Empress of Mars: Undisputed @zebratron2084@awoo.space

Found the @desc for Beige-Tedium. Irritating fucked up line breaks left in on purpose. <3

Efficiently groomed from the tips of his angular ears to the tidy
brush of his tail, this beige-furred mink's features practically
clamor to avoid your interest. His headfur is faintly longer than that
on his body, grey at the temples, slicked back with an oily sheen of
hair tonic. His brow is creased from his permanent disapproving scowl.
Perched on the bridge of his muzzle, his thick trifocals shatter and
distort his face, but at least they hide his crow's feet. His posture
is impeccable, indulging in none of the unseemly slouches or lazy sways
characteristic of his species. If life were a breast, he'd be suckling
right from pert, pink middle age.

He wears a three-piece suit, ruthlessly purged of dust and lint. The
jacket is PC-tower beige, straight off the rack, but he seems to wear
it well -- so well, indeed, that it's hard to imagine him in anything
else. His shirt is white and unremarkable, and the cuffs partially
conceal the mink's sole interesting trait: the backs of his paws are
each tattooed with several black squares in an orderly grid. Of course,
he's also wearing a digital watch, that's kind of neat too. His tie
is solid grey, a shade approximately 0.1% more festive than that of
his jacket. His charcoal-colored pants have been meticulously ironed
to a level of smoothness previously achieved only in select military
aviation components. His feet are crammed into a smartly polished pair
of black wingtips.

In summary, he is twenty-six lines and two-hundred ninety words long,
with an average word length of 3.61. His @desc is fully 19% more
efficient than his player's typical @desc from the year 2000 -- a
most promising outlook for the coming quarter.

on this day in 1997 scott aukerman invented purple gravy

this is canon

I just remembered that I was Colin Robinson long before there was a Colin Robinson.

OK, story time. I'll try to keep it brief[1].

I had a friend on Tapestries named White-Delirium. She had a reputation as a troublemaker. She was a white mink girl in a bloody black rubber butchers apron. She was like Harley Quinn written by David Lynch. I adored her. I was also a good friend of her player in real life. They were practically my little sib.

Well, she developed a social circle/VR polycule around herself and everybody wanted a [color+psychological affliction/adolescent emotion] mink. Red Vengeance and Blue Malice or whatever the fuck, IK don't remember the actual names.

And they not only kinda missed a lot of what made WD charming, they actually had DRAMA over who got to be a mink and who didn't.

Well, I knew I had implicit permission to fuck around with White's character. She had even asked me to help destroy the minks once.

So.

Beige-Tedium.

I didn't call him that at the time, but in retrospect I set out to create the greatest energy vampire that TapestriesMUCK had ever seen, as a blatant satire of the other minks.

He would just go into the kinkiest rooms on Tapestries and read the newspaper and drink coffee, in lavish multi-paragraph poses. If someone tried to have a conversation with him, he'd ramble at them about bus trips and bowling techniques and modal jazz until asked in any way to stop.

I would only do this in a dead-quiet room and would politely defer to real conversation or RP... unless the political content or people involved annoyed me. I never said I was a saint. n.n

And I had the time of my fucking life. People were actually really fun and supportive about it, and I went out of my way to give hints that this was a big goof and everybody was invited to play along.

And those fucking baby minks WELCOMED Beige as their uncle. They LOVED him, those little bastards. They were all so ready for the furry RP Shaggs[2]. The plan totally backfired.

[1] oops
[2] http://www.warr.org/odds.html#POTW

There is no greater mood booster than having a cat that's been AWOL for a week suddenly show up her old grumpy self. Sugarfoot finally revealed herself to Peg this morning after a long walkabout.

Peg tried to give her a scritch and welcome her home. She hissed and air-swatted at her. That's our girl. *sigh* <3

(She did mewl at me and deign to accept a scritch when I left for the cafe.)

noelle is having a rough morning

i better get her some coffee

Huh. Well, you're in an energetic mood today, Dawn. What's with all the fireballs?

Guess it's time to get up off my ass and try to find something useful to do

Headcanon: Homestar Runner's world is almost completely[1] immune to the Tommy Westphall Virus[2].

The exact source of this protective effect is unknown, but is suspected to be a combination of factors including: (a) high continuity (b) low canon consistency (c) well-mediated contact with our reality via the Lappy et al (d) a 30-year waiting period for most "RL" media references (e) some unknown property of Strong Sad's "Blue Ones"[3] and (f) Garbledina[4].

[1] Free Country did test positive during a routine TWV exam[5] in 2003, but did not develop any symptoms except for Shark-Tooth Bubs.

[2] named for Tommy Westphall, a disabled child from a TV series that turned out to be taking place entirely as his dying dream; the "virus" brings every other fictional universe his show crosses over with into the same collapsing reality bubble -- yes, our reality is theoretically inside of it!

[3] if you don't know, you probably shouldn't ask 😱​

[4] GRAW MAD! GRAAAAW MAD! DARRRRRRRRGH!

[5] Also headcanon: these TWV examinations are administered free of charge as a charitable service by Mr. Peabody. Yes, that Mr. Peabody-- or at least, one of his 12 regenerations![6]

[6] You do NOT want to fuck with the War Peabody. (Whispered rumor has it that the one on television was the War Peabody.)

Well, those are some style goals right there.

https://imgur.com/gallery/twCRAWx#kWPA6Wk

And just as I'm thinking of reviving Kincaid the lavavixen...

today's reading from the gospel according to st. hobbes

Fuck it, i'm granting Matt Berry and all his characters full Martian citizenship. i can't think of a single one that wouldn't fit right in with the Imperial* court.🐯​

OK, well, except for the one from the IT Crowd. He is barred. And Matt from Snuff Box. But his Uncle Charles is straight in. And Dr. Lucien Sanchez. And the Butt Witch.

Huh. Uncle Charles from Snuff Box would make an AMAZING Martian Tiger. I should get to work on that.

the life stages of chocolate are as follows:

the ripple
the flake
the minichip
the chip
the chunk
the chonk
the chungus

beyond "chungus," metric suffixes are recommended, as in the Kilochungus that dominated the landscape of Hershey, PA from the date of the Great Cacao Event of 1903 until its melting and containment by the EPA in 1987

headcanon: plushies are immune to the tommy westphall effect

if you have to cross over between fictional universes always send a plush friend first to test it out

unless you WANT to end up all metafictional inside a snowglobe

buddy

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Oh, and even though I'm about 90% sure they were identified as biologically XY by the Trap-Neuter-Release folks who snipped them, and I'm sure I've mentioned this several times, Olive's new Food Guy still absolutely persists on calling them a "her."

Which is hilarious because I had called her Olivia prior to her snippage too! So... yeah, even our kittens turn out trans. :D :D :D Guess that settles that I go back to calling her Olivia! Although he just calls her Wilykit and her brother Wilykat apparently. :D

You hear that, Spike? I didn't forget what you taught me! I raised my kids right!

(Spike was a transmale housecat I met at a lesbian-owned bookstore in Cambridge, MA. Spike's owners described him as a "gender warrior." Spike was a judo master. This is not even my only story about Spike. Spike was a great cat, the third greatest cat I've met outside of Clan Shadow. The second was the late and much-missed Ginger, who taught me that head-chewing is a valid from of affection. The greatest of all, Seraph, is a story for another day.)

https://twitter.com/zebratron2084/status/1454295886658428931

So there was a weird noise coming from out back this morning and it freaked me out.

And I finally puzzled together what it was: someone was going through the abandoned apartment across the alley and throwing out a bunch of furniture. Like, literally throwing it hand-over-fist onto a heap on the law.

Well, the basement of that apartment is one of the cats' major neighborhood hidey-holes.

And we don't even know that they're doing anything more with that apartment *or* that the basement will be affected at all.

But within 15 minutes my brain had gotten all the way from that to "oh my god Ceejay's going to get boarded up or they're going to see there's a bunch of cats living there and try to trap or poison them."

I convinced myself that this is not only more than a little hasty, it's not even logical. It's not even legal to randomly move or poison feral cats in New Orleans. And our moochlets probably have another six dozen hiding spots around the block that we don't even know about.

Plus, this could actually work out for the best, 'cause I know that place is pretty moldy and Peebles already has asthma issues... And if they're remodeling, we might get a another neighbor who likes the cats and might help feed them if we ever have to move.

So yeah, I'm just borrowing trouble. But I borrowed so much of it, so fast! And now I'm just lingering in that place where some part of your brain remembers you were supposed to be anxious about something, but not why.

I'm sure the cats are going to be fine one way or another. They made it through a Cat 4 hurricane, for fuck's sake. That did help me worry less about 'em.

I guess it just feels weird and intrusive, knowing that someone can just randomly come in and alter our little buddies' lives radically and there's not much we could really do about it. (Gods know they would NOT take well to collars and tags, for instance...)

For fuck's sake, I can't see a message from my therapist because she sent it via some kind of Microsoft Office app and it's pitching a fit about the fact I'm logged into my work account.

I can fix it "just" by logging out but it's a pain in the ass and means I have to stop everything else I'm doing.

I fucking hate 2021. Let's hurry up with this "revolution" thing the kids are talking so much about on TikTok these days. (They are, right? Please tell me they are.)

Bouquet, oomer.

"Listen, aging up Scootaloo is one the finest things a person can do. But you had to go and get greedy."

poot noodles

dis mah new boyfrend

i asked his coat bff, it's cool