Sounds like a dusty crackle in my ears. What a color

This has to be the craziest Script I’ve ever read.

4ColorHeroes:Killing Joke Script

racist father ted

<p>No Promises, but i bet you just puked….</p>

It’s a lil funny when he calls the 2nd couple “group”

<p>No Promises, but i bet you just puked….</p>

Too good….too good

1. I think, now this is just speculation more than anything (and I’m a huge fan of speculating ideas before they leave my lips in an embarassing sound-sculpt), but I hate the internet. Hate it, never gleaned a fruit of nourishment from it’s ash-enriched byte heap. Now I know, from a technical standpoint, that the internet has pulled our communal laces tighter than all get out, but I realized now that I’ve sold pieces of my internal life for a CONSTANT search for ambient information and diversions. I had two distinct instances tonight:
A) Wanting to find a decent resource for writers (HA) I Stumbled through a few sites…which is apparently a terrible use of the widget. Instead of finding a good writing group to eavesdrop I ended up watching HIGH-SPEED VIDEOS OF FRUITS GETTING DEMOLISHED BY HAMMERS AND MOUSE-TRAPS! Let that phrase run through your conscious and stop a little to think if that would ever have given you anything besides an optical yeast infection.
B) I’m really into author eyeballing. I like finding a guy I’ve never read before and pluck around his web. List out his publication history; read excerpts; amazon some reviews; check his blog etc…whatever. I remember an interview from a Dragon Page Podcast with a guy named S.M. Stirling. I’ve heard the name before. I actually have his first book in his new series——————————————————–>
From where I sit at my desk (all day…) I always see the white spine of book more clearly than any of the other glossed-by-dragons
thunder claps and baudy horror rips. Finding any good reason not to write, I tried to look into his background, going onto Google Book Search to find me some good samples to chew. A wind blows through my room, and the next thing I know I’m looking up Turntable Dj’s from the Phillipines on Emusic. After that I literally just clicked through links like my index finger was in a touch tunnel until I saw a picture of some chubby geek with a bogus Indy-Jones hat and remember I was looking for a sci-fi guy. Whatever….internet did its just job I guess.

I don’t intentionally think the internet is terrible. Maybe they should have a finishing school or something. With online courses.

2. Does anyone else feel the hype of reading a hugely well known book? Or ANY book with a cultural reputation? It’s a strange feeling alright. Feels like the world’s looking over your shoulder and waiting for you to agree. It’s kinda the reason I’ve never read Harry Potter. What if I hate it? What I love it for some steampunk varient that no one else gets unless they cross their eyes from 3-feet away? Fearful that I‘ll be tastless and a poor sport for the business of publising. I rather remain uninitiated. I personally LOVE reading books no one has heard about from a digest or a EW. Makes me feel like I found a magical pinecone amidst a pre-pulped forest.

Pssssss….Hey everyone…..I’m reading a book with no slug line reviews! Hands in the air! Weeeeee!
Although I knew that I need to bring a pack to My reading of Lord of the Rings.

Just got back from a trip to Florida. Will mention it later

···I dreamed that I was in some Eastern country. I want to say italy because they were all speaking what sounded like italian (since I had no idea just what they were saying), but the architecture had this whole black-olive-history-of-earth-Op-A! look to it so it might have been greece. Anyway, so There was a huge commotion in the entire city and I was jostled about, which i thought was funny because I move-meandered because I was lost, whereas the other greektalians meandered because this was a tradition or something. I move under some arms and curly black hair until I find a dude who looks like the friar from Robin Hood, crossed with the priest from The Excorcism of Emily Rose. There was a small clearance around him and I was able to stand upright. He saw me and recognized me and I had the distinct feeling that him and I were communicating during the dark prologue of this dream. My feeling was asuaged when he started speaking spanish to me, asking if had seen the source of the commotion.
···”Claro que no,” I said back.
···What made it extra wierd was that we were totally conifdent that no one could hear/tranlslate our conversation, like we were communicating through headpiece radios.
···So he urges me to check out whats around the corner, he staying behind to guard our spot. Being in dream land, I agreed like a doe-eyed preteen and head over. I turned the corner and saw two things.
···1. about 4 monks in the black robes in onyx history. The only thing that was not black were the faces, which had the grecian look to them, but again I couldn’t call out their ethnicity. They weren’t speaking in tongues, but were blabbering endlessly, waving inscense after a repeated phrase and standing ramrod, their eyes turned down. I turned around to see what they were looking at and saw a great blush of stone steps the ran farther and farther up my field of sight. I suddenly see, on these steps, that the priests were reveering 2.) tons and tons of soy milk cartons! Every flavor I’ve ever had in my entire life was sitting there, invisible soy milk hand folded in prayer, silk label bowed down, recieving this odd ablution of smoke. I stretched up these steps until the boxes turned into small red/blue pegs that shimmered in the heat (it was summer now).
···The story took a snapshot and I was walking with the priest by a dock that looked more medieval english than modern Greecialy. We were in a huge huge hurray and I assumed that we were being chased (most of my dreams involving elements as foreign as this usually ends in my escape from a monstrous terror). The priest takes a quick look over a railing and stops. The guy becomes really jolly and starts pointing into the water.
···”Want to sail in style?” he asks me, silly as anything.
···I look over and see three old fashioned bath tubs. They had sunken just beneath the water surface, so the details were wonderous and sickly green . A pipe stuck out from them, which my brain translated into masts.

···and that was it.