WHAT ARE YOU THINKING ABOUT RIGHT NOW?

author=geodude
rudolph does not exist. reindeer are harnessed in pairs

He guided the sleigh...there is no definitive evidence that he was harnessed.

hahahahahaha I get it! XD

æ I am thinking about Alterego.

Will i ever create a game of my own? V0V

It is that time of year again.

Mmmmmm...

Pancakes or Waffles? Man was not meant to choose just one! :P

Thanks to Brent's post, I'm thinking about waffles now. My ocd kicks into over drive when I have waffles. If I'm having more than one, they have to be stacked so the squares line up, and I have to cut any extra protrusions off the outer edge to keep a clean line. I also put syrup into each square individually instead of just pouring it all over. With a sharp knife and a little patience, I can actually eat them with minimal syrup loss or cross contamination of the accompanying breakfast meat.

I wonder if it is too late to write a Mr.Monk Goes to the Waffle House fan fiction?

Edit - Burroughs was kind of lax with punctuation and sentence structure, and if memory serves (since I have the book it comes from, both versions actually,) the story is basically three huge chunks of text with some line breaks for dialog, so this is my interpretation of where all the breaks and punctuation would go.

The Priest they Called Him

"Fight tuberculosis, folks." Christmas Eve, an old junkie selling Christmas seals on North Clark Street, the "Priest" they called him. "Fight tuberculosis, folks."

People hurry by, gray shadows on a distant wall. It was getting late, and no money to score. He turned into a side street, and the lake wind hit him like a knife. Cab stopped ahead just under a street light, boy got out with a suitcase, thin kid in prep school clothes. A familiar face, the Priest told himself watching from the doorway, reminds me of something a long time ago, the boy there with his overcoat unbuttoned, reaching into his pants for cab fare.

The cab drove away and turned the corner. The boy went inside the building, hmmm, yes... maybe; the suitcase was there in the door, the boy nowhere in sight. Gone to get the keys, most likely, have to move fast.

He picked up the suitcase and started for the corner, made it, glanced down at the case. It didn't look like the case the boy had, or any boy would have. The Priest couldn't put his finger on what was so old about the case, old and dirty, poor quality leather, and heavy. Better see what's inside.

He turned into Lincoln Park, found an empty place and opened the case. Two severed legs, had belonged to a young man with dark skin, shiny black leg hairs glittered in the dim street light. The legs had been forced into the case and he had to use his knee on the back of the case to shove them out.

"Legs, yet," he said, and walked quickly away with the case. Might bring a few dollars to score.

The buyer sniffed suspiciously. "Kinda funny smell about it... is this Mexican leather?"

The Priest shrugged.

"Well, some joker didn't cure it." The buyer looked at the case with cold disfavor. "Not even right sure he killed it, whatever it is. Three is the best I can do, and it hurts, but since this is Christmas and you're the Priest." He slipped three notes under the table into the Priest's dirty hand.

The Priest faded into the street, shadows seedy and furtive. Three cents didn't buy a bag, nothing less than a nickel. Say, remember that old auntie croaker told me not to come back unless I paid him the three cents I owe? Isn't that a fruit for you, blow his stack about three lousy cents.

The doctor was not pleased to see him. "No what do you want? I told you..." The Priest laid three bills on the table. The doctor put the money in his pocket and started to scream. "I've had trouble! The people have been around! I may lose my license!"

The Priest just sat there, eyes old and heavy with years of junk on the doctor's face.

"I can't write you a prescription." The doctor jerked open a drawer and slid an ampoule across the table. "That's all I have in the office," the doctor stood up, "Take it and GET OUT!" he screamed, hysterical. The Priest's expression did not change and the doctor added in quieter tones, "After all, I'm a professional man and I shouldn't have to be bothered by people like you."

"Is this all you have for me? One lousy quarter g! Couldn't you lend me a nickle?"

"Get out, get out! I'll call the police I tell you!"

"All right, doctor. I'm going now."

Christ it was cold and far to walk, rooming house, a shabby street room on the top floor. These stairs... <cough> the Priest there pulling himself up along the banister. He went into the bathroom, yellow wood panels, toilet dripping, and got his works from under the wash basin, wrapped in brown paper. Back to his room, get every drop in the dropper. He rolled up his sleeve.

Then he heard a groan from next door, room 18. A Mexican kid lived there. The Priest had passed him on the stairs and saw the kid was hooked, but he never spoke because he didn't want any juvenile connections, bad nes in any language and the Priest had had enough bad news in his life. Heard the groan again, a groan he could feel. No mistaking that groan and what it meant. Maybe he had an accident or something, any case, I can't enjoy my priestly medications with that sound coming through the wall. Thin walls, you understand. The Priest put down his dropper, cold hall, and knocked on the door to room 18.

"Quién es?"

"It's the Priest, kid. I live next door."

He could hear someone hobbling across the floor. A bold slid. The boy stood there in his underwear shorts, eyes black with pain. He started to fall. The Priest helped him over to the bed.

"What's wrong, son?"

"It's my legs señor... cramps, and now I am without medicine."

The Priest could see the cramps like knots of wood there in the young lean legs, dark shiny black leg hairs.

"Three years ago, I have damaged myself in a bicycle race. It is then that the cramps start and..."

And he has the leg cramps back, with compound junk interest. The old Priest stood there feeling the boy groan. He inclined his head as if in prayer and went back and got his dropper.

"It's just a quarter g, kid."

"I do not require much, señor."

The boy was sleeping when the Priest left room 18. He went back to his room and sat down on the bed. Then it hit him like heavy silent snow, all the grey junk yesterdays. He sat there and received the immaculate fix, and since he was himself a priest, there was no need to call one.

I'm thinking how this is the greatest answer to a forum question, ever:

Q - so.. i can hear.. random digital noise in my headphones if i listen very carefully.. and im not really sure what it is, or why its there, are my headphones picking up activity in my computer and translating it to very low volume sounds? the best way i can describe it is a much quieter version of what many anime and tv shows represent as data becoming a physical manifestation.. i dunno.. its behind a layer of static buzz that i can hear change if i do things like minimize a window, or open a window, change pages etc.. um yeah.. not really sure what its about but any information would be nice lol

A - I don't think there's necessarily anything 'wrong' - perhaps you have good headphones and they're picking up outside interference.

Though I suppose you could 'solve' the problem by going on tour with MOTORHEAD and spending the next 6 months or so researching how long the human body can jerk about uncontrollably. Not to mention learning "The Wisdom Of Life according to Lemmy", with such deep philosophical pearls as “F**k this "Don't speak ill of the dead" sh**! People don't become better when they are dead; you just talk about them as if they are. But it's not true! People are still a**holes. It's just that now they're dead a**holes.”

You'll have a great time! ...and trust me: You will *not* be able to hear the beeping in your computer any more by the time you're done.