Λυπάμαι in taking this go-anywhere sentence and going nowhere coherent with it, but hey, all that Sabbathy weed smoke messes something fierce with a man's rhubarb.
In matters of life and death, one could not forever rely on the judgment of his fellow man. Which is why Theodosius always consults not the bishop of Milan nor the author of the Vulgate nor the acid-tongued demagogue, but his trusty Magic 8-ball that was unearthed in a ceremony of eloquent surprise and electric -- oh, forget I said that -- shock one fine Anno Domini day out of what his court physician termed a αντίστροφη κάψουλα του χρόνου. We've secretly replaced his Magic 8-ball with a Magic Cheney-ball. Let's see if he notices.
Shall I fiercely campaign against Eugenius?
Better not tell you now.
Shall I ban sacrifice?
Without a doubt.
Shall I have my lackeys tear down the Serapeum?
You may rely on it.
Shall I extinguish the eternal fire?
Ask again later.
Shall I take the Vestal Virgins and devestalize them?
Outlook not so good.
Shall Homer feel like St. Augustine of Hippo after his conversion by Ambrose of Milan?
It is decidedly so.
Shall he shut Flanders' ugly face?
Concentrate and ask again.
Shall I force conversion of the heathen unto Prestidigitarianism?
My sources say no.
Shall you explain what is this heresy?
Go fuck yourself.
Locked in vehement rage, Theodosius smashes the Magic Cheney-ball and finds that the best part of waking up, is mandrake in your cup, not smarmy, deceptive trinkets from the future.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Flasher XXI the Great
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23 comments:
I would be really pissed if someone smashed my Magic 8 ball. That's the only way I know if I should get out of bed in the morning. Today when I asked if I should get up, it said "Ask again later" so I took that as as a "no" and slept an extra two hours.
Whenever I want to sleep longer, I just unplug mine.
Damn good story until you mentioned devestalizing the Vestal Virgins and I sort of drifted off, sorry.
What, Λυπάμα again? Why, that no-good ленивый ничего хорошего обманщика. I oughtta Доклад на него властям.
I like your illustration here dude.
I don't know it all just sounds Greek to me.
Wait just a minute. What kind of "Cheney ball" lacks a message saying, "To the Iron Maiden with him"?
I think someone spiked your incense with magic mumble weed, Randal.
"Sorry?"
"Reverse time capsule?"
Randal, didn't The Eagles explain this to you? The Greeks don't want no freaks, no. The Greeks don't want not freaks.
Oddly enough, the last starter sentence I contributed, came from a story where the protagonist did away with his girlfriend's psycho ex. It was equally as disjointed as this was.
; )
Voting is a pernicious habit but the magic 8-ball provides ultimately sound advice. I'll recommend it to the next candidate for office who happens by.
Demeur is right, it is all Greek, but it should have been all Latin.
You know, Sarah Palin's daughter is hawking "abstinence only" even though she has already been devestalized.
Graves, you swine!
Always a god parent and never a God, eh?
Regards,
Tengrain
Now I know what Sarah Palin had written on her hand.
Verily, this is one of your finest pieces, yet. It was semi-coherent, prophetic and even violent. I see a movie deal, Randal.
;)
Damn, my Magic 8 Ball has never told me to go fuck myself. What am I doing wrong?
Eight Balls are never reliable. And if Theodosius was even close to being the leader of his fellow men, he would know that. But there may be hope as it appears one eight ball finally did not listen to another.
Slacker Monday seems to be extending farther into the week. Ahem. :)
Hey I didn't need a dictionary for this one! Yes! You either stooped to my level or... never mind. I have to agree, eightballs are never reliable the damn things. Wise answers it gave tho... LMAO
BB, you deviant bastard, I'm telling Zombie Jesus on you.
tom, you commie bastard, I'm telling HUAC on you.
liberality, you hippie bastard, I'm telling Bob Ross on you.
demeur, you Greek bastard, I'm telling Zeus on you.
SWA, you inquisitorial bastard, I'm telling Bruce Dickinson on you.
cormac, you coked out bastard, I'm telling Eric Clapton on you.
susan, you activist bastard, I'm telling Abbie Hoffman on you.
holte, you Roman bastard, I'm telling Caligula on you.
dr. zaius, you Alaskan bastard, I'm telling Mooselini on you.
tengrain, you Freudian bastard, I'm telling Jung on you.
FB, you birthday bastard, I'm telling suit on you.
LBR, you too-kind bastard, I'm telling Nixon on you.
mrmacrum, you I-own-stock-in-Ouija bastard, I'm telling Wall Street on you.
CJT, you eight-is-better-than-blue bastard, I'm telling I don't have a good reply to that on you.
Cheney ball seems much more to the point and may be appropriate to all questions concerning life
So glad to know that I put you at a loss for words! Don't worry most of my friends just call me bitch...
I agree with オテモヤン
But since my Magic 8 Ball is an app for my Palm Pre, I can't exactly smash it (though I'd sometimes like to). Palin 2012!
I don't do the Bolivian Marching Powder, as I get high naturally off of sleep deprivation.
Oooh, look a leprechaun!
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