Silliness Marc is missing!!!!!! - Page 18

yvanleterrible · 07-05-2009, 05:53 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by GeoffC

Oi ! SIR ..... I cannot move ......

uch:

You won't stay pinned long. That nailer is an 18 gauge 2". If you have thick soles on your shoes, the nails are probably not set in deeper than 1/4" .

Patricia · 07-05-2009, 08:03 PM

You guys and your curiously convoluted plans.

If you want Marc to return then bake some nice pies and a pavlova or two. Open a couple of bottles of good wine and set all these refreshments near his pool. He won't be able to resist for long...

lilac_jive · 07-05-2009, 08:32 PM

Sooooo did we find Marc?

Dylrob · 07-06-2009, 01:25 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by lilac_jive

Sooooo did we find Marc?

No, but he's in there somewhere...

LazyScot · 07-06-2009, 06:14 AM

I guess that I should not be suprised that an escape attempted (based on an emergency ZCD created under suboptimal conditions) did not go according to plans. Or that my head is currently protesting with the aid of three pile drivers, a collection of very bad rock anthems and a flock of angry woodpeckers.

However, once I eventually managed to crowbar my eyes open, the scene was really not what I expected. The nearest description I can come up with, is to say that it was as if reality had been replaced by the most incredible plaid fabric constructed from exceedinly vibrant smells woven with the deft hands of a fish into something that did not resemble any room ever created or invented. Ever.

"Ummm Hello?" I asked to the void in general, at which point Marc, or what looked like Marc, swept back the plaid, stepped round the fabric.

"Yes?"

"Marc?"

"No."

"Umm?"

"Just another ZCD hallucination. Or maybe not."

"Where am I?" I asked, rather than confront that particular issue. And at that point three flying bananas went past, chased by an invisible rabbit wearing and invisible librarian's uniform, carrying a silver salver on which where piles of books from Machiavelli, Sun Tzu and Robert Sheckley, and accompanied by an honour guard of banoffee pies.

"Based on that, I'd hazard a guess you're stuck in Adrian's subconscious."

There are times when I envy the ability of a computer to say "overload" and shutdown for a few days. "Out of the Frying Pan and into the Frier. What happened to WDE? And any ideas how I get out here? "

"I don't think Adrian has taken any sort of Holy Orders. Anyhow WDE got out. Apparently the ZCD has a different effect on him. And he's nicer to the squid. Anyway, since I'm just a hallucination of yours, why are you asking yourself of these questions?" Marc replied.

"Because I appear to be stuck in the subconscious of an imaginary creation, suffering an emergency ZCD hangunder, with only a hallucination and my wits to help be get out."

"Strange; I didn't take you for an optimist. But I think you've overlooked two major assets you have." And with that Marc reach under his coat and into his two holsters (which was somewhat disconcerting as up until that point he had neither holsters or coat), and with the flourish of a mad wild west gunslinger drew out two long feathers.

I blinked. It seemed the only thing to do.

"A little tickling is called for, " said Marc and set about applying the feathers to a rather strange protrusion in the fabric of Adrian's subconscious.

"Ummm.... Why?"

"Well a good tickling is always cathartic."

"You're trying to get me laughed out of his head?"

"Well, you've been laughed out of enough other places. Anyway, you thought it was a good plan."

At this point I heard a noise behind me, like thousands of booted feet, and turned round.

"Ummm. Marc. I think I could do with some help..." at which point Marc glanced round.

"Naaaa. Don't worry about them they're just Adrian's antibodies. Anyway, I've almost finished my feather frottaging of his farcical glands."

In a move that thankfully pushed me over the edge, Adrian's Antibodies (which to me looked exactly like an army of squirrels), reached in.... well somewhere, and in perfect unision pulled out Ikea catalogues together with a shopping list of items and advanced on me. Seeing no other option I reached into my hip pocket, found a hip flask I didn't have and quaffed the entire ZCD on the grounds that with a bit of luck it would make things a lot worse.

I'm not really sure what happened next, as I slipped into what I shall call un-consciousness, but I think Marc shouted "Got it -- hang on." whilst distance ceased to exist and everything, including all the squirrel (sorry Adrian's antibodies) promptly occupied exactly the same space as me, the "room" gave a sort of dimensional hiccup, and, strangest of all, I could have sworn I heard The Lumberjack Song.....

<BLACKNESS>

pshrynk · 07-06-2009, 08:49 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Dylrob

No, but he's in there somewhere...

Well, I looked for a man with no trousers and wearing his underwear on his head, but no luck...

Edit: I did find an invisible man with brown loafers, a man wearing his pajamas, and a guy wearing his feet backward, but no Marc, so far.

Wetdogeared · 07-06-2009, 08:57 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by pshrynk

Well, I looked for a man with no trousers and wearing his underwear on his head, but no luck...

Edit: I did find an invisible man with brown loafers, a man wearing his pajamas, and a guy wearing his feet backward, but no Marc, so far.

I see Hugo and Lefty there with a few friends?

WDE.

NormHart · 07-06-2009, 11:52 AM

Hum, I see Hugo and Lefty too, not far from the gentleman trying on the red thigh-high high heels, naturally. They are clear across the room from the man with no pants and, in that crowd, would risk serious wrinkling if they attempted to reach him.

Wait! Is that vivaldirules and WDE just to the upper right of the man with no pants? One of the mutts has a red scarf.

That man with no pants isn't wearing his underwear on his head but that maybe because thy're red and no one wears red underwear on their head. He does seem to be standing in front of a industrial sized blender.

GeoffC · 07-08-2009, 09:37 AM

The snail snarled as it stubbed out its cigar and crawled back into its shell.
"pffft, no one would believe me".
He span round in his shell until his nose was pointing out into the wind and the snow.
"pffffffttttt, global warming is such a mess. Here am I, trying to make a living out of leaving slime footprints all over the place, and this white stuff keeps covering it up! Next there'll be psocks walking about without feet in them...."
A squirrel jumped down from the spindly pine and rapped on the shell with a hazelnut she had picked up sometime in the early part of the day. Rattattattaaattttaaatt she hammered on the shell.
"pfffftttttfft! - what do want, my dear? Don't tell me the contract has been terminated, along with the prospect of a summer of passionate love this year?"
"Why no, my sweetheart; you just keep your thoughts to yourself."

"What do you mean, he's been closed down?"
"It's closing, production stopping, all the elves will be given their cards in the next few days."
"But what will we do without him? Montnmags' ZCD is the last remaining source, once that's gone, there'll be no more - ever !"
"Correct, once the last one has been absorbed, then no more - ever!"
"Sacre Bleu" (he said in a false french accent - think Clousteau), "Heavens bells, barnacles and luv a ducks".
"Quite, and what do you propose to do about it?"
"Not too sure, but make no mistake about it - this is a situation that calls for immediate and drastic action!!"

"We are all gathered here today, in the sight of this lonely pod, to consider the first threat to us all since the coming of the age of 'Geographic Restrictions'. Mr Squirrel, please be so kind as to read our manifesto".
A cough comes from behind the lecturn, and a long bushy red tail is the only thing to be seen by the multitude in front.
"My lords, ladies, gentlemen and 'psocks galore'. Be upstanding all yee afficionados, this is our pledge......'We, the chosen from the ranks of the pure at heart and silliness, hereby demand the return of The ZCD production manager'" ------------------------ pauses for a seemingly long breath.
Cheers from the crowd, expecting this to presage the start of a long diatribe detailing a full and frankly boringly active campaign.

Silence follows from the stage.

"Erm, Mr Squirrel, pray do continue."
"That's it, boss."
"That's it!", splutters, "you do not want to elaborate?"
"Nope".

"Pffffffttttt".

The snail snarled as it stubbed out its electronic cigarette and crawled back into its shell.
"pffft, I told you all no one would believe me".
He pirrouettedly span round in his shell until his nose was pointing out into the wind and the snow.

"Damn that chappie, where's he gone to now? nowhere seems an obvious place, just when and where is it on the GZCDGPS"?

JSWolf · 07-08-2009, 04:08 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Dylrob

No, but he's in there somewhere...

I did not find Marc, but I did find Waldo in about 30-45 seconds (no joke).

yvanleterrible · 07-08-2009, 06:36 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by JSWolf

I did not find Marc, but I did find Waldo in about 30-45 seconds (no joke).

Easy, he's at the psock table!

vivaldirules · 07-09-2009, 08:13 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by yvanleterrible

Easy, he's at the psock table!

Of course! Where else?

LazyScot · 07-10-2009, 04:44 PM

There is that wonderful fragment of non-time that lies in the void between being and not being that you pass through in the journey from unconsciousness to consciousness. Just as you become self-aware, but before you actually know who, what and where you are, there is laid out before you a panoply of perfect possibilities of everything you could dream of being, doing or achieving.

Then Reality saunters by, rolls up your panoply, tucks it under her arm and ambles off, tossing back a faded, tired and slighly forsaken scrap of paper with your lot for the day. (I don't think she likes me very much at the moment.)

Right about now, I would have been so glad to have had the usual scrap of paper. However, Atropos, Lachesis and Clotho seemed to have other ideas for me. Which probably explained the strange feeling of being slapped about the face by what might be a slightly sweaty….

I opened my eyes.

"Hello Hugo."

"No. I'm not Hugo. I'm not Lefty."

"Ummm. Hello not Lefty."

"Good Morning."

I looked around and tried to decide where I was. It was… woolly. In a very defined and precise sort of way. But strangely stylish. A group of three people wandered past, deep in discussion, speaking in French: Denis Diderot, Jean-Paul Sartre and Voltaire. Somewhat lowering the tone, tucked away in a corner were a collection of skimpily clad garter belts (exactly how an item of apparel can be skimpily clad I have no idea, but then, this wasn't my subconscious I was stuck in, was it?) that were playing with knitting needles. Somehow, I felt I was missing something with that particular scene.

"Oh…. GREAT!" I muttered, sarcastically, "I'm stuck in the subconscious of a sock." And at that point the various ZCDs decided to collect the second instalment of their payment plan, and the inside of my head promptly took the role of temporary containment facility for a small number of SHUMs (who had been anti-tranquilised with excessive doses of tartrazine). There are certain times when amputation seems a highly advisable and very sensible medical treatment. My head promptly fell into that category.

"Lazy, why have you turned that colour?" asked not Lefty.

"Because I've got something unpleasant stuck in my head, and I've no idea where the exit is."

"Is that like being worn by someone who doesn't know what a pedicure is?"

"Yes." I concluded after a brief pause, and made a mental note to make sure my toenails are properly clipped and my feet washed before I ever put on a pair of socks. "But I still need to get out of here."

"Would a sing-song help? I always find a sing-song helps. I've almost learned the words to La Marseillaise."

"No, I just need to concentra-" There are times when a really stupid idea turns round and hits you over the head several times with the aid of a baseball bat just to get your attention and stop you being so incredibly stupid. That's what not Lefty's idea was doing. Although it almost failed to make an impact (thanks to the ongoing actions of the SHUMs currently holidaying in my skull), it did eventually manage to make enough of a dent to attract the attention of some of the remaining cognitive functions that had not fled to the relative safety of Adrian's Bar. Slowly a light-bulb dimly lit up. "What an excellent idea, but I think a song other than La Marseillaise is called for."

"Well, I am brilliant."

"Ummm. Yes." I coughed, stiffened my sinews, tried not to think about the hideous thing I was about to do, tried to convince myself that the ends justified the means and broke into what I shall, for the purposes of narration, call song…

"My my, at Waterloo Napoleon did surrender

There are times when it crosses your mind that not Lefty's brilliant idea might not be as brilliant as it should have been, that perhaps Waterloo was not the best song, and that you don't really know enough lines

Oh yeah, and I have met my destiny in quite a similar way

It is perhaps interesting for the reader to consider the phrase "hopping mad". This is a phrase that you do not truly understand until you are stuck in the subconscious of sock that is mad. Trust me.

The history book on the shelf

It was about this point that I suddenly felt myself in the middle of a remake of Hitcock's "the Birds". Except that this time it was called "The Books". And an exceptionally large flock of them where heading towards me.

Is always repeating itself

It seemed that Hugo was attempting to rid his subconscious of this particular catch tune with the aid of a large number of exceptionally worth, hardcover, leather bound volumes. Travelling at high speed.

"Antibodies?" asked not Lefty, having placed some earplugs he didn't have….. Well, I'm not sure where his not ears were, but I'll assume that's where he placed them.

Waterloo - I was defeated, you won the war

The flight of the books was then joined by a strange rumbling, as if of a large mill wheel dredged up from some nightmare.

Waterloo - promise to love you for ever more

And then everything started shaking violently, sort of as if someone was either banging their head against a wall, or was stuck inside a badly out of balance washing machine set to ultra high speed spin.

Waterloo – couldn't escape if I wanted to

Not an auspicious line I though as the flying books arrived, a large mill wheel appeared above me obeying the laws of physics, the shaking reached a point on the Richter scale marked "Spinal Tap" and everything started to go out. Passing out, I finally gave up "singing", and strangely I could have sworn I heard "The Galaxy Song." Depressing.

<BLESSED DARKNESS>

zelda_pinwheel · 07-10-2009, 04:49 PM

you know, i've often wondered what goes through their heads. i was probably better off not knowing.

so, more subconscious hopping ahead (ar ar ar), then ? i have a sinking feeling i know where you'll wind up next.

Patricia · 07-10-2009, 05:03 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by zelda_pinwheel

so, more subconscious hopping ahead (ar ar ar), then ? i have a sinking feeling i know where you'll wind up next.

Austerlitz? Borodino??

07-06-2009, 11:52 AM	#263
NormHart Semper Carpe Bufo Posts: 537 Karma: 21676 Join Date: Feb 2009 Location: Napa Valley, California Device: Kindle2 & Kindle3	Hum, I see Hugo and Lefty too, not far from the gentleman trying on the red thigh-high high heels, naturally. They are clear across the room from the man with no pants and, in that crowd, would risk serious wrinkling if they attempted to reach him. Wait! Is that vivaldirules and WDE just to the upper right of the man with no pants? One of the mutts has a red scarf. That man with no pants isn't wearing his underwear on his head but that maybe because thy're red and no one wears red underwear on their head. He does seem to be standing in front of a industrial sized blender. Last edited by NormHart; 07-06-2009 at 11:59 AM. Reason: WDE seems to be sniffing someones butt, is that you pshrynk?

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07-05-2009, 08:03 PM	#257
Patricia Reader Posts: 11,504 Karma: 8720163 Join Date: May 2007 Location: South Wales, UK Device: Sony PRS-500, PRS-505, Asus EEEpc 4G	You guys and your curiously convoluted plans. If you want Marc to return then bake some nice pies and a pavlova or two. Open a couple of bottles of good wine and set all these refreshments near his pool. He won't be able to resist for long...

07-05-2009, 08:32 PM	#258
lilac_jive Grand Sorcerer Posts: 5,870 Karma: 27376 Join Date: Dec 2008 Location: Pennsylvania Device: PRS-505	Sooooo did we find Marc?

07-06-2009, 06:14 AM	#260
LazyScot DSil Posts: 3,201 Karma: 6895096 Join Date: Sep 2007 Location: Hants, UK Device: Kindle, Cybook	I guess that I should not be suprised that an escape attempted (based on an emergency ZCD created under suboptimal conditions) did not go according to plans. Or that my head is currently protesting with the aid of three pile drivers, a collection of very bad rock anthems and a flock of angry woodpeckers. However, once I eventually managed to crowbar my eyes open, the scene was really not what I expected. The nearest description I can come up with, is to say that it was as if reality had been replaced by the most incredible plaid fabric constructed from exceedinly vibrant smells woven with the deft hands of a fish into something that did not resemble any room ever created or invented. Ever. "Ummm Hello?" I asked to the void in general, at which point Marc, or what looked like Marc, swept back the plaid, stepped round the fabric. "Yes?" "Marc?" "No." "Umm?" "Just another ZCD hallucination. Or maybe not." "Where am I?" I asked, rather than confront that particular issue. And at that point three flying bananas went past, chased by an invisible rabbit wearing and invisible librarian's uniform, carrying a silver salver on which where piles of books from Machiavelli, Sun Tzu and Robert Sheckley, and accompanied by an honour guard of banoffee pies. "Based on that, I'd hazard a guess you're stuck in Adrian's subconscious." There are times when I envy the ability of a computer to say "overload" and shutdown for a few days. "Out of the Frying Pan and into the Frier. What happened to WDE? And any ideas how I get out here? " "I don't think Adrian has taken any sort of Holy Orders. Anyhow WDE got out. Apparently the ZCD has a different effect on him. And he's nicer to the squid. Anyway, since I'm just a hallucination of yours, why are you asking yourself of these questions?" Marc replied. "Because I appear to be stuck in the subconscious of an imaginary creation, suffering an emergency ZCD hangunder, with only a hallucination and my wits to help be get out." "Strange; I didn't take you for an optimist. But I think you've overlooked two major assets you have." And with that Marc reach under his coat and into his two holsters (which was somewhat disconcerting as up until that point he had neither holsters or coat), and with the flourish of a mad wild west gunslinger drew out two long feathers. I blinked. It seemed the only thing to do. "A little tickling is called for, " said Marc and set about applying the feathers to a rather strange protrusion in the fabric of Adrian's subconscious. "Ummm.... Why?" "Well a good tickling is always cathartic." "You're trying to get me laughed out of his head?" "Well, you've been laughed out of enough other places. Anyway, you thought it was a good plan." At this point I heard a noise behind me, like thousands of booted feet, and turned round. "Ummm. Marc. I think I could do with some help..." at which point Marc glanced round. "Naaaa. Don't worry about them they're just Adrian's antibodies. Anyway, I've almost finished my feather frottaging of his farcical glands." In a move that thankfully pushed me over the edge, Adrian's Antibodies (which to me looked exactly like an army of squirrels), reached in.... well somewhere, and in perfect unision pulled out Ikea catalogues together with a shopping list of items and advanced on me. Seeing no other option I reached into my hip pocket, found a hip flask I didn't have and quaffed the entire ZCD on the grounds that with a bit of luck it would make things a lot worse. I'm not really sure what happened next, as I slipped into what I shall call un-consciousness, but I think Marc shouted "Got it -- hang on." whilst distance ceased to exist and everything, including all the squirrel (sorry Adrian's antibodies) promptly occupied exactly the same space as me, the "room" gave a sort of dimensional hiccup, and, strangest of all, I could have sworn I heard The Lumberjack Song..... <BLACKNESS>

07-08-2009, 09:37 AM	#264
GeoffC Chocolate Grasshopper ... Posts: 27,599 Karma: 20821184 Join Date: Mar 2008 Location: Scotland Device: Muse HD , Cybook Gen3 , Pocketbook 302 (Black) , Nexus 10: wife has PW	The snail snarled as it stubbed out its cigar and crawled back into its shell. "pffft, no one would believe me". He span round in his shell until his nose was pointing out into the wind and the snow. "pffffffttttt, global warming is such a mess. Here am I, trying to make a living out of leaving slime footprints all over the place, and this white stuff keeps covering it up! Next there'll be psocks walking about without feet in them...." A squirrel jumped down from the spindly pine and rapped on the shell with a hazelnut she had picked up sometime in the early part of the day. Rattattattaaattttaaatt she hammered on the shell. "pfffftttttfft! - what do want, my dear? Don't tell me the contract has been terminated, along with the prospect of a summer of passionate love this year?" "Why no, my sweetheart; you just keep your thoughts to yourself." "What do you mean, he's been closed down?" "It's closing, production stopping, all the elves will be given their cards in the next few days." "But what will we do without him? Montnmags' ZCD is the last remaining source, once that's gone, there'll be no more - ever !" "Correct, once the last one has been absorbed, then no more - ever!" "Sacre Bleu" (he said in a false french accent - think Clousteau), "Heavens bells, barnacles and luv a ducks". "Quite, and what do you propose to do about it?" "Not too sure, but make no mistake about it - this is a situation that calls for immediate and drastic action!!" "We are all gathered here today, in the sight of this lonely pod, to consider the first threat to us all since the coming of the age of 'Geographic Restrictions'. Mr Squirrel, please be so kind as to read our manifesto". A cough comes from behind the lecturn, and a long bushy red tail is the only thing to be seen by the multitude in front. "My lords, ladies, gentlemen and 'psocks galore'. Be upstanding all yee afficionados, this is our pledge......'We, the chosen from the ranks of the pure at heart and silliness, hereby demand the return of The ZCD production manager'" ------------------------ pauses for a seemingly long breath. Cheers from the crowd, expecting this to presage the start of a long diatribe detailing a full and frankly boringly active campaign. Silence follows from the stage. "Erm, Mr Squirrel, pray do continue." "That's it, boss." "That's it!", splutters, "you do not want to elaborate?" "Nope". "Pffffffttttt". The snail snarled as it stubbed out its electronic cigarette and crawled back into its shell. "pffft, I told you all no one would believe me". He pirrouettedly span round in his shell until his nose was pointing out into the wind and the snow. "Damn that chappie, where's he gone to now? nowhere seems an obvious place, just when and where is it on the GZCDGPS"?

07-10-2009, 04:44 PM	#268
LazyScot DSil Posts: 3,201 Karma: 6895096 Join Date: Sep 2007 Location: Hants, UK Device: Kindle, Cybook	There is that wonderful fragment of non-time that lies in the void between being and not being that you pass through in the journey from unconsciousness to consciousness. Just as you become self-aware, but before you actually know who, what and where you are, there is laid out before you a panoply of perfect possibilities of everything you could dream of being, doing or achieving. Then Reality saunters by, rolls up your panoply, tucks it under her arm and ambles off, tossing back a faded, tired and slighly forsaken scrap of paper with your lot for the day. (I don't think she likes me very much at the moment.) Right about now, I would have been so glad to have had the usual scrap of paper. However, Atropos, Lachesis and Clotho seemed to have other ideas for me. Which probably explained the strange feeling of being slapped about the face by what might be a slightly sweaty…. I opened my eyes. "Hello Hugo." "No. I'm not Hugo. I'm not Lefty." "Ummm. Hello not Lefty." "Good Morning." I looked around and tried to decide where I was. It was… woolly. In a very defined and precise sort of way. But strangely stylish. A group of three people wandered past, deep in discussion, speaking in French: Denis Diderot, Jean-Paul Sartre and Voltaire. Somewhat lowering the tone, tucked away in a corner were a collection of skimpily clad garter belts (exactly how an item of apparel can be skimpily clad I have no idea, but then, this wasn't my subconscious I was stuck in, was it?) that were playing with knitting needles. Somehow, I felt I was missing something with that particular scene. "Oh…. GREAT!" I muttered, sarcastically, "I'm stuck in the subconscious of a sock." And at that point the various ZCDs decided to collect the second instalment of their payment plan, and the inside of my head promptly took the role of temporary containment facility for a small number of SHUMs (who had been anti-tranquilised with excessive doses of tartrazine). There are certain times when amputation seems a highly advisable and very sensible medical treatment. My head promptly fell into that category. "Lazy, why have you turned that colour?" asked not Lefty. "Because I've got something unpleasant stuck in my head, and I've no idea where the exit is." "Is that like being worn by someone who doesn't know what a pedicure is?" "Yes." I concluded after a brief pause, and made a mental note to make sure my toenails are properly clipped and my feet washed before I ever put on a pair of socks. "But I still need to get out of here." "Would a sing-song help? I always find a sing-song helps. I've almost learned the words to La Marseillaise." "No, I just need to concentra-" There are times when a really stupid idea turns round and hits you over the head several times with the aid of a baseball bat just to get your attention and stop you being so incredibly stupid. That's what not Lefty's idea was doing. Although it almost failed to make an impact (thanks to the ongoing actions of the SHUMs currently holidaying in my skull), it did eventually manage to make enough of a dent to attract the attention of some of the remaining cognitive functions that had not fled to the relative safety of Adrian's Bar. Slowly a light-bulb dimly lit up. "What an excellent idea, but I think a song other than La Marseillaise is called for." "Well, I am brilliant." "Ummm. Yes." I coughed, stiffened my sinews, tried not to think about the hideous thing I was about to do, tried to convince myself that the ends justified the means and broke into what I shall, for the purposes of narration, call song… "My my, at Waterloo Napoleon did surrender There are times when it crosses your mind that not Lefty's brilliant idea might not be as brilliant as it should have been, that perhaps Waterloo was not the best song, and that you don't really know enough lines Oh yeah, and I have met my destiny in quite a similar way It is perhaps interesting for the reader to consider the phrase "hopping mad". This is a phrase that you do not truly understand until you are stuck in the subconscious of sock that is mad. Trust me. The history book on the shelf It was about this point that I suddenly felt myself in the middle of a remake of Hitcock's "the Birds". Except that this time it was called "The Books". And an exceptionally large flock of them where heading towards me. Is always repeating itself It seemed that Hugo was attempting to rid his subconscious of this particular catch tune with the aid of a large number of exceptionally worth, hardcover, leather bound volumes. Travelling at high speed. "Antibodies?" asked not Lefty, having placed some earplugs he didn't have….. Well, I'm not sure where his not ears were, but I'll assume that's where he placed them. Waterloo - I was defeated, you won the war The flight of the books was then joined by a strange rumbling, as if of a large mill wheel dredged up from some nightmare. Waterloo - promise to love you for ever more And then everything started shaking violently, sort of as if someone was either banging their head against a wall, or was stuck inside a badly out of balance washing machine set to ultra high speed spin. Waterloo – couldn't escape if I wanted to Not an auspicious line I though as the flying books arrived, a large mill wheel appeared above me obeying the laws of physics, the shaking reached a point on the Richter scale marked "Spinal Tap" and everything started to go out. Passing out, I finally gave up "singing", and strangely I could have sworn I heard "The Galaxy Song." Depressing. <BLESSED DARKNESS>

07-10-2009, 04:49 PM	#269
zelda_pinwheel zeldinha zippy zeldissima Posts: 27,827 Karma: 921169 Join Date: Dec 2007 Location: Paris, France Device: eb1150 & is that a nook in her pocket, or she just happy to see you?	you know, i've often wondered what goes through their heads. i was probably better off not knowing. so, more subconscious hopping ahead (ar ar ar), then ? i have a sinking feeling i know where you'll wind up next.