OrangeJulies

[COLOR=DarkSlateGray]Frauka did not pack light. This was the unfortunate lesson learned by the family members who had volunteered to help her prepare for her journey, and had spent the last hour of their afternoon fighting to get her luggage up the staircase. Inside her quarters, Frauka had waited until her makeshift stewards had left the room before retreiving her last travel accessory. It involved removing her several-volume set of Gibbon from a bookshelf and blowing the loosened plaster off a long, wide leatherbound case wedged up against the wall. She removed her gun from its box and, making sure it was clean and ready to fire - it always was, seeing as she cleaned it even when not in use - placed it nonchalantly in the depths of her coat. She never left the underground kingdom of the Society without it. In fact, she rarely left her room without it. After a last inspection of her room, Frauka gave herself a nod of approval and went out. Miasnik was blocking the door. "Cousin," she hissed, fighting down a glare, "how good of you to stop by."[/COLOR]

I just bought a couple CDs within a few days of each other. One is a greatest hits compilation for Tower of Power, and the other is The Flaming Lips' [i]At War with the Mystics[/i]. I'd never heard any Flaming Lips before, so it was a pretty neat surprise to find myself listening to the album almost nonstop for the past few days. Alt rock has always been this unexpected little niche I'm able to fit into. And Tower of Power is just awesome any way you look at it.

[COLOR=DarkOliveGreen]Frauka read by lamplight. This was done strictly with an oil lamp whenever possible, but even in the confines of the Society's many underground locales, musty and ancient in their own catacomb manner, such things were difficult to locate. So it was that the blonde-haired angel of their dark ministry sought haven in her room in England, in her antique chair next to her antique desk, antique lamp nearby and with an antique book in her hands. As ever, her same contented smile perched on her lips, like a hawk waiting to swoop at its next victim. While her cousin Miasnik sprawled around his own living quarters reading his trifling spy novels - and how ridiculous they were! - she was perusing [i]Dracula[/i] for the fourth time. [i]Real[/i] literature. There was an electric light fixture in the middle of the ceiling, with a cloud of dust blooming in the center of the hanging glass globe. Not even in this corner of her world did the modernity of the outside fail to penetrate. So it was that she heard the envelope skid under her door, set her book down, and stood to retrieve it. Her smile widened, toothy and malevolent, as it did when she felt something exciting on the horizon. She was being dispatched again at last, to the mainland. The letter was abnormally short and devoid of details, promising more instructions to follow. "So," she mumbled with a faint chuckle, "things may finally be in motion." Frauka adjusted her glasses with academic severity, sat down at her desk, and reached for a quill pen. Licking the nib before giving it a quick dip in the inkpot, she reached for a rough sheet of parchment paper and prepared to make the necessary arrangements for while she would be abroad.[/COLOR]

[QUOTE=mewmewninja45]There is one funny song that I recall from the movie The Producers. (:A/N Man, that was a funny movie. :laugh: ) And I belive the song was called Spring time for Hitler. (Sorry if anyone is hurt this song) Though I can't recall all the lyrics though. To bad :huh: Well, anyway do any of you know that song and/or movie?[/QUOTE] Heard of it, yes. I haven't seen either of the movies, but I know one line of the chorus to that song. XP Here's the lyrics to "Poisoning Pigeons in the Park": Spring is here, a-suh-puh-ring is here Life is skittles and life is beer I think the loveliest time of the year is the spring I do. Don't you? 'Course you do But there's one thing that makes spring complete for me And makes every Sunday a treat for me All the world seems in tune On a spring afternoon When we're poisoning pigeons in the park Every Sunday you'll see My sweetheart and me As we poison the pigeons in the park When they see us coming, the birdies all try and hide But they still go for peanuts when coated with cyanide The sun's shining bright Everything seems all right When we're poisoning pigeons in the park We've gained notoriety And caused much anxiety In the Audubon Society With our games They call it impiety And lack of propriety And quite a variety Of unpleasant names But it's not against any religion To want to dispose of a pigeon So if Sunday you're free Why don't you come with me And we'll poison the pigeons in the park And maybe we'll do In a squirrel or two While we're poisoning pigeons in the park Well murder them all amid laughter and merriment Except for the few we take home to experiment My pulse will be quickenin' With each drop of strychinine We feed to a pigeon It just takes a smidgin! To poison a pigeon in the park

[quote name='Billy Shears]Pick up [B]Stadium Arcadium[/B] by the[B] Red Hot Chili Peppers[/B'], cause its freaking amazing[/quote] I second that! Great album. The Who have been my favorite band for over a year now and I can't see that changing anytime soon, if at all. But recently I've gotten really interested in Beck.

[COLOR=DarkRed][SIZE=1]Arrhenius wasn't quite sure how he had gotten there. If he closed his eyes, he could pick a few random, chaotic images from the darkness: the hard wood of a pub table yawning out in front of him, chin in a puddle of beer - being dragged to his feet - being dragged somewhere else - still being dragged - some disgruntled muttering asking if anyone knew any charms to get a man sober. Some kind of bodily... [i]noise[/i] and a groan of disgust. The most recent thing he could remember was being slapped in the face a good few times and shoved forward into the office of Archchancellor Ridcully - someone he had shared a few good dinners with, but had never really spoken to back when he was an old man. ...Blast, that [i]still[/i] didn't sound right when he thought it. He had the feeling that Ridcully was eyeing him. Warily. And probably not just because there was a veritable desert of stubble reaching out on either side of the small fuzzy worm he called a goatee. The last time Ridcully had seen him - before the incident, of course - that stubble was a flowing white beard, full of wisdom and cliche. The bags under Arrhenius' eyes had been from old age, not long nights with only liquor and loose wome- um, it didn't bear thinking about, for a proper wizard - for company. "So..." Arrhenius flicked his gaze over the others lined up in front of Ridcully's desk, and for the moment pretended they weren't there. "When you said I would 'never again set foot inside the doors of the University,' did one of us misunderstand? Because I thought it was crystal clear."[/SIZE][/COLOR]

[quote name='Billy Shears]You should buy [B]The Who: Live at the Isle of Wight Festival 1970[/B] DVD. I bought it for $10 at Best Buy. Its got an interview with Pete Townshend and a couple other extras. Their performance is stunning. They play all of [I]Tommy[/I'], and I wetted myself. Greatest live band ever, no questions asked. I cannot put it in any other term.[/quote] Already got it. :D It is indeed a great concert. I fancy [i]The Kids Are Alright[/i] as well, if not more. I always considered the Who rather low on pyrotechnics (e.g., in Isle of Wight you only get the fancy lighting at the end of the [i]Tommy[/i] segment). Not sure how it is now but if I get to see them on their current tour I'll know. :P As for gimmicks... well, Pete [i]says[/i] he's done with smash-ups...

First and foremost, anything by Tom Lehrer. But especially "Poisoning Pigeons in the Park." There are parts of songs that really make me laugh out loud - small interjections, like in "If I Had $1000000" by the Barenaked Ladies ("I would buy you a green dress/But not a real green dress, that's cruel") or "Tribute" by Tenacious D ("You really should have been there/Just a matter of opinon"). "City Hall" by Tenacious D is another good one, as is "Odorono" by The Who, which probably gets my prize for most clever song.

[SIZE=1][COLOR=DarkOliveGreen][b]Name:[/b] Frauka Benedikt [b]Age:[/b] 37 [b]Nationality:[/b] German [b]Faction:[/b] Society of Blood [b]Weapons/Items:[/b] Her gun is custom made, as lovingly crafted as an instrument of death can be. The barrel is abnormally long and two bars of steel protrude from the midsection, making it crosslike in appearance (and handy as a melee weapon). It may be intimidating, but each clip contains only six shots, and is specially molded to fit the magazine. So while she may be a good shot, replenishing ammunition is a problem. Frauka may know some hand-to-hand tactics, but her lanky frame is fairly easy to overcome in close quarters. [b]Appearance:[/b] Standing at 5?11?, this lanky, sharp-featured woman has the hair of an angel and the grin of the devil. Her hair is pale blonde, and when motionless lies as flat as it would were she in a casket. She is never without her round sunglasses, heavily treated to protect her glassy green eyes from the sun, but not quite opaque enough to fully conceal her stare. She wears a long cobalt trenchcoat with white trim, embroidered with fleurs-de-lis at the corners and at the collar, a white blouse with long, hanging sleeves, a pale blue sleeveless vest, and dark blue trousers tucked into long boots, sharply pointed at the toes. [b]Personality:[/b] Frauka is cool but not cold; arrogant but not boastful; slow to anger but quick to violence. She is always smiling, a toothy, ironically wolflike simper, as if at some private joke. Frauka is intelligent, well-read, and though obviously isolated from it, has learned a few things about the state of the outside world. She is not impressed. Everything of cultural value, all important scientific advancements, she believes reached their peak in the 19th century. The 20th, and now the 21st, bore her to no end, and only serve to expedite her distaste for anything outside of the Society?s cause. Her dislike of the outside world is second only to that of her cousin, Miasnik. She finds his obsession with that world disgusting, and his presence in the organization only fuels their grim rivalry. If anything can make her grimace, it?s Miasnik. [b]Biography:[/b] As a member of the sprawling family that is the Society, Frauka?s home situation was more businesslike and formal than nurturing or friendly. When normal girls were playing with dolls she was handling guns, in preparation for any retaliation against the Society that would come with the release of the beast. Constant comparison with her loathsome cousin, Miasnik, drove her even further out of anything resembling a warm or familial background. To further prepare her for the day she would fight the Brotherhood in the open, she was given materials with which to study the outside world. She became enamored with it ? as it was 100 years ago. Everything since the early 1900s irritates her; she is fascinated with the world of steam trains and gaslit nights, and even a little love for the wild west has seeped into her. She is content to recline in her study, playing phonograph records of classic operas, reading the works of the so-called great thinkers whom she admires and disdains with equal fervency. Born in Germany and to German parents, Frauka was nevertheless instructed in the English language, considering its ubiquity in the outside world. Taught from an early age, her German accent is for the most part nonexistent, but rather is British like that of her tutor. She also knows a smattering of French and just enough of the other languages one needs to get by with on the European continent. Over the years her training and her inclusion in some spy missions aboveground have left her a capable servant to the Society. However, one mission several years ago in which she was teamed with Miasnik was not a success. When they both attempted to glean information from a London informant, their fierce one-upmanship lost them their objective. At 37, Frauka is aware that she is rapidly approaching the age when she may outlive her usefulness. Like any fervent devotee to a cause, though, she believes that she is merely one part of a greater whole that will move toward its purpose even after she is gone.[/COLOR][/SIZE]

As far as CDs go, The Who's [I]Live at Leeds[/I] is by far the best thing I've heard, ever. I hear it's often regarded as tops among most live albums in general, even though it's over 30 years old. Unfortunately I've only seen one rock band in concert, and that was George Thorogood and the Destroyers. It was a rush being only a few rows back from the guys who did greats like "Bad to the Bone." They were also great performers, but I don't remember if they did a lot of improv or whatnot (that was four years ago, which feels like a long time for me).

[SIZE=1][COLOR=SeaGreen][B]Name:[/B] Arrhenius Fnord [B]Age:[/B] He has been on the Disc 69 years in total, but for all intents and purposes, is 24. It?s not all it?s cracked up to be? [B]Profession:[/B] Wizard, at one time affiliated with Unseen University. About four years ago, those ties became very, very remote. [B]Backstory:[/B] What can we say about Arrhenius? first 65 years on the disc? Frankly, not a lot. He grew up, went to school, had very few misadventures as a youth, and by and large followed all the rules. His class at UU voted him Most Likely To Bore His Biographer To Death. The most interesting thing that happened was his admittance to UU and his subsequent training and research there. The only truly gratifying thing we can say about Arrhenius is that he is thirsty for knowledge and is always striving to learn, but even there he manages to elude our approval. His thirst led him to dabble with magic that is largely considered to be un-dabble-able, at least by popular opinion on what is Right and Moral and Sane. One morning four years ago, some wizards discovered a stranger in Arrhenius? research cell. He was young, almost handsome, but rather twitchy and irritated. Upon questioning, it was revealed that he was in fact Arrhenius Fnord. Certainly, some privileges go with being 24 for the second time. The crick in his back is gone now, the ladies no longer look at him with revulsion (for the most part, anyway), and he?ll make sure NEVER to drink too much in that one pub in south Ankh-Morpork again. However, there are some drawbacks, the most important of which is that when he summoned whatever he did, he bartered away something important. Upon reaching the age of 65 (again), he is sentenced to eternity in the Dungeon Dimensions ? a fact he only learned after his dabbling was complete. After the incident, the wizards asked Arrhenius, in not-so-polite-terms, to keep to himself, lest his embarrassment be connected with their institution. Plagued by the knowledge of his fate, Arrhenius wasted away in the streets of Ankh-Morpork until UU called him back on a little errand ? assassinate a rogue painter. [B]Personality:[/B] Up until a few years ago, he was generally nice, friendly, moderately outgoing and generous, and followed the rules. In short, dull as dishwater. After a lifetime of being like this, though, it?s quite possible to snap, and snap he did. Today?s Arrhenius is sneering, whiny, quick to anger and threats, and a touch arrogant; he?d fit in very well at your common preschool. [B]Stuff:[/B] A small-brimmed, pointed hat, and grungy traveling robes; a snuff box, to feed a habit he retained from his old age; and this little orange fuzzy caterpillar on his chin ? oh, wait, that?s a goatee. [B]Talents:[/B] Whining, a few shoddy spells made worse through four years out of UU roaming the streets of Ankh-Morpork. He has an occasional spurt of ingenuity, very little of which is helpful. [B]Gender:[/B] Male.[/COLOR][/SIZE]