Day: March 18, 2015

Walkies

Paul and I had a simply lovely walk down at the Quay and then he treated me to sopa de tortilla and hot chocolate, both of which were simply scrumptious (Paul owned to being impressed at how fast I demolished the soup).  We didn’t give blood, thanks to things&stuff because reasons, but there’s an appointment later this week.

I broke down and made an appointment to get a crown, having previously thought that handing over a month’s income was a bit much and then I realized I was being a moron.  I can borrow the money, I can sell stuff to cover it, I can put it on my credit card.  It really hurts – I’m in constant tooth pain – and we KNOW how this story goes.  Until the tooth comes out, it’s all downhill from here.  And it’s all because there was a piece of metal in a pancake at IHOP two years ago.  Shit.

Doxie sent me another scanning unit, which took a charge promptly and which I am about to test.  DOXIE HAS AWESOME CUSTOMER SUPPORT Y’ALL and considering what a tempestuous clown I was asking for support it goes double.

Keith and Paul and Jeff and I hung out after the walk.

Tarot reading yesterday with a friend.  It was essentially the same as the last one, in that it said “Shit’s gonna fly, everything will be okay at the end.”  More specifics don’t seem to be coming.  The future’s uncertain and the end is always near.

Katie is hopefully coming Friday, with Alex, to cut my hair.

Miles does it again

My filking buddy Andrew, who goes by Miles Vorkosigan on facebook, read or pretended to read a book that would allow you to write better horror.

The book made him facepalm.  So he decided to write a trashy horror novelists description of a facepalm, and then got carried away and did multiple versions.  I hope you enjoy this cascade of awful as much as I did, because I laughed until I sprang a rib.  Since I didn’t write this, copyright belongs to Andrew.

 

ABOMINATIONS OF HUMAN ENDEAVOUR: Before reading this book: “Face, meet palm.”

After reading this book:

My palm described a perfect arc as it rushed towards my face.

There was an audible CLAP as my palm struck my face.

I felt a sharp stab of pain, every bit as intense as the emotional pain I felt from reading this link, as I struck my own face with my palm.

Before my face even had time to brace for the impact, my palm was upon it.

My palm swished through the air and landed with a dull, sickening thud across my face.

It was like that legendary baseball game back in ’42, when Babe Ruth hit the winning run right out of the park–only instead of the final, inexorable crack of the bat hitting the ball, it was the final, inexorable crack of my palm meeting my face.

My palm struck my face with all the impact of a Mack Semi, having left Chicago heading east at 2:pm at 60 mph, colliding with a freight train that left Cleveland heading west at 1 p.m. travelling 80 mph.

Out there, in the darkness, something *watched* me facepalm myself.

My palm was out there at the end of my arm, mocking me. “Mi-yuls”, it seemed to say, “Here I am, Mi-yuls! And I’m coming to GET you! You know you lose control over me when you read something breathtakingly stupid enough—you always do. And now it’s party time. I’m coming for your face. And I’m hard. Hard and calloused from that workout this morning. And sweaty too. Get ready, Mi-yuls, for the mother of all facepalms!”

Once again…. this is Andrew’s, but really I think it belongs to the world.