Creepy Vlog.

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There’s not much more to say.

…and that’s why I wasn’t cast as Bane…

Disorderly Desks and Other Things

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I do believe I have a serious problem, particularly pertaining to my desk(s). I simply cannot seem to keep them organized. I have a fairly decent system. Books go in a pile in the corner, pens go in that cup, other pens go in that other cup… more pens go in the other three cups. (I have a lot of pens.) I just can’t seem to maintain that system. It’s never a conscious rebellion; I just place something on my desk, and soon it’s invited all of its friends and relatives to the party. “Oh, hello Laser Pointer! I heard that we’re having a Hang Out on Chris’ Desk Party,” said the stapler to the laser pointer. 

It’d be pretty awesome if my desk was somewhat sentient. I don’t want it to be completely so, but maybe just enough to the point that when I placed something out of place, it would rebel and knock it off or incinerate it or something. “RAWR! You do not belong here, shoelaces!” *fwoosh* And thus I had to buy new shoelaces… again. 

Though, I suppose that could be a problem. Bunny Has a Book - Poorly Drawn Lines If my desk were intelligent enough to distinguish between acceptable objects and not, then I might have larger problems on my hands than just untidiness. The Night of the Living Desks. Also, desk civil rights? 

But seriously, I’m not sure that I’ll ever really solve this problem. I think it might be genetic. Somewhere in the Human Genome Sequence is a thread for tendencies towards having untidy desks. I’m sure all the important scientists are working on the problem now. Right? Of course right!

And now for something completely different.

I feel that I have neglected Pop Tarts for far too long now. My heart has yearned to write of them, and my taste buds have longed for the sensations of their delightfulfullness and magnificence. My toaster has sat waiting patiently, yet mournfully. My cabinets, though by no means empty, have long looked as though they’re missing some vital component. These very words pain me to write, yet I feel that I must. Maybe I’ll pick some up at Walmart today… 

Bye for now!

~ XK

The Physical Intangible

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A tuba sat next to the wall – neglected by all appearances. The dust was thick on most surfaces, and anybody could tell what was used regularly by the lack of dust. A fairly-clean pair of glasses sat next to an extremely dusty old television set, and a barely-visible stack of envelopes sat next to a somewhat polished typewriter.

The furniture was that of a bachelor. A single armchair sat in the corner, next to a small round side-table. A few books, mostly classics, were piled on the table. The wood floor was spotted here and there with throw rugs of various shapes and smells. An ancient phonograph hummed from its stand, some vaguely familiar tune. A man sat in the chair, talking to an uninterested cat.  

“…and to be honest, I was treated with… um… utter… uh… hold on…”

The man stood up and half-walked, half-stumbled over to the opposite wall, which, other than the man himself, was the most interesting aspect of the room. Dressed in some form of loose-fitting night clothes, he looked rather ridiculous as he shuffled across the living room floor. His hair was disheveled and his beard fluffed out like an upside-down afro. The cat twitched his tail and turned his head to follow his human. The cat glanced briefly at the wall as his human reached it, but cats really aren’t interested in most inanimate things that can’t be made to roll across the floor.

The wall was one of those impressive bookshelves that one might find in an old library or mansion. A ladder on rollers was fitted to the wall, and the man could reach any part of any shelf by merely rolling the ladder back and forth, which he often did just to amuse himself. The shelves, ladder, and contents of the shelves, I might add, were the cleanest things in the room. Not a trace of dust was to be found on any of them.

“Umm…. Let’s see here,” the man muttered and mumbled under his breath as he slid expertly on the ladder along the wall.

“con… con.. continent, California, caliphate, concentrate, congenial, oh.. wait… gee…” he slid back along the wall in the other direction.

He rummaged through the objects on the shelves as he went.

“Ah ha! Geniality! It was right on the tip of my tongue; I could picture it and hear it, but I couldn’t say it, Tabs.” The cat watched a fly buzz around the room. “Yes, it was a welcoming atmosphere, to be sure, but I….” his voice droned on as the fly came just a bit too close to Tabs.

The man placed the little carving of “geniality” back on the shelf. The words all quivered as he climbed back down the ladder. Tens of thousands of combinations of letters. They all sat proudly in their spots in his physical vocabulary.

“Anyway… huh… you don’t care, do you, Tabs?” He picked up his book and began to read. “Ooh… there’s a new one.” Setting his book back on the little table, he set to work whittling a few letters out a block of wood, and Tabs batted the wood shavings as they fell.

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