For I am a Rain Dog, too

( Rain Dogs )

For I am a Rain Dog, too

( Rain Dogs )

I get a thrill out of tampering with the atmosphere

Argh. I had something to eat and blerghslefs'g';wmg'., .,desleeeeeeepy.


*makes coffee*

On the other hand, I'm almost half done!!

On the third hand, the comments seem to have run dry. WTF, people? I need you! Keep me awake!

I get a thrill out of tampering with the atmosphere

Argh. I had something to eat and blerghslefs'g';wmg'., .,desleeeeeeepy.


*makes coffee*

On the other hand, I'm almost half done!!

On the third hand, the comments seem to have run dry. WTF, people? I need you! Keep me awake!

What I want is what I'm telling you

Another meme!

1. What word do you think of when you think of me? Don't tell me what the word is.

2. Type that word into Google Image Search.

3. Show me the first picture you get. (Or the most amusing one.)

4. Watch me go WTF?!


Still sleepy, and now my fingers are getting very hurty. I just tried to do another voice post, but it's still apparently no worky. I am pissed about this.

What I want is what I'm telling you

Another meme!

1. What word do you think of when you think of me? Don't tell me what the word is.

2. Type that word into Google Image Search.

3. Show me the first picture you get. (Or the most amusing one.)

4. Watch me go WTF?!


Still sleepy, and now my fingers are getting very hurty. I just tried to do another voice post, but it's still apparently no worky. I am pissed about this.

I would not feel so all alone

[Poll #1029603]


My turn to ask you question. Fingers very hurty. Have taken anti-inflammaroty tablet. Typing hurts. Am on 2nd cup coffee. V. pissed-off at lack of voicepostage. Means you don't get to hear me sing this year. Sad sad.

I would not feel so all alone

[Poll #1029603]


My turn to ask you question. Fingers very hurty. Have taken anti-inflammaroty tablet. Typing hurts. Am on 2nd cup coffee. V. pissed-off at lack of voicepostage. Means you don't get to hear me sing this year. Sad sad.

May God bless and keep you always

Still hurty fingers and low on ideas, so I bring you ( Catpics! )

I've missed having a camera.

More than half done, yayy! The coffee is kicking in. If only the anti-inflammatories would too. Voiceposts saved my arse last year. I may die if i can't do them this year.

May God bless and keep you always

Still hurty fingers and low on ideas, so I bring you ( Catpics! )

I've missed having a camera.

More than half done, yayy! The coffee is kicking in. If only the anti-inflammatories would too. Voiceposts saved my arse last year. I may die if i can't do them this year.

I was the one you chose to be your only one

( Spike sez it's time we went for a walk. )

He's not looking at the camera because he doesn't much like cameras, but also because a cat has just crossed his field of vision behind me. Goin' out walkies now. Behave yourselves while I'm gone. Also, I love this song SO MUCH: Tom Waits - Downtown Train.

I was the one you chose to be your only one

( Spike sez it's time we went for a walk. )

He's not looking at the camera because he doesn't much like cameras, but also because a cat has just crossed his field of vision behind me. Goin' out walkies now. Behave yourselves while I'm gone. Also, I love this song SO MUCH: Tom Waits - Downtown Train.

Love for real, not fade away

( In which I realise I haven't posted about my other magnificent obsession yet )

Love for real, not fade away

( In which I realise I haven't posted about my other magnificent obsession yet )

Fight until you die or drop

Auuuugh! It's 4am and I have no idea what I'm going to write about! HELP!

Post a comment with a random statement, quote, sentence or sentence fragment, and in my next entry I'll, er, post a post themed around whatever you say. More or less.

Spike, after being peaceful since about 11pm, has realised that I am not going to bed, and so he's playing tag with Naamah Batshitcat up and down the hallway. Fun fun fun!

Fight until you die or drop

Auuuugh! It's 4am and I have no idea what I'm going to write about! HELP!

Post a comment with a random statement, quote, sentence or sentence fragment, and in my next entry I'll, er, post a post themed around whatever you say. More or less.

Spike, after being peaceful since about 11pm, has realised that I am not going to bed, and so he's playing tag with Naamah Batshitcat up and down the hallway. Fun fun fun!

If I stop now, call me a quitter

How many boards would the Mongols hoard if the Mongol hordes got bored?

The Mongols hoard, not boards, but Fnord! Fnord discord, praise the Lord! And Bob knows, you never get bored when you have Fnord.

The weirdest thing Spike ever did was the time he chased Bloaty through the Stargate, and found himself facing a horde of mingled Mongols, Daleks, Borg and Dementors. Fortunately, the Daleks could only fire over their heads, the Dementors were distracted by being assimilated and the Borg were dealing with being exterminated; by the time it was all over Genghis Khan was the only one left standing. Thanks to the Borg implants, he was able to hypnotise his way into being the next Minister of Magic.

...does that answer all the questions raised in the last entry?

If I stop now, call me a quitter

How many boards would the Mongols hoard if the Mongol hordes got bored?

The Mongols hoard, not boards, but Fnord! Fnord discord, praise the Lord! And Bob knows, you never get bored when you have Fnord.

The weirdest thing Spike ever did was the time he chased Bloaty through the Stargate, and found himself facing a horde of mingled Mongols, Daleks, Borg and Dementors. Fortunately, the Daleks could only fire over their heads, the Dementors were distracted by being assimilated and the Borg were dealing with being exterminated; by the time it was all over Genghis Khan was the only one left standing. Thanks to the Borg implants, he was able to hypnotise his way into being the next Minister of Magic.

...does that answer all the questions raised in the last entry?

Oh, I could throw you in the lake or feed you poisoned birthday cake

Comment here and I'll tell you how I'd murder you. If I were going to murder you, that is. I'm not normally in the habit of murdering people, but I find that doesn't stop it being fun thinking of cool ways to do it.

*manic grin*

Oh, I could throw you in the lake or feed you poisoned birthday cake

Comment here and I'll tell you how I'd murder you. If I were going to murder you, that is. I'm not normally in the habit of murdering people, but I find that doesn't stop it being fun thinking of cool ways to do it.

*manic grin*

Let the bodies hit the floor

Mwahahaaha, I get to stay up all night AND murder people!

hopefulnebula, for you I have devised the most heinous slow torturous death imaginable: you are chained to a computer which will show you nothing but the Neoboards, where you will be required to offer help and technical support to every single poster. I suspect you would last, oh, maybe an hour before your brain exploded, Alien-fashion, out of your skull and scampered away.

Mind you, you're good; I think you'd last a good 55 minutes longer then I would.

gaseousanomaly... Hmmm. Oh, I know! First we glue an Enterpriser mask made of lifelike living plastic over your features, so that you're indistinguishable from the real thing. Then we fit your keyboard with a device that inserts 4-40 random legalese gobbledegook phrases and 2-6 random kitten pictures every time you try and type a sentence. Then we supply every other TrekBBS user with one of those devices that delivers an electric shock via your keyboard whenever they press the big red button.

...It'd hurt. But I suspect it'd be over quickly.

boywhocantsayno ...for you, I have reserved the worst fate of all. You have to come over here and clean my kitchen. Trust me... it's a death sentence.

The rest of you can die in the next entry. I think I need more coffee... or more Scissor Sisters.

Let the bodies hit the floor

Mwahahaaha, I get to stay up all night AND murder people!

hopefulnebula, for you I have devised the most heinous slow torturous death imaginable: you are chained to a computer which will show you nothing but the Neoboards, where you will be required to offer help and technical support to every single poster. I suspect you would last, oh, maybe an hour before your brain exploded, Alien-fashion, out of your skull and scampered away.

Mind you, you're good; I think you'd last a good 55 minutes longer then I would.

gaseousanomaly... Hmmm. Oh, I know! First we glue an Enterpriser mask made of lifelike living plastic over your features, so that you're indistinguishable from the real thing. Then we fit your keyboard with a device that inserts 4-40 random legalese gobbledegook phrases and 2-6 random kitten pictures every time you try and type a sentence. Then we supply every other TrekBBS user with one of those devices that delivers an electric shock via your keyboard whenever they press the big red button.

...It'd hurt. But I suspect it'd be over quickly.

boywhocantsayno ...for you, I have reserved the worst fate of all. You have to come over here and clean my kitchen. Trust me... it's a death sentence.

The rest of you can die in the next entry. I think I need more coffee... or more Scissor Sisters.

HERE COME THE DRUMS HERE COME THE DRUMS

bulletslc - Because you love good books and good television as much as I do, you are condemned to be tied to a chair, your eyes pinned open, in front of a TV showing nothing but afternoon game shows, while behind you, a monotonous yet shrill electronic voice reads out trite romance novels - the sort where there isn't even any sex. You will die screaming of a combination of sheer boredom and affronted pleasure-centres of the brain.

yesididit - Because you share my taste in dogs, you will be transported to a universe where the only dogs in existence are tiny short-legged designer mutts, so overbred that they cannot exercise, snuffle when they breathe, never stop farting and have no brains - and you will be forced to attempt to teach them agility. You will die from the combination of frustration and flatulence.

tenna - I will sneak Purity Brand Brain Bleach into your hair dye. You will instantly change from the sparkling individual you are into a whiny little drone with no talent and no imagination, and you will either shrivel and die of embarrassment or be torn to pieces by your friends and admirers yelling "WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT DID YOU DO WITH OUR ERIN??!!!"

ghost07 - I will infuse some of my brain cells into yours, and you will be so confused by the sudden influx of filthy and murderous thoughts that you will run away to become an exotic dancer, whereupon you will die in a freak accident involving a pair of eighteen-inch-high Perspex platform shoes, a vicar and an inflatable sheep.

Anyone else who commented after I got this far gets killed in the next entry. Damn, I'm enjoying this. Also - the sun has risen here. Woooooo!

HERE COME THE DRUMS HERE COME THE DRUMS

bulletslc - Because you love good books and good television as much as I do, you are condemned to be tied to a chair, your eyes pinned open, in front of a TV showing nothing but afternoon game shows, while behind you, a monotonous yet shrill electronic voice reads out trite romance novels - the sort where there isn't even any sex. You will die screaming of a combination of sheer boredom and affronted pleasure-centres of the brain.

yesididit - Because you share my taste in dogs, you will be transported to a universe where the only dogs in existence are tiny short-legged designer mutts, so overbred that they cannot exercise, snuffle when they breathe, never stop farting and have no brains - and you will be forced to attempt to teach them agility. You will die from the combination of frustration and flatulence.

tenna - I will sneak Purity Brand Brain Bleach into your hair dye. You will instantly change from the sparkling individual you are into a whiny little drone with no talent and no imagination, and you will either shrivel and die of embarrassment or be torn to pieces by your friends and admirers yelling "WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT DID YOU DO WITH OUR ERIN??!!!"

ghost07 - I will infuse some of my brain cells into yours, and you will be so confused by the sudden influx of filthy and murderous thoughts that you will run away to become an exotic dancer, whereupon you will die in a freak accident involving a pair of eighteen-inch-high Perspex platform shoes, a vicar and an inflatable sheep.

Anyone else who commented after I got this far gets killed in the next entry. Damn, I'm enjoying this. Also - the sun has risen here. Woooooo!

Do I twist? Do I fold?

What? What?? I appear to have run out of victims! Just when I was worked up into a fine frothing frenzy, too! I know, now, exactly why the Master picked this song. Play it often enough and it's like crack-laced psycho-espresso with psilocybin sprinkles. Fucking AWESOME. I'm bopping in my chair and making my dogs nervous. LOVE it.

Am also lurking in the Blogathon IRC chat where people witter away about strategies to stay awake. Me, if I just play this song eighteen or nineteen times more I will probably NEVER SLEEP AGAIN.


And here it comes, the sound of drums... Also, the song's intro is the same as Elvis Costello's Pump It Up, which just adds to its awesomeness. I'll prove it to you:

Pump It Up

Voodoo Child

EDIT: Ahhh! I has a victim! Hello abzdragon! I am just hitting post on this entry. I will go and look at your journal and come up with something chillingly appropriate. Or I may just force you to listen to this song ten million times, because it's starting to make my brain leak out of my ears. WOO HOOO!!!!

Edit the Second: purplewaxhand too! You're next!

Do I twist? Do I fold?

What? What?? I appear to have run out of victims! Just when I was worked up into a fine frothing frenzy, too! I know, now, exactly why the Master picked this song. Play it often enough and it's like crack-laced psycho-espresso with psilocybin sprinkles. Fucking AWESOME. I'm bopping in my chair and making my dogs nervous. LOVE it.

Am also lurking in the Blogathon IRC chat where people witter away about strategies to stay awake. Me, if I just play this song eighteen or nineteen times more I will probably NEVER SLEEP AGAIN.


And here it comes, the sound of drums... Also, the song's intro is the same as Elvis Costello's Pump It Up, which just adds to its awesomeness. I'll prove it to you:

Pump It Up

Voodoo Child

EDIT: Ahhh! I has a victim! Hello abzdragon! I am just hitting post on this entry. I will go and look at your journal and come up with something chillingly appropriate. Or I may just force you to listen to this song ten million times, because it's starting to make my brain leak out of my ears. WOO HOOO!!!!

Edit the Second: purplewaxhand too! You're next!

I'm comin' undone

I have now had Voodoo Child on repeat for an hour and a half. I feel I may be about to transmogrify into a cross between Anthony Ainley, Christopher Biggins and Zathras. Be afraid. Be very, very afraid.

abzdragon - I don't know you very well, although I like your journal. And your zombie. Nevertheless, you are marked for death, and this is how it will happen: You will be shut into a large box filled with a mixture of very bad instant coffee granules mixed with malt vinegar and English chip-shop curry sauce. You will have a choice between smothering in there or attempting to eat your way out: if you don't die of the smothering you will die of either culture shock or mortified taste buds.

purplewaxhand - I've known you a little longer. I know you to possess an inquiring mind and an aptitude for lateral thinking, and I think I have a good one for you. You will be locked into a bare steel room with forty-three particularly intelligent children under five, all of them at the lifestage where every other word out of their mouths is "Why?". The twist is that I will have modified your brain so that, while you retain your native curiosity, you will no longer remember any of the facts you've learned in your life. It goes without saying that the room will contain no Internet, encyclopedias or any other source of information. You will implode into a black hole of unanswerable questions - either that or the children will eat you. Children are horrid creatures.

Any more for any more? I gotta walk the dogs... I'll kill you when I get back.

I'm comin' undone

I have now had Voodoo Child on repeat for an hour and a half. I feel I may be about to transmogrify into a cross between Anthony Ainley, Christopher Biggins and Zathras. Be afraid. Be very, very afraid.

abzdragon - I don't know you very well, although I like your journal. And your zombie. Nevertheless, you are marked for death, and this is how it will happen: You will be shut into a large box filled with a mixture of very bad instant coffee granules mixed with malt vinegar and English chip-shop curry sauce. You will have a choice between smothering in there or attempting to eat your way out: if you don't die of the smothering you will die of either culture shock or mortified taste buds.

purplewaxhand - I've known you a little longer. I know you to possess an inquiring mind and an aptitude for lateral thinking, and I think I have a good one for you. You will be locked into a bare steel room with forty-three particularly intelligent children under five, all of them at the lifestage where every other word out of their mouths is "Why?". The twist is that I will have modified your brain so that, while you retain your native curiosity, you will no longer remember any of the facts you've learned in your life. It goes without saying that the room will contain no Internet, encyclopedias or any other source of information. You will implode into a black hole of unanswerable questions - either that or the children will eat you. Children are horrid creatures.

Any more for any more? I gotta walk the dogs... I'll kill you when I get back.

Why don't I sell you my soul?

Argh! Slightly delayed on dog walk by mild Spike misbehaviour and photography. This entry's ten minutes late already so I'm just sticking in a swift picture post.

( Cats and dogs! )

Also, on my way out the door, I discovered that Naamah had stolen one of my cherries to play pink juice-stained cat-hockey with in the hallway. Bless.

Why don't I sell you my soul?

Argh! Slightly delayed on dog walk by mild Spike misbehaviour and photography. This entry's ten minutes late already so I'm just sticking in a swift picture post.

( Cats and dogs! )

Also, on my way out the door, I discovered that Naamah had stolen one of my cherries to play pink juice-stained cat-hockey with in the hallway. Bless.

Hell bent or heaven sent

The last one being late made this one late... catch up with the murders in the next one. Probably. The caffeine/adrenaline/manic energy rush is wearing off... I may not have much murder left in me.

Have some dogs:

( Dogs being good )

Hell bent or heaven sent

The last one being late made this one late... catch up with the murders in the next one. Probably. The caffeine/adrenaline/manic energy rush is wearing off... I may not have much murder left in me.

Have some dogs:

( Dogs being good )

To cut a long story short, I lost my mind

Buh. Came back from dog walk and thought "why are cats yelling at me?" Then I realised it was their breakfast time and not the middle of the night still. Trouble was, I'd forgotten to defrost any chicks for them last night... so I had to give them some of my cooked cold chicken. Now, they LOVE cooked cold chicken. But they still glared at me as though I were offering them fresh dogshit laced with antifreeze. Just because it wasn't what they were expecting. Cats suck!

Just time for one swift murder: Bill, you will be hypocritically prayed over and then publicly boiled with much pomp and circumstance. I will be in the front row of spectators, eating rum and raisin ice cream.

I'm crashing a little, but I promise at least one gory murder in the next entry.

To cut a long story short, I lost my mind

Buh. Came back from dog walk and thought "why are cats yelling at me?" Then I realised it was their breakfast time and not the middle of the night still. Trouble was, I'd forgotten to defrost any chicks for them last night... so I had to give them some of my cooked cold chicken. Now, they LOVE cooked cold chicken. But they still glared at me as though I were offering them fresh dogshit laced with antifreeze. Just because it wasn't what they were expecting. Cats suck!

Just time for one swift murder: Bill, you will be hypocritically prayed over and then publicly boiled with much pomp and circumstance. I will be in the front row of spectators, eating rum and raisin ice cream.

I'm crashing a little, but I promise at least one gory murder in the next entry.

They said my friends were just an unruly mob

Next up on the chopping block: joeljenkins!

See this little gadget I am even now locking around your neck? It is a cunningly modified perception filter generator, fitted with state-of-the-art morphic resonance manipulators. You will remain yourself, but anyone seeing or touching you will be unshakeably convinced that you are, in fact, a rugby ball. You will then be dropped in play in the middle of the next Rugby League match you were hoping to watch, whereupon you will be gradually kicked and scrummed to death.

To add insult to injury, the unavoidable disconnect between your perceived and your actual shape will cause your team to play like a bunch of little old ladies with five legs between the lot of them, and they will suffer the worst defeat in the history of known rugby.

They said my friends were just an unruly mob

Next up on the chopping block: joeljenkins!

See this little gadget I am even now locking around your neck? It is a cunningly modified perception filter generator, fitted with state-of-the-art morphic resonance manipulators. You will remain yourself, but anyone seeing or touching you will be unshakeably convinced that you are, in fact, a rugby ball. You will then be dropped in play in the middle of the next Rugby League match you were hoping to watch, whereupon you will be gradually kicked and scrummed to death.

To add insult to injury, the unavoidable disconnect between your perceived and your actual shape will cause your team to play like a bunch of little old ladies with five legs between the lot of them, and they will suffer the worst defeat in the history of known rugby.

Never grow old

And now we come to grimprime.

I don't really like to repeat myself, but I think my perception filter generator (with added morphic resonance modifiers) is too good an idea not to do to death repeatedly. So, once I've rescued it from the trodden-mud of some Australian rugby pitch, I shall rinse it off, modify its parameters, sneak up behind you in a bus queue and stick it onto the back of your jacket.

You will then immediately be mistaken for... one of those little toys that turn into other little toys. I will leave you in the waiting room of the nearest doctor's surgery filled with small child patients, where you will be pawed and dribbled on by a number of sickly snotnosed toddlers. Eventually, though, the coup de grace will arrive when a slightly older child will find you; one who understands how to change your assumed form from one thing to another. Unfortunately, your human body won't be able to survive having its legs wrenched round behind while its head is folded into its chest.

I'm not well enough up on the lore of transformy things to decide which would be worse; to have you assume the form of a teribly expensive limited-edition collector's item one that becomes worthless when ripped out of its packaging and snotted-on, or a cheap knock-off version of the ones you like, with a deliberately-misspelled name and your decals on crooked. I rather fancy the latter, myself.

It was either that or Reavers, anyhow. But this makes for a longer entry.

Never grow old

And now we come to grimprime.

I don't really like to repeat myself, but I think my perception filter generator (with added morphic resonance modifiers) is too good an idea not to do to death repeatedly. So, once I've rescued it from the trodden-mud of some Australian rugby pitch, I shall rinse it off, modify its parameters, sneak up behind you in a bus queue and stick it onto the back of your jacket.

You will then immediately be mistaken for... one of those little toys that turn into other little toys. I will leave you in the waiting room of the nearest doctor's surgery filled with small child patients, where you will be pawed and dribbled on by a number of sickly snotnosed toddlers. Eventually, though, the coup de grace will arrive when a slightly older child will find you; one who understands how to change your assumed form from one thing to another. Unfortunately, your human body won't be able to survive having its legs wrenched round behind while its head is folded into its chest.

I'm not well enough up on the lore of transformy things to decide which would be worse; to have you assume the form of a teribly expensive limited-edition collector's item one that becomes worthless when ripped out of its packaging and snotted-on, or a cheap knock-off version of the ones you like, with a deliberately-misspelled name and your decals on crooked. I rather fancy the latter, myself.

It was either that or Reavers, anyhow. But this makes for a longer entry.

Better not wait up 'cause I might be late

My next victim is my adorable jhovall. For this execution I'll be using a variant of the super strong pheromone spray seen (I think) in the first episode of Torchwood. I'll slip it into your drink, suspended in slow-release gel microcapsules, and once you've swallowed enough of it for the effects to be irreversible, that's when I slap the preloaded vortex manipulator onto the back of your hand.

You will be instantly teleported into the audience at a huge performance of the most popular boy band in the world. Do not presume to ask me which boy band - I do not pollute my brain with nasty modern Terran pop culture. I have highly-trained ruthless minions to deal with that sort of little detail. The important thing is that you will arrive in the midst of the crowd just as the pheromones reach critical mass and start oozing irresistible attraction out of your every pore - whereupon you will be torn to messy shreds by twenty thousand lust-crazed rampaging teenaged girls.

Better not wait up 'cause I might be late

My next victim is my adorable jhovall. For this execution I'll be using a variant of the super strong pheromone spray seen (I think) in the first episode of Torchwood. I'll slip it into your drink, suspended in slow-release gel microcapsules, and once you've swallowed enough of it for the effects to be irreversible, that's when I slap the preloaded vortex manipulator onto the back of your hand.

You will be instantly teleported into the audience at a huge performance of the most popular boy band in the world. Do not presume to ask me which boy band - I do not pollute my brain with nasty modern Terran pop culture. I have highly-trained ruthless minions to deal with that sort of little detail. The important thing is that you will arrive in the midst of the crowd just as the pheromones reach critical mass and start oozing irresistible attraction out of your every pore - whereupon you will be torn to messy shreds by twenty thousand lust-crazed rampaging teenaged girls.

Poisoned in the bushes, blown out on the trail, hunted like a crocodile, ravaged in the corn

Next up: bloolark. In a departure from my usual elaborate methods, she'll be simply shot, stuffed and mounted in a large display cage. The fiendish part comes afterwards, when I take her to the nearest pet store and cunningly hypnotise the owner, who will be entirely unable to avoid speaking the words I put in his mouth.


( It'll go something like this... )

P.S. And I'm stealin' yer pretty black lory. XD

Poisoned in the bushes, blown out on the trail, hunted like a crocodile, ravaged in the corn

Next up: bloolark. In a departure from my usual elaborate methods, she'll be simply shot, stuffed and mounted in a large display cage. The fiendish part comes afterwards, when I take her to the nearest pet store and cunningly hypnotise the owner, who will be entirely unable to avoid speaking the words I put in his mouth.


( It'll go something like this... )

P.S. And I'm stealin' yer pretty black lory. XD

The teenage queen, the loaded gun

Wooo! Only three hours to go, people! And my eleven o'clock victim is none other than the lovely vatoengland.

She thought she'd been so careful. So foresighted. She never left the house without first scanning for alien technology, never ate or drank anything she hadn't synthesised herself, didn't even go to sleep without switching on the motion detectors, calibrated to pick up and alert to anything from nanogene-sized upwards.

...Anything, that is, except for the familiar members of her own household. Little did she know she was harbouring, in her own hearth and home, something quite other than the friendly, clownish multicoloured kitten she'd grown to love. Little did she know that said kitten had been implanted with elaborate post-hypnotic suggestions from the day of her birth, awaiting the day she'd be given the signal to act on those fiendish, subconscious impulses she didn't even know she carried.

Everyone was baffled to find vatoengland stark and cold, with just the yarn tail of the catnip mouse still dangling from her lips.

The teenage queen, the loaded gun

Wooo! Only three hours to go, people! And my eleven o'clock victim is none other than the lovely vatoengland.

She thought she'd been so careful. So foresighted. She never left the house without first scanning for alien technology, never ate or drank anything she hadn't synthesised herself, didn't even go to sleep without switching on the motion detectors, calibrated to pick up and alert to anything from nanogene-sized upwards.

...Anything, that is, except for the familiar members of her own household. Little did she know she was harbouring, in her own hearth and home, something quite other than the friendly, clownish multicoloured kitten she'd grown to love. Little did she know that said kitten had been implanted with elaborate post-hypnotic suggestions from the day of her birth, awaiting the day she'd be given the signal to act on those fiendish, subconscious impulses she didn't even know she carried.

Everyone was baffled to find vatoengland stark and cold, with just the yarn tail of the catnip mouse still dangling from her lips.

There's a million of 'em selling, and the buyers can't be found

I'm sure I had an idea, back there. And then I glanced at toft_froggy's journal for ideas about how to kill her wittily and topically, and got hopelessly distracted by Trajan's honking great column. I'm fickle that way. A really impressive great column can often keep me distracted all day.


...where were we? Ah yes. Impressive great columns. Specifically, emails about impressive great columns, ostensibly from fetchingly-named people such as Pentagram L. Waterproof, Windmill K. Verbiage, Autumn V. Parham and Carla Couch. What poor toft_froggy didn't know was that all of those were cunning aliases for Ruthless Archvillain Me, and that as she chuckled over the silly names in her spam folder, the subliminal messages embedded in the subject lines were working away in the parts of her brain so obscure that they don't yet have scientific names. Yes, I'm that good. And I won't go into details, in case of upsetting the sensitive (is anyone sensitive still reading this?) - but her death by combined hoodia, revolutionary new herbal supplement and cialis overdose, in combination with the contact poison from the forty-eight replica Rolex watches... well, let's just say it wasn't pretty.

There's a million of 'em selling, and the buyers can't be found

I'm sure I had an idea, back there. And then I glanced at toft_froggy's journal for ideas about how to kill her wittily and topically, and got hopelessly distracted by Trajan's honking great column. I'm fickle that way. A really impressive great column can often keep me distracted all day.


...where were we? Ah yes. Impressive great columns. Specifically, emails about impressive great columns, ostensibly from fetchingly-named people such as Pentagram L. Waterproof, Windmill K. Verbiage, Autumn V. Parham and Carla Couch. What poor toft_froggy didn't know was that all of those were cunning aliases for Ruthless Archvillain Me, and that as she chuckled over the silly names in her spam folder, the subliminal messages embedded in the subject lines were working away in the parts of her brain so obscure that they don't yet have scientific names. Yes, I'm that good. And I won't go into details, in case of upsetting the sensitive (is anyone sensitive still reading this?) - but her death by combined hoodia, revolutionary new herbal supplement and cialis overdose, in combination with the contact poison from the forty-eight replica Rolex watches... well, let's just say it wasn't pretty.

Did they sound the Dead March as they lowered you down?

Little did pointyhairedone know, as he merrily stumped his way down to the pigsties, that the innocent-seeming farm animals amongst which he spent his bucolic days were harbouring a deep, dark secret.

The secret? Faithful, hard-working sheepdog Jet had been lured away in the night by a drugged sausage cunningly disguised as a rock, and in Jet's place now lurked an evil-eyed ringer, a sociopathic shark-toothed substitute with murder on his mind!

Any Border Collie is a master of the hypnotic arts, of course. It's in the breed standard. But only a Border Collie belonging to Pointy's arch-nemesis, good old supervillain ME, would ever stoop to using the breed's superlative mental powers for the cause of chaos, evil and destruction.

And make no mistake, Master Spike was a pretty damn good supervillain in his own right. Pointy never suspected, as the first wave of sheep bore down on him, that every single one had been convinced overnight that it was an obligate carnivore. Poor lad, he never stood a chance.

Did they sound the Dead March as they lowered you down?

Little did pointyhairedone know, as he merrily stumped his way down to the pigsties, that the innocent-seeming farm animals amongst which he spent his bucolic days were harbouring a deep, dark secret.

The secret? Faithful, hard-working sheepdog Jet had been lured away in the night by a drugged sausage cunningly disguised as a rock, and in Jet's place now lurked an evil-eyed ringer, a sociopathic shark-toothed substitute with murder on his mind!

Any Border Collie is a master of the hypnotic arts, of course. It's in the breed standard. But only a Border Collie belonging to Pointy's arch-nemesis, good old supervillain ME, would ever stoop to using the breed's superlative mental powers for the cause of chaos, evil and destruction.

And make no mistake, Master Spike was a pretty damn good supervillain in his own right. Pointy never suspected, as the first wave of sheep bore down on him, that every single one had been convinced overnight that it was an obligate carnivore. Poor lad, he never stood a chance.

That long black cloud is comin' down

It seemed like a perfectly ordinary fungal fruiting body. Perhaps cottonmanifesto and urbpan should have been more alert; perhaps they should have noticed the pall of silence that surrounded the sickly purple slimy thing in the woods, the telltale absence of birds, other wildlife or any growing thing within two hundred yards of it. Perhaps they did; but they couldn't resist the chance to sneak close and photograph it anyway. And thus sealed their own doom!

It had taken me decades of patient genetic tinkering to produce the thing, and I must say, I surpassed even myself. A cunning recombination of material from as near as Greenland and as far away as Omicron Persei VIII, the purple orb sensed the intrepid pair's approach with its motion-sensitive cilia just in time to explode, enveloping them both in a cloud of rampantly infectious spores!

The Health Department and the Center for Disease Control (Extraterrestrial Division) did their best, but the spores proved resistant to all their best efforts. In a last-ditch effort to contain the infection, they made the decision to put both of them in cryogenic suspension... and there they wait, alive yet not alive, frozen solid for eternity or until an antidote is found. Whichever comes first.

That long black cloud is comin' down

It seemed like a perfectly ordinary fungal fruiting body. Perhaps cottonmanifesto and urbpan should have been more alert; perhaps they should have noticed the pall of silence that surrounded the sickly purple slimy thing in the woods, the telltale absence of birds, other wildlife or any growing thing within two hundred yards of it. Perhaps they did; but they couldn't resist the chance to sneak close and photograph it anyway. And thus sealed their own doom!

It had taken me decades of patient genetic tinkering to produce the thing, and I must say, I surpassed even myself. A cunning recombination of material from as near as Greenland and as far away as Omicron Persei VIII, the purple orb sensed the intrepid pair's approach with its motion-sensitive cilia just in time to explode, enveloping them both in a cloud of rampantly infectious spores!

The Health Department and the Center for Disease Control (Extraterrestrial Division) did their best, but the spores proved resistant to all their best efforts. In a last-ditch effort to contain the infection, they made the decision to put both of them in cryogenic suspension... and there they wait, alive yet not alive, frozen solid for eternity or until an antidote is found. Whichever comes first.

Anybody seen the sky? I'm wide awake now!

...or not.

ONE HOUR TO GO!!!!

I HAS A COOOKIE!

BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAINS!!!!

*gibber*

Anybody seen the sky? I'm wide awake now!

...or not.

ONE HOUR TO GO!!!!

I HAS A COOOKIE!

BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAINS!!!!

*gibber*

Just waving or drowning?

From the Blogathon IRC chat:

"Voldy has no nose."

"How does he smell?"

several people in unison: "TERRIBLE!"

"Ah, nothing says sleep deprivation like Voldemort humour!"

Just waving or drowning?

From the Blogathon IRC chat:

"Voldy has no nose."

"How does he smell?"

several people in unison: "TERRIBLE!"

"Ah, nothing says sleep deprivation like Voldemort humour!"

I thank you all!

Macro by http://www.lovemanythings.net/blog.html

The very last entry! I love you all SO MUCH. I love everybody who sponsored me, I love everybody who's commented over the last twenty-four hours, I love everybody who let me murder them, I love everyone who talked to me on IM and I love my fellow sleep-deprived charityfreaks on the Blogathon IRC channel. I want to do every single one of you, separately and together. I LOVE YOU!

We have achieved the impossible and that makes us mighty!

I thank you all!

Macro by http://www.lovemanythings.net/blog.html

The very last entry! I love you all SO MUCH. I love everybody who sponsored me, I love everybody who's commented over the last twenty-four hours, I love everybody who let me murder them, I love everyone who talked to me on IM and I love my fellow sleep-deprived charityfreaks on the Blogathon IRC channel. I want to do every single one of you, separately and together. I LOVE YOU!

We have achieved the impossible and that makes us mighty!

When everybody love me, I will never be lonely

...I don't want Blogathon to be over. Last year felt like a marathon; this year's almost went by too fast. I miss that crazed adrenaline rush. I miss the attention already. I feel so anticlimactic and emo now; I started having crying jags as soon as I finally went to bed yesterday, er, this afternoon.

*shakes self*

It'll pass. I just loved that feeling of being part of something bigger than myself. I want it back now plz.

When everybody love me, I will never be lonely

...I don't want Blogathon to be over. Last year felt like a marathon; this year's almost went by too fast. I miss that crazed adrenaline rush. I miss the attention already. I feel so anticlimactic and emo now; I started having crying jags as soon as I finally went to bed yesterday, er, this afternoon.

*shakes self*

It'll pass. I just loved that feeling of being part of something bigger than myself. I want it back now plz.