Gone Fishin'
Or something. Be back in a week or so...
And no, I didn't even try to lock the doors this time, because I know you'll all get in somehow. And judging by the comments on Cake's blog today, most of you probably won't even be clothed.
Infrastructure is on the kitchen counter. Cookies are in the cabinet by the door. The number for a reputable carpet cleaning service is on the fridge.
posted by Lois Lane @ 4:59 PM
29 comments
29 Comments:
Ishat runs amuck.
MUCK MUCK MUCK
Hey do these cookies have my special herbs in them. Oh well, I brought brownies. Weeeeeee.
Strips to skivvies and sits on couch with brownie, infrastructure and Dr. Who on her DVR.
Umm...
Ishat?
You're in the wrong house. Lois and Clark live over here.
Love the tats, by the way.
-- Lamont "But Can't We Do A Little Breaking And Entering, Just For Form's Sake?" Cranston
Ooops, I did it again.
Ishat picks up clothing, brownies, and cookies. What the hell, the wine comes too.
Leaves note.
Dear neighbors,
Thanks for wine and cookies.
Love,
Lois.
Muck Muck Muck
Crap.
It's no fun when you have permission.
By the way, Lois... Knowing you're a Dr. Who fan, you may enjoy this article. (I hope the link thingy works.)
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/06/15/arts/television/15lyal.html?th&emc=th
Hey, if a Star Trek Fan is a Trekkie or a Trekker, what's a Dr. Who fan? A WHO-ter?
Oh fine. Just when I come back around you skip town. Thanks a lot.
LOIS! YOU MUST COME BACK!!! THERE IS A CRISIS!!! THERE ARE NO MORE COOKIES!!!
::wakes up, stumbles out of bedroom::
OKAY! Who drew the whiskers on me!
And where's the damn infrastructure...I need it for my Sugar Pops, dammit!
Ishat finds brownie mix and is at the oven. Sees Cake. Hides marker under box. Smiles and points to living room.
Sprinkles in special herbs and M&Ms into brownie mix.
LA LA LA
Bakes brownies.
Is...
the televisionnnn...
suppppposed to be melting like that?
Had a late night snack of brownies and Irish coffee, and now everything no longer has a definable shape...
Wait...
Didn't I used to have fingers?
Who am I typing to, anyway?
-- Lamont "Inner Consciousness Is A Drag, Man" Cranston
Here, Cake! It should come off with this facial scrub. If it doesn't, why you're beautiful enough to pull off the whisker look and wouldn't it be fun to be in a circus? I've always thought so! I mean, as long as you weren't an abused elephant or something.
Wake up, Cranston! Wake up! Oh, lord. It happened again. Ishat's! Ya gotta lighten up on your secret ingredients!
slap, slap
Pulls Lamont off sofa, walks him into bathroom. Props him in shower, turns on cold water.
Whooooa, Lamont! Nice tattoo of the electoral college!
Sparkle, why does that facial scrub smell like poultry seasoning?
Hey, who the hell poured bacon grease in my bowl of Sugar Pops?
By the way, Cake, I think you look better with the whiskers than with the Hitler mustache.
'Tis not the brownies!
He got into the LSD.
And I didn't bring that.
Nothing man made, strictly nature made.
Is that from the 60's? Old LSD that would do it.
Did Lois leave that around? Or were my kid practising chemestry again? Damn, they are not to watch Woodstock again! Or that Monkee movie! They get all sort of wrong ideas.
Hey is Weeds on?
Pass the remote.
Lamont, you may want to stay away from the boy's chemstry experaments.
Oh, man...
Republican sandwiches...the sound of falling blue...it's all right, mama...?kcab gnimoc elpoep eiriaf eht era nehw...the electoral college smells like marjoram and sage...the color of time...Timothy Leary in stained glass wants his truck back...
I need to count these M&Ms now...
one.
two.
three.
four.
five.
six.
seven.
eight.
nine.
ten.
eleven.
twelve.
thirteen.
fourteen.
fifteen.
sixteen.
seventeen.
eighteen.
nineteen.
twenty.
twenty one.
twenty two.
twenty three.
twenty four.
twenty five.
twenty six.
twenty seven.
twenty eight.
twenty nine.
thirty.
thirty one.
thirty two.
thirty three.
thirty four.
thirty five.
thirty six.
thirty seven.
thirty eight.
thirty nine.
forty.
forty one.
forty two...
-- Lamont "[not really saying much of anything, just sort of sitting here giggling]" Cranston
This comment has been removed by the author.
Lamont,
As long as you don't see yourself on the other side of the room looking back at you.
Ishat puts music on.
I hope it helps. LA LA LA
(Yeah, yeah, oh-yeah, what condition my condition was in)
I woke up this mornin' with the sundown shinin' in
I found my mind in a brown paper bag within
I tripped on a cloud and fell-a eight miles high
I tore my mind on a jagged sky
I just dropped in to see what condition my condition was in
(Yeah, yeah, oh-yeah, what condition my condition was in)
I pushed my soul in a deep dark hole and then I followed it in
I watched myself crawlin' out as I was a-crawlin' in
I got up so tight I couldn't unwind
I saw so much I broke my mind
I just dropped in to see what condition my condition was in
(Yeah, yeah, oh-yeah, what condition my condition was in)
Someone painted "April Fool" in big black letters on a "Dead End" sign
I had my foot on the gas as I left the road and blew out my mind
Eight miles outta Memphis and I got no spare
Eight miles straight up downtown somewhere
I just dropped in to see what condition my condition was in
I said I just dropped in to see what condition my condition was in
Yeah
yeah
oh-yeah
Hey, I thought I wrote that!
Hey, I thought I wrote that!
Mickey, you did.
Dude, you didn't.
Ishat just played the song. She never claimed she wrote it.
-- David'Z "Still Standing Up for Women Like in the Old DayZ" RantZ (Sorry for swiping your riff, Lamont!)
I go off tending the herbs for a minute and look what happens.
I am going change the record now.
Thanks David'Z.
I keep hearing you're concerned about my happiness.
All that thought you're giving me is conscience, I guess.
If I were walking in your shoes, I wouldn't worry none.
While you and your friends are worrying 'bout me, I'm having lots of fun.
Counting flowers on the wall,
That don't bother me at all.
Playing Solitaire till dawn,
With a deck of fifty-one.
Smoking cigarettes and watching Captain Kangaroo.
Now, don't tell me I've nothing to do.
Last night I dressed in tails, pretended I was on the town.
As long as I can dream, it's hard to slow this swinger down.
So please don't give a thought to me, I'm really doing fine.
You can always find me here, having quite a time.
Counting flowers on the wall,
That don't bother me at all.
Playing Solitaire till dawn,
With a deck of fifty-one.
Smoking cigarettes and watching Captain Kangaroo.
Now, don't tell me I've nothing to do.
Well, it's good to see you, I must go, I know I look a fright.
Anyway my eyes are not accustomed to this light.
And my shoes are not accustomed to this hard concrete.
So I must go back to my room and make my day complete.
Counting flowers on the wall,
That don't bother me at all.
Playing Solitaire till dawn,
With a deck of fifty-one.
Smoking cigarettes and watching Captain Kangaroo.
Now, counting flowers on the wall,
That don't bother me at all.
Playing Solitaire till dawn,
With a deck of fifty-one.
Smoking cigarettes and watching Captain Kangaroo.
Now, don't tell me I've nothing to do.
Don't tell me I've nothing to do.
Time to change the record.
Ishat refreshes the try of brownies and puts out new pies.
She wonders if she could use these people in a story. Nah, no-one would believe her.
Puts the needle on the vinyl. Hisses and pops make the experience so much more real some how.
The dance of the puppets
The rusted chains of prison moons
Are shattered by the sun.
I walk a road, horizons change
The tournaments begun.
The purple piper plays his tune,
The choir softly sing;
Three lullabies in an ancient tongue,
For the court of the crimson king.
The keeper of the city keys
Put shutters on the dreams.
I wait outside the pilgrims door
With insufficient schemes.
The black queen chants
The funeral march,
The cracked brass bells will ring;
To summon back the fire witch
To the court of the crimson king.
The gardener plants an evergreen
Whilst trampling on a flower.
I chase the wind of a prism ship
To taste the sweet and sour.
The pattern juggler lifts his hand;
The orchestra begin.
As slowly turns the grinding wheel
In the court of the crimson king.
On soft gray mornings widows cry
The wise men share a joke;
I run to grasp divining signs
To satisfy the hoax.
The yellow jester does not play
But gentle pulls the strings
And smiles as the puppets dance
In the court of the crimson king.
Three classics in a row. I can't wait for the soundtrack LP...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Ah, no-one is up.
Time for a solitary dance party.
Ishat changes record and places a rose in her teeth. It is a full moon after all.
I ache for the touch of your lips, dear,
But much more for the touch of your whips, dear.
You can raise welts
Like nobody else,
As we dance to the masochism tango.
Let our love be a flame, not an ember,
Say its me that you want to dismember.
Blacken my eye,
Set fire to my tie,
As we dance to the masochism tango.
At your command
Before you here I stand,
My heart is in my hand. ecch!
Its here that I must be.
My heart entreats,
Just hear those savage beats,
And go put on your cleats
And come and trample me.
Your heart is hard as stone or mahogany,
Thats why Im in such exquisite agony.
My soul is on fire,
Its aflame with desire,
Which is why I perspire
When we tango.
You caught my nose
In your left castanet, love,
I can feel the pain yet, love,
Evry time I hear drums.
And I envy the rose
That you held in your teeth, love,
With the thorns underneath, love,
Sticking into your gums.
Your eyes cast a spell that bewitches.
The last time I needed twenty stitches
To sew up the gash
That you made with your lash,
As we danced to the masochism tango.
Bash in my brain,
And make me scream with pain,
Then kick me once again,
And say well never part.
I know too well
Im underneath your spell,
So, darling, if you smell
Something burning, its my heart.
Excuse me!
Take your cigarette from its holder,
And burn your initials in my shoulder.
Fracture my spine,
And swear that youre mine,
As we dance to the masochism tango.
Changes record again, before anyone wakes to see her dancing with her invisible dance partner.
[First Man:] I think, I think I am, therefore I am, I think.
[Establishment:] Of course you are my bright little star,
I've miles
And miles
Of files
Pretty files of your forefather's fruit
and now to suit our
great computer,
You're magnetic ink.
[First Man:] I'm more than that, I know I am, at least, I think I must be.
[Inner Man:] There you go man, keep as cool as you can.
Face piles
And piles
Of trials
With smiles.
It riles them to believe
that you perceive
the web they weave
And keep on thinking free.
A wonderful day for passing my way.
Knock and my door and even the score
With your eyes.
Lovely to see you again my friend.
Walk along with me to the next bend.
Dark cloud of fear is blowing away.
Now that you're hear, you're going to stay
'cause it's
Lovely to see you again my friend.
Walk along with me to the next bend.
Tells us what you've seen in faraway forgotten lands.
Where empires have turned back to sand.
Wonderful day for passing my way.
Knock and my door and even the score
With your eyes.
Lovely to see you again my friend.
Walk along with me to the next bend.
::sweeping up the crumbs off the floor, tidies up::
Oh hi Lois, you're back! Never mind the burn marks on the carpet, there have been no bonfires in here, I swear!
I trust you will grace us with your presence again soon with a new post!
eight hundred and nine...
eight hundred and ten...
eight hundred and eleven...
eight hundred and twelve...
eight hundred and thirteen...
eight hundred and fourteen...
eight hundred and fifteen...
eight hundred and sixteen...
eight hundred and seventeen...
eight hundred and eighteen...
-- Lamont "Play That Funky Music, Ishat Boy" Cranston
Lamont, I think it is time to stay away from the button game.
You can't tell what sex I am any more.
Here let me help:
Spill the wine and take that pearl, Spill the wine and take that pearl
Spill the wine and take that pearl, Spill the wine and take that pearl
I was once out strolling one very hot summer's day
When I thought I'd lay myself down to rest
in a big field of tall grass
I lay there in the sun and felt it caressing my face
And I fell asleep and dreamed
I dreamed I was in a Hollywood movie
And that I was the star of the movie
This really blew my mind, the fact that me,
an overfed, long-haired leaping gnome
should be the star of a Hollywood movie
But there I was, I was taken to a place, the hall of the mountain kings
I stood high upon a mountain top, naked to the world
In front of every kind of girl, there was
black ones, round ones, big ones, crazy ones...
Out of the middle came a lady
She whispered in my ear something crazy
She said:
Spill the wine and take that pearl, Spill the wine and take that pearl
Spill the wine and take that pearl, Spill the wine and take that pearl
[spoken:]
I thought to myself what could that mean
Am I going crazy or is this just a dream
Now, wait a minute
I know I'm lying in a field of grass somewhere
so it's all in my head
and then.. I heard her say one more time:
[sung:]
Spill the wine and take that pearl, Spill the wine and take that pearl
Spill the wine and take that pearl, Spill the wine and take that pearl
[spoken:]
I could feel hot flames of fire roaring at my back
As she disappeared, but soon she returned
In her hand was a bottle of wine, in the other, a glass
She poured some of the wine from the bottle into the glass
And raised it to her lips
And just before she drank it, she said:
[sung:]
Spill the wine and take that pearl, Spill the wine and take that pearl
Spill the wine and take that pearl, Spill the wine and take that pearl
Post a Comment
<< Home