The Epic Battle of shrift and the toilet
(in Natter):
shrift
(12:17PM):
Dear Toilet,
Why do you hate me?
bailing water,
shrift
shrift
(1:15PM):
Dear Toilet,
Will it ever be safe to flush you?
despairing,
shrift
shrift
(1:38PM):
Dear Toilet,
I'll keep plunging you if you promise it will all be okay in the end.
wearily,
shrift
shrift
(1:55PM):
I mean, how long do you have to plunge a toilet before the bitch gives in?!
shrift
(2:06PM):
My roommate just got back, and we tried some crazy, last-ditch plunging. Then called a plumber. And now it looks like the mad, mad plunging may have fixed it.
sumi:
So basically, you should have called the plumber, then done some light plunging and it would have all been fine.
shrift:
Yep. I plunged my entire afternoon, and all I got was this flushing toilet.
Aimee in GWW. Ahhhhh, the writer's life....
I've been writing drabbles too long. I'm staring at this paper that needs to be 750 words thinking to myself, "But I can make my point in 100 words or less!! This goes against my recent rules of writing!!!"
Cass
in
Bitches,
musing wistfully upon her allergies:
Why must the pretty city try to kill me with plant sex?
and more...
Cass:
...burning kleenex in the fireplace and calling it HomeHazMat work is really not so very amusing that it makes up the for the allergies, but it still amuses.
Kristin in F2F:
I had to filk my recent adventure. And now I have to share it with you. And yes, I know I am a hopeless English geek...or should I say geeke...though my faux Middle English may not be the best.
The Worcester Tales
Whan that Junne with his shoures soake,
the deluge of day hath perced to the roote,
and bathed every carre with suche licour,
of which confusion engendered is the driver;
whan Victor doth with his swete breeth,
inspired hath to visit holt and heeth
the tendre Buffistas, and the yonge sonne
hath 'neathe clouds his halfe cours y-ronne,
and NPR radio maken melodye
(that watcheth politicks with open ye,
so pricketh liberals to vote in perpetuity),
than longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,
and Buffistas for to seken straunge slounges,
to talken of television's gems and dredges;
And specially, from every shires ende
of New Engelond, to Worcester they wende,
the former Somervillian for to seke
that them hath left for California's sake.
Bifel that, in that seasoun on a day,
on the Yahoo Maps, a faulty path wast lay,
which would cripple my pilgrimage
to Worcester, tho with ful devout corage,
at night was diverted to desert road
and trapped when tyre did explode;
with nary a sign nor landmark to see
to helpen anyone to finden me,
the rental companye wast afraide
an address wast needed ere rescue made;
so walken I through falling rain
until college scoreboarde didst provide name
that allowed my knights to seken my carre
whiche had not taken me verra far.
Rescue came with Buffista and tow
and doughnut tyre attached to go
to Victor's house, tho houres late
in time for Indian food to eate;
as conversation didst ensue
the night's travails were nearly through,
whan rental companye brought new carre
from Boston to replace one marred;
my pilgrimage wast at laste success
and revels began with hoste and guests:
Victor, Connie, Sarah and love dear,
good companye who asked to hear
this tale of all the strength to muster
before pilgrimage taken is to Worcester.
Bitches:
Gloomcookie
I am replacing the word "awesome" with the word "brilliant" in my vocabulary.
Tom Scola
Fantastic!
Because I needed something funny today, snippets from Great Write.
AmyLiz, poor love, begins it with the explanation of a character named Cinnamon, in a book she's supposed to provide copy for:
AmyLiz: Not to change the subject, but I am now attempting to write copy for a book with a character named Cinnamon. Yes, it's a romance. I want to barf.
erika: Cinnamon should be a man living as a woman, but she's probably not, right?
AmyLiz: Nope. Apparently she is the half-Druid sister of another half-Druid (named Isabella, which is one big WTF?!) who has "mated with" a Demon (capital D), and is now a Fledgling learning her Druidic powers. ::cries::
ita: Oh, look. Fanfic. Without the fan part.
juliana: That makes the baby Jesus, baby Gaia, baby Buddha, baby Devi, and baby Mohammed cry.
Polter-Cow:
Apparently my grandfathers have decided that since I have a job, they should fly me off to India in December to find a wife and get married in January.
ChiKat:
Hey, why bother shipping you out there? They should just pick out some girl and mail her to you.
Polter-Cow:
Oh, don't be crass.
The postage would be more than the plane ticket.
Robin:
F and M--the only thing I'm gonna C is his clothes.
