Shawn leans in, takes the shot and Yes, she scores:

I faced down the very maw of nature. Her gales whipped around my hunched form, a small black figure against the white city. Her piles of snow threatened to still my step. The hush of the deserted streets almost made me turn back. But I strode on! I pushed my booted feet into those inches of powder. I faced the wind and I defeated my prey. I have returned TRIUMPHANT, having speared my chicken sandwich and chocolate mousse torte. I shall now pass into legend!

UnAmericans discussing Brideshead Revisited:

Angus: Is that your usual getup as you take your morning constitutional on the village green, Jim?

Jim: No, but when Alyosius and I go punting, I usually go for bags and a jumper. One of the advantages of living in Oxford, don't you know.

evil jimi: That is so gay.

Jim: For fuck's sake, you illiterates, Aloysius is a teddy bear . You'll be telling me Sebastian and Charles were lovers next!

Am-Chau: You mean they weren't?

Jim: Not in the text. Of course, in your depraved slash-world the fact that a pair of effete men swan around oxford all day feeding each other strawberries and swapping silk shirts means they must be making the best with one back and a peculiar-shaped middle, but that's just speculation...

Hec:

I can hardly feel sorry for Fay's NGA status when she could boink her away across the continental United States and get room and board in the bargain.

Fay:

Heh.

Airport Bloke: "Reason for travel?"

Me: "I'm writing a book. It's called "Travels with my cunt" and it's all about my whacky adventures travelling around the US with nothing but my wits and tits to guide me, and only my back to fall back on.

Airport Bloke: "!!!!"

Me: "Perhaps you've heard of the "Let's Go" guidebooks? I'm working for a less well known publisher. Our line of travel books is called "Let's Come." ....I'm not wearing any knickers, by the way. I was wondering whether you could suggest somewhere that a lone Englishwoman might be able to stay the night? For free?...."

Damn! I had reproduced the italics and everything....

t weeps into her orange juice

Elana's Husband in Natter: Fresh mint is the way to go. Plus, crushing it in your hands leaves a nice smell. Of course, sniffing your hands in public can be percieved as a bad thing...

Fay, in Bitches:

Oh, man. That's where I'm going wrong. I've been dressing like the wrong kind of baglady. I just need to cover my face up and wave my cleavage around. Huh. Well, I would stay and type, but now I'm off to find the unsuspecting menfolk of Yorkshire and seduce them with my wily bag-wearing ways.

In Bureaucracy:

Angus: Hec and I are of the same mind.

Hec: does The Bump with Angus

Steph L.: All right! Buffista RPS!

Hec: Hec looked deeply into Angus' eyes. "You've got the most fabulous cheekbones."

ita: Hey! Get yourself a room! Or a thread that's natter friendly!

Hec: Hec looked deeply into Angus' eyes. "You've got the most fabulous cheekbones. And I want you to endorse my voting methods for board changes."

Elena's Husband, in Sang Sacre:

The kitchen television drones while I clean the countertops and mop the floor. The latest batch of hybrid peppers exploded yet again, leaving me with a huge mess to clean up.

"…The category is The Occult, and here is your jeopardy answer…Three knocks, or the sudden appearance of sparrows are referred to as these."

A sound of disgust issues from the TV.

"We would like to remind our viewers at home to not speak the jeopardy answers out loud."

Damn. Wifey has left on the interaction function. Again. No doubt while she was watching Firefly last night. Again.

I use my best Connery voice. "Sh'oory Alex."

I hit the power button on the set, ignoring the hostile stare of the contestant from Des Moines. Turning back to my work, I almost don't notice that the patio door is open fractionally. Almost. Holding the mop in a defensive manner, I approach the door. On the floor are tufts of blue fur and a trail of cookie crumbs.

That's Odd.

I follow the furry ginger-spoor through the kitchen. From there it leads down the hall and into the library. Cautiously, I enter.

Edging into the darkened room, I hear what can only be described as sucking and cracking noises coming from behind the oxblood leather chair. The trail of hairy crumbs seems to lead here. I raise the mop in my right hand, and pull out the chair with my left.

Something moves.

I lash out, but at the last second I stay my mop. There, bathed in the pale light from the hall, was Ginger-Cthulhu! In its tentacle-shrouded mouth, it chewed noisily on what appeared to be a furry blue hand. The creature was bloated and larger than it had been, no doubt from eating whatever that blue thing was. Moments passed, me staring at it, it staring at me. Abruptly, its slimy voice spoke in my mind, and I could feel it take control of my very body. It was more than just a cookie treat now. It was much stronger.

~WhOm Is ThE MasTer NoW!~

I manage to gasp, "I thought you were eaten at the press conference..."

It belches. ~HaRdLY. THe GoOgiLy-EyEd FreAk biT oFF moRe ThAn it CoUld CheW. NOw thEn. CthUlhU's MiNiOnS ArE aLL GoNe. MaKe MoRe Or CtHulHu WiLL feAsT oN yOuR DelicIouS BrAinS!~

I manage to speak, finding my tongue thick, "No can do. All out of ectoplasm-dough."

The cookie-fiend rifled through my mind, seeking the truth of the matter. A wheeze escapes it, as it realizes that it is the last of its kind.

~CtHuLhU iS NoT HaPpY hErE. CtHulhU WaNts To Go BaCK tO hIs CiTy UnDeR tHe waVes. YoU WiLL TaKe CtHuLHu HoME tO Ry'LeH, WheRe YoU wiLL sPenD eTerNiTY tEnDiNg To CthULHu's nEEdS.~

Terror chokes me, as it assails me with awful images of death, chaos, and despair. Strangely enough, most of the images have to do with dismembered Keebler elves.

"…And just…where…is this Ry'leh?"

~tweNTy minUteS froM banGOr ... acTuaLly, ctHUlHu haS an eXceLLent viEw oF stePhen kINg's gARAge...~

Figures.

* * * *

The taxi drive is uneventful, if a little long. The maddening visions that Cthulhu has been sharing with me, have left me wide-eyed and just a little anxious. The only insight I have from the forced mind-meld is that the cookie-fiend is depressed by the loss of its fellow elder-treats, and that I am to be punished for my impudence. The cabby interrupts my wonderings.

"Here we are. Bangor Marina. That'll be…Twenty-three hundred dollars and fifty-five cents. How you plan on payin'…Cash, cheque or card?"

Chthulhu looks at me expectantly. I shrug. Via our link it realizes that I don't have my wallet. It rolls its eyes. Staring at the driver, Cthulhu waves its long, cookie-claws back and forth.

~YoU DoN’t WaNT To ChaRGe ThE HuMaN aND ThE InCrEdiBly PoWeRFuL...AnD TaSty...ELdEr GoD~

The cabbie's eyes glaze over. "I don't want to charge the human and the incredibly powerful, and tasty, elder god."

~YoU wAnT to PaY FoR ThE tRiP YoUrSeLF AnD YoU WaNT Us to HavE a NiCe DaY~

"I'll pay for the trip myself. Have a nice day."

We exit the cab and it zooms off. Cthulhu snorts.

~MiDiChLoriAns iNdEed… COme HuMan. We MuST FiND paSSaGe OuT to SeA.~

We cross the road to the marina. Cthulhu has relaxed its control over me, but I know that should it want to, it could tighten the proverbial reigns any time. The cookie does his mind trick on the security at the gates and we enter unhindered.

Everywhere we look there are expensive boats. I pick a modest 40-footer, but the ginger-god shakes its squid-like head. It points at a flashy 80-footer with chrome and brass everywhere.

~CtHuLHU WaNts ThiS oNe. It Is ShInY.~

I groan as I note the name of the yacht, the Minnow II. It is surprisingly easy to steal the vessel. It takes me a few minutes to figure out the controls and get a feel for it, but soon we are on our way…to my doom.

* * * *

The ginger-god lays out in a deckchair, browning its cookie-dough skin. I still feel its presence in my mind, so I don't even consider doing anything remotely rebellious.

~StoP HuMan. We ArE HeRe.~

It all but jumps from the deckchair, then runs to the side of the boat. It peers down at the water, dark eyes glittering.

~ThiS Is WhErE CtHuLU GeTs Off.~

Without further word, the ginger-god jumps ship. It lands in the water with a modest splash, then bobs to the surface. I watch as pieces of the cookie begin to slough off. Cthulhu looks surprised and more than a little perturbed as it softens in the briny water. Slowly it begins to sink, its soggy body being torn apart by the lapping waves. Before it has completely washed away, I hear its final, desperate words.

~Nooooo…SeA Is FoR CooKIE…SeA iS FoR CoOkiE!~

I give a sigh of relief and slump down on the deck

"Is good enough for me."

Jesse in Natter:

Hello to msbelle in Ireland! (The internet is funny. She looks just the same from Ireland as she does from New York.)