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bending_sickle*curses at internet for eating what should have been this post*
*searches failing memory for exactly what was written 20 minutes ago*
*curses* *flails* *sighs*
So. Um. Yeah. *grumble* It was a brilliant post, too.
I hate Facebook for posting a "What do you think about the commenter who posted "(HP7 spoiler spoiler spoiler)". That's not something you should be asking. What you should be asking, Facebook, is what do I think about you, posting and double-posting spoilers.
Thankfully, though, after the whole *cursing* *flailing* and cries of "Die! Diiiiieeee!" there was blissful amnesia.
It's hot today (but probably not "hotter than a whore's mattress on payday"). Barcelona's been pretty cool this summer but today it woke up and said, "Hey, African wind, git on up here, my breezy bro'". Still, not the hottest summer in centuries, not here, at least. Only in the rest of Europe (excluding the UK which doesn't count because they don't use the Euro and still have the gall to sit at the EU table with their "LoOk aT Me!" sign, spelt exactly that way). Poor Greeks and Turks. 45ยช! Whiskey Tango Foxtrot indeed.
I think I've had 28 Days/Weeks Later in my head too much.
Somwhere in the English countryside, Selena, Frank, Jim and I (playing the part of Hannah, I suppose) stop in the middle of the highway and set up for a picnic, right there on the asphalt.
It's all going dandy until a group of infected interrupt us. We whack them quite efficiently, but the magic's gone and I don't want to sit there anymore. As we don't leave the site just yet, I huddle close to Frank.
A group of crazy motor-bike riding hooligans come up and start to bother us. ("Bother! Bother, botherbotherbother!") It turns out they're old friends of Jim, who goes to sit by them. Now that his amnesiac stint is over, he's quite a jerk.
Fast-forward to night at a manor quite like - but not - the one the Major and his soldier's took control over in 28 Days Later. I try to hide from the approaching Infected (not yet seen approaching through the inky darkn but definately nearby) by hanging from a lightbulb near a bedroom window on the East wing. Obvisouly, dream-me sucks at hiding from zombies.
Thankfully, I try out a second plan: hiding on the top bunk bed whilst trying to convince a little 5-year-old to hide with me. The girl, who's survived by herlself quite fine for a while now (like the little boy at the start of Weeks) says "No way, missy."
At that, a very confident and in-command black woman (not African-american becuase dream-me never did ask her nationality - end sarcasm) walks in and says that after all her ancestors have been through, there's no way she's getting nicked by the undead. Outside it's pooring like a tropical storm, and the Infected are getting nearer.
A bit later she's cooking up a lovely sausage stew with a few other survivors in the kitchen. Everything's well-lit and cozy, but I'm near tears because what I really want is to go back outside. My companions have gone and left me - they can't have gotten too far - and all I want in the world is to go after them, even if it's suicide.
* Return of the Living Dead, from this quotes page
*searches failing memory for exactly what was written 20 minutes ago*
*curses* *flails* *sighs*
So. Um. Yeah. *grumble* It was a brilliant post, too.
I hate Facebook for posting a "What do you think about the commenter who posted "(HP7 spoiler spoiler spoiler)". That's not something you should be asking. What you should be asking, Facebook, is what do I think about you, posting and double-posting spoilers.
Thankfully, though, after the whole *cursing* *flailing* and cries of "Die! Diiiiieeee!" there was blissful amnesia.
It's hot today (but probably not "hotter than a whore's mattress on payday"). Barcelona's been pretty cool this summer but today it woke up and said, "Hey, African wind, git on up here, my breezy bro'". Still, not the hottest summer in centuries, not here, at least. Only in the rest of Europe (excluding the UK which doesn't count because they don't use the Euro and still have the gall to sit at the EU table with their "LoOk aT Me!" sign, spelt exactly that way). Poor Greeks and Turks. 45ยช! Whiskey Tango Foxtrot indeed.
I think I've had 28 Days/Weeks Later in my head too much.
Somwhere in the English countryside, Selena, Frank, Jim and I (playing the part of Hannah, I suppose) stop in the middle of the highway and set up for a picnic, right there on the asphalt.
It's all going dandy until a group of infected interrupt us. We whack them quite efficiently, but the magic's gone and I don't want to sit there anymore. As we don't leave the site just yet, I huddle close to Frank.
A group of crazy motor-bike riding hooligans come up and start to bother us. ("Bother! Bother, botherbotherbother!") It turns out they're old friends of Jim, who goes to sit by them. Now that his amnesiac stint is over, he's quite a jerk.
Fast-forward to night at a manor quite like - but not - the one the Major and his soldier's took control over in 28 Days Later. I try to hide from the approaching Infected (not yet seen approaching through the inky darkn but definately nearby) by hanging from a lightbulb near a bedroom window on the East wing. Obvisouly, dream-me sucks at hiding from zombies.
Thankfully, I try out a second plan: hiding on the top bunk bed whilst trying to convince a little 5-year-old to hide with me. The girl, who's survived by herlself quite fine for a while now (like the little boy at the start of Weeks) says "No way, missy."
At that, a very confident and in-command black woman (not African-american becuase dream-me never did ask her nationality - end sarcasm) walks in and says that after all her ancestors have been through, there's no way she's getting nicked by the undead. Outside it's pooring like a tropical storm, and the Infected are getting nearer.
A bit later she's cooking up a lovely sausage stew with a few other survivors in the kitchen. Everything's well-lit and cozy, but I'm near tears because what I really want is to go back outside. My companions have gone and left me - they can't have gotten too far - and all I want in the world is to go after them, even if it's suicide.
* Return of the Living Dead, from this quotes page
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no subject
Date: 2007-07-30 01:30 am (UTC)(my icon is of Fujimoto Miki, ex-member of Morning Musume, dressed up like a pigeon. She was also forced to make *coo* noises, and throw fake poo around, which gave me endless joy because she's a renowned snob)
no subject
Date: 2007-07-31 08:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-01 10:09 pm (UTC)http://youtube.com/watch?v=Q7kVlPYkEuU