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I would take it very kindly if anyone were to punctuate the soul-crushing greyness of dissertating by comment-spamming. Bonus points for hot people or retarded .gifs.
From one crushed-souled dissertator to another
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rymenhild.livejournal.com
2008-03-29 06:58 pm (UTC)(link)
Re: From one crushed-souled dissertator to another
rymenhild.livejournal.com
2008-03-29 07:08 pm (UTC)(link)
What a shame. You mean, she doesn't use any of that beautiful evil? You'd think the Top Model franchise would be better for it.
THEY ARE ALIENS, SOPHIE.
ALIENS COME TO DEVOUR YOUR SOUL.
OR YOUR DISSERTATION.
WHICH EVER YOU LET THEM HAVE.
ALIENS COME TO DEVOUR YOUR SOUL.
OR YOUR DISSERTATION.
WHICH EVER YOU LET THEM HAVE.
Don't you wish you had a rabbit the size of a freakin' house?
"No ceremony, Doctor, I beg," said the Admiral, smiling: the Leopard's hundred pounds were practically in his pocket, and this man of theirs did not look very dangerous. "Shall we begin?"
"By all means," said Stephen.
"You go down to the other end," murmured Jack, a chill coming over him in spite of the torrid sun.
"Should you like to be given a middle, sir?" called the umpire, when Stephen had walked down the pitch.
"Thank you, sir," said Stephen, hitching at his waistband and gazing round the field, "I already have one."
A rapacious grin ran round the Cumberlands: they moved much closer in, crouching, their huge crab-like hands spread wide. The Admiral held the ball to his nose for a long moment, fixing his adversary, and then delivered a lob that hummed as it flew. Stephen watched its course, danced out to take it as it touched teh ground, checked its bounce, dribbled the ball towards the astonished cover-point and running still he scooped it into the hollow of his hurly, raced on with twinkling steps to mid-off, there checked his run amidst the stark silent amazement, flicked the ball into his hand, tossed it high, and with a screech drove it straight at Jack's wicket, shattering the near stump and sending its upper half in a long, graceful trajectory that reached the ground just as the first of La Flêche's guns, saluting the flag, echoed across the field.
Stephen Maturin totally failing at cricket is vastly funnier than I would have expected it to be.
"By all means," said Stephen.
"You go down to the other end," murmured Jack, a chill coming over him in spite of the torrid sun.
"Should you like to be given a middle, sir?" called the umpire, when Stephen had walked down the pitch.
"Thank you, sir," said Stephen, hitching at his waistband and gazing round the field, "I already have one."
A rapacious grin ran round the Cumberlands: they moved much closer in, crouching, their huge crab-like hands spread wide. The Admiral held the ball to his nose for a long moment, fixing his adversary, and then delivered a lob that hummed as it flew. Stephen watched its course, danced out to take it as it touched teh ground, checked its bounce, dribbled the ball towards the astonished cover-point and running still he scooped it into the hollow of his hurly, raced on with twinkling steps to mid-off, there checked his run amidst the stark silent amazement, flicked the ball into his hand, tossed it high, and with a screech drove it straight at Jack's wicket, shattering the near stump and sending its upper half in a long, graceful trajectory that reached the ground just as the first of La Flêche's guns, saluting the flag, echoed across the field.
Stephen Maturin totally failing at cricket is vastly funnier than I would have expected it to be.
Ahahahaha... it is a MYSTERY.
My Tom wears silk boxers, of course. What? You have to know these kinds of details!
Oh, here's something a little cool, if kind of creepy: the earliest known recording of a human voice from 1860.
My Tom wears silk boxers, of course. What? You have to know these kinds of details!
Oh, here's something a little cool, if kind of creepy: the earliest known recording of a human voice from 1860.
"Forgive my indelicacy, but I must confess to extreme curiosity - I am fairly with child to know. During your weekly orgies - understand that I use the term purely scientifically - does it not cause intolerable amounts of confusion as, in the course of the coitus, of the act itself, the moonlight reflects upon both your buttocks and your shaven heads and renders them more than usually indistinguishaarrrgharggghleargh."
*spits tea everywhere*
...I think in this case that the mess is worth it.
...I think in this case that the mess is worth it.
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