t pictures Victor in a cape alongside a flying dog
Did Super Boy have a dog?
'A Hole in the World'
This thread is for Buffista quotage. Posts that are profound, witty, or otherwise deserving of immortality go here. This is also Shrift's source for the BRQG, so be aware that if your words end up here, they'll also end up there. Finally, please note which thread spawned the quotage and please white-out anything that might be spoilery to Un-Americans.
t pictures Victor in a cape alongside a flying dog
Did Super Boy have a dog?
Superboy's dog was Krypto, the superdog. t /natter
Which thread was this in. I have some disturbing news for it?
Did Super Boy have a dog?
Krypto, the canine of steel--last surviving dog of Krypton.
No. Seriously.
CaBil--it's over in Box Set, the Smallville, et al. thread.
billytea: You know what's wrong? In the supermarket the other day I saw a magazine with a single Olsen twin on the cover, saying that they can't keep making teen movies forever. Now, while I'm fully on board with the viewpoint that says Mary Kate has just been dragging Ashley down for years, I don't think America is ready for them to individuate.
Going to sleep in Natter:
NovaChild: (Yes, I'm asleep. This message is just an illusion. When I snap my fingers, your lives will return to normal.)
<still not snappin'>
<nope, still not>
<you don't think I'm just gonna let you out of my power that easy, do you?>
The Divine JZ(hem), on literature:
I have no idea whether mysteries still qualify as genre, but this was back in the late 80s at an East Coast college whose English dept. faculty revered the short, spare, dry as a dry martini left undrunk on the small side table of a New England home inhabited by characters in Carver stories, left there after a perfunctory but necessary cocktail party attended by weary prep-school faculty members who occasionally moonlighted as characters in Cheever novels and discovered weeks later by yet another prep-school faculty member who was housesitting for the homeowner, who spent many hours of his housesitting time regarding the now-empty glass with its now only faintly visible rime of evaporated gin and pondering the growing awareness that he had not been invited to this faculty cocktail party, then going into his colleague's bedroom bathed in the bleached-out comfortless light of a New England winter afternoon, opening his dresser drawers, and contemplating his wife's underwear for hours, short story.
That kind of story.
*shakes tiny, impotent fist at amych*
Curses. Foiled again.