Godelsensei

[COLOR=Gray][FONT=Courier New]Skippedry gets points for telling me about it, but I finally get to start another anime thread again! Yay! : D Genshiken, thus far, has followed the emotional exploits of a University student intensely into anime and manga, who ultimately just wants to fit in with his peers. However, as something that is hardly ever drawn upon, he finds he does not fit in as well as he thought he would. This group of elite otaku all know so much more about videogames and everything else than he does, creating the kind of sense of out-of-placement you'd expect from a sports anime or something within that vein. I was really impressed by how realistic this show felt. I mean, the characters are all unique, even if, thus far, it seems to be in a rather one-dimensional way (first episodes aren't something to go by with this kind of thing, though, of course) and none of them are particularly nasty, either. You feel like you want to dislike them for the prank they pull on our poor protagonist, but they're really okay guys, when you get down to it. (Aside from Saki, who is the Comic Party's Mizuki in this show.) I really appreciated the shot when you see him leaving his room, and you only see the poster of the girls in the swimsuits when he closes the door behind him. (I'd been wondering if they still used sliding doors in Japan, but enough anime has led me, by now, to have a firm enough belief that they do.) The animation style rendered the characters imperfect, yet still unrealistic enough to be nicely stylized, and guessing which anime every one's respective cel-midis belong in makes for an exceptionally good time, also. Something tells me this show is going to make me cry, eventually.^^" Good stuff.[/FONT][/COLOR]

[COLOR=Gray][FONT=Courier New]Half of my school immigrated to Canada less than two years ago, so you're either a fob (I know this term is offensive, but, at my school, people just refer to themselves as such, so it's not really taken as an insult. I wouldn't use it when talking about or with some one who would find it offensive. I use it here because that's the expression we use.), Canadian, or a poser. Everybody hates the posers (you know, the guys who dress like homies and wear ungodly amounts of Axe?), and the rest of the kids just kind of mingle.[/FONT][/COLOR]

[quote name='Tigervx][FONT=Arial][COLOR=Teal]In Canada, they're mostly all Canadians...[/COLOR'][/FONT][/quote] [COLOR=Gray][FONT=Courier New] Eh? O.o Are you implying that the majority of Canadian citizens are of Aboriginal background? Because the opposite is true. Unless you're suggesting that most people here are from either French or British descent, which isn't true either, unless you go to Quebec. (Btw, my comments about Quebecois people were obviously meant to be a joke, though I did find many people quite rude upon my last visit to said province...>_>) I think what most people don't take into consideration with Michael Moore's films and books is that they are constantly receiving the exact opposite ultra-biased point-of-view, as long as they live in the States, whether they realize it or not. Also, I do believe that there are seven million guns in Canada, not four million, but I may be wrong. I know lots of people who hunt for sport (whether or not they actually hit anything, is another story, of course...), and it's not unusual for some one to keep a rifle in their home, especially if they live anywhere north of Kingston. America is also a country that's constantly involved in wars, leading to violence on that scale being emphasized by the news and presidential candidates, if an election is drawing nigh. However, European countries have had their more-than-fair share of wars over the years, so that point doesn't really seem to have the bearing one would expect it to. None of us here seem to be able to figure out what it is, but there is something engrained in the American psyche resulting in far too many senseless gun-related deaths.[/FONT][/COLOR]

[COLOR=Gray][FONT=Courier New]First of all, I'd like to point out that those statistics only cover gun-related killings, which the US is notorious for being home to a very large number of. You could blame it on Manifest Destiny, or the fact that the second point on the US Charter of Rights is that of the freedom to bear arms, but this wouldn't cover the fact that, in Switzerland, every one is required to undergo military training, yet the country has very little gun-related violence. I think that, when you get down to it, it's just American culture. It's like Chinese people being nationalistic or Quebecois people being rude and self-absorbed (barring Wondershot, of course : P). Americans love their guns.[/FONT][/COLOR]

[COLOR=Gray][FONT=Courier New]What can I say? Certain religious groups seem to be a couple hundred years behind, as far as social maturity goes. The first thing that comes to mind, naturally, is the witch hunts, which constituted basically the same thing. Every one knows that the victims of those "trials" just had something material the people who ratted them out wanted, most of the time. Then, it just got crazy, and they started burning people for having green eyes and freckles. Depressing, really. Where's the article, SVP?[/FONT][/COLOR]

[COLOR=Gray][FONT=Courier New]Call me crazy, but I find MM entirely boring. I just don't like the sound to most of his songs, despite the fact that one or two of them do manage to be pretty good by my standards. His image doesn't appeal to me, either--once again, it's gotten dull. Back in the day, it may or may not have been considered new and unusual, but now it seems pretty well, "Eh." As far as I'm concerned, John Five (or whatever strange use of phoenetics he applies to his name, if any) will always just be "that pale guy." [/FONT][/COLOR]

[COLOR=Gray][FONT=Courier New][i]In no particular order...[/i] 1. People with a complete lack of regard for punctionation 2. People who allow themselves to buy into the most obvious of propaganda 3. When people don't know "what" the Ghastlycrumb Tinies are 4. Baseball 5. People who want my parents (and the rest of the province's tax-payers) to pay for their reconstructive sex-change surgery 6. Perfume 7. Fish 8. Peas 9. People with a complete lack of artistic vision 10. The fact that Shirtless Guy was no longer shirtless by the time we walked past his house the second time, last Halloween[/FONT][/COLOR]

[COLOR=Gray][FONT=Courier New]Seeing as I just picked up the collector's addition box and slip-cover (omfgz limited edition!!!1111one), I thought I'd contribute my little bit of fandom to this thread. Normally, I wouldn't give manga or anime involving such a shiny, big-eyed art-style a second glance, as that kind of art just turns me off alot of the time, but something about Comic Party caught my eye. Maybe it was the fact that it was manga about manga? (Or that my hero handed me a volume while I was eating lunch one day, and said, "Hey, read this! This is just how I described you to my friend over the internet!" He was referring to the image of the typical otaku.) Anyway, I really enjoy the characters and the intense absurdity of the plot that manages to be incredibly easy to relate to. The characters are just so adorable, not to mention perfectly suited to the mood. I know it's rash to spend sixty dollars on an anime you've only read one volume of the manga of, but, man, I loved the design in the box-set. So kawaii.^^ And it has Taishii looking like the evil mastermind he is on the top face of the box, too. : 3 (That dude reminds me of a friend of mine, down to the ritual self-disembowlment and everything. >_>") So yes: je l'aime.[/FONT][/COLOR]

[QUOTE=Kane][SIZE=1]I don't get it. Perhaps someone might point out to me what the funny bit is...[/SIZE][/QUOTE] [COLOR=Gray][FONT=Courier New] If you had been keeping up with [URL=http://www.myotaku.com/azurewolf]AzureWolf's myOtaku[/URL] at all of late, you'd know. Just replace "Wesley" with "Azure-jiji" and you've got the joke. ^_~[/FONT][/COLOR]

[COLOR=Gray][FONT=Courier New][i]For Azure-jiji.[/i] [/FONT][/COLOR] The girl was perfect. Her hair fell past her shoulders, not a strand out of place, precisely trimmed bangs covering her forehead, leaving her flawless eyebrows just visible. Her eyes were black (or possibly dark brown) and seemed to rest on nothing in particular, the expression emphasized by her slightly open mouth, accented with perfect, pink lips. Her cheeks had a spectacular rose-coloured hue to them, but the rest of her skin was almost white and seemed to glow. She supported herself on one hand; the other lay limply, yet perfectly, in her lap, resting on the smooth, white fabric of her dress. Her nails were unpainted and cut short, he noted. A flawless being, perfect in every way, barring one thing: she wasn?t real. That is, she wasn?t made of the same stuff as he or any one else was, but rather metal plastic, glass and whatever else was required to put together a life-sized representation of an eerily faultless human female. She was a doll. More over, she was that kind of doll and Wesley wanted one. Not just any one, however: he wanted her, that one. The one with more than just perfect skin and a fawn-like skeleton covered in flawless mock skin. He wanted the one with the dark eyes and open mouth and glowing features. He wanted the one with the white dress and the perfect pink lips. She was $3000, American, and he was undergoing great difficulty in retrieving the URL where he had found the picture of her. Hours of Googling for just about every conceivably related subject or photograph (most led him to nothing but some degree of pornography) proved fruitless, and flipping through every video game, computer, or anime magazine to be a waste of time. Wesley wasn?t about to give up, however: it simply wasn?t the kind of thing Wesley did. So, instead, he began flipping through even the most ancient of phonebooks, stored for half an eternity in an obscure cupboard that wasn?t opened all too often. First, he made a list of all the headings and sub-headings he found that might be able to provide him with information. Then, he looked over it, spent a few moments gathering the gall to ring several locations whose names and numbers brought to mind the kind of place one might contract herpes or syphilis merely by entering, and eventually picked up the telephone. It rang a few times before being answered by a person with a husky voice that he could identify as neither male nor female. He asked them if they sold life-sized Chi dolls. Silence, barring what might have been the pulse of rather offensive music. She or he asked what he meant, and Wesley decided to hang up. He made several other calls, some similar, some quite the opposite, some even professional, but all he got was nothing. And, so, in a spasm of self-loathing and despondency, Wesley was not himself, and gave up. Once Wesley committed to something, he committed to it, and he had committed to giving up by the point where he saw the poster. His commitment didn?t do much to stop him, however. The poster was one of many different ones lining the walls of a stairwell leading up, to a small comic-book shop on the second level of a busy street. He noticed the poster by either fluke or fate in their respective entireties, but didn?t really care which one it was. The poster was the same as the picture; that is, it was of her, the girl, the Chi doll, in a white dress. He stood there, staring at it, for what must have been a long time, because he was jostled rather frequently, and was eventually asked if he was lost. ?Um. No. Just looking.? He turned to leave. Then, he noticed that there were, in fact, stairs leading up to some musty, forgotten door he could not see very clearly, and stopped. He looked at the door for some time, was jostled twice again, and then, slowly, with a strange caution, began his long-awaited ascent. [COLOR=Gray][FONT=Courier New]It's not finished, but the story's origin will quite possibly be a source of amusement when it comes to immature people like myself. [i]Neh[/i], Azure-jiji?[/FONT][/COLOR]

[Quote]I'm betting Shin's Mod Rod it's closed by Monday (GMT) morning.[/Quote] [COLOR=Gray][FONT=Courier New] I'd give it 'til Sunday. In fact, I can't believe this thread's still around right [i]now[/i]. Anyway, my one point I feel like making in response to what I can only assume has or will be passionately stated is that gay marriage doesn't destroy the "bedrock of civilization as we know it." This can be learned by walking down an Ontario street at any hour of the day.[/FONT][/COLOR]

[COLOR=Gray][FONT=Courier New]I actually made this banner because I'm getting tired of PrincessGoneral's lame, imageless signature. I chose this theme because she was telling me about her experiences with this earlier today. Was just wondering what other people thought of it.[/FONT][/COLOR]

[COLOR=Gray][FONT=Courier New]Naruto takes the gold because of its sheer brilliance and the fact that they're freaking NINJAS. The plot twists and details that Kishimotto-sensei works so perfectly to create scenarios that you kick yourself for not being able to see coming (the development and key events are so subtle, it's almost creepy), along with the character designs, are simply stunning. The whole manga has this hard-to-place mood, which is amplified by the clothing and architecture. I love the way everything is so layered when you see shots of Konoha, especially. Everything just sort of...works. : )[/FONT][/COLOR]

[COLOR=Gray][FONT=Courier New]Shinkamaru, you say, Aleia? I don't think his hair is enough of a feather-duster for that, yet. : P Damn, those aliens are sexy. : O On an artistic level, this reminds me of something that could easiy make its way into the modern art levels of the AGO (Art Gallery of Ontario). It really does look like the cover of a lame fifties flick, which has been stated before. : P I like the second one better, btw. You improved on the only there was left to improve. : D[/COLOR] [/FONT]

[COLOR=Gray][FONT=Courier New]I thought "All The Things She Said" had a nice enough sound to it, but when I think of TATU, what immediately comes to mind is Ed the Sock's line, "Gee, we tried the other four walls." I don't have anything against their pretending to be lesbians to attract attention. I mean, there are lots of people posing as things they're not in order to attract attention, so I don't see how the deal could be considered big. o.o"[/FONT][/COLOR]

[COLOR=Gray][FONT=Courier New]I remember getting my braces off and being relieved that no amount of decay had befallen my teeth. I brush them about seven times a day, so I don't know what I was worried about (aside from enamel erosion, I guess...=_="), but I was still relieved. I got my braces off just as they were starting to be considered sexy. What a rotten bit of luck. A retainer's just not the same, I guess--especially when it's broken in several places. I guess I have to find some other way to be sexy, then. : ([/FONT][/COLOR]

[COLOR=Gray][FONT=Courier New]It seems to be an anime trend, as you see any one who's above the average par running in that manner. Maybe it's that Neji and the rest of 'em just run so fast, keeping their arms in front of them would be a waste of energy? Also, when their arms are like that, they're very close to their kunai pouches, whether or not this is realistic.[/FONT][/COLOR]

His eyes ran along the page, following her black nail-polished forefinger more than the words it directed him to. They were all simple words, and she read aloud to him those he could not to her, but he saw the entire language as impenetrable. She had insisted that it was simple and made perfect sense, barring a great deal of the spelling, but he had yet to agree with her. Finally, she gave up on anything but the most basic of words, and started explaining to him where he ought to put them to make himself understood. ?See, in English, you put the verb directly after the noun it relates to, and you don?t need any particles. ?She walks to the store.?? The words were awkward in his mouth as he tried to repeat the phrase to her. He knew what it meant?she had explained it very carefully?and knew what each of the words were doing where, barring ?to? and ?the?, but it came out as some mangled form of Japanese pigeon. ?Shii waukuusu tu zee stoa?? He looked over at Winnie pleadingly, to notice she had an expression of half-masked exasperation on her face. It was nearly one in the morning and they had been working at this for hours now. Keiko and Yukari were in bed, sleeping as far as he knew, and the only sound aside from their voices repeating simple phrases back and forth was the ticking of a few clocks and the traffic outside. He said it over a few more times, each as awkward, if not more so, than the last, and then looked at her again. ?Winnie-san, I don?t understand what those two words mean.? ?Which two words?? She cocked her head slightly to the side. Her orange lips were glossy in the lamplight or, rather, her lipstick was. ?Those two words. ?Tu? and ?zee?. What do they mean? They?re not nouns or verbs, are they?? She shook her head. ?They?re particles.? ?I thought you said you didn?t need particles.? ?Not to connect the noun with the verb it performs. You use the word ?to? with un-conjugated verbs and when stating you are going as far as some place. It?s like the word ?made?, almost. If you said, ?Kanojo wa mise made iku?, it?s the same thing, only the words are in different order, and you don?t use ?wa?.? ?You use ?the? instead of ?wa??? ?No, no?there is no word for ?the? in Japanese, which is why the number of things is confusing sometimes. In Japanese you don?t change the noun based on how many of it there are. ?Hana? is ?hana?. But in English, you?d say ?flower? for one and ?flowers? for more than one. It makes things a lot clearer.? ?But??the? is a separate word. I don?t understand.? He looked at her helplessly, lost in the strange phrases and grammar, resenting his inability to make sense of them. ?Yes, but it is related to the number of a noun. You see, if you have just one of a noun, you either have ?a? flower or ?the? flower. If there is only one of the object in existence?or nearby, readily available, you know what I?m getting at?you use ?the.? So, if I wanted you to pass me a jug of water and there was only one on the table, I would say, ?Toue-san, please pass me the jug of water.?? ?I don?t understand that last sentence. I don?t know the words.? ?Well, I said your name at the beginning, because I was talking to you?but the name of the person you?re talking to doesn?t always go at the beginning, mind you?and then I said, ?please,? which is like saying, ?kudasai,? and then I used the verb ?pass?, which means to pass, and I said ?the jug of water.? There?s only one. Do you understand?? He nodded slowly, working through it in his mind. Then, ?How would I reply to that, Winnie-san?? Her eyes crinkled a little. ?How would you say it, Toue-san? I can?t tell you that. You try.? She let her head rest upon one set of knuckles and smirked. Nobuhiro took a breath and said, softly, ?Yesu. I can passu zee waataa tuu you??? He noticed her bite her lower lip, then nod. ?Yep, that?s pretty much correct. Just one thing?? He looked at her as though he might burst out crying, but that didn?t stop her from continuing. ?You would usually just say, ?Yes,? and I would say, ?thank you,? and you?d say, ?you?re welcome.? You get all that? You know what it means?? ?I think so. Domo to?? ?You?re welcome. That?s right. I think I?ll start saying simple things like that to you in English so they start to sound normal.? She yawned. ?Excuse me,? she said in English and he smiled a little. ?I think I understand those words now, Winnie-san. Thank you very much for helping me with all of this. I?m sorry for bothering you.? She grinned. ?It?s okay. I always wanted to teach English as a second language, anyway.? Her eyes wandered towards the fridge. ?Say, you got anything to drink?? ?Beer?? ?That?d be nice, but I have to drive home.? He got up to see what else he had, a puzzled expression on his face. ?I didn?t see a car outside, Winnie-san. Not a car that doesn?t belong to my neighbors, anyway.? He peered out the front window. ?I don?t have a car. Didn?t you know that? I came here on my bike before.? She raised a scrutinizing eyebrow at him as she took the can of pop from his hand. He sat down next to her again and opened his. The sound of a can being opened was followed by that of fizz building up and spilling all over his lap. ?Oh ******* hell?!? He jumped up, arm with drink at the end of it extended as far from his body as possible, face bright red. The crotch of his pants was soaked in some sort of Asian cherry-ade, giving the same visual effect as if he?d peed himself, something he hadn?t done since his sixth birthday, a memory that had haunted him since that day. Winnie was laughing hysterically, at the other end of the room, where the roll of paper towels was. She tossed it to him just late enough for him to have set the offending soft drink down on the counter. He held it pathetically in one of his hands as he looked back and forth between her and his pants until she turned around and crossed to the other side of the kitchen threshold, saying she wouldn?t look. She was still giggling uncontrollably even as her back was turned, and it was then that it occurred to him the curtains were not drawn and any one walking by could see him as he tried to mop up the pink moisture from his favorite article of clothing, so he, instead, hurried past her and upstairs to change into something less covered in cherry-ade. [COLOR=Gray][FONT=Courier New]It's unbelievable how little control a writer can have over what she's writing. What I wanted to happen in this chapter would have taken a few more pages in Word. I know this is getting more and more typical, but I adore this last bit, and if you have a problem with it...you can go boil your bottom. : P (Yes, I just watched Monty Python's Holy Grail.)[/FONT][/COLOR]

An hour later, Nobuhiro was once again sitting on the subway, going in the opposite direction. The only real difference was that, instead of his brother, he was accompanied by his two nieces, the younger of which insisted upon holding his hand at all times, something he didn?t really mind. It was nearly three o?clock by now, and the trains were a bit busier than before, but not noticeably so. They wouldn?t become unbearably stuffed?something Tokyo?s trains were famous for?for another hour. When the clock stuck four, however, millions of people would board and breathing would become rather difficult for any one unfortunate enough to have to ride the subway to get somewhere that evening. For most people, this was daily routine, however, so they wouldn?t really notice. His nieces would have, though, so he?d arranged to pick them up at a time that basically killed his day on purpose. It wasn?t like he had anywhere to go or anything to do, anyway. When they arrived at the door of his small townhouse, fingers and lips still sticky from the ice creams he, being malleable of heart, had bought them on the last part of the walk home, the phone was ringing. First, he sent them off to the bathroom to wash their hands and faces, then he answered it. Five minutes later, he was frantically punching in Winnie?s phone-number, in hopes that she might be able to teach him any amount of English. ?Moshi-moshi. I am not able to come to the phone right now, so sorry?? He waited for the familiar recording to finish, trying to decipher any amount of the impenetrable syllables towards the end, and, for the first time, actually left a message. ?Winnie-san, It?s Nobuhiro. I?m sorry for bothering you, but I was wondering if you could call me back whenever you get a chance. I need some help with English. Arigato.? She never called him back. She did, however, ring his doorbell at just past seven-thirty that evening, sporting several books under each arm and a dramatically low-cut shirt he somehow managed to take little note of. He had not been expecting her to show up, but was grateful that she had, though the stack of imposing books she handed him, titled in the Roman letters he couldn?t make sense of for the life of him, were cause enough for him to develop a lump of nervousness in his throat. Keiko and Yukari, having heard the doorbell ring, poked their heads around the door to the basement, where they were watching a movie, and, upon seeing some one they?d never met before standing in the front hall, stared in the way small children will. Winnie noticed them and winked, sending them scampering back down the stairs, giggling, then pointed to Nobuhiro?s table, and said, simply, ?Sit.? He did so. There was a strange look in Winnie?s eyes?one he hadn?t seen before. Her face was the face of some one who didn?t make a habit out of getting drunk with men she barely knew. This struck him as highly unusual and he wondered if it was actually possible for some people to be serious. ?Alright, Toue-san, how much English do you know?? ?Um. I can say, ?Hello? and ?Goodbye?, and ?This is the house of my aunt,? and that?s it.? She licked her upper lip?it looked thinner than he remembered?thoughtfully and handed him the thinnest of the books. The rest she left in an overwhelming pile on the dining table, in front of them. The book in her hands was illustrated, obviously for children, and none of the words looked very long. ?Can you read this, Toue-san?? ?I can read this word: cat.? He paused and looked over at her. ?What does that mean, Winnie-san?? She sighed, took the book from him, muttered something in her own tongue, and told him. ?Neko. Neko desu. See?? She pointed to the illustration of an orange cat. ?I guess you?re going to have to learn to read the alphabet all over again then, Toue-san. Why the sudden interest in English, anyway?? ?Since I can?t help Watanabe-sensei with the comic right now, they are sending me to a function somewhere in America.? ?A function?? She looked at him for a few seconds, then her expression softened and she burst into a fit of giggles. ?They?re sending you to a con, aren?t they, Toue-san?? Her visage was back to the one he knew again, and he wondered what she found so funny. ?Um. Yes. I guess so. What?s wrong?? ?Nothing, nothing. You?ll see. When is this thing?? ?Two weeks.? Winnie?s eyes did not nearly pop out of her head, the blood did not drain from her face, she did not gawk at him for suggesting she do the impossible task of teaching him a language in two weeks. She just grinned and shoved the book in his face again. ?You learned this in school, Toue-san. Now I want you to read this. To know what the title is and what it means by the time I get back from the washroom.? She stood up and left the room, leaving him alone with what he couldn?t have known was a bastardized, children?s version of Puss In Boots. [COLOR=Gray][FONT=Courier New]It took me three tries to come up with a decent chapter. I know what I want to do with this story next, but creating a proper segue proved rather difficult. Sorry if things are a little to predictable/cliche. : /[/FONT][/COLOR]

[COLOR=Gray][FONT=Courier New]Do you know how rare it is to find something so short with so much significance? [i]Rare[/i]. Like Aleia and Mimmi said, this piece is exquisite--everything is completely and utterly clear. Very pretty.[/FONT][/COLOR]

[COLOR=Gray][FONT=Courier New]Ultimately, nothing has a purpose. I don't believe in Judgement Day or any kind of afterlife; the only meaning life has is that which you give it. Humanity has its own purpose, and that's been good enough for us, so far. Here's a suggestion for purpose: let's band together and make sure that, if there isn't gonna be any hockey, the Globe wont try and replace it with baseball. *rage* That front page makes me angry.[/FONT][/COLOR]

When I was six years old, my family moved into a house in the city. The house wasn?t much to speak of, was just a normal house, with three bedrooms (one for me, one for my brother, and one for our parents), two bathrooms, and a nicely sized kitchen. It had a backyard and a front yard, both of which were rather lacking in the way of grass, something that wasn?t helped by family?s always being busy. Sure, dad cut the lawn ever week or so (or told Tom?that?s my brother?s name?to, promising to pay him a few dollars for it, which he rarely did), but it was still forever scraggly, giving the impression that the occupants of the house were particularly well-off college students. There were never any toys on the lawn or driveway, and my parents never really had much appreciation for sidewalk chalk drawings. We didn?t have many friends in the neighborhood, and had no dogs, so no one really seemed to know my brother and I (especially me?I wasn?t allowed outside by myself in the city) even existed. I spent most of my time drawing pictures in chunky marker, then sticking them to the fridge, wondering if any one would grant them approval. They were either taken down in a matter of days or simply ignored. Then, one day, some one had left the garage door open. I had snuck out of the house for a few minutes (with no intentions of leaving the property, mind you; I just felt like stepping out) and noticed this. Having been in the garage only a handful of times, and having never actually looked through the things that were in there, I decided it would be worth a look. I dug through old badminton rackets and some stools and boxes full of old books and magazines. I found some bags full of clothes that might have been intended for the Salvation Army at some point in time and didn?t notice when I somehow sustained several splotches of bicycle grease, not only on my arms and hands, but on my face. Eventually, I found him. He wasn?t a big man?was smaller than the six-year-old me, in fact?and didn?t really look like a man at all when you really looked at him. He had a pug nose and spindly arms and legs and was an unusual green colour. When I asked him what he was doing hiding behind my father?s tools, he stared up at me with large, unblinking yellow eyes, and then said, ?What are you doing here?? I told him this was my garage and not his and that it wasn?t his business. ?But it isn?t your garage?I haven?t seen you here before.? ?It?s my garage.? I pointed to the array of screwdrivers and saws and other things I had little understanding of how to use and when and pointed out that they were my father?s. ?So it is your father?s garage.? ?Yes. You?re not allowed to be here. If Mommy sees you here, she?ll be mad.? He seemed to consider this, and then asked if I would tell her he was there. It was my turn to consider, and then I responded with a simple, ?No. I like you. My brother said there were monsters and that they?d eat pull open my stomach and eat my bowels but I think you?re a very nice monster.? He did something with his facial features that must have somehow constituted a smile, and said he thought he was a very nice monster, too, and that I was a very nice little girl. ?I?m not little. Mister Monster, what?s a bowel? I asked my Mommy and she said to tell my brother not to say bad things like that about them getting eaten.? He seemed to ponder this for a while, and then said, ?I don?t know what a bowel is. I?m sorry. I?ve been sitting in this garage for such a long time, I don?t know what many things are any more.? ?Were you born here?? I was squatting now, so as to be at eye-level with him. ?I don?t know. I?m very old. How old are you?? ?I?m six. My birthday is in three months.? ?Ahh? Yes, I think I might be six, too. Is six very old?? ?My brother?s older. He?s twelve.? It never occurred to me to consider the age of my parents. Regardless, the little man seemed shocked by this and said that my brother must be very wise and asked if I would tell him a story. ?I don?t know many stories, Mister Monster.? ?I do.? ?Really?? He nodded and I, now utterly and irrevocably intrigued with him, sat down cross-legged in the dust and dirt. ?I know one story. About a cat.? ?A cat?? ?Yes. Do you like cats?? I nodded and he said that he did, too. ?Well, this wasn?t an ordinary cat?what?s your name?? ?Dolly.? ?Very pretty. Well, Dolly, you see, this cat could do things that no other cats could do.? I leaned forward, my eyes wide, anticipating his next words, unable to hide my curiosity as to just what was so special about this cat he seemed to know so much about. ?This cat could fly, Dolly.? ?I don?t believe that.? I narrowed my eyes and crossed my arms. ?No cat can fly. It isn?t possible.? ?This cat could.? ?How?? ?Why not?? ?Because?because gravity.? ?What?? ?Gravity. It?s this sticky stuff that the Earth is covered in and it keeps us from flying up into space.? He looked at me and said, in all seriousness, ?If gravity was real, Dolly, how could there be birds?? I stared at him for a few seconds, thinking about this. Birds could fly. That was what made them birds. If gravity kept everything stuck to the Earth, how could there be birds? The little man?s logic was impossible to counter, so I said nothing, just nodded my head obediently. ?Anyway, this cat. She could fly. She flew everywhere, and she saved babies who were in the top level of burning buildings, and she caught people?s umbrellas that flew away and gave them back, and she could do anything. She was like a super hero, just with whiskers.? Then, a sad expression came over the little man?s face. ?But she disappeared a long time ago, Dolly.? ?What happened to her?? ?I don?t know.? We sat there, together, in the garage, among my father?s old tools and my mother?s old magazines, thinking about the cat. I imagined she had to be orange and very big. She would have long, proud whiskers and when she purred you could hear it ten kilometers away. Maybe farther. Eventually, my mother came looking for me because it was time for dinner. I said good-bye to the little man and told him I would come back to see him tomorrow. My mother did not introduce herself to him, though he made an effort to be polite and to explain his being in the garage. She didn?t notice, and instead told me not to get my new clothes dirty and that she wasn?t hand-washing my ruined shirt. Dinner was spaghetti with meat sauce and it was very good, and my father said this to my mother, who said ?Hm.? No one said anything else for the rest of the meal, aside from my brother excusing himself on the premise that he had to finish his homework. I didn?t believe he was actually going to do his homework, but I didn?t say anything. That night, I asked my mother if cats could fly. She said no and asked who had told me they could. I said it was a little green man in our garage with big eyes who wasn?t a bad monster and who said he wouldn?t eat my bowels even though he didn?t really know what they were and then she told me not to make things up. ?Sure cats can fly.? My brother was standing in my doorway, but not for long, because my mother was telling him to go to bed and that she didn?t care if it was too early, he was still a growing boy who needed his sleep. He said he never got it anyway, but she didn?t listen. The next morning, I asked him if it was true and if cats really could fly or if it was just the one cat. ?What are you talking about?? He looked at me with blue-black bags under his eyes that said he didn?t want to be awake right now and that his cereal didn?t taste all that good, and I didn?t ask him again. But I still wondered. I wondered and wondered and wondered. Until my birthday, I wondered, and I would have asked the little man if he knew anything else about cats or any more stories but he never came back and then dad cleared out the garage and then he cleared out his dresser and his closet and took the car and my mother never really told me where he was going when I asked. It was the middle of the afternoon when I saw it, crossing the road, big, orange, and thick-furred. Her eyes were green and she yawned before crossing the road, and I was suddenly reminded of the cat that had saved umbrellas. I wondered if it was true and if any cat could really fly and if this was the cat, since she did look just like her, and I stood up. I was about to run towards the cat and pat it on the head or rub its tummy when the car came by too fast. It shouldn?t have been going that fast on a street where people lived; that much, I knew. The cat began to cross the street. The car didn?t slow down. The cat flew through the air, a shrieking streak of orange and red, and all of a sudden there were more cats lying at the side of the road than had been hit by the car in the first place and I thought maybe I should get my mother, and so I did. ?Oh, the poor thing, and her kittens, too.? My mother looked very sad when she said that, but it turned out that was because the lawyer had just called her about something she and my father had been fighting over (my brother told me all of this), but right then I thought she really was sad because the cat had been hit by the car and she put her arm around me and I asked if she could help the cat. ?I can?t bring back dead things, Dolly.? Then, she got up and went back inside the house and I wondered if she had cared about the cat at all, or if she had just been pretending to make me feel better or if she thought she should feel sorry for the cat and that was why. I stood outside, at the side of the road, on our scraggly lawn (growing scragglier), staring at the cat and her kittens, wondering if my mother would have let me keep one if they hadn?t been hit by the car, and it was then that I realized that anything could fly if you hit it hard enough and that the little green man with the yellow eyes had never existed in the first place and that my father wasn?t coming back and that magic wasn?t real and that the world was an unfair place. Then, I turned around and went back inside, and I did not think of the flying cat again. [COLOR=Gray] [FONT=Courier New]I got the idea for this story after reading one of Sarah's posts in the Roadkill thread. As for the little green man...I have no idea, aside from the fact that he's somewhat based on Skellig (however one might spell it).[/FONT][/COLOR]

[COLOR=Gray][FONT=Courier New]Wear braces or a retainer for a few years and you feel naked without them. I find the same is true of sweaters with me, alot of the time. I don't know why, but when I'm wearing a sweater, I just feel more comfortable. It's like there's some sort of barrier between me and all those annoying people out there. Hm. Sunglasses are cool, by the way. : 3[/FONT][/COLOR]

[quote name='Rhian][size=1][font=veranda][color=indigo]Exactly. :p All that will be left are cockroaches and twinkies. XD[/size][/font'][/color][/quote] [COLOR=Gray][FONT=Courier New] Actually, I heard on the news the other day that they were, quite possibly, going to stop making Twinkies. So that leaves us with the cockroaches. I'm fairly certain the end of the world (or at least humanity) will be due to either nuclear warfair or GM foods causing various major cities' populations to turn into flesh-craving zombies that will rip out our bowles and devour them with undead glee. I intend to be dead by then, and I don't really mind the fact that whatever I do in this life has no real bearing on the universe at large. It's up to humanity to give itself meaning for its own purposes, whether or not it amounts to anything in the long run.[/FONT][/COLOR]

[COLOR=Gray][FONT=Courier New]Did some one say Haruka Kanata? No? Well, that's because you're all crazy. The song is full of energy, and the bass manages to bounce all over the place, giving the impression that something very important is going on. The dark shading and snippets of battle scenes, hinting at certain techniques and character traits we are not yet aware of, are simply beautiful and the whole deal just sets the mood of the show perfectly. The last few seconds are my favourite out of the whole thing, where we see the characters standing in formation that we begin to understand as the show progresses, looking cut-up and like they've been through everything (which some of 'em have). Great stuff there. Also, the Paranoia Agent OP, with its overwhelming amount of symbolism and crazy alternative beat and vocals is simply stunning. One seems to notice something new every time one watches that opening, especially when it is pared with its ending. (The fact that they're all about to die in the OP, and then that they're dead in the ED is quite creepy.) It's also just a fun song to sing. : 3 And, of course... NaruTaru. The harmonica, the drums, the vocals, the animation. Sheer. Genius. It's one of those insane opening themes that makes you cry by the end of the series, because you understand it by that point (hard as this may be to believe). That's right, Skippedry: you simply missed out on the last twelve episodes of a magnificent series. T_T[/FONT][/COLOR]