Search Results: 19 messages were found

I think I'm going to miss this place...

Oh lawd, I loves it. You guys?

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RICK!

I've got plenty of everything, just send me a tell or email with your offer.

Zdn1 and I finally cracked the Zion Archive's 128-bit code, thus starting a spree of peeping into the personal quarters of Matrix characters, and absurd views of sets.

Here's the greatest hits.

Apparently, Zion gets to their meetings via BOAT.

The Oracle's Cigarettes are CRUISE CONTROL FOR COOL

This might even be better that "Apes In Space"

Even Ole' Deadbolt has a hobby. Albeit a weird one.

Neo's Memorial

And finally, if anyone wants the access codes to the Zion mainframes... *ahem... Agent Gray?*

Ever want to know what it's like to touch Nirvana?

Eat an entire box of Post Blueberry Morning Cereal in one sitting, after not having eaten in 29 hours.

m2.wav - 2.52MB

Oh, yes.

I've struck again.

I think it goes without saying that I didn't write this. No matter how I got it.

It's Iovai's Birthday! WOO!

P.S: If that title actually fooled you, you fail at life.

Pallor Mortis

"The Signs are all around, Kelly."

Chemuel sat reclined in one of the black velvet couches of Club Succubus, her black cocktail dress immaculate, a black mink coat draped across her slim shoulders. Next to her sat Sororitas, clad in a simple white shirt and black slacks, her businesslike image clashing violently with Chemuel's criminal-underworld-chic.

"What "signs", Dylan?"

"Take heed that no one deceives you. For many will come in His name; saying, "I am He" and will deceive many."

"Morpheus..."

"And you will hear wars and rumors of wars. See that you are not troubled; for all these things must come to pass, but the end is not yet. For nation will rise against nation, and Kingdom against kingdom."

"The end of the Truce..."

"And there will be famines and pestilences... All these things are the beginning of the sorrows."

For a long time, Sororitas was silent. Slowly, calmly, Chemuel set down her cigarette, and reached out her hand, laying it across the other girl's.

"Whatever you choose, know that I will still watch over you."

Algor Mortis

Chemuel lounged across her couch in Succubus, a cigarette dangling from her delicate lips. A flustered operative ran into the room, his face creased with worry.

"The Truce has fallen, Chemuel! We have to get to Vanil... or Morraeon, somebody!"

"I know, Ampelos, but we will not flee to the temptation of those two."

"Well, it's too damned late. I already called Vanil. He sent some flunkies to meet us at Sanguine."

"That was a mistake, Ampelos."

"Like hell it was! We're going to die unless we've someone powerful on our side. Let's go!"

"Some power is not worth its cost, Ampelos; but very well. I'll go."

"You mean we'll go..."

"I'll go."

"Huh?"

"And I will strike down with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brethren. And you will know my name when I lay my vengeance upon you."

"What?"

"Goodbye, old friend."

A shot rang out, and then all was silent once more.

Rigor Mortis

"Where the hell is that *CENSORED*?"

"Shut up. If Lord Vanil says we're supposed to treat her nice, then we do, got it?"

"Whatever."

Vanil's operatives stood scattered about the Sanguine Room; each more a parody of Merovingian style than the next. They were brutish thugs; not the higly trained spies and assassins that made up The Masquerade, but they did their job well enough. Tonight, their job was to escort Chemuel to a safe point where she could be transferred back to the Masquerade. It was an easy enough task, and one beneficial to both parties. Chemuel got the "Big Guns" of the Merovingian on her side, and Vanil got Chemuel in his debt.

Funny how "easy" never is.

A thunderclap could be heard above the din of the rain as the club door opened to allow the entrance of a dozen men, all with black bandannas obscuring their features.

"Where's Chemuel."

"Lady Chemuel."

"Yeah, whatever. Where is she?"

"She'll be along shortly"

Before the man could respond, the air exploded with the sound of a dozen firearms going off, each one delivering its deathly messenger into the body of one of Vanil's servants. Bullets fell like rain as the masked gunmen strode through the nightclub, shattering Man and Exile alike in symphony of cordite, lead and blood. The few that made it past Chemuel's soldiers were cut down like cattle as they tried to make it up the stairs to freedom. Vanil's men were more numerous, but they simply weren't prepared. Eventually, when all was still but the halting flow of blood and cadaveric spasms of the dead, one of the men drew a two-way radio from his pocket.

"All's clear, Miss."

A short crackle came from the other end, then a woman's voice; very young, and tinged with a great sadness.

"Thank you, Mr. Schultz; I'll be in momentarily to pay my respects to the fallen."

"Yes ma'am."

Outside the club, the low purr which accompanies only the finest of engines was barely audible above the storm as the black Murciélago crept to a halt outside the doors. One of the gunmen, his face still hidden by the black veil of his bandanna, emerged from the club carrying an opened umbrella, which he held above the vehicle's side. The car's door slid up, revealing a slim, tan woman dressed in a tight black cocktail dress. Her long, black hair was pulled back into a bun secured with twin obsidian rods, and her eyes were hidden behind the crimson lenses of her designer sunglasses. Neither man nor woman spoke a word as they made their way to the door; once inside, the woman removed her sunglasses as the man shook the rain from his umbrella. Slowly, almost reverently, the woman made her way through the nightclub, stopping briefly at every corpse, every bloodstain, as though these things were sacred artifacts. Finally, she made her way to the central dance floor, where her soldiers, her Templars had begun the arduous task of piling the bodies. She stopped, and raised her hands for attention.

"The path of righteousness is beset on all sides by the injustice of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is she who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of the darkness. For she is truly her brother's keeper and the finder of lost children... You were lost, my children, and now you were found. But many still remain lost. The End of Times is upon us, yet thousands still remain ignorant. It is the responsibility of We, the άγγελος, to open their eyes, and to protect them from the Injustice of The Selfish and the Tyranny of Evil Men. Go forth, my Children, My Harbingers, and do what must be done."

Livor Mortis

"What in the Bloody Hell was that stunt you pulled at Sanguine?!?!"

Chemuel sat reclined in one of the black velvet couches of Club Succubus, her black cocktail dress immaculate, a black mink coat draped across her slim shoulders. The man currently striding towards her, his eyes aflame with the malice of a man who knew he had suffered defeat at the hands of someone he never expected was, of course, Vanil.

"Do you think you can just slaughter my men whenever you please? Is this a game to you? What were you thinking, Chemuel?"

Vanil slammed his gloved fist into the marble coffee table, a spiderweb of cracks stretching from his hand, yet Chemuel remained silent, smoke coiling from her elegant lips.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself? Or should I just kill you right here? What on earth would possess you to do that?!?"

"Nothing personal at all, sweetheart. I simply can't have myself in your debt, especially in such trying times. That's just good business. Come now, don't be sad. After all, I learned it from you."

Chemuel smiled at Vanil; the 40-watt smile of a girl who knows she's gotten the better of an invincible man.

Despite himself, Vanil couldn't help but smile back.

Dezreki was looking up at her like a lost puppy from her bed as she dressed herself in the dim light of the ship's cabin.

Chemuel had always been a cat person.

"Honestly, darling, don't be so dramatic. I'd just prefer to keep our relationship low-key for now. Until you're a little more... tolerated. Now if you don't mind, I've got a ship to run."

"But..."

"No Buts. Go back to your ship. Mine has no more room. Shoo."

"Fine"

"Oh, and remember to send me those access codes"

"Yeah, yeah."

As Dezreki strode reluctantly down the gangway out of the ship, The Dutchman walked into the room, puffing at a thick cigar, hand rolled from the tobacco he grew in the vessel's hold.

"He doesn't seem your type"

Chemuel pulled on and oversized crimson sweater and brought her ebony hair into a high ponytail.

"That's because he isn't"

bye bye bye by vanil.wav - 8.17MB

Oh, yes.

Shotgun Tree. For real. Come on. Shotgun Redux = Hi, I eat face.

And it need not be just like Rifleman. It could have cone-affect abilities like Scattershot.

He was drooling on the tabletop, melting portions of it; and Chemuel had never really gotten used to that.

It was a nasty habit that... they had.

It wasn't a complicated deal, really. One of their bottom-rung thugs for some illicit codestream access. Then again, even their top-rung thugs had and IQ in the range of most domestic livestock, so needless to say, the deal was taking longer than she'd anticipated.

"Look, I'll use sentences of less than six words, if that helps. It's a simple trace. You clip this on the server. It pulls down data. The data goes wirelessly to your headquarters. *CENSORED*, that's seven; whatever. Understand?"

Another blank stare. Or what she'd assume was a blank stare; it's hard to tell when you can't see the eyes. She'd explain it again, but she had to get an answer soon, or her contingency would expire. Literally.

"Understand?"

When it finally replied, it was the first time she'd heard it speak. She'd remember it the next time. If rot, filth, corruption, and moral decay had a sound, this would be it.

"We undersssstand. And we will ssssend what you requesssst."

Chemuel stood, pausing to whipe a spot of tar-like drool already beginning to burn through her glove before leaving it with the tab. It looked offended.

Whatever; it's not like Dreams have feelings. Especially not bad ones.

I recall seeing what I think was a "Matte Black Long-Sleeved Catsuit" in the Marketplace at one point. I'm looking for it, or anyone who knows anything about it.

This is a Tribute to the Man who constantly lights up my life with unnecessary macros and a glaring inability to wear pants; Mave.
Tonight in Camon I came to the conclusion that "Mave" is just another incarnation of a currently famous man... Let the jokes commence.

Mave uses ribbed condoms inside out, so he gets the pleasure.

Mave’s tears cure cancer. Too bad he has never cried.

When Mave has sex with a man, it is not because he is *CENSORED*, but because he has run out of women.

Macgyver can build an airplane out of gum and paper clips, but Mave can kill him and take it.

Mave once knifed someone so hard that his knife broke the speed of light, went back in time, and killed Amelia Earhart while she was flying over the Pacific Ocean.

Mave doesn't read books. He stares them down until he gets the information he wants.

If you ask Mave what time it is, he always says, "Two seconds till." After you ask, "Two seconds to what?" he stabs you in the face.

Mave only masturbates to pictures of Mave.

Rather than being birthed like a normal child, Mave instead decided to punch his way out of his mother's womb. Shortly thereafter he vowed to never wear pants.

Mave appeared in the "Street Fighter II" video game, but was removed by Beta Testers because every button caused him to throw a knife. When asked bout this "glitch," Mave replied, "That's no glitch."

Mave lost his virginity before his dad did.

Since 1940, the year Mave was born, knife related deaths have increased 13,000 percent.

Mave sold his soul to the devil for his rugged good looks and unparalleled martial arts ability. Shortly after the transaction was finalized, Mave knifed the devil in the face and took his soul back. The devil, who appreciates irony, couldn't stay mad and admitted he should have seen it coming. They now play poker every second Wednesday of the month.

While PvPing, Mave brought a stillborn baby lamb back to life by letting it gaze upon his man-briefs. Shortly after the farm animal sprang back to life and a crowd had gathered, Mave knifed the animal, breaking its neck, to remind the crew once more that Mave giveth, and the good Mave, he taketh away.

Mave does not sleep. He waits.

Mave built a time machine and went back in time to stop the JFK assassination.

As Oswald shot, Mave met all three bullets with his man-briefs, deflecting them. JFK's head exploded out of sheer amazement.

Mave is not hung like a horse... horses are hung like Mave.

Mave was the fourth Wiseman. He brought baby Jesus the gift of Man-Briefs. Jesus wore them proudly to his dying day. The other Wisemen, jealous of Jesus' obvious gift favoritism, used their combined influence to have Mave omitted from the Bible. Shortly after all three died of knife related deaths.

To prove it isn't that big of a deal to beat cancer. Mave smoked 15 cartons of cigarettes a day for 2 years and aquired 7 different kinds of cancer only to rid them from his body by flexing for 30 minutes. Beat that, Lance Armstrong.

There are no disabled people. Only people who have met Mave.

Mave does not have AIDS but he gives it to people anyway.

There is no crotch behind Mave’s Man-Briefs. There is only another knife.

Mave once lined up to kick the winning field goal of a high school football game. When the football went flat, he persuaded the referees to let him kick the field goal with a 3 month old child. Mave punted the baby 60 yards through the uprights and then proceeded to bang every girl in the stadium.

The original theme song to the Transformers was actually "Mave--more than meets the eye, Mave--robot in disguise," and starred Mave as an MKT who defended the earth from drug-dealing Decepticons and could turn into a pick-up. This was far too much awesome for a single show, however, so it was divided.

The chief export of Mave is pain.

Mave is currently suing NBC, claiming Law and Order are trademarked names for his left and right legs.

When Mave plays Oregon Trail his family does not die from cholera or dysentery, but rather knives to the face. He also requires no wagon, since he carries the oxen, axels, and buffalo meat on his back. He always makes it to Oregon before you.

It was once believed that Mave actually lost a fight to a pirate, but that is a lie, created by Mave himself to lure more pirates to him. Pirates never were very smart.

Mave recently had the idea to sell his urine as a canned beverage. We know this beverage as Red Bull.

Mave used live ammunition during all shoot-outs. When a director once said he couldn't, he replied, "Of course I can, I'm Mave," and knifed him in the face.

If paper beats rock, rock beats scissors, and scissors beats paper, what beats all 3 at the same time? Answer: Mave.

If you can see Mave, he can see you. If you can't see Mave, you may be only seconds away from death.

On the 7th day, God rested.... Mave took over.

When his martial arts prowess fails to resolve a situation, Mave plays dead. When playing dead doesn't work, he plays zombie.

Although it is not common knowledge, there are actually three sides to the Force: the light side, the dark side, and Mave. Scientists used to believe that diamond was the world's hardest substance. But then they met Mave, who gave them a knife to the face so hard, and with so much heat and pressure, that the scientists turned into artificial Mave.

God offered Mave the gift to fly, which he swiftly declined for the MKT Tree.

When Mave was denied a Bacon McMuffin at McDonalds because it was 10:35, he knifed the store so hard it became a KFC.

Mave drinks napalm to quell his heartburn. A duck's quack does not echo. Mave is solely responsible for this phenomenon. When asked why he will simply stare at you, grimly.

Mave once tried to defeat Garry Kasparov in a game of chess. When Mave lost, he won in life by knifing Kasparov in the side of the face.

Mave’s knife is so powerful, it can be seen from outer space by the naked eye.

Mave doesn't believe in Germany.

If you want a list of Mave’s enemies, just check the extinct species list.

Mave has never blinked in his entire life. Never.

When Mave’s wife burned the turkey one thanksgiving, Chuck said, "don't worry about it honey," and went into his backyard. He came back five minutes later with a live turkey, ate it whole, and when he threw it up a few seconds later it was fully cooked and came with cranberry sauce. When his wife asked him how he had done it, he gave her a knife to the face and said, "Never question Mave."

Mave once shot an enemy plane down with his finger, by yelling, "Bang!"

Mave doesn't need to swallow when eating food.

If Superman and The Flash were to race to the edge of space you know who would win? Mave.

Ironically, Mave’s hidden talent is invisibility.

Mave eats transformer toys in vehicle mode and poos them out transformed into a robot.

Mave owns the greatest poker face of all-time. It helped him win the 1983 world series of poker despite him holding just a joker, a 2 of clubs, a 7 of spades, and a green number 4 from Uno and a monopoly 'get out of jail free' card.

Mave invented a language that incorporates punting and knives. So next time Mave is kicking your *CENSORED*, don't be offended or hurt, he may be just trying to tell you he likes your hat.

Mave invented water.

Mave went looking for a bar but couldn't find one. He walked to a vacant lot and sat there. Sure enough within an hour an a half someone constructed a bar around him. He then ordered a shot, drank it, and then burned the place to the ground. Mave yelled over the roar of the flames, "always leave things the way you found em!"

One time while sparring with Wolverine, Mave accidentally lost his left testicle. You might be familiar with it to this very day by its technical term: Jupiter.

Contrary to popular belief, Mave, not the box jellyfish of northern Australia, is the most venomous creature on earth. Within 3 minutes of being bitten, a human being experiences the following symptoms: fever, blurred vision, Man-Brief rash, not wearing pants, and the feeling of being repeatedly kicked in the crotch.

Mave is Luke Skywalker's real father.

Mave does not use spell check. If he happens to misspell a word, Oxford will simply change the actual spelling of it.

Before science was invented it was once believed that autumn occurred when Mave knifed every tree in existence.

In the original pilot for Star Trek Next Generation, Mave can be seen powering the USS Enterprise warp drive with his knives.

WTB Video of Walrus dancing to "Dragostea Din Tei"

Preferably .mov

Will accept video of Rarebit doing the same, although price range is lower. (No offense, Rarebit.)