I love your personality :D




I am blessed with models with great personalities and some who enjoy the members with personality Quote

I am blessed with models with great personalities and some who enjoy the members with personality



We should all count it as a blessing to have such wonderful people performers and members alike who have amazing personalities and are great people I am blessed for having the members I have met so far come into my room and keep me company. It's very fun to converse on views and overall have a great time This is why I love my work Quote

God bless the taxman... and keep him far from us.

May you be faster than your compadres if not faster than that hungry bear...

May your judge's ear be tin if you cannot reach the note...

May your balance be good if you find your neck in a rope...

May you never be forced to hear puns worse than those from Bob Hope...

May ABBA be only an occaisonal trouble...

If your house should fall may they find only your best things in the rubble...

But if they should find your memoirs, your theories on Life...

May they blame the craziest somehow on your wife. Quote

House and Ride: IGOR!!!

(after much back slapping, hand shaking, and winking ->)

Igor: Need a brain?

Ride: No... thanks... got one.

Igor: You sure? It's really fine.

House: Well maybe I'll take a peek... Whose is it?

Igor: Meg somebody's.

House: Meg... Meg... not...

Ride: You got the brain of some megalomaniac?!?

Igor: Not just any...

House: Out! Out! You and your defective brain get out!!

Ride: (to Igor) He's had a number of disappointments recently...

Emma: (weakly) Out!

Ride: And she's delusional. Stop by the bar later. I've got this blonde and for you... one in a turban.

Igor: (after first looking around craftily) Yeeeeeeesssssss master.
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House and Ride: IGOR!!!

(after much back slapping, hand shaking, and winking ->)

Igor: Need a brain?

Ride: No... thanks... got one.

Igor: You sure? It's really fine.

House: Well maybe I'll take a peek... Whose is it?

Igor: Meg somebody's.

House: Meg... Meg... not...

Ride: You got the brain of some megalomaniac?!?

Igor: Not just any...

House: Out! Out! You and your defective brain get out!!

Ride: (to Igor) He's had a number of disappointments recently...

Emma: (weakly) Out!

Ride: And she's delusional. Stop by the bar later. I've got this blonde and for you... one in a turban.

Igor: (after first looking around craftily) Yeeeeeeesssssss master.




Love it! Quote

I am blessed for waking up today and being able to live. I am blessed for love and friendship. I am blessed for being able to have more dreaming, less worry, more fun and less work, more time, more laughter, and most importantly..more love. Quote

From the horrifying finale of Act II- SA:

Zombie Olivier: Onnnnnnnnnnnnday iiiiiiiiiiiiidelysnaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay...

aaaaaaaaaaaaahyay enarrrrrchay eeeeeeeeeeeeeycomay....

iiiiiiiiiiiimayi'itasivaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay.... evay onsaaaaaaay eeeeeenutovaaaaaay....

Snidely: ooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaahwhaaaaay........

Zombie Olivier: Ainsbray! Ainsbray!

Snidely: Ipeyay!

Zombie Olivier: Sahivay isthay yockvay gunshotvay ivay eesay forebeeeeeeay emay?

Leporello2: Dite di no! Dite di no!

( Blam!!! .... Blam!!! Blam!!! Blam!!! Blam!!! Blam!!! )

Zombie Olivier: aaaaaaaaaaahvay aaaaaaaaahay aaaaaaaaahvay. Issssedmay emay oolfay!!

Lady Macbeth: entilatevay ishay ullskay!!! Ownay!!!

Zombie Olivier: Etzjay keekvay iiiiirday opfoffenmitschmutzigenhundehandengekovay!!

Snidely: Ooooooooooonay! Ooooooooooootnay aaaaaaaaaaaaaatthay!!!

Zombie Olivier: Eeeeessssssyay aaaaaaaatthay. Onnnnnngay itgay ouyay eeeeeeeeealray ooooooodgay... uckersay!!!

(bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz rrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeend..... zaaaaaaaaap. zoooooooooooot)

Zombie Olivier: lectriceay eathday!! ateyay eetyay... ateyay eetyay iiiiiiiisay!!!

Chorus: uttotay uttotay eyay oooooooocopay... ienivay ienivay ...

OOOOOMMMMMMBIEEEEEEEEESZAY EVER4AY!!!

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lmfao @ eric not spamming this or the poetry thread cos' 1. he dun know wtf to make out of rhyme and 2. he dun speak pig latin



*cackles madly and runs off another 10,000 emails with penis photos for eric* Quote

Mountie: Oodgay ayday, ehay?

Speeder: Loalier spectereenier. Ahcaier ahvier?

Mountie: havay... aybeckiekay einsay ehay?

Jose: Eeeeeeeeeeeye padrescome.... ustage ite osese arbbefe imichangache?

Mountie: ehay?

Svejk: Niay echchse udoyoviwitzbe!

Mountie: Ethay euceday ouyay aysay, ehay?

il Duce: Ise... ieeimie iciame... ienive onceeilie...

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Ramses: ay ay ay.

Caeser: Tee eopatraclee?

Ramses: ay Quote

And as I slumbered lightly, in the wee hours, there came a vision, a solitary figure...

Figure: You've lost your focus mountie. What are you doing?

Dream Ride: Resting before the next assault.

Figure: Let me see those plans!

Dream Ride: No! Leave me be!

Figure: I will not!!! The tale must be told!

Dream Ride: It hurts my brain!

Figure: Stop your whining! You were not placed on this Earth for your own pleasure!

Dream Ride: Prove it!

Figure: Search your feelings... you know it to be so.

Dream Ride: I feel that it is time for a loooong vacation and then retirement.

Figure: Just you try it! We'll see how it goes for you!

*end of vision* Quote

"Emma... Eeeeemmmmmmaaaaaaa... Time to wake now... Time to rejoin the struggle."

Her eyes popped open. She was surrounded by smiling friends and by her devoted husband. She smiled in return. They cheered.

"Sensible... Sensible! ... SENSIBLE!!!" she roared.

Everybody laughed and clapped each other on the back. Anything was possible in this modern age.

Then they joined in flower strewing rings, singing:

Sigh no more... ladies sigh no more...

Men were deceivers eeeever.

One foot on sea... and one on shore...

to one thing constant neeever.

So sigh not soooo... but let them gooooooo...

And be ye blythe aaaand booonnie...

Forgetting all... your sounds of woe...

In hey nonnie noooooonniiiiiie.

etc etc

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sometimes you bring tears dudley

*kisses*

*dreams on* Quote

I'm blessed with being healthy with no health problems, the things I have, which I'm thankful for, too, and friends that are in my life. Quote

All of you who come to me for solace...

Because your soul is troubled by all the goofing off you did here this weekend...

The chores you neglected...

The work untouched...

I offer you now the absolution.

Absolvi... Absolvi...

You have sought the higher work of the model adoration...

You have pleased the lord of the trousers...

Your minds are now one and you can meet all your challenges this week rekindled...

Absolvi... Absolvi...

Seek not the false teacher of morning talk show hostesses who speak much but reveal little...

Nor the false missives of the yoga instructors who offer only strength of body and not of mind nor eyes...

Walk ye on the one true path... The loving path...

That keeps ye glued in front of your screen while your skin turns green ....

Cook ye not dinner...

But order in pizza.

Go now... Go and serve the model.



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Oh careless reader... my heart is heavy... so heavy.

You were so happy at the ending to the tale. The flowers. The dancing. The friends. The feasting. The joy.

But who said that it was the ending? Who promised a fairey tale end to a story that began with bomb blasts?

You'll recall the scene where Dudley was agonizing... you know... right after destruction of Ride Manor. There was a strike team. That's right you remember now. A strike team. On their way to a mission that, though we don't yet know the details, seemed by Ride's agonizing to be costly to Good. Forseen by Evil. It hardly seemed that there was chance for success. Not without terrible cost. Fabian most likely or Pyrrhic at best. Not Fettermanian though thankfully.

What became of that team? What of the cackling figure? Could the salvation of Emma's sensibility really be a bloodless victory? Could a team so late in the response to a plot from darkest Evil really hope for anything less than... well you get the idea.

Shame on you. You should have known. Put away that champagne. Find your tissues.

Prepare the stage for... Death.

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Man is a planner... a schemer. I tell you ladies in good faith: don't underestimate him.

The evil plan that was now executing so flawlessly was decades old. It was not planned in a prison by some convict with nothing else to do. It was not planned during some long voyage.

No... It was planned in little moments stolen... grabbed here and there during a very busy life. Maybe a brick was popped in during a wait to board an elevator. An edge was honed during a good, long relief taking in some public restroom. A plane was leveled during a coffee break of some board meeting.

There was joy in the creating of it. The piecing of it together. Even the thought that death might steal the creator away before it was completed... yes this too was a part of it.

Mastery. Patience. Dripping water cutting stone.

This is a part of us. If we had the lifespans of newts and could not pass our plan on we'd be feeble. But we can record. We can communicate to our descendents. We can inspire. We are very much to be admired or feared.

So the world should hope our hearts are golden. Look closely for evidence of Evil. Early. Before it spawns and grows. Vigilance. Prudence.

Ever since History began it has been that way with men.





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It was the Age of Eloquence. Of Reason's birth. Orators stirred the hearts of men with firey words. Many for rebellion. Some for slaughter.

None more formidable than Robespierre. None more cold hearted. But what has he to do with this? What legacy did he leave for our tale's evil-doer?

Ah forget that a minute and remember back to what it was like when he strode out before his bleak colleagues. When he fixed them with a pitiless eye, threw back his head and let unleashed his blazing sword of oratory. How they gazed. Rapt. Feeling, these bright yet cruel men, how he was manipulating them. How despite their not inconsequential wills he was stirring them, leading them deliberately, relentlessly, inevitably.. down.. down the path he had foreordained.

Making their patriotism positively ROAR. Their thirst for vengeance... for JUSTICE... go absolutely thermonuclear.

What a pale wraith our current crop of drab speech mumblers present when compared to any of these giants from that age. And this one especially. His tongue was armies on the march, enemies taken and executed, popular support, security and power for his party, his faction.

Yet did he father anything for Good? or lasting Evil? Or was his rise and fall just a miserable phase that his country had to pass through?

Part of an answer can be found in an out of the way corner of today's capitol. Down an old, famous way that has fallen into some disrepair. Far from the great gallerys, the monuments, even the river. Past two famous squares now quiet. Past some famous streets once blocked with barricades. Outdoor cafes. Bakeries. These and soft sounds of peace as one walks toward the spot these days.

A nondescript building for this grand city. Low slung. Uglier than many prisons. Yet... There is something that the sharp eye immediately catches. An air of history perhaps. Signs of powerful influences in the construction, in the layout. The inside much as it has always been. Paintings by masters yet not for public display. Portraits of powerful men. No wistful art here. Lavish furniture suitable for Versailles perhaps. Guards. In traditional, revolutionary garb. Strong men who will deal death in a moment to any perceived threat.

Yes. It is here. Text of speeches, the kind of speeches that made the streets run red for days. Lovingly displayed in highly secure display cases. But shown in the style more like a temple than a museum. Light, shadow, and elevation used to make more out of these than they are today. And the book. The legacy. Never existing in more than one copy. The Philosophy. The Instructions. The Orders.

Not much you may think. What mischief could such a thing do? That time had passed. The world had moved on. What relevance could any mind make of it?

And yet...




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Now do not take any wild flights of fancy, concerned reader. I am not going to foist something as silly, as Batmanesque, on you as a villain leading a gang of sans culottes. Running around saying "viva la Republic" while they rob banks. I am also not going to revive the guillotine nor the Terror. These were part of a great tragedy whose time has passed. Oh other revolutions may have borrowed some philosophy and even some methods, but I am not writing of a revolution. A revolution is a movement by many to reform the world. No, what I am describing is merely one madman's story. Nothing that History would stoop to consider.

History has effected the events in this story. But the reverse is not true. Thanks to the great sacrifice of Team Banzai.

No, Robespierre spoke to our villain through a radicalized philosophy. The roots were in Rousseau. But the result... an odd child from a gradualistic evolution.

You see, our villain was a member of the Cult of Sensibility. Whose beginnings were in what some have called the Age of Sensibility.

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What was the nature of his mania? Well it will take a bit of telling. Maurice started life innocently enough. Loving parents who were unusual only in that they held strictly to some conservative religious and political beliefs. A fairly well to do upbringing.

In the mutant world of adolescents the thing that set him apart in a negative way seemed so mild. He was bright. He was good humored. He was warm hearted. But... he was idealistic. Very, very idealistic.

He fell in love. Head over heels. With the sweetest of girls. Beautiful she was. But unfortunately for him not an idealist like him.

It was very simple. She wanted everything that a relationship should have. A good, healthy relationship. The mental connection. The common interests. And of course, an exciting loving physical. Normal as normal could be. But this poor lad had acquired a set of beliefs that forbade, for the silliest of reasons, any such thing. She of course lost interest quickly. He was devastated in a very fundamental way.

He had failed to get something very important to a growing person. He could not find what he needed anywhere around him because he differed from all the others in this way. So he had to justify this. To rationalize it. He had to either drop his beliefs and become more like his classmates. Or develop the internal mechanisms to do without.

He chose the latter. The idea of intellectual compromise was digusting to him. The notion of a kind of Spartan mental discipline appealed to his romantic side. So he weaned himself off his love for her by deliberately pushing up his pride in holding fast to his beliefs.

But he failed to account for the warping effect of this kind of solitude. It happened so slowly. His beliefs drifted. His warmth diminished. He began to consider seriously radical ideas. His power to think clearly, the steadying influence of bright and caring friends, both began to desert him.

Major disappointments rolled in. Critical losses in the battle of life. He had the strength to keep going much as he always had. But his sanity was leaking slowly away.

In the end he lost himself. He became fixated on the idea of working for his cause of causes: the good of the state. The virtue of virtue in his philosophy. He had reached on his own the very same axioms for his world view that Robespierre in his different time and circumstances embraced. The individual was nothing. Life was not precious. The good of the many, as he defined it, was very clearly to him the only thing of importance. The cause justified the methods.

His reasoning, though flawed and dangerous, was pure in the sense that he attempted in good faith to build up a system from just a few supposedly true axioms using deduction, using logic. But then he encountered the French Revolution in his study of History. It fascinated him. He visited Paris. He inquired. He digged. He found the place we discussed earlier and read the Book. This experience convinced him that pure reason alone was not sufficient. And he considered seriously the ideas from the apostles of sensibility and the views captured in Robespierre's last orders to his followers.

Following the theme of his life he overreacted. He came to believe that sensibility was the key virtue he lacked. If he could just acquire more of it. More than anyone else. Then he could be the ideal ruler that the world had never seen.

Unfortunately he wasn't very good with definitions. He was oblivious to the way meaning evolves with time. So while the apostles were talking about one thing he was developing a belief in another.

To complete his triumph of thought, his journey begun in boyhood, he decided that the natural way to acquire more sensibility was to grab bits of people's brains. People that were famous for having a lot of it. Well I need not tell you why Emma was an obvious choice to him.

He actually succeeded in identifying the bit of the brain that is associated with sensibility. No small feat. He recruited an army of followers. Obtained the necessary funding. (never a problem for villains) He watched Sense and Sensibility so many times that he developed a kind of mental twitch in which he stutters out lines involuntarily time to time.

Ain't man a hoot?







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