the street...
Oops! I forgot my spoon.
Marinated monkey meat
Middle-aged monkey meat
Baby birdies' bloody feet
Dirty little pigeon's feet
Concentrated birdies' feet
Little duckys' dirty feet
Chopped-up parakeet
Chopped up horses feet
Beetle's eyes and monkeys feet
Petrified Pigeon Pus
Petrified Pig's Feet
Tons and tons of purple porpoise pus
All four quarts of all purpose porpoise pus
Four pure pints of all purpose porpoise pus
Pounds and pounds of prehistoric porpoise pus
All mixed up with a pile of poison possum pus
French fried eyeballs rollin' up the dirty street
French fried eyeballs swimmin' in a pool of blood
Eyeball floating in a pool of blood
Sitting in my pink lemonade
oops I forgot my straw
And I forgot my spoon!
Don't forget to lick the spoon
And I forgot my fork...and spoon....and knife
Made a sandwich just for you

Does anybody have a straw?
And I forgot my straw!
But I have a straw.

May 23rd, 2009, 02:25 AM
My dick cost a late night fee
Your dick got the HIV
My dick plays on the double feature screen
Your dick went straight to DVD

My dick- bigger than a bridge
Your dick look like a little kid's
My dick- large like the Chargers, the whole team
Your shit look like you fourteen

My dick- locked in a cage, right
Your dick suffer from stage fright
My dick- so hot, it's stolen
Your dick look like Gary Coleman

My dick- pink and big
Your dick stinks like shit
My dick got a Caesar do,
Your dick needs a tweezer, dude

My dick is like super size
Your dick look like two fries
My dick- more mass than the Earth
Your dick- half staff, it needs work

My dick- been there done that
Your dick sits there with dunce cap
My dick- V.I.P.
Your shit needs I.D.

It's time that we let the world know
Dude, you gotta let your girl go
D.S. is the best in the business
P.S. we got dicks like Jesus

It's time that we let the world know
Dude, you gotta let your girl go
D.S. is the best in the business
P.S. we got dicks like Jesus

My dick need no introduction
Your dick don't even function
My dick served a whole luncheon
Your dick- it look like a munchkin

My dick- size of a pumpkin
Your dick look like Macaulay Culkin
My dick- good good lovin'
Your dick- good for nothin'

My dick bench pressed 350
Your dick couldn't shoplift at Thrifty
My dick- pretty damn skippy
Your dick- hungry as a hippie

My dick don't fit down the chimney
Your dick is like a kid from the Philippines
My dick is like an M16
Your dick- broken vending machine

My dick parts the seas
Your dick farts and queefs
My dick- rumble in the jungle
Your dick got touched by your uncle

My dick goes to yoga
Your dick- fruit roll-up
My dick- grade-A beef
Your dick- Mayday geek

My dick- sick and dangerous
Your dick- quick and painless
My dick- 'nuff said.
Your dick loves Fred

It's time that we let the world know
Dude, you gotta let your girl go
D.S. is the best in the business
P.S. we got dicks like Jesus

It's time that we let the world know
Dude, you gotta let your girl go
D.S. is the best in the business
P.S. we got dicks like Jesus

-Mickey Avalon

May 24th, 2009, 03:15 PM
"What you gon' do with all that junk?
All that junk inside that trunk?
I'ma get, get, get, get, you drunk,
Get you love drunk off my hump.
What you gon' do with all that ass?
All that ass inside them jeans?
I'm a make, make, make, make you scream
Make you scream, make you scream
Cos of my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump
My hump, my hump, my hump, my lovely lady lumps"

-Black Eyed Peas

The original version by Alanis Morrisette was better :icon_cool:

May 24th, 2009, 04:02 PM
Daruko is scheduled for that next week, when he realizes nobody believes him about being hit by a car.

hardy har har. i missed out on what happened with daruko and sicky. oh well. if the whole thing just turns into this shouting match about who does what to whom, i'm fine with it all. them all living it out in full gory-pagebypage glory. no prefs, i lurve a good blood& whorer-fest. especially if it's not me. and anyway, they'll both probably get hit by a truck.

damn scientists...*shakes head in disgust*
they'll always ruin it for us all, what with their buildings and amoebas&. shit.

May 28th, 2009, 11:41 PM
Sonnet___To Science
Science! meet daughter of old Time thou art
Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes!
Why prey'st thou thus upon the poet's heart,
Vulture! whose wings are dull realities!
How should he love thee__or how deem thee wise
Who woulds't not leave him, in his wandering,
To seek for treasure in the jewell'd skies
Albeit, he soar with an undaunted wing?
Hast thou not dragg'd Diana from her car,
And driv'n the Hamadryad from the wood
To seek a shelter in some happier star?
The gentle Naiad from her fountain_flood?
The elfin from the green grass? and from me
The summer dream beneath the shrubbery?

Edgar Allen Poe

May 30th, 2009, 04:09 AM
That's a damn good one. Never read it before.

I really like when it gets: "To seek a shelter in some happier star?"

June 5th, 2009, 12:46 PM
-And so it was, and would never happen again, the prince of chaos, the malevolent.

- (Entire Chapter 3. Disproving the Discord )

June 18th, 2009, 03:57 PM
The Frivolous Cake

A freckled and frivolous cake there was
That sailed on a pointless sea,
Or any lugubrious lake there was
In a manner emphatic and free.
How jointlessly, and how jointlessly
The frivolous cake sailed by
On the waves of the ocean that pointlessly
Threw fish to the lilac sky.
Oh, plenty and plety of hake there was
Of a glory beyond compare,
And every conceivable make there was
Was tossed through the lilac air.

Up the smooth billows and over the crests
Of the cumbersome combers flew
The frivolous cake with a knife in the wake
of herself and her curranty crew.
Like a swordfish grim it would bounce and skim
(This dinner knife fierce and blue),
An the frivolous cake was filled to the brim
With the fun of her curranty crew.

Oh, plenty and plenty of hake there was
Of a glory beyond compare--
And every conceivable make there was
Was tossed through the lilac air.

Around the shores of the Elegant Isles
Where the catfish bask and purr
And lick their paws with adhesive smiles
And wriggle their fins of fur,
They fly and fly 'neath the lilac sky--
The frivolous cake, and the knife
Who winketh his glamorous indigo eye
In the wake of his future wife.

The crumbs blow free down the pointless sea
To the beat of a cakey heart
And the sensitive steel of the knife can feel
That love is a race apart.
In the speed of the lingering light are blown
The crumbs to the hake above,
And the tropical air vibrates to the drone
Of a cake in the throes of love.

[Mervyn Peake, Titus Groan 1947, Fuchsia's favorite poem]

June 20th, 2009, 02:11 PM
My Mother is a fish.

- If you don't know, go to hell.