There's a place in St. Louis called Grant's Farm. It's this farm (duh) that used to belong to Ulysses S. Grant. Thus the sparkly name. Anyway, we used to love this place because it had animals and a tram ride and animals and a bird show and an elephant show with cute elephant trainers and um, elephants and little animals that kids(I mean children) could feed. Actually the kids (baby goats)would eat the children's clothes while the children tried to feed them from bottles. Sometimes they'd knock the children down in their eagerness to eat their clothes (which probably had Spaghettios all over them. So that's fair) and the children were scarred for life. But it was FREE! So, there's that. Before we lived here, we went to Grant's Farm at least once a year, when we would come to St. Louis for a vacation or long weekend. Since we moved here 15 years ago, I think we've gone maybe twice.
I feel a parenting theory coming on........
It's important when one has young children that one take them on outings that will enrich their minds and souls. Communing with nature molds their young minds and helps them to understand the delicate balance in our world. Also, back when we used to visit Grant's Farm, the tour ended with free samples of BEER due to the fact that the attraction was owned by a major brewery! YAY! I know my children hold memories of their visits to this wonderful place in their hearts! <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 ....
*Girl Note* Actually, no. No we don't. Or I don't, at least. Brother might. All I remember is the sauerkraut and chocolate chip cookies. You should tell them about that. I don't feel like it. I have to write about dalmatians or Pokemon or something.
Fine.
Thanks for the transitory insertion.
So we were sitting there, me, Spouse, Boy and Girl. My parents were there also. The adults were enjoying their FREE refreshments in a responsible fashion. The kids were getting hungry but we had dinner plans and as a good mom I had to say "You may get a small snack but don't ruin your appetite." The truth was, I had neglected to visit the ATM and only had $3. The children (probably around 5 and 7) went to stand in line (in plain sight--don't judge me). I could see them discussing, negotiating, doing math....and they came back with a bowl of sauerkraut, two forks and two big chocolate chip cookies.
Then they ate it.
The end
*Girl* Speaking of awesome St. Louis things we've only done once or twice, how about the Arch? I've gone twice, and once was with school. It's kind of a big deal, you know. Thank dog we didn't fall into this trap with the Zoo. Well, with the other Zoo.
I'm sorry, but how is a smart girl like you struggling with "The end."? It's a fairly simple concept. The first time we went up in the Arch with you child-like life forms, we got a pretty straightforward peek into the future with you, personality-wise. Those little trammy elevator pod thingies that take you to the top are quite safe but look precarious. And they are small. Boy (age 8?) took one look and said, "I'm not getting into that thing." We said all the parental things about it being perfectly safe, there's no reason to be scared, blahbitty blah. (Your father was proooobably talking himself into it a little as well, what with his tendancy towards claustrophobia and all. But I digress.) Boy said, "I'm not scared. I'm just not going." Girl (6?) said, "I'm scared, but I'm going!" And so we go......
THE END, dammit.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
The Day I Realized Dalmatians Were Real
I was not an overly brilliant child.
I suppose that's a little unfair; I was pretty intelligent, but I was especially naive. This was often taken advantage of by my older brother (though whether this was intentional or not I'll never know), which was entirely unnecessary.
I confused myself enough on my own, thank you very much. As a child, I would often get many things mixed up in my brain, and to this day, many of them are still problematic for me. For instance, I've always gotten similar sounding whatevers confused with each other. Some common mix-ups:
Van Halen =/= Van Morrison =/= Jim Morrison
INXS =/= Styx =/= R.E.M. =/= AC/DC
Bill Cosby =/= Bing Crosby (Also, Mr. Crosby isn't black)
B.B. King =/= Larry King (I always knew who B.B. King was, but as with Mr. Crosby up there, I always thought Larry was black. Until I saw a picture. Then I never forgot.)
The Who =/= The Guess Who
Sting =/= Slash
Tanzania =/= Tasmania
Mesa =/= The Wedge (This only makes sense if you know Iowa City. If you don't, don't worry about it.)
Def Leppard =/= Led Zeppelin
(I'm proud to say I've never had a problem with the whole Austria/Australia thing, though. A small triumph)
I was baffled by the simplest of home mechanisms, like the foot-operated trash can, door locks, or screen doors that go whoooooshhhhhhhwhooshclckt when they close all slowly, and that you can prop open when you have to move big things like couches or Christmas trees in and out of the house. I just couldn't figure them out. Complicated things, like computers and televisions and garage doors and plumbing were no problem for me. I wasn't even fazed by the sewing machine. A little afraid of touching it maybe, but I wasn't concerned with how it worked at all. These things were electric, and that meant I already knew how they worked. They ran on electricity. Or gravity, or something, in the case of plumbing. Whatever. Other, smart, adult-like people worried about how those dangerous things worked, so I didn't have to.
However, the simple, non-electric things were objects of mystery. I once spent an afternoon sitting on my bedroom floor, staring at my trashcan, occasionally pushing on the pedal to have it flip open for me on command, staring in amazement as it slowly closed again. I tried to imagine what went on in there to make it act this way. My head filled with one insane imagining after another, each more Rube Goldberg-esque than the last. For most of these simple pulley/lever/inverted plane or whatever machines I found, I either decided there were little elf-like creatures inside running the machine, with one at the bottom seeing the pedal being pushed, and that one telling the ones at the top "Code Blue! Push! Puuusshhh!" And then they would push or pull, and the thing would instantly open, and somehow they'd be both invisible and incorporeal, so that's why it looks like it opens on its own, or that it's all magic.
Because that whole thing somehow wasn't inherently magical.
All of this brings us to dalmatians...somehow. I dunno. I don't like transitions much.
As a child, there were two great cinematic loves in my life. Those were The Lion King and 101 Dalmatians. Whenever I watched the latter, I was amazed at these little black and white spotted puppies, and delighted in their adventures. They were adorable, spunky, smart, and British. They were super-puppies and I loved them.
This might be why I thought they weren't real.
I thought they were made up for the movie, because no real dog is actually that cool. I knew this firsthand, as my early childhood pet was a Yorkie named Rusty. I was no older than four at any given time around Rusty, so naturally I adored him, but he was no dalmatian.
No, dalmatians were magical.
I believed this fully and wholeheartedly until I was four and moved to St. Louis. That's when I found out they actually exist. I found this out because my aunt knew a lady who was a breeder and some other stuff happened and the next thing I knew I was at some lady's house that was filled with these little spotted furballs and it was the best day ever. Then it got better.
We adopted one.
Her name was Maggie Mae Eliza O'Shea and she was the best dog ever. Seriously.
Best
She potty-trained very quickly, and after that only had one or two accidents in the house, brought on by long, breakless days and the additions of new and exciting people into our house along with the normal people who I think she thought were never coming back, as she probably did every time we left, based on her overly excited reactions to our homecomings. She felt guilt immediately each time these slips of the bladder occurred.
She put up beautifully with two seven and nine year old kids chasing her around, which was a good thing, as my brother and I never let her rest. We taught her to jump through hoops, go around chairs, tested her loyalty and concern for us when at my grandparents' farm by falling over and seeing how fast she ran to check on us (she ran over right when she noticed us on the ground every time.), and we even played hide and seek with her, by hiding somewhere in the house, calling her name, and then sitting completely still and silent until she found us.
This was pretty dumb, seeing as she was a dog, and therefore had a dog's sense of smell, but we did it anyway. I even devised ways to throw her off my scent. I'd go one way, towards my bedroom, then hop over the invisible path I'd taken and try to land as far from it as I could. I figured she'd follow the unbroken trail to my me-scented room, become confused, and then I'd win, but I was never right.
Incorrect
I did this probably 43 times throughout my childhood during hide and seek alone. Sometimes I'd do it so I could hide and no one could follow me so I could be alone for a while. Sometimes I just wanted to be a super spy ninja for the sake of being a super spy ninja. It happens. Sometimes it still happens.
I'm in college, so that's not sad yet...I think.
The defining moment of Maggie Greatness was on a camping trip the summer after second grade. It was supposed to be a reward for me and Brother's awesome report cards, but it did not feel that way. I get a lot of the details mixed up with another horrible camping trip, but I know what happened the one nearly-traumatizing night we spent there. Honestly, how it wasn't traumatizing for the two of us (or the four of us) is either a testament to our unwavering resolve, our parents' great nurturing and care, or aliens. My brother continued with Boy Scouts almost to Eagle Scout level, and I continued to be jealous of this fact. And love animals. Still do, actually. I even still love camping somehow, when this whole experience should have me acting otherwise. Just how did this happen?
I like to think it was because of Maggie.
That night, we had the miraculous luck to be in the one place in the Midwest not actively experiencing the Apocalypse. At least, that's how I pictured it when I heard there were "Tornadoes all around us." I thought there was a circle of tornadoes circling our little tent like vultures, taunting us with their evilness all night. I also probably thought they were vampires of some kind, because I knew once the sun came up, we would be okay.
Also, just because we weren't actively being ripped apart by hellish tornadoes does not mean the weather was all bright and daisies or anything. No, there was rain. Right outside our tent was an instant mud puddle that went up to Mom's knees. It probably would have eaten me, so thank God for my steel bladder and cowardice that somehow aren't contradictory. My brother and I had both forgotten sleeping bags, so we had to sleep under gradually dampening blankets due to a leak, and I was in very warm-weather jammies, so that didn't mix well with the whole nighttime-rain thing.
Now, to get the next part, you need to understand our setup a little bit. Our tent was one of those super awesome tents that were two tents with a tunnel in between connecting them that had zipper doors at each entrance. The parents and Maggie took one tent, and my brother and I took the other, with a nifty little separator thing between us that made us feel like we had our own rooms. My room was closest to the Parent Tunnel.
Sometime during the night, Maggie started freaking out, wanting to get through the Parent Tunnel. Once given access, she ran straight up to me (who was still awake and shivering at this point). She sniffed me some, made sure I was still warm and not dead, then moved above my head to the separator. Not able to actually cross it, she just stuck her head into my brother's side, made sure he was okay too, then she laid down right over my head and went to sleep with her head still on boy's side. Sometime after this I managed to fall asleep.
Here is a map of the above:
The next morning was wet and uncomfortable, but we were all alive and mostly healthy and, somehow, completely ready to do it again.
Which we did.
This was also a horrible experience, and we went home early. Since then, the four of us have not gone camping together without my uncle ever. It just doesn't work.
And yet, I still enjoy it. If you asked me to go camping with you this weekend and I actually knew you, I'd really want to. I shouldn't want to, but I would. I kinda do now just writing about this one.
Maybe dalmatians really are magical.
I suppose that's a little unfair; I was pretty intelligent, but I was especially naive. This was often taken advantage of by my older brother (though whether this was intentional or not I'll never know), which was entirely unnecessary.
I confused myself enough on my own, thank you very much. As a child, I would often get many things mixed up in my brain, and to this day, many of them are still problematic for me. For instance, I've always gotten similar sounding whatevers confused with each other. Some common mix-ups:
Van Halen =/= Van Morrison =/= Jim Morrison
INXS =/= Styx =/= R.E.M. =/= AC/DC
Bill Cosby =/= Bing Crosby (Also, Mr. Crosby isn't black)
B.B. King =/= Larry King (I always knew who B.B. King was, but as with Mr. Crosby up there, I always thought Larry was black. Until I saw a picture. Then I never forgot.)
The Who =/= The Guess Who
Sting =/= Slash
Tanzania =/= Tasmania
Mesa =/= The Wedge (This only makes sense if you know Iowa City. If you don't, don't worry about it.)
Def Leppard =/= Led Zeppelin
(I'm proud to say I've never had a problem with the whole Austria/Australia thing, though. A small triumph)
I was baffled by the simplest of home mechanisms, like the foot-operated trash can, door locks, or screen doors that go whoooooshhhhhhhwhooshclckt when they close all slowly, and that you can prop open when you have to move big things like couches or Christmas trees in and out of the house. I just couldn't figure them out. Complicated things, like computers and televisions and garage doors and plumbing were no problem for me. I wasn't even fazed by the sewing machine. A little afraid of touching it maybe, but I wasn't concerned with how it worked at all. These things were electric, and that meant I already knew how they worked. They ran on electricity. Or gravity, or something, in the case of plumbing. Whatever. Other, smart, adult-like people worried about how those dangerous things worked, so I didn't have to.
However, the simple, non-electric things were objects of mystery. I once spent an afternoon sitting on my bedroom floor, staring at my trashcan, occasionally pushing on the pedal to have it flip open for me on command, staring in amazement as it slowly closed again. I tried to imagine what went on in there to make it act this way. My head filled with one insane imagining after another, each more Rube Goldberg-esque than the last. For most of these simple pulley/lever/inverted plane or whatever machines I found, I either decided there were little elf-like creatures inside running the machine, with one at the bottom seeing the pedal being pushed, and that one telling the ones at the top "Code Blue! Push! Puuusshhh!" And then they would push or pull, and the thing would instantly open, and somehow they'd be both invisible and incorporeal, so that's why it looks like it opens on its own, or that it's all magic.
Because that whole thing somehow wasn't inherently magical.
All of this brings us to dalmatians...somehow. I dunno. I don't like transitions much.
As a child, there were two great cinematic loves in my life. Those were The Lion King and 101 Dalmatians. Whenever I watched the latter, I was amazed at these little black and white spotted puppies, and delighted in their adventures. They were adorable, spunky, smart, and British. They were super-puppies and I loved them.
This might be why I thought they weren't real.
I thought they were made up for the movie, because no real dog is actually that cool. I knew this firsthand, as my early childhood pet was a Yorkie named Rusty. I was no older than four at any given time around Rusty, so naturally I adored him, but he was no dalmatian.
No, dalmatians were magical.
I believed this fully and wholeheartedly until I was four and moved to St. Louis. That's when I found out they actually exist. I found this out because my aunt knew a lady who was a breeder and some other stuff happened and the next thing I knew I was at some lady's house that was filled with these little spotted furballs and it was the best day ever. Then it got better.
We adopted one.
Her name was Maggie Mae Eliza O'Shea and she was the best dog ever. Seriously.
Best
She potty-trained very quickly, and after that only had one or two accidents in the house, brought on by long, breakless days and the additions of new and exciting people into our house along with the normal people who I think she thought were never coming back, as she probably did every time we left, based on her overly excited reactions to our homecomings. She felt guilt immediately each time these slips of the bladder occurred.
She put up beautifully with two seven and nine year old kids chasing her around, which was a good thing, as my brother and I never let her rest. We taught her to jump through hoops, go around chairs, tested her loyalty and concern for us when at my grandparents' farm by falling over and seeing how fast she ran to check on us (she ran over right when she noticed us on the ground every time.), and we even played hide and seek with her, by hiding somewhere in the house, calling her name, and then sitting completely still and silent until she found us.
This was pretty dumb, seeing as she was a dog, and therefore had a dog's sense of smell, but we did it anyway. I even devised ways to throw her off my scent. I'd go one way, towards my bedroom, then hop over the invisible path I'd taken and try to land as far from it as I could. I figured she'd follow the unbroken trail to my me-scented room, become confused, and then I'd win, but I was never right.
Incorrect
I'm in college, so that's not sad yet...I think.
The defining moment of Maggie Greatness was on a camping trip the summer after second grade. It was supposed to be a reward for me and Brother's awesome report cards, but it did not feel that way. I get a lot of the details mixed up with another horrible camping trip, but I know what happened the one nearly-traumatizing night we spent there. Honestly, how it wasn't traumatizing for the two of us (or the four of us) is either a testament to our unwavering resolve, our parents' great nurturing and care, or aliens. My brother continued with Boy Scouts almost to Eagle Scout level, and I continued to be jealous of this fact. And love animals. Still do, actually. I even still love camping somehow, when this whole experience should have me acting otherwise. Just how did this happen?
I like to think it was because of Maggie.
That night, we had the miraculous luck to be in the one place in the Midwest not actively experiencing the Apocalypse. At least, that's how I pictured it when I heard there were "Tornadoes all around us." I thought there was a circle of tornadoes circling our little tent like vultures, taunting us with their evilness all night. I also probably thought they were vampires of some kind, because I knew once the sun came up, we would be okay.
Also, just because we weren't actively being ripped apart by hellish tornadoes does not mean the weather was all bright and daisies or anything. No, there was rain. Right outside our tent was an instant mud puddle that went up to Mom's knees. It probably would have eaten me, so thank God for my steel bladder and cowardice that somehow aren't contradictory. My brother and I had both forgotten sleeping bags, so we had to sleep under gradually dampening blankets due to a leak, and I was in very warm-weather jammies, so that didn't mix well with the whole nighttime-rain thing.
Now, to get the next part, you need to understand our setup a little bit. Our tent was one of those super awesome tents that were two tents with a tunnel in between connecting them that had zipper doors at each entrance. The parents and Maggie took one tent, and my brother and I took the other, with a nifty little separator thing between us that made us feel like we had our own rooms. My room was closest to the Parent Tunnel.
Sometime during the night, Maggie started freaking out, wanting to get through the Parent Tunnel. Once given access, she ran straight up to me (who was still awake and shivering at this point). She sniffed me some, made sure I was still warm and not dead, then moved above my head to the separator. Not able to actually cross it, she just stuck her head into my brother's side, made sure he was okay too, then she laid down right over my head and went to sleep with her head still on boy's side. Sometime after this I managed to fall asleep.
Here is a map of the above:
Sorry about this.
That was hastily drawn on Paintbrush, but you know what? I really couldn't do much better with paper and pencil and a year at art school. So that's what you get. Sorry.
That was hastily drawn on Paintbrush, but you know what? I really couldn't do much better with paper and pencil and a year at art school. So that's what you get. Sorry.
The next morning was wet and uncomfortable, but we were all alive and mostly healthy and, somehow, completely ready to do it again.
Which we did.
This was also a horrible experience, and we went home early. Since then, the four of us have not gone camping together without my uncle ever. It just doesn't work.
And yet, I still enjoy it. If you asked me to go camping with you this weekend and I actually knew you, I'd really want to. I shouldn't want to, but I would. I kinda do now just writing about this one.
Maybe dalmatians really are magical.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Little Brown Dog
As with any cliched household, there is a dog in ours. This is that dog:
There was once a cat as well, but it didn't take. *Girl Note* He tried to eat me. On multiple occasions. We sent him to the farm, which isn't a euphemism in this case. We actually took him to my grandparents' farm, where he cowered under a step for two days, then ran away. For the last two years we've been trying to train the dog on the invisible fence. When on her tieout, she won't go near the perimeter. This causes stupid humans to smugly say "Yay! We did it! The dog is trained! Wooo! No more going outside in the rain to find the damn tieout! No more digging in the snow to find the damned thing! NO MORE!!!"...and we unhook her. She immediately says (in dog) "SCREW YOU SUCKERS! I. AM. OUTTA HERE!!!!" ....and she disappears with one yelp as she crosses the line in a joyful brown blur with bouncy ears. This is a problem since she does not find it worth the pain to cross back and come home. Even though that is where we keep the food. So.
There was once a cat as well, but it didn't take. *Girl Note* He tried to eat me. On multiple occasions. We sent him to the farm, which isn't a euphemism in this case. We actually took him to my grandparents' farm, where he cowered under a step for two days, then ran away. For the last two years we've been trying to train the dog on the invisible fence. When on her tieout, she won't go near the perimeter. This causes stupid humans to smugly say "Yay! We did it! The dog is trained! Wooo! No more going outside in the rain to find the damn tieout! No more digging in the snow to find the damned thing! NO MORE!!!"...and we unhook her. She immediately says (in dog) "SCREW YOU SUCKERS! I. AM. OUTTA HERE!!!!" ....and she disappears with one yelp as she crosses the line in a joyful brown blur with bouncy ears. This is a problem since she does not find it worth the pain to cross back and come home. Even though that is where we keep the food. So.
Today, the dog escaped. We had been outside a lot doing yardwork. Every time we worked in a different part of the yard, we moved her tieout so she wouldn't be all bitchy about being far from her people. I think she was getting really confused though, as every move involved her finding ANOTHER SPOT where she could get shocked. Later, after we had moved her inside, she sneaked out and we were all like "oh crap...now we have to be responsible pet owners and act like we're going out to find her..." even though chasing her is the LAST thing we should do because she LOVES that game.
But lo! What's this? She has not left the yard! How could it be? She seems to think we will be herding her inside. She will not come near the humans but instead is hauling ass around the yard, tongue flapping in the wind, little doggie smile on her little doggie face. I try to give her a treat to reward her for being such a GOOD DOG and she comes to within two centimeters of me then goes skitting away like a little canine water bug. She is running laps.
*Girl talking now* Mom can't type right now, as the Little Brown Dog, as we tend to call her, has inconvenienced her. We started a fire in our little fire pit, and as an animal, she was not a fan. However, she really likes being by her people, so she decided to give the terrible patio a try. She slinked around from person to person for awhile, looking timid and frail, then moved to Mom. Slowly working her way up the chair, she placed a paw at a time on the footrest, then held position, again looking timid. We thought about stopping her, but as we decided all day, we said, "what the hell, let's see what happens." Well, Little Brown then moved to her back paws, then to the chair, sticking her big brown face in Mom's excessively laughing one, and finally brought it all to a close by awkwardly snuggling into her lap, laying down, and looking like a very strange farm animal.
She just dismounted, nearly front-flipping, and is testing the invisible fence's boundaries again. Back to you, Momma.
Like a goat, or something.
I don't know. She was eating flowers earlier, so that fits.She just dismounted, nearly front-flipping, and is testing the invisible fence's boundaries again. Back to you, Momma.
The dismount only got a 3.6. It was bad. At this point I need to share that LBD weighs like, 40 pounds. She is so not a lapdog. So as of now she has tested all the boundaries and appears to have had the dog equivalent of Helen Keller's water moment. "OMG...if I don't cross this line right here, not only will I be pain-free, but my humans will let me have the run of the yard! I totally OWN this place! Bwahahaha!" I can almost see the light bulb pulsating ever so dimly in her little head. In the morning we'll see just how much of this she remembers. Wish us luck!
*Girl Next Day Note* It worked! So far, she has done nothing but scour the perimeter, searching for a way out. But there is no way, LBD. You can't escape. Muahahaha!
Eh, it's a good morning after a good day.
*Girl Next Day Note* It worked! So far, she has done nothing but scour the perimeter, searching for a way out. But there is no way, LBD. You can't escape. Muahahaha!
Eh, it's a good morning after a good day.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Pokemon and Anarchy
So, background.
Last December or November or something was one of those special "Facebook profile picture" months, with the themes and all that. That theme was Pokemon. I love me some Pokemon. I chose Cyndaquil because he is my favorite and I love him.
Favorite
Anyway, I was sitting in my RA's room, checking Facebook yet again, and a friend of mine from High School started chatting me. Eventually, as these things tend to go, it got out of hand quickly.
Below is the most interesting excerpt, entirely unchanged, but without all those Facebook emoticons.
Today
9:36pm
Such is life.
9:38pm
ah, life...
I believe jessie used to be Canadian
9:38pm
'The sisters are searching for salvation from their burden bladders. I ask that they might use them now in this, their time of need.'
SHE'S NOT?!??1?!??/!?!?
o_O
:O
(^^^)
9:39pm
now she's African
9:39pm
nom nom nom
9:39pm
:putnam:
9:39pm
SHE'S A MONGOL, DAMMIT
9:39pm
putnam is Russian
9:39pm
PUTNAM IS DIED!
CYNDAQUIL IS RULER NOW!
BWAHAHAHAHA
9:41pm
D: he is czar now
9:42pm
NO!
HE IS DIED
9:43pm
so cyndaquil is czar nao?
9:44pm
CYNDAQUIL IS SUPREME OVERLORD!
My RA just told me Cyndaquil doesn't count.
9:45pm
D:
9:45pm
As a profile pokemon.
9:45pm
why not?
9:45pm
HE IS STILL WARCHIEF
9:45pm
I bow to him
9:45pm
Because he's not original 150
YOU KISS THE DIRT BEFORE HIM
9:46pm
jessie says "the truth is that i am actually from azerbaijan. and then I moved to mongolia, but never became a citizen. I then moved to canada, became a citizen, but then joined the peace corp and went to africa, where I loved the people so much that i immersed myself in the culture and had a procedure to turn my skin darker. Later I had this removed because of the controversy.
so i am truly azerbaijanian... azerbaijanite... from azerbaijan
please relay this message to katie"
9:47pm
I sense a hidden agenda in this message.
9:47pm
how so?
9:49pm
THERE IS NO JESSIE! ONLY ZUUL
ALL HAIL CYNDAQUIL
9:49pm
I ONLY WORSHIP PRIME MINISTER MAGIKARP
9:50pm
PRIME MINISTER MAGIKARP KNEELS BEFORE CYNDAQUIL
9:51pm
DON'T DO IT MAGIKARP! YOU ARE SUPREME
9:52pm
MAGIKARP IS BUT A PUPPET IN GRAND MASTER CYDAQUIL'S REGIME
9:54pm
LIES! ANARCHIST BIDOOF WILL BRING AN END TO CYNDAQUIL'S REGIME
10:03pm
ANARCHIST BIDOOF HAS BEEN FOUND OUT BY CYNDAQUIL'S SECRET POLICE, HEADED BY HOUNDOOM
10:05pm
SECRET SUPER SNEAKY SPY SNORLAX WILL DEFEAT YOUR GUSTAPO
10:23pm
why did Jessie leave?
Oh, and
10:23pm
leave?
10:24pm
POLIWAG THWARTS YOUR SECRET SUPER SNEAKY SPY SNORLAX BY LURING HIM OUT WITH A POKEFLUTE
10:27pm
HUNGRY HUNGRY HIPPOWDON EATS POLIWAG FOR BREAKFAST AND WASHES HIS MEAL DOWN WITH A TASTY GLASS OF HYDROCHLORIC ACID
10:29pm
HUNGRY HUNGRY HIPPOWDON IS NOW DEAD FROM HYDROCHLORIC ACID INTAKE
10:32pm
DIGLET DONATES A DISEASE RIDDEN KIDNEY TO CYNDIQUIL'S RIGHT-HAND-MAN SANDSHREW AND PERMANTLY HOSPITALIZES HIM
10:34pm
JYNX CORRECTS DIGLETT'S SPELLING, PERMANENTLY EMBARRASSING HIM FOREVER
10:36pm
SCYTHER REDEEMS DIGLETT'S HONOR BY SHAVING JYNX'S HAIR AND GIVING HER A SHINY BALD HEAD
10:39pm
PERSIAN SQUISHES SCYTHER IN HER PRETTY PAWS OF POWER!
10:41pm
LICKITUNG ALERTS THE PUBLIC OF CYNDIQUIL'S DICTATORSHIP WITH A MEGAPHONE
10:41pm
LICKITUNG EATS THE MEGAPHONE. MR MIME MOCKS HIM. MR MIME
ACCEPT IT
10:43pm
SLOWPOKE SEDUCES MR. MIME AND DEMANDS PAYMENT FOR THE SERVICES
10:45pm
HOUNDOOM POPS A CAP IN HIS ASS FOR PROSTITUTION
10:47pm
PRIME MINISTER MAGIKARP DEFENDS HIS LOST BROTHER AND SPLASHES HOUNDOOM
10:47pm
NOTHING HAPPENS
10:47pm
MAGIKARP SIGHS
10:49pm
CYNDAQUIL SEIZES HIS OPPORTUNITY AND ERADICATES THE MAGIKARP THREAT WITH A RADICATE
10:52pm
SCIENTIST HAUNTER EUTHINIZES AND DISSECTS RATICATE FOR SCIENTIFIC PURPOSES
11:05pm
CYNDAQUIL MAINTAINS VICTORY AND RETIRES TO BED
WHERE NONE CAN TOUCH HIM
SO....YEAH
Goodnight
11:05pm
CYNDIQUIL'S SUBJECT RETIRE TO BED AS WELL, DEFEATED AND BROKEN
Goodnight! <3
*subjects
Oh, and that quote at the beginning was from the ever-delightful Pushing Daisies. I have no idea why it's there, but it is. It happens.
All hail Cyndaquil!
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)