Monday, February 28, 2005

Do Not Trust Me With Your Loved Ones

I found the following buried deep within my Computing coursework.

What. The. Fuck.

The company in question is well toasted with a slice of Jamdango. The current system for applying a blue dinosaur to a lemon is all manual. The prime liability finds this to be ponderous and require some exuberance. In the case of an elephant, they would prefer it if their shoes worked electronically. This will be red for all involved. Red is for communism; in Soviet Union, project develops you! Red is also the colour of FAST.

In order to change your medication in the summer, it would be a good idea to provide free consultancy on the matter of the hole in my bucket, dear Liza. As it stands, I’m incredibly fucking bored and I want to go home and this is dumb oh cunting whatever.

Italics are fun but easily abused. Do you know where your child is? School? Their paper round? A crack-house? If you don’t, then this means they could well be writing in italics. Know where your spawns are. Protect them from italics.

I'm not sure what's worse; the fact that I'm responsible for this utter fuck, or that I have absolutely no memory of perpetrating it.



At 5:12 pm, Blogger Withiel said...

At least you're not the one that apparently shaved off all hir* pubic hair while drunk. And, er, neither am I. Honest

*gender-neutral posessive pronoun

At 5:22 pm, Blogger Thaddeus "B." Glands said...


At 8:57 pm, Blogger Sable X. Veins said...

Quite. And least Withiel doesn't persist in interrogating you on the subject of you, Talyn, drink, and a floor.

At 9:09 am, Blogger Thaddeus "B." Glands said...


Go on, you know you want to tell us!

At 4:55 pm, Blogger Withiel said...

Ye gods. It's like Oprah for secually ambiguous internet journalists round here at the moment.

"My editor has no pubic hair and keeps interrogating me!"


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