Self titled still sealed.

fic post: hard cheese (hot fuzz)

2009-11-13T21:15:33Z

TITLE: Hard Cheese
FANDOM: Hot Fuzz
AUTHOR: annlarimer
WORD COUNT: Eleventy-something thousand.
RATING: PG fer the cussin', bloodshed, and shit that blows up
WARNINGS: American spelling; don't try this at home even though I totally want to; slurs against the French.
SUMMARY: "Saxon was all enraged and savaged the ever-lovin' fuck out of the poor cheese."
NOTES: Crit is love.
CREDITS: at the end
DISCLAIMER: I no has Fuzzburger. Is Rogue's Fuzzburger!

Nicholas Angel was vaguely surprised to find that the Swan was not only still standing, but open for business. During his time in hospital, as both patient and spectator, his mental picture of Sandford had somehow developed into one of a large, smoking crater, with decorative ironwork and flowerpots. But the door of the hotel was open, the lights were on, and pop music leaked quietly from somewhere.

He was dressed in a St John Ambulance sweatshirt and a borrowed pair of Cartwright's jeans, cuffed at the bottom. He smelled of hospital. He needed a shower to rid himself of his last shower.

continued at: http://annlarimer.livejournal.com/934389.html

picspam: unexpected pegg is unexpected

2009-10-20T15:35:32Z

I won some badges on eBay. The packet arrived yesterday. When I opened the envelope...

...THIS was inside, for support.

I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO FEEL ABOUT IT!

Now it is lurking in the flowers.

Seriously, WTF?

picspam: they crave human flesh

2009-10-19T17:36:04Z

(Awesome Nicholas and Danny keychains made by mechturtle, who is awesome.)

phosfate @ 2009-10-16T12:48:00

2009-10-16T17:48:31Z

Written for violetisblue, I give you an excerpt from David Mamet's Where the Wild Things Are:

"So, yeah, one night this kid Max puts on this goddamn wolf suit. Swear to God, this kid has a goddamn fucking wolf suit. And he's all sugared up or some goddamn thing and raising all kinds of hell, you know, fuckin' kids, man. And his mom, she's about to totally lose her shit. And she's all, GODDAMMIT, MAX, WILL YOU CALM THE FUCK DOWN? I AM TRYING TO WATCH DANCING WITH THE GODDAMN FUCKING STARS HERE! And Max is still wound up like a motherfucker, and he pulls a fucking kitchen knife on her, and stars screaming BITCH I WILL CUT YOU AND I WILL EAT YOU! And the mom goes berserk, because nobody wants to hear that shit, especially not from a fucking kid when you've just spent two hours making his goddamn fucking dinner. And she says, MAX, YOU LITTLE FUCKER, YOU GET YOUR ASS UP TO YOUR FUCKING ROOM RIGHT NOW AND IF YOU THINK YOU ARE GETTING ANY GODDAMN DINNER, YOU ARE FUCKING WRONG. And that shuts the little fucker up."

Next: Quentin Tarantino's The Mouse and His Child

picspam: stay classy, Lincoln

2009-09-15T20:08:52Z

Animated strip club neon. This is one of the few extant bits of neon from my childhood, and instills feelings of both nostalgia and repulsion now. As far as I can tell, it is never turned off.

picspam: no exit

2009-09-15T18:29:03Z

holy crap amazing hf story on sandfordpolice omg omg omg will you LOOK at this GQMF fic

2009-08-18T14:43:46Z

http://community.livejournal.com/sandfordpolice/459752.html

when worlds collage!

2009-08-17T04:09:32Z

Working on a new notebook cover. I need to find some little swans and hedgehogs to sit in the boats.

I think the glitter glue adds that little extra bit of class, don't you?

FRANK SMITH LIVES!

2009-08-07T01:28:47Z

http://www.hulu.com/search?query=L+A+Dragnet

fic post: 'many hands' (hot fuzz)

2009-08-06T18:24:14Z

TITLE: Many Hands
FANDOM: Hot Fuzz
AUTHOR: annlarimer
WORD COUNT: 700ish
RATING: PG
WARNINGS: American spelling; gore
SUMMARY: The NWA demonstrate the small-town values of cooperation, mutual support, and local self-sufficiency.
NOTES: Crit is love.
DISCLAIMER: Hot Fuzz belongs to Big Talk and Rogue and, y'know, all them guys.

"There you are," Joyce Cooper chirruped, floofing open a black bin liner. "Many hands make light work!"

"Very true," said Robin Hatcher. "Thank you, Joyce." He bent over Martin Blower's dressing table, bone saw in hand.

She smiled. "You're welcome."

Supervising from the dressing-room doorway, Frank Butterman smiled at his colleagues. Harmony, he thought. Harmony is our watchword.

"Wait," said a voice.

Dammit. "Is there a problem, Simon?"

"It's just -- I'm sorry, Robin -- it's Doctor Hatcher's saw." Simon Skinner turned from the bloodstained wall, squirt bottle of peroxide in hand. There was no small amount of splatter, as was to be expected when a swinging axe met a brace of carotid arteries. "I'm sorry, I really must object."

"Oh, there's a shock," Joyce muttered.

Dr. Hatcher winked at her, then turned to Skinner. "I need it to remove Miss Draper's head. It's not quite off." The recently late Eve Draper stared up sightlessly from the dresser, which had been drafted as a temporary operating table.

Ronnie Butcher had done an excellent and efficient job of dispatching both Martin Blower and Eve Draper with his axe. Mr. Blower was headless, albeit still bespectacled; Miss Draper was only nearly headless, but had undergone LASIK surgery in Bristol, at Mr. Blower's expense. Ronnie had then vacated the tiny dressing room to give the others room to work. He and his brother Ron were now transporting Mr Blower's car to a lay-by at the edge of town. Truly they were multi-talented.

"I'm sorry, but using a bone saw... it really isn't striking her head from her shoulders."
Skinner made the guillotine-y gesture they'd all come to loathe in recent weeks. But, in all fairness, Frank thought, he looked genuinely distressed.

"It's how they taught us to do it at St. Swithin's," Doctor Hatcher said mildly.

"I do understand," Skinner said. "But I'm not talking about correct medical procedure, Doctor, I'm talking about poetic justice."

"Hold on, Sissy, let's stick to first principles," Amanda Paver's voice, followed by Amanda Paver, rose up from below. She had been set to blotting and spraying the tile floor. She was working her way through a pile of white towels which, by morning, would be laundered and returned to the Sandford Primary School gymnasium. "We're killing them -- well, have killed them -- because they're bloody annoying, not for your poncey notions of--"

Skinner bristled. "Poncey?"

"Poncey, sir!"

Being a good leader means knowing when to let your team members solve disputes on their own, and when to step in. Frank held up his hands. "Hold on, hold on, we're all friends here. There's no reason to argue. Simon, you object to Dr. Hatcher's technique, because you feel that the correct method would be to perform the decapitation with one continuing stroke or blow -- or in this case at least finish the job. Correct?"

"Exactly!"

"All right. How would we do this, here and now, with the instruments on hand? Ronnie took his axe with him when he left. Doctor Hatcher has his saw, and I assume a few choice scalpels in his bag. I have a pocketknife."

"I have a Leatherman," Amanda Paver put in.

"Yes. And while these instruments..."

"It has a corkscrew."

"Thank you, Amanda. And while these are all entirely serviceable instruments to one degree or another, when it comes to delivering a single finishing blow...?"

Enlightenment dawned on Skinner's face. "Oh, I see."

Frank smiled. "They're too small, aren't they?"

"By God, Frank, when you're right, you're right. Practicality, in this case, must trump poetry."

"Good man." Frank clapped him on the back.

Skinner turned to Dr. Hatcher. "Robin, old horse, I'm sorry. You're entirely right. Please forgive my outburst and carry on."

"Quite all right. Least said, soonest mended." Hatcher returned to his sawing.

"Not for these two, eh?" said Frank, inclining his head at Miss Draper and the already divided Mr Blower.

The room erupted in laughter.

There was a melonish thunk as Eve Draper's head came loose and plopped into the bin bag.

"Oh, well done!" said Joyce.

It's nice when we all get along, thought Frank. Really, there's no dispute that can't be settled with reasonable discussion amongst friends.

"Tell you what," said Skinner. "When we've all knocked off for the night, breakfast is on me."

Everyone applauded.

Then they returned to dealing with the corpses, and cleaning the blood spray off the walls.

phosfate @ 2009-08-05T22:44:00

2009-08-06T03:44:46Z

JOURNALFEN!

Hi, baby! I missed you.

jerry robinson has a posse and it plays canned synth music

2009-08-04T14:12:05Z

Unintentionally hilarious homemade trailer for *ahem* copies of Gene Roddenberry's The Questor Tapes.

er...why am i a whore? this time, i mean.

2009-07-22T21:01:57Z

http://www.journalfen.net/community/fandom_wank/1215012.html

make a tribble!

2009-07-22T15:59:06Z

ecto_gammat asked how to make a Tribble:

Click for biggerer. Full-size image is quite large, so you can read/print it. Feel free to ask for clarification of instructions/handwriting decipherage. Yes, they really are that easy to make. I'd put beanie pellets/shot/whatever in the bottom for weight, but it all depends on what sort of feel you want.

drabble post: the o.c. (hot fuzz/nutrek)

2009-07-06T18:36:35Z

TITLE: Drabble: The O.C.
FANDOM: Hot Fuzz/NuTrek
WORD COUNT: 100. Because it's a drabble. DRABBLE NERD SAYS WHAT?
RATING: G. Wait. What?
DISCLAIMER: Hot Fuzz belongs to the boys and girls at Rogue and Big Talk and their friends. Star Trek belongs to...it still belongs to Paramount, right? The important thing is, neither of them are mine.
PROPS: To viedma 'cause it was her idea.

Ensign Manny Dairyman knew, when he looked across the briefing table into Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott’s eyes, that his transfer to the Engineering section of the U.S.S. Enterprise would change not just his career, but his whole life.

Nicholas came up behind him. “Ready?”

“Nothin’!” Danny hit the little X at the top right of the screen. “Just e-mail. You ready?”

“You really want Star Trek again?”

“Nothing else on,” Danny said casually.

Was that suspicion in Nicholas’ eyes? “True.”

Surely nothing escaped Scotty’s brilliant gaze – surely not Dairyman’s sudden surge of emotion…

I gotta remember that, thought Danny. Brilliant.

and how was your holiday?

2009-07-06T14:17:42Z

Mine was quiet.

picspam: Ms Marvel dance party!

2009-07-01T19:08:24Z

Click for more bigging.

DJ Domo-kun is kicking out some bangin' tunes. Or something.

drabble post: straight to voicemail (hot fuzz)

2009-06-17T21:59:00Z

TITLE: Drabble: Straight to voicemail
FANDOM: Hot Fuzz
WORD COUNT: 100. Because it's a drabble.
RATING: PG fer the cussin'
DISCLAIMER: Hot Fuzz belongs to the boys and girls at Rogue.

You have six new messages.

“OH MY GOD NICHOLAS ADVANCED DRIVING IS THE BEST THING EV — oh fuck that’s not—”

You have five new messages.

“Mornspare. Nferggit wermin Saxadday.”

You have four new messages.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA I JUST LEARNED — ‘course I’m not using the phone while—"

You have three new messages.

“Have you got Prince Albert in — fuck, Andy! Now you’ve fucked it up!”

You have two new messages.

“I got to stay another day an’ review basic safety. Sorry. Want anything from HMV?”

You have one new message.

“THIS IS BRILLIANT! CAN I TAKE THE CYCLING COURSE?”

MediaWest picspam: Feltbot

2009-06-02T14:30:27Z

Apologies for the heinous picture. The camera insisted that the focus be the bag of Reese's Pieces behind him. As always, click for more biggery.

He's approximately 1" x 1" x 2", made of wool felt and buttons, and pellet stuffed to keep him from flying across the room.

picspam: Mediawest ought-nine

2009-06-02T02:30:34Z

(cliquez-vous pour more biggerness)

Red Heel socks (they come in blue as well as brown), microfleece dishtowel uniform, wool felt details. Rag and poly stuffed for weight. The background is the perfectly revolting Lansing Days Inn, which, I am happy to say, we were able to vacate after the first night. I tried to straddle the Nimoy-Quinto line with the face.

phosfate @ 2009-05-06T18:50:00

2009-05-06T23:50:38Z

Save Tesla!

More here: http://zia-narratora.livejournal.com/512218.html

'how godzilla affects my daily commute'

2009-04-15T13:28:57Z

http://www.funnyordie.co.uk/videos/bfeb03f221/how-godzilla-affects-my-daily-commute

bad press, you say?

2009-04-13T14:30:34Z

"Lost in a lot of the hullabaloo is the disability angle and the fact that feminist and female sexuality books were also deranked. This was intentional. I would go so far as to say it was mistaken and probably a committee decision of surpassing corporate blindness, but do not insult my intelligence and tell me it was a “glitch”. I wouldn’t be surprised if it ended up being a hit job by a hate group, as tehdely theorizes–but still, Amazon has not become a huge company by taking weirdo fundies seriously, even weirdo fundies with agendas."
--http://www.lilithsaintcrow.com/journal/2009/04/this-is-not-a-glitch-amazonfail/

Salon sends hugs:
http://www.salon.com/mwt/broadsheet/?last_story=/mwt/broadsheet/feature/2009/04/13/amazon_fail/

Dear Author has a letter template if you're stuck for words
http://dearauthor.com/wordpress/2009/04/12/amazon-rank/

and now a brief macro

2009-04-11T01:49:48Z

(Click for more biggery.)

picspam: bot in progress

2009-04-02T20:37:41Z

Face for a plushie robot. Yes, those are appliqued office supplies.