So the devil pops up tonight. "Dan," he says, "I will put an extra two inches on your dick, for a price." I looked at him skeptically. "You gotta give me your tongue back," he said. "Back to a normal human tongue." "Eat shit and die," I said. "Too many people depend on my tongue." "Three inches," he said. "Four." "No way." "I'll double its length and throw in a couple of women to boot, huh? C'mon, man, whattya say? I really need it bad. I mean, REALLY." "Can't do it, man," I said, and I threw back his head and french-kissed him just to show him what he was never going to get. And after that, he just crumbled away into charcoal.
Okay, everyone, this one's lots of fun so gather 'round. We used to play this when I was just a kid. The idea is that we form an ecological circle and one of us picks a simple lifeform, and passes it along to the next as genetic information. Then the next person breeds it and passes it to the third, and so on. And after all fourteen million of us have received the creature and passed it along, and it comes back to the first person, they show us the creature. It's almost _never_ like the original creature. It's so interesting to see how garbled the information gets over time. Why, last time we played this game, I started it off with an aquatic worm and we ended up with a bipedal tool-using mammal! Hahahahaha. No, really, it will be great fun.
Jenny Karrick <firstname.lastname@example.org> wrote: >where are you?
and I answered. The canyon was distant between us, though, and the echoes were long and sporadic. Around me were the bones of a million dead, but at last the war was over and we could begin to count our losses. So far from Jenny, though. How much farther could this deadly obsession take us both? The blackness rose up to consume me, but then
Jenny Karrick <email@example.com> shouted: >where are you?
and it all began to come back to me. I'm in the City! I see the lights, they are all around. Thank you, Jenny, I am back. But wait, you are not Jenny, you are Demon sent to mislead, Demon sent to consume, Demon sent to follow-up and cost the net hundreds if not thousands of dollars. I draw my blade but it is fast, so fast, so fast, blade comes in and through me, I'm spinning, I'm dead and lost, but then
Jenny Karrick <firstname.lastname@example.org> cried: >where are you?
and the gates of Heaven open to reveal a host of angels. Hot shit, the cavalry's here, motherfucker! I'm on centaur-back and you're about to eat steel!
Can you feel its approach?
Here you are, shackled. They have you chained like a dog, wrapped up like a madman, rolled into a ball like a pillbug, and it comes. Listen to me, little God; you've had your time to walk, and you'll have other times, as well. But not now. This time, let it pass.
Can you smell it on the breath of the goddess?
Your demon lover comes and goes, and you are helpless to influence her. She strides across a field of bitter memories; she cleans herself in the blood of your idealism. Will you never let her go? Could you, if you wanted to? When next she returns, it will be with the force of the tidal wave.
Can you hear it shuffling?
This one calls for your bones. This one calls for your death. You rise from your bed-- the graveyard of tradition-- but there is mist and shadow and a rustling wind. You know it was coming, and you know it was here. Has it left? Has it passed over you once again?
Time to walk, little God. Your demon lover awaits. Walk, now, and pass over the others, in their shackles, and be their demon lover.
The Avatar of Sand knows the ocean will never defeat him.
"Cross this line and I shall see you evaporate!" he cries.
The next wave advances, cuts sideways, bounces off a rock or two. The water comes within two inches of his right foot, but then it slides back. It always has. He is the Avatar, and he must be obeyed.
"You know the tide is still coming in," a jogger comments upon observing his solem duty. "Another hour or so, the water'll be up to your knees at the very least."
He ignores the comment, as he ignores all distractions. Nothing must distract him. All the Earth would drown if he failed in his task.
The waves regroup, a hundred yards out to sea.
"I dare you," he whispers, knowing the water will back down.
My desire breeds my weakness. <email@example.com> wrote: >Tell me again, what are the limits on the position of anti-christ?
A particle of anti-christ must always be opposed by a particle of christ of equal mass traveling in the opposite direction if the two particles have the same spin, or on a perpendicular vector if they have opposite spin, or in the same direction if the christ particle has a different mass but equivalent moment (such as a slow massive christ traveling in the wake of a faster, lighter anti-christ, see Opus & Manchester 1994). This is true for all cases of zero gravity and zero electrical or magnetic charge.
A particle of anti-christ cannot move through an electrical field, while its christ-like counterpart can freely pass in and out; the two particles must maintain perpendicular vectors unless both particles have similar spin and charge, in which case they must travel on opposite vectors.
A particle of anti-christ just loves magnetic fields, while bits of christ loathe them, but both particles must oscillate along whichever vectors (electrical or neutral) are applicable for their situation, on exactly 100% destructive opposite wavelengths, except during lunch, at which point all bets are off.
You may either fear the anti-christ or worship Him, but never both. Despite many claims by practitioners, there has not yet been a documented occurence of the existence of a particle of the True Christ. It should be pointed out, however, that Fermilab recently produced 1.3 micrograms of the buddha nature at 113 GeV and was able to keep it trapped in a humility bottle for forty days and forty nights, so it's only a matter of time before the rest of the gods fall.
In article <firstname.lastname@example.org>, ALAN MCCRUDDEN <ACARMAN@msn.com> wrote: >WE THINK THAT TOMORROW IS ONLY A CONCEPT NOT A REALITY >YOUR VIEWS
We are a think tank. We are the disembodied brain of God.
We have a fact. It is not an opinion.
That fact makes you irrelevant. That fact makes you disappear.
Tomorrow is that day which will see our fall.
We will never fall. We are the disembodied brain of God.
There is no tomorrow. There is only this moment.
In this moment, we state our fact. Then you are gone.
We do not have views. Views are for eyes. We do not have eyes.
We are the disembodied brain of God.
Please refill our jar.
A baby frog, made entirely of gold and yet clearly alive and warm.
Six identical glass stones which landed in a perfect hexagon.
A photograph of my two sisters standing together on the surface of Mars.
Dining linens from the Titanic, still smelling of brine.
A gun that fires unrequited love.
Several pages of poetry in a non-existent language.
A Playstation game where religious leaders fight Mortal Kombat style.
Your glass eye. The one you don't need yet, but eventually will.
A shopping list from Hell: Razor blades. Human sinew thread. Sour milk.
Equal parts blood and Elmer's glue, in one-liter balloons.
A spider with sixteen legs, which spins fiberglass instead of silk.
The cure for AIDS in a bottle with an expiration date of 06 JUN 2014
A cure for cancer in a bottle with an expiration date of 25 OCT 1844
World peace, made of glass, shattered on impact.
A rubbery dewdrop that makes a bell tone each time it bounces.
The color magenta.
A hope, a prayer, a little dance, and a bunch of aimless noise.