This just in: According to photographs taken of me during my glorious half-marathon finish, I look like I’m participating in the Special Olympics when I run. I’m sooooo glad that with the aid of the internet, these will be available for people to view and mock me, lo, until the end of time.
WAY TO KILL MY POLITICAL CAREER, YOU PHOTOGRAPHY BASTARDS.
I have previously discussed how NOT to date me on this journal. However, I had an experience so…utterly special on Friday night that it requires an update. Friday was Pirate Vs Ninja night at Noc Noc, and since I have a ridiculous amount of pirate costume pieces, I would’ve been remiss not to attend.
The show was fantastic, with firedancers and burlesque and suspensions; there were far more pirates than ninjas in the audience (as far as I could tell, anyway. Sneaky bastards.) and EVERYONE loved my pirate hat. After a while, I was approached by a…gentleman who struck up a conversation with me. Shortly, he begain emphasizing how as he is MATURE, his tastes aren’t NORMAL in that he doesn’t appreciate stick-figure women and on and on…because, of course, one of the best ways to earn points is to let someone know that they wouldn’t be considered attractive by anyone BUT you and your MATURE tastes. Point the second: if I am happy with myself and secure in my attractive qualities, you telling me about them isn’t helping your case. I already know I’m going home with ME at the end of the night; I’ve known myself much longer than you’ve known me, so there’s no way that anything you’re telling ME about ME is going to convince me to do anything with YOU. If you don’t sell me on YOU, what reason would I have to want to even have another conversation?
And that’s the moment that he chose to tell me some things about him that caused my mind to reel. Verbatim:
“See, I love my wife, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t beat off to a picture of Scarlett Johansson in the bathroom at night. Excuse me for a minute, I need to go say goodbye to someone; I’ll be back to hit on you some more in a minute.”
WHAT.
NO.
Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.
Go home to your WIFE, dude.
DO NOT HIT ON ME IF YOU HAVE A WIFE. DO NOT DESCRIBE HOW AND WHY YOU BEAT OFF WHEN YOU ARE TRYING TO HIT ON ME.
DO NOT HIT ON ME IF YOU HAVE A WIFE.
This work of art by shadowstitch deserved its own post.
In Dildarian, a convoy of menacing rocket vagina alien enemies is attacking the Earth. Your mission, should you choose to accept it: destroy the aliens using Dildarian force. The player controls a defender Dildarian ship (with a special set of joysticks) that moves horizontally across the bottom of the screen, shooting its ‘laser fire’ up into the squadron of multi-colored aliens that hoever within a twinkling black starfield. The Dildarian ship fires at the phalanx up above, out-manuevering the enemy escort ships that break formation to fly down and attack.
Of all the game’s characters, the Dildarian flagship is without a doubt the most ubiquitous, universally beloved by hordes of giggling pre-teens everywhere, though they’d be loath to tell you exactly why.