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*presses button on microphone to speak but causes ear-piercing feedback instead* "whoa! hey haha sorry about that folks! Let's try that again. There we are, much better. Okay, coming up on the left here *shows hippopotamus* we've got a... a... uhhh... *snaps fingers* hypotenuse! A hypotenuse, ladies and gentlemen. And Hypoteni, as everyone knows, are a kind of... uhh. hmm. *bending over to whisper to the tour bus driver* "larry help me out here, what do you call the... you know, eight eyes, way too many fuckin' legs... oh yeah! *straightens back up triumphantly* "Mallard, ladies and gentlemen, they're a kind of mallard". *Hippopotamus takes a big old poo poo and waddles off* "Nature sure is beautiful, huh folks?"
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Aug 4, 2019 19:40
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| # ¿ May 14, 2024 14:48 |
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"i'm not owned! i'm not owned!!", i continue to insist as i slowly realize man is an animal and forget my own name
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Aug 5, 2019 01:46
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The Clowner posted:"It is a terrible crime to kill... one of those things. Drinking their blood will keep your alive even if you are an inch from death, but at a terrible price. You will... drat it, I'm sorry, what are those things called again?" *Giant spider appears* "Whoa! That's the biggest dog I've ever seen!" Harry potter grips his wand a little tighter and debates just straight up killing this moron
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Aug 6, 2019 04:03
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lost my old email posted:the safari guide tries to recall their younger years. they were so full of life back then, frothing with vigour... but time has taken it's terrible toll. for a brief second there is flash of light in the dark and a smile plays across their face at the half-remembrance of some romance long since past. drat it all, what is the stilt-horse called again? No sooner had an image in the safari's wildlife guide caught my eye than a shudder ran through me and I stopped, intent upon the extraordinary thing that was happening to me. An exquisite pleasure had invaded my senses, something isolated, detached, with no suggestion of its origin. And at once the vicissitudes of life had become indifferent to me, its disasters innocuous, its brevity illusory – this new sensation having had on me the effect which love has of filling me with a precious essence; or rather this essence was not in me it was me. ... Whence did it come? What did it mean? How could I seize and apprehend it? ... And suddenly the memory revealed itself. The image was that of the Zoobooks which on Sunday mornings at Combray (because I did not go out before mass), when I went to say good morning to him, the mailman would give me, shrinkwrapped and new-smelling. The sight of the Zoobooks had recalled nothing to my mind before i saw it. And all from trying to figure out what that little burrowing animal was.
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Aug 8, 2019 20:56
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alnilam posted:lol is this Proust got it in one lol.
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Aug 8, 2019 21:24
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