Actually, another startlingly accurate quiz from the weird mists of the intertubes. Hey, random has to be right at least half the time in a random and meaningless universe, right? I’ve always said that the problem with artificial intelligence
You Are A Hazelnut Tree |
No matter what, you always make a lasting impression – you’re quite popular. Passionate, you are an active fighter for social causes and politics. In general, you are moody, honest, a perfectionist, and very sexual. |
He failed his saving throw vs Death. You just can’t come back from a natural 0, even if you did invent the game.
Gary Gygax, inventor of the fantasy roleplaying game Dungeons and Dragons
Where now the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?
Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing?
Where is the hand on the harpstring, and the red fire glowing?
Where is the spring and the harvest and the corn growing?
They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow;
The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow.
Who shall gather the smoke of the dead wood burning,
Or behold the flowing years from the Sea returning?
-JRRT
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First of all, when people tag me to do memes, even cool ones, I ignore them. Sometimes I apologize, but mostly I just say “you think I’m doing a meme?” This is a continuation of my elementary school habit of refusing to write stories on any of the four subjects suggested and coming up with my own idea.
I think it’s fairly safe to say that “How to Capture a Unicorn” is a more compelling essay topic, particularly for a teacher who’s spent several hours wading through identical papers.
In any case, I don’t do memes when tagged. I do, on occasion, steal memes, though, and it is the result of one such theft which has made inevitable my eventual, and eternal, damnation.
It was a simple book meme; Grab the nearest book, turn to page 123, look up the fifth sentence, and type out the next three sentences. Innocuous enough, right? Like the pebble which starts the avalanche, it displayed no hint of the terrible chain of events it was about to set in motion. First, max posted it. Then I read it. And then, I’m ashamed to say, the urge to pocket it became irresistible and I gave in and grabbed that fucker like it was a chocolate-coated, bacon-wrapped, Viggo-topped ingot of solid gold.
And I ran with it.
Oh, man. This is so sad. The nearest book is The Last Battle, by CS Lewis. Great, I get the book that has the end of the world in it. Swell.
Tirian had no need to ask which was the High King, for he remembered his face (though here it was far nobler) from his dream. He stepped forward, sank on one knee and kissed Peter’s hand.
“High King,” he said. “You are welcome to me.”
Oh, great. And now I’ve put gay innuendo into a meeting of the High King and the Last King of Narnia.
I’m going to hell.
Well, I am!
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Proof the Eighties weren’t ALL bad. From yo momma’s favorite rappers, RunDMC.
cross-posted, more wordily, to TeenyManolo , where you will find the lyrics.
They’re right, but only in certain circumstances. THIS picture, for instance, is worth a thousand words. What’s the union rate for a thousand words during the writer’s strike, though?
by Tom Burns at Threadless, via Neatorama
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raincoaster 