that's what anon said...: May 2009

also known as little bro. Sometimes people just do things that must be shared. If it had be confined to email I would have left it alone, but it oozed over into Facebook, so all's fair.

This all started with a stupid email that I forgot to add a CC: Jemez but addressed her in the email anyway and totally threw Anon, Laggin, and Math Geek. That was my fault and I understand why it made no sense what-so-ever.
Everything after that is Anon.

So Anon sends an email to me with the leaked movie poster for "New Moon" and cc:s Laggin and Mathgeek

Anon: Ladies, please pick her up after she swoons.

Terin: Nummy!!!!
Jemez, you see this yet? (Stupidly replying to all and thinking I have cc'd Jemez.

Anon: Jemez? Who's Jemez?

Mathgeek: Confused I am by these emails. (MG has a little Yoda in her)

Anon: And rightly so. It's Terin. She's crazy, you know. Don't worry though, it runs in the family.
Oooo! Bunnies!
Come here, you lil' darlins. Look at those cute little tails and--
DEAR GOD! They have flame throwers, run!!!!

Laggin: Oh dear.

Anon: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!
They are everywhere. Teeth bared. Beady little pinks eyes, flashing in the glare of the fires
OMIGOD!
THEY HAVE ALLIES!
Dive bombing penguins with napalm water balloons.
Oh, the hu-man-ity.

Mathgeek: I have no response to that.
But on another note, perhaps the reason for my initial confusion is that I am only getting a portion of the story. Now that I look at it, I was not getting anything directly from Anon, only the reply-alls from Terin & Laggin. So, I never saw what it was she might swoon for.
And then Jemez put me over the edge. Although, after that last one, do I really WANT to get anything from Anon? Hmm.
I don't know what's up, perhaps my company's e-mail system was blocking Anon, but now that I e-mailed him, he's gotten through (ack!).

Laggin: Yeah, and then you started him off on one of his ....thingies. It won't stop. All day. (The girl is psychic, or just smart)

Anon: It was ... the pennnnnnnnnguins!
Nefarious, dastardly, snidely beasties!

Mathgeek: Must contact CIS with urgent request to block Anon@mc.com

Anon: Oh lord, there is the smell of singed whiskers every where!

Okay so this is where it slides over into Facebook, where he has 254 friends (254, are you fucking kidding me?) And he posts as his status:

Anon is the only thing standing between humanity and the flamethrower-toting rabbits of doom ready to rain their fuzzy-white hate down upon us all.

Then the chaos ensues:

Friend 1: Is this a video game I don't know about?

Friend 2: okay... you really DO need cake!

Friend 3: I need to come back to blah, blah, blah....you have having visions of rabbits and revelations...

Friend 4: What. The. Fuck.?

Friend 5: Hi!

Anon: The stench of singed whiskers permeated the battle field as he emerged, skin charred in streaks of crisped ulcerations. Around his neck hung a string of rabbits feet. Laughing, he trumpeted forth, "Take that you unlucky vermin!" All the while unawares of the twitching cotton tails moving amongst the hillocks. Their fluffy furiness stained a blood red in the day's dying light.

Friend 2: I think you smoked a rock in the mens room after your noon meeting...

Anon: Nights later, his energy reserves drained by the constant and unending conflagrations of the wily enemy, he rested upon a blistered tor. No longer defiant, he merely existed. The enemy often left him alone at night. Their tell-tale snowy white coats left them easily spotted on clear nights. But this cool summer night was overcast. No stars. No moon... Read More. He knew they were out there, hunting him. So he

settled himself down. Waiting for a sign of their presence. Ferocity glinting from their soulless beady red eyes. Or the occasional thump, thump of their hind quarters as they bounded into position. Something to identify these whaskily denizens of hell. Oh how their whiskers must be twitching in crazed delight at his sorry state. Little pink noses crinkling so.

Friend 2: OMG someone get this man some chocolate cake STAT!!!
blistered tor? you are such a drama queen!

Anon: And then there they were. Hundreds of conies, stretched out in all directions for yards and yards.

Friend 6: Wake up people! I mean, think about all the carrots... what exactly do they need such good eyesight for, anyway?!?!

(p.s. you actually used the word 'tor'?)

Terin: (Yeah I egged it on... I am bad that way) Thank you, I needed that. Someone needed to call Nan and tell her to check you out. I love you dude!

Anon: With desperation overtaking him, he steeled himself. Anchoring his spirit to his inner fuddness. They would not take him alive. He would not fall like the rest, carried off to some burrow to be snuggled to death. Better to be charbroiled by their flaming hoses of death. No, he would not go quietly into the night! He would Howl, Rabbits! He would howl!

Ask me why this man (Man? Boy!) doesn't blog or publish. Go ahead ask. Cuz, my answer is I don't know the hell either. And know I don't share my drugs with him. He did this on his own. And still somehow forgot the squirrels, but did remember the vampires. He just didn't know it at the time.