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T.O.M.B.S: Vol. 5

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here ya go: post-15284-1134168228.gif. that'll work as long as post-15284-1134168228 or whatever doesn't leave this site, and whoever uploaded it to there (or wherever that one came from) doesn't delete it. At least, I think that is how it works.

 

But anyway, :(

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Jim, did you want a report? Because I can do one for you.


Lou Gutman, P.I.- It's like I'm not even trying anymore!
http://theatomicdanger.iforumer.com/index....theatomicdanger

One billion b-balls dribbling simultaneously throughout the galaxy. One trillion b-balls being slam dunked through a hoop throughout the galaxy. I can feel every single b-ball that has ever existed at my fingertips. I can feel their collective knowledge channeling through my viens. Every jumpshot, every rebound and three-pointer, every layup, dunk, and free throw. I am there.

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On Life

 

 

 

 

I was one of them fortunate sons, born in the middle-class flats of Toxania, eyes wide open from day one, looking after the money we all loved so much, surveying the highs and lows of Mount Indulgence, impotent to the wishes of my father before me, uncaring to gazes of mother dearest on her throne of manure. I laughed and laughed. Kept on laughing all through my childhood, became a clown in my adolescence, making crude jokes on the streets and singing in the rain like a ****ing buffoon.

 

I grew up, got me some cars and chicks and drugs and bones, started eating at the finest restaurant, sleeping with the lowliest bitches, kissing the boots of all them rich pigs in oily suits.

 

It all happened one Friday, have you ever seen the rain flowing down some modern building all dressed in glossy apparel? Well I've lived a long time and seen many a things, but nothing like that, nothing big, my eyes aren't like that, I'm weak and frail, good at counting doe in seven languages and snorting white stuff off dirty counters.

 

They came, I was listening to some old Hank Williams songs, keeping a beat with my eyes locked from the inside, sitting in my Porsche and making strange faces at the passing children with their pointy heads and gloomy snore-inducing mugs.

 

I was licking the windshield, some kind of devil juice had lead me into that particular situation, unaware of the cosmic imbalance that echoed all around me. Buzzing sounds from buzzing windows, dying children singing in unison bout their uncles and their uncles' uncles, all happy and shiny.

 

Saintly figures were surrounding my car, I was still inside, hand tightly squeezing my dog's rubber thingamajig, They shouted my name. They shouted their God's name. They shouted things like salvation, abstinence and holiness. I unzipped my trousers and showed them where they could stick all that garbage.

 

They jumped on me, eyes staring, mouths muttering some inane ****, all in white, all in black, all in green and orange too.

 

Capitalism, Socialism, Fascism, Communism, Liberty and Death. Boo****inghoo!! The Night was young, I was lying head down, fixated on an invisible spot spawned from my mind's detachment. It was all so chaotic, one minute some clearly devout **** was pounding my face, the other the cops were howling curses, throwing axes and spears and coca-cola bottles at the fleeing silent majority.

 

My head felt free, my body felt numb, my eyes felt weary, my hair felt all classless and subdued. Rebellion was being delivered unto the world, shallow, hollow and dumb, children with sticks fighting in the name of God, for God, with God. Children with swords fighting for powers, children with baseball bats fighting just because they were all alone and scared of the big bad world.

 

Well, I didn't care about all that stuff, right then and there all I could think about was a cup of coffee and a Thai massage from that Asian chick I had been seeing for a couple weeks, saving some cash and moving out of this hellhole, somewhere tropical and sunny perhaps.

Edited by Baley

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I present the single emoticon heinous enough to properly channel my appreciation for the above block of text: :cool:

 

Thank you, sir Dragos


I was raised by polar bears. I had to fight against blood thirsty wolves and rabid penguins to get my food. Those who were too weak to survive were sent to Sweden.

 

It has made me the man I am today. A man who craves furry hentai.

So let us go and embrace the rustling smells of unseen worlds

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Baley is like our very own Juha Vuorinen. ;)


This post is not to be enjoyed, discussed, or referenced on company time.

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Baley is like our very own Juha Vuorinen. ;)

lot of spam...I hope it will not be locked.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

BTW: where to download free, good anti-spyware and such?

(please PM me it that I sure get the messege)

Edited by jorian

IB1OsQq.png

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Guest Cantousent

I looked over at Eldar, his eyes blazing, and almost laughed. I didn

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Baley is like our very own Juha Vuorinen. :geek:

lot of spam...I hope it will not be locked.

 

Eh? Consider it as mini-review of Baley. Vuorinen is finnish writer, who writes good politically incorect humour.

 

If you don


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Hehe, whats funnier is that he proceeds to ask for anti spyware stuff. The sheer audacity! <_<

 

Thats the first Baley report i've read without wanting to harm myself as a direct result. Nice one. :geek:

 

From a reader's point of view I am in two minds about the emergent narrative style of TOMBS reports. My first thoughts are always Oh crap, a big block of text... man, this better have a point!. However I am pleased to say that the reports I have read are worthwhile and at the very least elicit some kind of postive response from me.

With respect to CantEldar's report on Sawyer I feel a little ashamed for daring to approach it with negativity, since its seems to be quite heartfelt and sincere. Its a shame sawyer won't respond... at least I think he won't... not in public anyway.

 

Whatever the case, the prosaic style is better than the old meaningless point attribution. It has character and makes for a good read.

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Listening to Son House,

Babbling curses, hurling sentences

****ing myself with a knife in the mirror

Loud and obnoxious

Romanian blood

A real man, an old time hero

Just like them

Shouting bout mommy and daddy up in Heaven

Singing, dancing, boozing

All alone.

Father's rotting

Somewhere, I don't know

Can't remember

Buried, deep down, seven feet of dust

And vomit and despair

Mother's crying

Praying

In her flat

Too far away

Can't hear her anymore.

 

All cause I don't know

who the ****

Juha Vuorinen is.

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Vuorinen is most known of his "Diary of Drunken-Mad" series. Pretty much all his work that I have read are mixture of wacky (sometimes totally gross) humour, drinking and sex, but he is also a good storyteller. Funny thing is that he isn


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Poems?

 

Like this?

 

My dog ate a kid last Sunday

They called him John

Little John the Shining Prince

Hero of the forest

He was barely five years old

Lived in Princeton Ohio

Ten minutes from my house

His parents loved him

His teachers gushed with praise

He was always the first to answer

All the questions they always ask

But he's dead now

His remains in the washroom

Bleaching politely.

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Yeah, except his are funny. :-


I was raised by polar bears. I had to fight against blood thirsty wolves and rabid penguins to get my food. Those who were too weak to survive were sent to Sweden.

 

It has made me the man I am today. A man who craves furry hentai.

So let us go and embrace the rustling smells of unseen worlds

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oh how far we have fallen.


Victor of the 5 year fan fic competition!

 

Kevin Butler will awesome your face off.

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I'm trying to tackle your ego, Baley, not your art.


I was raised by polar bears. I had to fight against blood thirsty wolves and rabid penguins to get my food. Those who were too weak to survive were sent to Sweden.

 

It has made me the man I am today. A man who craves furry hentai.

So let us go and embrace the rustling smells of unseen worlds

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Hell, I coubt Sawyer even knows this place exists. This is the 5th life of TOMBS. Folks know what it is already and most of them avoid the place like the plague.

 

I think baley's reports are the most innovative. Pixies had some clever work with the songs. Moth's are probably the best in terms of what these reports were originally meant to do: assess a peer.

 

As for the number values, I agree. I've always hated them. I think they're either hurtful, pointless, or lying. Sometimes all three. Still, the numbers game was a carryover from the very first TOMBS. We'll do this narrative stuff and then someone will use numbers. It will be clever and the TOMBS crowd will start using numbers for a while again.

 

However, the real reason folks use numbers is because it's a hell of a lot easier than writing a lot of text.


Fionavar's Holliday Wishes to all members of our online community:  Happy Holidays

 

Join the revelry at the Obsidian Plays channel:
Obsidian Plays


 
Remembering tarna, Phosphor, Metadigital, and Visceris.  Drink mead heartily in the halls of Valhalla, my friends!

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Ah, but there's only me and the facade of art, for what I write is as much a part of me as any organ of flesh could ever hope to be.

 

Dear Muso, my ego is infinite, my wang celestial, but alas my brain is but a withering flower, whose days have long been numbered.

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