Atomic Turkey's in the Fridge

Title: Hotrods and Kleenex
Characters: Pepper/Tony
Rating: PG-13 -- language
Summary: She doesn't call him when he has a woman over. Not even when her nightmares are so terrifying she wakes up and goes to puke in the toilet. She's caught him in enough awkward situations as it is, and though the arrogant pig-head always does a fantastic job of making her feel stupendously ungainly and in the wrong place at the wrong time (which is sad because it's usually the truth), she doesn't want to screw up this relationship. Not now, and not later
Prompt: Hot rod, compass, nightmare.
A/N: ...I thought I'd let everyone know I don't really write romance, so this is a new and frightening creature to me. And of course this has not been edited or looked over because hot damn, I need to post NOW.

I finished this, like, three minutes ago. So forgive me if it's crap but I MUST POST IT.

Title: The Brief History of a Man Named Yinsen
Rating:  PG-13, violent imagery.
Summary: Did he ever detail to Stark more details of before imprisonment? No. It was too personal.
A/N: Heck yes I will soon be writing for Pepper/Stark, but for now I wish to reflect on the doctor/scientist dude towards the beginning of Iron Man. There was something about his character I wanted to know more about, so voila, this came. But since my knowledge of Afghan/Indian history is painfully scant  and hinges largely on Wikipedia, BBC and some Afghani site I found, I beg that you don't take this too seriously. But of course critique it.

Thank you.


 

Last night it snowed two feet.

May fucking First, and it snowed two feet.

...I think I'm going to kill something.

"Hi," she says, little voice blending in with the shriek of kids on the nearby playground. Sunlight dapples the sleet-gray of uneven sidewalk and the grating black of decaying asphalt.

I smile and wave, slowing to let her know I heard her and acknowledging her friendly greeting.

But then she clears her throat.
  
I stop.

"I'm on a two wheel bike, too," she says proudly, eyes bright. She leans over to balance on one side of the bicycle and demonstrate this truth more clearly, revealing to all the world the pink-metal frame and plastic covering with rainbows. Tassles dance lightly on the ends of the handle-bars, blown by a light but warm wind.

We size each other up, the 5'6 sixteen year old towering over the five-year old girl who's no taller than three feet.

 "It is pretty awesome," I say after a moment.

She beams.
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LITTLE KIDS ARE SOOOO CUTE. I know they're not supposed to talk to people they don't know but, seriously? I really think it's cute when little people randomly walk up to teenagers and start talking. It's kind of refreshing, you know? In a world so paranoid about itself and everything around it, it's nice when someone just treats you without suspicion and just wants to tell you something.

And yes. Her bike was damn awesome. I think my kid-bike might've won, though -- it was purple and had the Disney princesses on it.

REVOLVER OST
Fear Me
Sorter Shoot-Out
Opera
Atom Tomb

DEAR GOD PLEASE TELL ME THAT THIS MUSIC THING WORKED. CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?

EDIT! I hate how companies use different music formats as to prevent from music sharing. My thinking is this: musicians make a shitload of money, we don't, and music is meant to be shared.

So there.

Well, this makes me sad -- but MAYBE I CAN FIND ANOTHER WAY.

You might not understand. For the last six months all I have experienced in this evil state is snow, cold, snow, ice, snow, rain, snow, cold, sunshine (wind), sunshine (cold) and then snow again. Today was the first day in a very long time that the temperature was actually 75 degrees fahrenheit, I could clean my car outside and I could actually wear shorts -- and be comfortable. :D Oh! I am so happy.

AND ON TO BIGGER NEWS:
I watched the Guy Ritchie film Revolver last night -- I have to say I've never seen anything quite like it. The basic premise revolved around a con man who just got out of the pen and wants revenge on the guy who put him there. But after watching this film for, like, ten minutes, you realize there's a lot more. Shit, this isn't Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, or Snatch. It's actually, like, philosophical and stuff. Ultimately, the main character Jake Green's battle rests not with his arch-nemesis Dorthy Macha (played by Ray Liotta) but with himself. With his ego.

The cinematography was absolutely gorgeous -- colors reeked of rain-smeared streets at night with bright lights and gaudy casinos. Characters were also really interesting, too -- they ranged from totally evil (Macha's right-hand man is a pedophile and a sadist, go figure) to strangely in between (Macha's hitman stutters constantly and has a change of heart towards the end of the film). The end message, too, was really interesting. Hell, I've been thinking about it all day.

The flaws? I really had no idea what the hell was going on for the first thirty minutes. I think this might've been due to the fact that a: I was watching the butchered American version and b: the plotline had a couple of holes scattered about. Still, it was slightly irritating -- I enjoy Ritchie's films because the plot appears clear relatively quickly. Here, it was a pretty, beautiful mess for a good hour before I had a relatively good idea as to what was going on.

Otherwise? Pretty neat. There were certainly some major mistakes, but once you overlook those, you really see what an interesting film this is. Ignore the critics and their bitching, and see it for yourself if you want to. Besides this, the soundtrack is amazingly bad-ass -- some of the coolest bass-lines I've ever heard exist here.

I WILL SOON POST MUSIC FOR YOUR LISTENING ENJOYMENT. AND IT'S FREE OF CHARGE. WOOT.

A battery
died.
Or a conduit's fragile bridge
tottered and collapsed.
The cogs turned no more.
Interlocking jaws
grasped for purchase, but
found none.
A beast circled itself one last time in the burrow
before unsteadily breaking
to sleep.

Somewhere, in a world
The time is always 4:41:49.
Hands stopped signing to their universe.
Messages of space's elapse
Went silent.
The world skipped, then collapsed,
Eternally paused.

Somewhere, a realm
is always at 4:41:49.
Somewhere, people are in half-step
half-breath
half-blink.
A tiger is in mid-lunge
A man is half-dead
A bullet is half-shot
A girl half-turned her head.

Somewhere, the time is 4:41:49.
The world freezes
The life ceases.
Everything ends
Except 4:41:49.

A battery choked
A current stuttered
The hands went still
And seconds no longer fluttered.
Someplace
Somewhere
The dead clock
will [i]always[/i] read
4:41:49

(04/04/08 @ 2:15PM)

There's this dead clock in our orchestra classroom. It's in the conductor's office and it has the tendency to freak the shit out of me because it's like WOAH, it's ALMOST FIVE and then you look at the working clock and you realize, oh.  It's been dead for a while now and I'm not quite sure why no one fixes it.

Huh.

Enjoy. :)

So:

I give myself an A for effort, a B for presentation and a C for TOTALLY HAVING UNRELIABLES FOOLS WHO DO NOT SHOW UP TO DO A GREAT PRANK OF AWESOMENESS.

AND TO ELABORATE:
    I've been planning a nefarious (read: nerdy) prank for April 1st. It was -- by most standards -- pretty damn mellow. I rounded up a bunch of folks to freeze in place in the commons area of our high school for five minutes during lunch. They'd wander aimlessly into the main commons/kid/amoeba hang-out place and then just freeze in place for five minutes. When the first lunch bell rang, my minions would simply unfreeze and walk away like nothing happened.

It reeked nerdy coolness, and on my list of names (yes, I took names and phone-numbers), I almost had about thirty-two people originally sign up. And they were from all of the wondrous cliques of the high school rainbow.

But of course, stuff happened. People chickened out. They gave me lame-ass excuses like, "I'm going out to lunch that day" and "I have to write up a chem lab" (even though this person and I both knew that on a block schedule they didn't have chemistry until, like TOMORROW) . They  "forgot" (which I can understand to some extent), or they remembered that they had to rearrange their sock drawer.

Even with this, though, I have to say I was really impressed -- I still had about fifteen people follow through with their word, and at 12:43 PM they wandered into the commons area and froze. We kinda changed the plan, though, so instead of simply freezing in place, we were all looking up at the ceiling.

It was surprisingly fun. There were a lot of entertaining comments and looks and a few sofo dipshits who thought they'd jump into the middle of our "circle of trust". My beloved Mommy even came to c-c-check it out, I got someone to film the whole ordeal and (hopefully) I have a bunch of people who will join in more nefarious mellow prank-things in the summer -- like walking in a long single-file line down the main drag with umbrellas which we randomly pop open when we hit shade. Or creating an army of walking boxes. Or doing the zombie walk in October.

ANYWAY: It was more fun than depressing. I guess I'm a little dissapointed by people chickening out, but for the most part, I had a lot of fun.

Maybe next year, I'll start a conga line. :O

It is approximately 11:40PM in a small town in the middle of a state which is the brunt of all western jokes. There is a girl slouched on a bed, staring with laptop-lit eyes at her screen.

This girl has no life. Currently, she is nearing Spring Break and thus finds excuses to stay up late just because she can. There is no school on Monday, therefore, she will strive to stay awake until twelve and wake up at eight. Because she's amazing that way.

But anyway: the point of the girl's story.

She hears a diesel growling its way down the street outside -- a big, gargantuan beast of the West which never will cease to give those not accustomed to its full-throttle roar a headache within five minutes.

She is instantly irritated, perhaps even exasperated -- because here in the West, having an oversized diesel with an oversized exhaust pipe is a redneck way of establishing your phallic superiority over all those around you.

She's had the misfortune of being right up close to a oversized exhaust pipe. Her car is very small, which means that when she cruises down Main Street (feeling ridiculously cool in a '84 Toyota) with her window down (because spring is here! *does happy dance*) and happens to stop next to a five-inch diameter exhaust pipe, she experiences all the nasty diesel fumes in their heady glory.

She coughs. Makes faces. Angrily twists her head to look up from her tiny window to a leering redneck above, feeling monstrous with his outrageously-raised suspension, tires, grill and -- of course -- exhaust pipe.

He finds this girl, in her Japanese-inferior kid-mobile, entertaining. And therefore he looks down at her from his shiny, mirror-like sunglasses with a note of disdain. He is a man. His oversized exhaust proves his manliness, and his impatient gunning for a ten-second cycle of a light only shows that he is ready to go. all. the. way.

He will drag-race this little punk in her little Toyota with its four-cylinders of rice-burning goodness and old, tired gearbox and dancing speedometer of doom.

And he will win. Of course. Because he has a macho-shiny grill (which is the equivalent of the gold-teeth "bling" in the ghe-to), a good ol' American V8 and a fake pair of testicles attached to the pull-bar thingy under the truck bed (*tries not to giggle at innuendo*). The girl, on the other hand, has only the lame teenage-power of  "What Would Pacman Do?"  and "Cover Me: I'm Changing Lanes!" bumper stickers. Her mojo is weak, and she shall lose miserably.

The racers to their respective positions. The girl jiggles her clutch impatiently. Fidgets. The man pokes his engine with an obnoxious and abruptly accentuated "GLACKaglackaglackaGLACKA."

And then the light turns green.

And THEY'RE OFF!!

The girl gets a nice head start, being that her cat-like reflexes and Jedi-mind skills sensed the oncoming green and depressed the clutch nanoseconds before the chameleon changed colors. She smoothly transfers from first to second, pushing the little second gear to its measly endurance of thirty-miles an hour, and then changes to third and holds her position.

Manly-man GLACKAGLACKA's his way by, zooming past in the left lane. The Girl glances over, contemplates this plot-twist and her speedometer and then glances ahead.

And smiles.

The light up ahead is red. And Manly Man, in his hurry to outball a teenage girl, finds himself hemmed in by a Soccer Mom Chrysler Van and a goddamn-liberal-Yuppie Prius. The girl, meanwhile, has maintained her cool, keeping at a very nice thirty-five miles an hour in a lane that devotes itself to the patient folks. While Manly Man is stuck in a seven-car line, the girl has a two-car waiting period, if that.

.She knows how this will end. How it always ends with accelerator-happy Rednecks who belligerently seek to drag-race anything that has an exhaust pipe and four wheels. The light turns green just as she Swan-Lake's past him, and from that moment on he doesn't ever quite catch up, trapped between the Soccer Mom and the Yuppie.

Karma of the smaller folk is highly awesome.

I have to admit I cheated and clicked multiple times before I found one I liked. :)

Meme

a. List seven of your habits/quirks or seven facts about yourself.
b. Tag seven people to do the same.
c. Do not tag the person who tagged you or say you tag 'whoever wants to do it.'

1: Whenever I drink something, my pinky finger quirks up.
2: I cannot make that "pop" sound by clicking my tongue to the roof of my mouth.
3: The biggest pet peeve of mine is people who snap their gum and/or chew gum with their mouths open.
4: I lack the ability to sleep later than 8:00AM.
5: Everything must be alphabetical in my bookshelf and cd rack, or else I go insane.
6: My first guinea pig's name was Mr. Snuggles.
7: I cannot make fish lips.

NEXT UP: folion, lunaticcrow, fayore, ashirabe, serenityscatfalseeyelashes (there is no one else on my friend list. D: )

If you're thinking what I'm thinking, then we must be psychic:

I've always wondered what it'd be like to seriously see people spontaneously break out and sing.

Lo:

Almost had my face ripped off by a dog today.

Drove to the supermarket to pick up Girlscout Cookies and parked next to this big red truck. I didn't see if anything was in the bed, but I get out of the car and BAM, there's this dog snarling and trying to BITE ME from the truck bed.

Freaked the shit out of me. I have never, EVER had a dog treat me the way this one did -- it seriously wanted my eyes on a platter. And what totally sucked was that I couldn't get fully out of the car without getting closer to the snarling, ugly ass mutt/heeler mix and having my face meet some canines.

I shrieked like a girl. And what was really weird was that once I did that, the dog looked at me for a minute and then shut up immediately, going to the other side of the bed. I, meanwhile, tried to get my wits together and carefully went back into the car, crawling out the other side.

I don't know if that dog was just an evil bastard or what, but that is seriously the most frightening experience of my life, by far.

Cujo-pup totally could've ripped my face off.

Just an interesting development. Watch out when you park next to big trucks whose cargo is unidentifiable from a low-vehicle standpoint. They could have evil, mean dogs in them waiting to kill you.

I don't know where this came from. I have no personal experience with Alzheimer's but I imagine it is a very frightening and debilitating disease, for both the family and the individual.

Anyhoo: I wrote this in about twenty minutes, and I want help with the ending. It seems abrupt and cruel, and that's not exactly what I want to kick off with.

Well: thanks for the time.

Title: Three Stooges Minus One
Fandom/Original: So totally original.
Characters: A Man and a Woman
Rating: R -- language
Summary: There are two people.  And there is a bush. There is a man and a woman. And a pair of binoculars.

Title: February Rain
Fandom/original: Original
Characters: Philip Manescetti
Rating: PG-13 -- profanity and implied violence
Word count: 692
Summary: Philip Manescetti – piece-of-shit hunter extrodinaire. A man extremely displeased with his occupation since he hasn’t had vacation in the last three hundred years.

The Blogalyser reveals...

Your blog/web page text has an overall readability index of 14.
This suggests that your writing style is conventional
(to communicate well you should aim for a figure between 10 and 20).
Your blog has 43 sentences per entry, which suggests your general message is distinguished by verbosity
(writing for the web should be concise).

CHARACTER MATRIX

male		female
self		world
past		future

Your text shows characteristics which are 56% male and 44% female
(for more information see the Gender Genie).
Looking at pronoun indicators, you write mainly about yourself, then the world in general and finally your social circle. Also, your writing focuses primarily on the present, next the past and lastly the future.

Find out what your blogging style is like!

...I don't know whether the above should be considered an insult or just meh. Either way, the verbose thing is really beating me up.

I don't think I would ever drive in Russia.

Period.

Because not only are the roads scary when it's -38 degrees, but the drivers are like insane bats out of hell.

Behold:
Eek and double eek.

Title: Countdown
Fandom: Little-known comic series known as "Fell"
Characters: Richard Fell/Mayko
Rating: R for swearing and violence
Summary: Two days, and something in his bones tells him that everything is terribly wrong. Mayko is missing.
A/N: I'd be pleasantly surprised if anyone has read Warren Ellis' Fell, but even if that's not the case, I hope you enjoy. Critiques are more than welcome.

You invite six friends over for a movie fiesta and you don't get through any of the movies you intended to watch.

...no, seriously. It was really fun. It's usually irritating to me when I can't understand a movie because people are talking, but it was actually very entertaining when we got off topic and just started randomly talking about something a movie gave us an idea on.

The best thing about this is that none of us were drunk or stoned. We pigged out on nachos, a huge 3liter grape-soda thing and junk food. And a bag of chocolate chips. No alcohol or weed was involved. And yet we laughed hysterically and told outrageous stories.

I guess this proved to me that you can have fun without alcohol. The general high school population seems to be under the assumption that the only way to have fun is to get drunk and do something stupid.

What a bunch of bullshit. Life is more fun when you're lucid to enjoy it. We've been running a circut for movie parties at various friends' houses -- it started with a Grindhouse showdown at one's guy's house, an action/comedy thing at another guy's house, an action fiesta at my house, and a zombie party at my other friend's house in two weeks. And after that? Kung-Fu Night.

See what I mean? It's fun. It makes small-town living in the winter after all the stores close survivable and entertaining. We enjoy one another's company and the films we watch.

Just something I thought I'd reflect on.