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[Buck Turgidson]

Bliss. 

I am outside in the backyard, on a pitch black night.  A thin layer of cloud in the cold and humid night muffles the Moon, and obscures the stars.  It is about 5 degres Celcius, so maybe 39 Fahrenheit, and a light and steady wind blows coldly from the north.  I just finished smoking a doobie, and am now sipping 17 year old Balvenie and finishing a cuban cigar. 

Across the reasonable sized yard in suburban Brussels lie the hedges.  You see, when I decided to rent the house, I accepted responsibility for the gardening, and hedges in this part of Europe are serious affairs.  The ones at the other end of the garden are 30 feet accross, and almost 15 feet deep.  And they stand at about 9 feet tall.  The inner structure of the hedge is complex and ancient - the hedge has probably been there for a century. 

This summer, my 72 year old dad flew over here to help me with the gardening, and we climbed the branches with a huge hedge trimmer like gorillas.  No, not like chimps.  It was not a great display of finnesse.  It reminded me of a documentary I saw as a child where a gorilla walked through a jungle, knocking trees all along his path to give a more terrifying impression to a rival.  The rival did the same, and they settled peacefully, but not before they had a chance to posture and make a lot of unneccessary noise at each other. Yeah. No.  We climbed the hedges like gorillas.  Anyway, it was a good day, totally exhausting, and the end result was a beautifully trimmed hedge. 

I am wearing two pairs of pants, a sweater and windproof sailing jacket, and a felt Stetson.  I can hold out forever, but my fingertips are numb, so I really need to put this tablet away and warm my hands in my pockets.

[Kenneth Kenstar]

Bliss. 

I am outside in the backyard, on a pitch black night.  A thin layer of cloud in the cold and humid night muffles the Moon, and obscures the stars.  It is about 5 degres Celcius, so maybe 39 Fahrenheit, and a light and steady wind blows coldly from the north.  I just finished smoking a doobie, and am now sipping 17 year old Balvenie and finishing a cuban cigar. 

Across the reasonable sized yard in suburban Brussels lie the hedges.  You see, when I decided to rent the house, I accepted responsibility for the gardening, and hedges in this part of Europe are serious affairs.  The ones at the other end of the garden are 30 feet accross, and almost 15 feet deep.  And they stand at about 9 feet tall.  The inner structure of the hedge is complex and ancient - the hedge has probably been there for a century. 

This summer, my 72 year old dad flew over here to help me with the gardening, and we climbed the branches with a huge hedge trimmer like gorillas.  No, not like chimps.  It was not a great display of finnesse.  It reminded me of a documentary I saw as a child where a gorilla walked through a jungle, knocking trees all along his path to give a more terrifying impression to a rival.  The rival did the same, and they settled peacefully, but not before they had a chance to posture and make a lot of unneccessary noise at each other. Yeah. No.  We climbed the hedges like gorillas.  Anyway, it was a good day, totally exhausting, and the end result was a beautifully trimmed hedge. 

I am wearing two pairs of pants, a sweater and windproof sailing jacket, and a felt Stetson.  I can hold out forever, but my fingertips are numb, so I really need to put this tablet away and warm my hands in my pockets.

[Bleak Outlook]

Bleeps. 

I am on the bridge, on a pitch black night in space.  A sudden layer of static in the climate-controlled night muffles the screen, and obscures the creeps.  It is about 20 degrees Celcius, so maybe 68 Fahrenheit, and a light and steady air condition blows from the north.  I just finished smoking a doobie, and am now sipping a Mr. Coffee and finishing a can of Perri-Air. 

Across the reasonable sized bridge stands Dark Helmet and Colonel Sanders.  You see, when I decided to take this job, I accepted responsibility for Mr. Radar, and radar in this part of the bridge is a serious affair.  The ones at the other end of the bridge are Azzholes, and there's more than 15 of them.  And they stand at about 6 feet tall.  The inner structure of the military is complex and ancient - and full of Azzholes. 

This night, my 72 year old Mr. Radar was trying to help me with tracking the creeps, and we sent the sweeps with a huge wave like whales.  No, not like dolphins.  It was not a great display of finesse.  It reminded me of a documentary I saw as a child where a whale swam through an ocean, knocking boats all along his path to give a more terrifying impression to a rival.  The rival did the same, and they settled peacefully, but not before they had a chance to posture and make a lot of unnecessary noise at each other. Yeah. No.  We sent the sweeps like whales.  Anyway, it was a good day, totally exhausting, and the end result was losing the bleeps, the sweeps, and the creeps. 

I am wearing one pair of white pants, a black shirt and white button-up shirt over that, and a huge white plastic bubble-shaped helmet.  I can't hold out forever, so I pick up my intercom and announce "I'm having trouble with the radar sir." It appears to be... jammed!

[Buck Turgidson]

Bongos.

I am standing on the porch, on a pitch black night. A particularly insidious and near silent fart squeeks past my buttcheeks, masking the natural fragrances of the nearby jungle. It is about 35 degrees Celsius, so about 308 Kelvin, and a warm and humid wind blows in from the east. I just finished eating a magic brownie, and am now sipping a chotonicte moo-moo and smoking a hooka.

Across the estate stands the edge of the jungle. You see, when I acquired the estate as my God-given birthright, I took responsibility for the slash-and-burn operations, and jungles in this part of Africa are serious affairs. The one that starts at the end of the estate extends for many hundreds of miles, and the canopy is over 40 majestic feet high. The ecosystem it contains thrives in its complexity, richness, and variety - it has probably been there for a million years.

This summer, my 30-something brother took a train down here to help me extend our holdings, and we rampaged around the jungle like Firestar and the huge dragon at the end of "How to Train your Dragon". No, not like butterflies. It was not a breathtaking display of grace. It reminded me of an episode of Spiderman where Iceman was put to sleep in a cage over a live volcano, and Spiderman and Firestar were helpless until a huge beast or Hunter knocked their cages down and they burst open and beat all the bad guys up and set everything on fire. It was not clear on account of being a kid's show, but I am sure there were a lot of burning carcasses and screaming women and children scattered all over the landscape. Yeah. No. We rampaged across the jungle ecosystem and villages like the dragon, and a very bad, male Firestar. Anyway, it was a good day, totally exhausting, and the end result was a detoniculated field of hot ash ready for tobacco planting.

I am not wearing any pants, but am wearing a perforated wife-beater, a pirate belt, and a Confederate bandana. I could have held out forever but need to rummage the ruins in search of more marshmallows.

[Biff Webster]

You guys watch Joe Don Baker movies?

[Snowbound Milk]

You guys watch Tyler Perry movies?

[Biff Webster]

[Fake from State Jarm]

We sent the sweeps like whales.

;_;7

[Snowbound Milk]

This thread is so bad

[Koorosheh Kabir]

This thread is excellent

[Biff Webster]

[Buck Turgidson]

I think Biff is a gif.

[Buck Turgidson]

Moth

[Snowbound Milk]

This thread is so bad

[Buck Turgidson]

10010100110

[Biff Webster]

#birdup

[Biff Webster]

butts

[Buck Turgidson]

moth

[Snowbound Milk]

moth

[Buck Turgidson]

moth