Saturday, April 24, 2010

T-Shirt of Oarsum Timing!

SharkPuppet: Evening.
SirTessa: HIIIIIII!
SharkPuppet: You're..."perky"...tonight.
SirTessa: Yes! I am!
SharkPuppet: Come on. Just say it. I'm not going to ask, so just say it.
SirTessa: ...

ONE. DUCKING. HUNDRED. DUCKING. THOUSAND. WORDS.

BOOYAH MUTHADUCKA.


SharkPuppet: Nice screencap.
SirTessa: Innit just? A golden moment, pure fried gold with chips.
SharkPuppet: I hear you overshot by 23 words and had to do a quick count, ctrl-x and ctrl-z to get that screencap.
SirTessa: ...shuttup, SharkPuppet.
SharkPuppet: You can't even pretend to be affronted. Get your glee out of your system and stop fidgeting already. Dance, you stupid monkey.
SirTessa: :D



Section 1(a): Withheld from public consumption due to being complete and utter shit from a bull.

I never claimed any of those one hundred thousand words were any good.

8 comments:

  1. Yee-hah! And another "Yee-hah!" for good measure. That's a very nice number. Very nice. Very round. I hope I get to read the words, when they're fully baked.

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  2. Milestone! (But I hope you don't have to cut off a finger joint every hundred thousand words.)

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  3. I hope the words are read one day too, Gillian (although right now they're doomed to stay locked in a box under the bed forever).

    I am...what? David, do you know something I don't? I'm not sure I'd have started on this whole writing malarkey if I knew there was mutilation involved.

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  4. Hey, you're the one with the scary bandage.

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  5. That's not a bandage.







    That's Shark Puppet's cloaca.

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  6. I just figured that out.

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  7. Let me say, then, I hope you don't have to stick some body part in some cartilaginous orifice every hundred thousand words.

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