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  • Bert remembered running away when he was a kid. He had run away often. But he never got very far. They always caught him and took him back. The foster homes might look a bit different on the outside, but to him they were all the same. So he just kept running. These memories flitted through his ... · ID #3543 (continued)
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  • #2420

    “There is one man to whom I am indebted,” said Shar, with a faraway look in her eyes.

    “Blimey, who’s that then Shar?”

    “Enric Lemoon is his name. One day he said words to me I will never forget, and at that moment, I knew that the most important thing in the world was that I learn to speak like him.”

    “Oh you do tell a good story, Shar. Go on then! I am all goggle eared. What’d that Enric chappy say to you?”

    “He said, the grumpy old cat must be white of old age by now.

    “Cor!” said Mavis in awe. “Bloody marvelous! Was it a code? You know, one of them brain teasers like?”

    Shar looked at Mavis pityingly and shook her head. “It was poetry, Mavis. Poetry.”

    #2661

    In reply to: Strings of Nines

    F LoveF Love
    Participant

      “You will always be my endearingly ugly baby, Yikesy,” said Arona sternly, “however old you are. Why it was not even a year ago that you were eleven, according to that weirdo dragon anyway. And now here you are all grown up telling me you are eighteen. It doesn’t matter to me one way or another, my precious boy.”

      Arona sniffled emotionally.

      “Now keep hold of my hand while we go and see if we can find Vincentius. I hope he has that grumpy old cat with him.”

      #2074

      In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud

      ÉricÉric
      Keymaster

        sharon told later surprise saying cloud create spiders supposed gift characters strange family…

        :weather-overcast: :weather-showers-scattered: :weather-showers: :weather-snow: :weather-storm:
        :spider: :spider: :spider: :spider:
        :bounce:
        :yahoo_applause: :yahoo_big_hug:

        #2410

        “Well, I’m not eating bitter batter, even if it has got butter in it. I’m going out dancing, are you coming?”

        “Dang it, yes! Let’s dance, darling, let’s dance! It’s a dandy day for dancing, I’m decidedly dapper today ~ and dashing and daring, dammit!”

        “Come on then you cute cuddly chickpea, my carriage careers round the corner now, to catch you at the curb. Come, cherished chum, come cavorting with me!”

        #1317

        In reply to: Yuki’s Livrary

        ÉricÉric
        Keymaster

          January 21 st, 2010

          About Worlds creating and dreamwalking

          Has it occurred to you that your current technologies [such as social websites] are more than a little reflection of what you are doing as essence.
          It is more indeed, and very useful as an analogy.
          You have, for one, certainly noticed how different the “feel” of certain of these “sites” is, even when you are most of the time surrounded by the same set of friends and relationships? Yes you have.

          Let us call these sites “dimensions”. Yes, it sounds familiar, doesn’t it. You all participate in some manner into these, and you all have persona of yourself in various of these. They compete for your attention, and some of them are more popular than others —these are the ones which offer you the most fulfilling experience, not necessarily the most pleasant.

          In many ways, you connect as essence through these dimensions, which reveal aspects of your personalities, aspects that are not always visible or noticed in a direct interaction. When you congregate through these sites, you also start to realize, you have access to all of the others as essence, either through proxy of friends, or by direct interaction. You are all connected.

          They all have different rules, or shall we say, conventions; you can do certain things, certain others you cannot (or not yet), and others, you can, but they are not well tolerated or accepted.
          We let you do all the fine analogies, you mostly get the idea. The technical rules behind those sites are like your mass beliefs. They are helpful to maneuver your “avatar” —that focus of yourself inside the system— and without them, there would simply be no interest, no interaction, no experience.
          Of course, these beliefs can be bent ; with applications, made by these people wanting to develop new systems plugged into the architecture, to offer new functions, or interactions with others of these sites or dimensions.

          The creators of these dimensions are similar to dreamwalkers; some of them are bent on technology and development of the system at its core, but not all of them. Many in fact come with other intents, such as making the dimension a more beautiful, interactive, attractive or pleasant place. They all work together to bring the experience of the envisioned dimension to the other essences —and at some point, they also choose, themselves to interact, as a focus, fully part of their created dimension.

          Having that in mind, would it not seem natural that you would integrate more functionalities to these sites, if they respond to the promises of keeping focuses interested? What you call “upgrades” are in fact a major part of the conception of these dimensions, and occur quite frequently, either driven by popular demand, or by technical need.
          Such is the nature of the shift you are experiencing, which is above all a tremendous upgrade [of mass beliefs] towards a more integrated experience, without simply dropping the current dimension for another.

          We would finally like you to notice also that even if the biggest of these dimensions are calling for a great part of your attention, you also are attracted daily to countless others, little sites and areas, the purpose of which is different, but not less significant to your whole self.

          #2394

          The poor Peaslanders were utterly disoriented by the blatant lack of sense in the Eighth Dimension. It was such a blessing they had for most of them already lost their head, kept safe by a dear member of the family.

          Once in front of them, the glowing figure uttered ominously:

          “opened everyone eye ball,
          Worserversity nonsense portal deep
          sheila Elizabeth bird gone surprise
          come speak thread
          face cat Godfrey later create”

          And then the figure disappeared in a fit of oink oink’s.

          “I think it’s her shoes that make the strange sucking sounds in the mud” aptly remarked little Pickel.
          “How come you know it was a ‘her’, it could have been a cloud as far as I know…” retorted Autie Toot who never got a chance to get a good look, with her head upside down in her arms.

          “Silence!” ordered Pee Stoll more raucously than he had wished to “We need to concentrate! This riddle may be the clue to the plague of blubbits, can’t you see?!”
          “Well… It’s not that easy, you know” Auntie Looh objected sheepishly, while still struggling with her garments as well as with her head.

          “I think it’s fairly simple” ventured S’illy (whom nobody ever listened to, probably owing to her tender age as well as her melodious voice) “We got to find the Worseversity, they probably have worked on a cure; our contacts there will be a sheila called Elizabeth… and a Godfrey will provide a cat to eat the bird and put us back to our dimension…”

          “Darn riddle!” sweared Pee furiously who hadn’t paid any attention “It’s probably just another bunch of nonsense!”
          “I guess we’ll just go anywhere then!” merrily suggested the Aunts each going in opposite directions while the bird rolled its eyes.

          #2393

          “Can you see something?” Pee was calling out.

          “Good gracious, what are these disturbing oinking noises?” said Autie Looh (or was is Auntie Toot) who’s been trying to catch her head ever since she’d tripped on it after it had rolled over (as, of course, her brand new head-fastener had not travelled through the portal).

          “Oh dear Glord, all my panties are loose now!” Auntie Looh exclaimed, after she tucked her dangling head under her armpits. “I’m starting to hate this bloody place!” she said, after managing to knot her pride back under a fold of her tummy.

          “Howdy!” Auntie Toot cried out “I think I can see something glowing in the dark… There! Whoohooo! … Or wait, is it someone glowing?”

          #2390

          Before Josephine passed away in a pharting spell for worlds better, she uttered a meaningful sentence which sadly went lost to cataleptic Almondus’ ears, but not to everyone.
          She indeed briefly uttered in a last rattle: “Soon it shall all make perfect sense,… soooon.”

          A mysterious sentence to which the unwitting eavesdropper, covered in blubbits pelts, couldn’t help but fancifully (and equally mysteriously) add “…sense my posterior”.

          #2385

          Almondus Blondor, the Keeper of the Old and notwithstanding Great portal of Nibabuz was on his way to Josephine Moodoo the Great Priestress of OzMoosis, and occasionnally witch-doctoress. It was for this last talent that Almondus had taken his day off. It was actually his first day off since the last century, but his arthretic was now becoming unbearable, and had on many times almost have him become nuts, a fate altogether far more enviable than the one of losing one’s head he would say (as he wasn’t truly a native Peaslander either).

          So, this arthrectic was painful, terribly painful, the result of considerable arrhythmical calculus mixed with jointless restlessness. A few times he had to mend his limbs back together, and feared the witch would blame his indulgence on koomaroo, a variety of sweet potatoes he craved at the expense of following the ancestral Peaslander’s peas and marmite toasts usual diet. For that, he was often call Mr Koomaroo by the little neighbours, those nasty pests.
          But as we said earlier (heed, heed, little Pooh), he was no native Peaslander either.

          So, during his day off, he had appointed his young apprentice, Bentworth Sadnick, a local and remarkably headless fellow, who wasn’t very wise for his seventy-year-young age ; as since the last decades, no one had tried to activate the Great and notwithstanding Rusty portal, he thought he could have that little day off without much trouble happening.

          Josephine would surely repair him in a snap of her delicately podgy fingers (they reminded him of delicious sweet potatoes) and everything would be forever again perfect… at least for the next ten decades.

          #2382

          A tinkling bell notified Josephine that someone had found the object. The prophecy was right, things were beginning to get into place, and soon, it will be revealed. Unfortunately, she was busy making a very delicate potion for one of her patients and the sound of the bell distracted her and she took a very dangerous spider venom instead of the toad juice she had intended.
          She didn’t realize her mistake, and maybe it was part of the prophecy too. Soon, it will be revealed.

          #2648

          In reply to: Strings of Nines

          There’s something, er, fishy, about this here dead cow, Sanso surmised. He was still a little fuzzy after his peregrinations in the Dense Dimension. Suddenly he slapped his forehead and exclaimed D’Oh! This dead cow is no accident! He shook his head, as if trying to shake the cobwebs loose. The effects of the brocolli hadn’t worn off completely yet. I can’t beleive I chose the Brocolli from the ‘You Fool’ Jar instead of the ‘Thank You’ Jar. I should have realized, Sanso was still shaking his head, what the ramifications would be of choosing discounting instead of appreciation. D’OH! he exclaimed again. Really, I had no idea how far reaching and all encompassing the effects would be of that Brocolli choice. I suppose it’s no accident the vegetable in question was brocolli, either, with all those probability branches and probable florets.

          Right then Sanso, Old Bean, pull yourself together, he told himself firmly. This here dead cow is a sign. He approached the dead cow slowly, sniffing the ether, in a manner of speaking, for clues. He recalled the Dead Cow Cult
          from another elsewhen, and their affiliation with the Arduino
          Time Travelling Internet Server, and wondered if there might be a connection.

          The Fool Fog of Discounting, caused by the brocolli Choice, in Sanso’s head was starting to clear, and he began to access information. The Cult of the Dead Cow had merged with the Arduino Enterprise at some point, creating an offshoot called the Pirates Association of Time Hackers, otherwise known as P.A.T.H. They had been recruiting members from many times and places, and as usual, had attracted large numbers of teenagers.

          One teenager in particular appeared to stand out in Sanso’s mind, a peculiar young man who went by the alias “Holy Cow”.

          Oh My God! Sanso slapped his forehead again. (I really must get these AHA moments under control, he said to himself, rubbing his bruised head) It can’t be! Yes, it is! It’s Yikesy!

          #2647

          In reply to: Strings of Nines

          When Yikes had first asked Arona, when he was like 6 or 7 years old if he had a father, Arona had brushed the question aside with a roll of an eye, and an annoyed flicker of the other.

          “Of course you have, little pooh…”

          It was glaringly obvious that the little Ugling wasn’t bearing any likeness with her handsome model Vincentius, so she didn’t mock the little guy’s intelligence by asking why he was even inquiring of such a thing.
          And for a few years, telling him the story of how he was given to her by the dwarf Palani was enough to calm the torrent of his questions.

          Later though, as he was gaining strength and other skills taught to him by Vincentius, who was ever patient and dedicated to the well-being of Arona and the child, his questions became an obsession, and he took upon himself to discover the truth he could feel was wrapped in fantasy and nonsense —or at least, not told completely.

          Perhaps it was an indiscretion of a glukenitch found in the many caves there were nearby their home, nobody knew for certain. (Glukenitches sharing one mind, they knew many of the secrets of the caves they sometimes deigned to share with strangers…) anyway, nobody knew for certain, but he found out about the mysterious Sanso, and how he became ‘acquainted’ with Arona (whom Yikes had never called but by her first name).

          Yikes was now in his teen years, and wanted more than ever to meet Sanso, although he never quite revealed that secret plan least it would upset the loving and caring Arona. He had to find someone to help him in his research, but where they lived, encounters were scarce.

          One day, a young woman he’d never met before went to see Arona. They were friends apparently, and he overheard Arona call her Salome, while they were discussing about lots of people, whose names he mostly didn’t know. He was feeling uncomfortable around nice ladies, and almost didn’t show up for dinner. However, an embarrassed silence and a sideway glance as a certain “he” was being inquired about by Arona raised his ears, and he took upon himself to try to learn more from the lady.
          So when she left, he followed her to the entrance of one of the nearby caves, and showed up —apparently without surprising the lady called Salome. She was well aware of his presence, and of his desire to find Sanso.
          “The man defies logic,” she then warned Yikes “and you need a riddle outside of logic to catch him and his attention.”
          That was almost all of what she said before disappearing into the damp cave’s tunnel. That and… “no need to beat a dead cow.”

          Yikes had pondered that for days, without success.
          Until the illumination came: all he had to do was become the hunter, and bait his prey.
          For that, he would kill the fatted calf, to welcome the return of the prodigal father.

          And put his bait near the tunnels near the realms from whence he roamed aimlessly.

          #2790
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            Some shaven sheep on the floor where mother goose got pens… that’s what I call giant game! Meddling it’s intricate design, and its daft words pointed to the distinct lack of any mention of God.

            We’re talking threads, spinning a myth, warming and weaving, all meaningless beleifs with which to travel, peanuts that can’t be contained inside ones own weaving, in and out of the warped story, and the weft Text.

            Viewers may be considerd to be a patchwork piece. These indiviual multitudes are loom weights to create a tapestry in the style, so to speak, of the background qualities of Finnley.

            In this focus you choose this situation, that of God. You shall focus an attention to detail and perfection, balance, movement, with tremendous detail.

            “Tell me about it” remarked God drily, offering challenging information. “The Sumari does not concern itself with Finnley” who stuck her tongue out at God, sighed in resignation and reached for the peanuts. “No point in fighting your warp.”

            #2062

            In reply to: Scrying the Word Cloud

            ÉricÉric
            Keymaster

              Morning cat work meaning Tina assignment
              dragons taking news planet beautiful start
              wondered away harvey truth yourself
              communications large full surprise

              links random needed fishes please
              remarked friend forgotten story
              seem tree message gone
              stay under create body
              weaving somehow answer remember

              #2343
              TracyTracy
              Participant

                “Serenely on her tiny loom she weaves her story with careful art.
                And who am I, with meddling pen to send it’s loveliness apart?

                For I, who am a weaver, too, look on that intricate design,
                And know its daft embroideries are just as beautiful as mine….”

                LizAnn read the poem out loud, subsituting a few words of her own, and pointed out to Godfrey the distinct lack of any mention of spiders.

                “We don’t have to include any actual spiders, Godfrey,” she said firmly. “Forget the spiders! We’re talking here about weaving a story from all the loose threads, not spinning a web with which to ensnare anyone. The myths” continued LizAnn, warming to the subject, “Concerning spiders and weaving are being rewoven anew. The Text Tiles are myriad, and all equally meaningless. The purpose of Text Tiles is no longer a sticky web of beleifs with which to ensnare the unsuspecting traveller, but a patchwork of …of….”

                “Lost your thread, LizAnn?” inquired Gordon, smugly.

                “You rude old coot” she replied, “Have some more peanuts, and allow me to finish.”

                “Finish? Well, that will be a first.”

                “What I was trying to say is that the weaving of the story can’t be contained inside the confines of the linearly constructed Reality Play. One only needs to focus on ones own weaving, in and out of the warped story, and the weft wide world outside, so to speak. The same principle applies to the other weavers and the Text Tile viewers. Each comment may be considerd to be a single Text Tile, or patchwork piece. These indiviual Text Tiles may be arranged in multitudes of ways according to the manner in which they are woven into an individuals own story weaving experience.”

                “That’s as may be, LizAnn, but what about loom weights? To anchor the warp? Or is it the weft…”

                #2779
                F LoveF Love
                Participant

                  The sky was most unusual. Something definitely weird was happpening.

                  Yann was looking at a TV show in which a clown was trying to juggle with his clothes.

                  Yann switched off the tv set and chose to go the cat in her basket.

                  “There you are!”

                  “Absolutely Sir”.

                  “Good very Good.”

                  Taking deep puffs of his pipe, he looked like a botle green velvet sofa, and that, combined with the crazy Baron of the nearby village, was the surest way of being left alone.

                  “The curious police want to know the details?” asked the Baron

                  “Not really … well now you make me think of it .. I reckon a bit.”

                  ahahahahaha!” the manic laughter was infectious. Strange bugs were dancing. little dark skinned performers, tickling like an army of ants.

                  Rather than laughing, he’d taken a moment to consider the options. Obviously he couldn’t refuse help as his business had recently been pregnant, giving birth to conjoined twins.

                  So to speak.

                  #2758
                  TracyTracy
                  Participant

                    #87 Quintin had a woman near London ~ a strange small replicate, put here for gracious officials. Strangely linked to the story, was Dory. The other participants didn’t really expect this quaint dream…

                    Dory made Quintin in Madagascar for the first time. Funny, but now they seemed to connect to Arona. Malvina disappeared, and once again Arona found this quite irritating. She could barely remember the music.

                    Really, things are shifting. In the name of heaven use magic I Scream or something!

                    A Man emerged from Arona’s lap. This is great, more comfortable than the ground.

                    Oh cute, said Arona, a talking Man, love your cape by the way.

                    Arona stroked Man. It was all feeling heat and humidity… and especially her hunger. Man sighed in an eggs sort of a way. She exclaimed delightedly, hugging the Man.

                    [¹] Note from the editor: Man being a noble reader

                    ~~~~

                    Dory was dry, with strange hard shoulders and face. Her shawl finally surfaced flapping in time to a cloud of dust.

                    PPFFT! I’m all on my own. Dory was momentarily speechless.

                    #2340

                    Unbeknown to the young Goldie, weeping at the Fluboat terminal in Gibbonsville….

                    (Ann had to laugh at the typo. She had just hard a joke about ‘catching swine flu’ being a code word for shagging a fat bird)

                    ……there was another probable self of hers already at the Worserversity. Harvey Tater would recognise this other version of Goldie when he met her, and although he would be confused as to where she came from, or who she really was, or where he’d seen her before, he would sense a feeling of familiarity. By the same token, the Worserversity self of Goldie (who had been stolen by itinerant French potato pickers shortly after her birth, and renamed Pomme de L’Air) sensed the same feeling of recognition, but had no knowledge of her, er, roots, so to speak, or any of her other potatable selves.

                    #2333

                    “Oh look at that now…”

                    “What?”

                    “The cat’s been throwing up a big spaghetti noodle of half-digested croquettes”

                    “That’s what all this ‘heck heck’ sound was all about then… Is it heart-shaped… at least?”

                    “Not quite… pfft, though it almost spelled out ‘ODD’, if you ask me”

                    #2332

                    “Hang on a minute Harvey,” said Lavender excitedly, “Ann is trying to telepathically communicate with me! …… Oh, she wants to know who YOU are!”

                    “What did you say?”

                    “The truth of course. I told her I have no idea. Why that rude tart! She says I have been bashing her … well, have I been bashing her do you think Harvey?”

                    Harvey looked thoughtful. “Well you were a bit I suppose. You called her tortured. That wasn’t very kind was it?”

                    “hmmmmph, torturous more like. Oh well fair point, but I did try praising her last novel over lunch, and she went all green in the face and said if I didn’t stop being so nice she would throw-up in her spaghetti! …. anyway who are you Harvey and how come we are living together?”

                    “No idea, who are you?”

                    “It is a bit of a mystery isn’t it … remember how we were best friends and you didn’t even know my name for years? How ODD!”

                  Viewing 20 results - 861 through 880 (of 1,254 total)

                  Daily Random Quote

                  • Bert remembered running away when he was a kid. He had run away often. But he never got very far. They always caught him and took him back. The foster homes might look a bit different on the outside, but to him they were all the same. So he just kept running. These memories flitted through his ... · ID #3543 (continued)
                    (next in 06h 00min…)

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