So.

I think we have rather deftly established that Chronos and I are horrible people. Two-odd months without a single peep from either kid--you'd be forgiven for thinking we'd died and gone to heaven hell heaven. Well, forgiven by Chronos, at least. (Although this may have something to do with the fact that she has all but forgotten FG's existence over the course of the aforesaid two-odd months.) But me, on the other hand... well, I'm here and I'm mad and I'm typing and it's precisely 1:01 in the morning and this is going to fucking hurt.

Because I miss FG. I know nobody ever read us consistently at all, but I miss splashing around in a textual back-and-forth between Miss Chronos and myself. We had wonderful fun for the six or so months that FerretGun ran on time and then we had wonderful fun for the following two months that FerretGun sort of stumbled along and then the last two months were just plain horrible, horrible, horrible. There was hardly any time left between school assignments to take a poke at posting and what little time we actually found was mostly eaten up by feeling guilty for not having enough motivation to pick up the guts to take a poke at posting again. I do believe the term is "vicious circle". No matter how you look at it, FG simply fell by the wayside as we tried our very best to keep our heads above water.

But I think... I think we have a handle on things now. As much of a handle as we can ever have, anyway. Will our interaction with the calm, bullshit-riddled fields of FerretGun increase as a result of this? I don't know. I hope it will, but I don't know.

I would finish ranting, but there's nobody left to care, and I have a sneaking sinking feeling that there never was anybody who cared in the first place.

I would apologize, but there's nobody left to apologize to, and I have a sneaking sinking feeling that there never was anybody in the first place.

... oh, oh, isn't self-pity such a marvellous thing?

sarcasm sarcasm sarcasm

~Mnem

Cardiopulmonary resuscitation parking ticket citation Waziristan teacup fruitloop Batcake tango tango Oscar bloom.

Continuing on my trend of posting unnecessarily short updates at obscene hours of the night, have a hello.

Hello: ...
Hello: -runs away-

Well damn.

~Mnem

Long-awaited update of the frankly overused "look Ma, still breathing!" flavour

Well.

It seems Chronos has a knack for precognition that she has failed to tell me about.

Y'see, when she appended a disclaimer to the statement that "the incessant ramblings of people when they are thinking sanely [...] will come to an end in Ferret Gun", she was referencing a frame of life far beyond that which mere mortals can contemplate. Damn girl was seeing into the damn future and she damn well didn't know it at the time (what? I'm overusing the word "damn"? DAMN DAMN DAMN DAMN I can't hear you). Sure she thought she was talking about Ink Ninjas, but it turned out to be far truer than either of us could imagine. And of course it is I who brings yon splendid bit of irony to the notice of the largely unruffled world, though this should by all rights be her post. Meh. That's Chronos for you.

So yeah, 's all I have to say for now. Consider this your standard low-grade hark-the-guilty-conscience-speaks "We're not dead yet" post. Unfortunately, if unspeakable horrors things continue to swamp us unforgivingly as they have since we returned to school eleventy centuries ago, we will effectively remain in this "not dead yet" state until the next long weekend--Chinese New Year, baby!--or, you know, until one of us notices the blog languishing in its seventeen-foot drifts of dust and goads the other into a nice clean rant yet again. Mm. That too.

I'm sorry, it's 10:57 at night and I've been slaving away on a Biology lab report since seven. Everything looks like aortas now. @_@

~Mnem

Huhwaitwhat? Vol V: Instant Messenger Of Doom - November edition

Yeah, we've hit the doldrums again.

Huhwaitwhat? Vol IV: Instant Messenger of Doom - September edition

Because we suck at keeping promises.

2011, fk yeah.

Technically this should be Chronos' post (lucky fish beat me to that fateful midnight by an hour due to good location planning) but seeing as I'm the one who's still online, ze honour of zis post is mine all mine, mwahahaha.

Jus' kidding--this is for her too. For everybody. Happy New Year's, world!

(click for big.

warning: big is big.)

PS. New year, new drawing style? :P

I kid, I kid, but I like this way too. It's how I draw when I'm under pressure.

The British: exhibiting deductive brilliance--in more ways than one--since 1887 (and still going strong)

"[Y]ou can see why men wanted to get the look. Perhaps they noted the effect [Benedict] Cumberbatch, by no means your standard telly hunk, had on lady viewers ... and decided it must have something to do with the clobber. So it is that Britain's latest men's style icon is a fictional asexual sociopath first seen onscreen hitting a corpse with a stick. Surely not even the great detective himself could have deduced that was going to happen."

-- Alexis Petridis, journalist
(bolding mine)

IN OTHER NEWS: sudden attack of Sherlock Holmes obsession reported. Fine end to 2010 this is, mm.

~Mnem

Not a deerstalker in sight

Very very cool video juxtaposing two different takes on Sherlock Holmes: the technically inclined modern-day consulting detective played by Benedict Cumberbatch in the BBC TV programme Sherlock and Robert Downey Jr.'s much more actiony Victorian gent from the 2009 Sherlock Holmes film. I haven't watched the British one myself but I can say without doubt that the other one is teh awesome. And then, of course, there are the books...

yes Chronos this post is looking at youuuuu

Ahem.

~Mnem

Lame joke is lame (but at least it fills the quota)

Q: Which three English football teams have obscenities in their names?
A: Arsenal, Scunthorpe, and Manchester Fucking United.

~Mnem

Suddenly, the Pets EP is looking a lot more ominous

Other people's Sims games.

They amuse me.

Endlessly.

~Mnem

And suddenly, it roars back into life! Loljk, FG's still dead. Pass the eye of newt and the defibrillators and we'll fix that, though

LEAH: You should look at adoption ads. I see them all the time in the PennySaver.
JUNO: They have ads for parents?
LEAH: Yeah! "Desperately Seeking Spawn." Right next to, like, terriers and iguanas and used fitness equipment and stuff.

Hehe, Juno. -adds to list of Movies Chronos Must Be Made To Watch By Force If Necessary- It ain't an awful long list, though, since I'm usually the one with the pushy well-cultured friends who find my utter lack of an education in good taste somewhat downright appalling and a little exceedingly unladylike. Well boo hoo to you too. Scout Finch wasn't no lady neither and she's a gawdam goldarn goshdang [Ed. If you must swear, at least swear properly] literary icon for it. -wrinkles nose-

That aside, how are things going? It's been a while since we've posted--nearly a week, actually--well, six days since I last wrote and e-l-e-v-e-n days since that other random girl who runs this ship dragged her exam-ridden arse to a keyboard and feathered off a funny little suicide note about term assessments. One that I have neglected to update in regards to Biology Also, ~*~*~Edward Cullen~*~*~.

Fk you Chronos. Fk youuu. Mostly for the eyeslappingly flamboyant glitterification, but also because you hotlinked the original image and rehosting the thing on Tinypic requires that a copy of the picture in question be uploaded from a computer to the website itself. So I actually had to have Mr ~*~*~Edward Cullen~*~*~, Sparkleface Twithead Extraordinaire, on my hard drive. -sob sob sob- NO AMOUNT OF ANTIVIRUS WILL GET RID OF THE SHAME. NONE. SO THANK YOU. THANK YOU FOR THAT.
AND NOW I WILL GO CRY IN THE CORNER ALL BY MYSELF, IF YOU DON'T MIND.

Mad: -head whips around-
Mad: -SHING-

...or maybe I'll just shelve the pain and continue with updating the blog.

Mad: -head retracts, disappointed-

Well, while I'm sure that some of the fine readers of this equally fine periodical exploded from the perceived testosterone in that picture, it seems far more likely that a substantially greater percentage of the audience quite frankly imploded from the total and utter lack of any such chemical compounds present in the person of ~*~*~Edward Cullen~*~*~. Think of it as a testosterone vacuum--not the hoovering things but the voids. Actually, think of space. Lack of testosterone. Lack of air. Lack of anything. ~*~*~Edward Cullen~*~*~ (and yes this is getting tiring) is outer space: cold, dead, and something that should be stayed away from until further notice. (Take that, Twihards!)

... huh, I've spent the better part of half an hour on my back with the laptop tucked up on my abdomen typing and then deleting snark against an imaginary vampire. (Yeah, I binned one paragraph about the ethics of the situation since I figured that me... talking about ethics... um... not quite appropriate, shall we say.) The pillow ends an inch below my shoulder blades and my neck is pressed hard up against the headboard of the bed and it will hurt like hell quite soon (I predict) and the warm heat of the motherboard whistling along belies the staggering doses of radiation which are apparently boring straight into my innards and frying all the little cells into a state of perfect non-vitality. So yes, I am destroying my ovaries and setting the scene for the biggest goddamn neck crick in the past half-century because I just love you that much. Enjoy it. Bask in the adoration. Feel the warm glow of appreciation bathing every inch of you from head to toe and back again. Happy? Yes? Good. Now get me an ice cream and take out ~*~*~Edward Cullen~*~*~ with a sub-machinegun or I sic seventeen penguins on you and Lord knows that won't be pretty for anyone involved.

~Mnem

Madcap screencap adventures! or, If a picture is worth a thousand words, then I just won out on War and Peace

In this update: screenshots. Lots of 'em.

Because I'm too tired to write a decent post II

Posted via email from The Ferret Gun

because I'm too tired to write a decent post

<br />see more Very Demotivational

~Mnem

Posted via email from The Ferret Gun

stuck in my NA NA NA NA NA NA NA NA NA NA NA NA head

Posted via email from The Ferret Gun

~Mnem

Chronos likes cuts. Totally not awkward

~Mnem

[And so beginneth my policy of cross-posting everything I write from FG Posterous to FG Blogger, simply because I'm stubborn and loyal and constantly trying to one-up Chronos. Psych.]

"Americans now must choose between a virtual strip search and a grope" says the ACLU

Well, it's between that and potential death, of course, but since people can only focus on the short-term versus long-term effects (think of teenagers who feel invincible when they pick up their first cigarette), the vague and hazy notion of being blown up in the skies trumps an uncomfortable patting session hands down. Idiots, the lot of them.

Quoth an unnamed security officer who has to perform these searches:

I come to work to do my job. It is not up to me to decide policy, it is up to me to carry out my duties as dictated by the Transportation Security Administration. When a person stands in front of me and calls me a pervert or accuses me of molesting them it is disheartening. People fail to understand that neither of us are happy about the intrusive pat down I am carrying out. I am polite, I am professional and while someone may not like what I have to carry out, they came to me because they choose not to utilize the alternative and less invasive method of security at my airport.

The "less invasive method" being full-body scanners which, predictably, have been publicly shunned due to paranoia over radiation and having your body bits splashed over a screen in glorious nonpixellated high def. Yep, still idiots. The first fear I can understand, or try to, but the second? Get over it! What do you think, that the supervising staff are somehow enjoying your ordeal? News flash, moron. One, you're probably not all that awesome to look at, and two, they're just doing their jobs. In case you haven't noticed here are hundreds of people passing through US airport scanners daily and if the officers found this task attractive in any way then they sure as hell don't now. I believe "desensitization" is the word. Except there's one thing they probably can't get desensitized to and that is the endless stream of whines and muttering and outright accusations (see quote above) that they are, in fact, "perverts" and molesters when they are only trying to do their job. Shame on you coddled self-righteous airline passengers. Get off your bloody high horse and be a little grateful and humble and flexible for once. If these people up and decided to leave you'd not be going anywhere and if you did there's a high chance you wouldn't make it because gee, guess what, no security checks means moar security threats for all. But of course, you'd just complain about that too...

Idiots. -shakes head-

The tl;dr here is that yon "virtual strip search" and "grope" are temporary discomforts compared to the slightly more permanent state of nonexistence brought upon ye in the event of having your plane knocked out of the sky, so shut up and deal with it. Jesus Christ on a bicycle, people, rein in the holier-than-thouness of your ego.

~Mnem

Mnem's new reading list. Brought to you by the BBC + dead white guys

Saw this in a friend's Facebook note, thought it looked cool, didn't dare make my own note about it 'cause she and I aren't really that close anymore and it woulda looked stalkerish, wanted to share it anyways, stole it with a fiendish laugh, deleted unnecessary line breaks and dumped it here. To wit, this is a list of 100 rather important books, of which the average person, according to the venerable British Broadcasting Corporation, has only read six. Six. For shame. There is something wrong with this generation.

Anyhoo, it is now my goal to finish reading through this list by the end of high school, which shouldn't be too difficult as a) I read like a maelstrom (case in point: finished Vonnegut's 302-page Hocus Pocus in roughly three hours last week) and b) I've already gone through quite a few of these books. Bolded Struck-out items have been read in full and italicized ones have been begun and then tossed aside or simply read in excerpt form. (And my own addition: underlined bolded ones are ones I really really reeeaaally want to read.) Feel free to snatch the list and vaunt your own literary accomplishments. No credit required, because it never was  mine anyways, but your soul would be nice.

Ho shet, a medieval story with snark

"War," said Joseph Hirkanos to the elephant. He spat on the grass ... "Bad for the Radanites."


"Not always," said his nephew, a would-be sharp operator who lacked for the satisfaction of his ambition only the quality of sharpness and who expended all of his energies, as far as Joseph could see, on preserving his opinions from contamination by experience.

Michael Chabon's Gentlemen of the Road concerns itself with tenth-century odd couple Zelikman (rail-thin, morbid, and given to slicing up passersby with an oversized bodkin) and Amram (a veritable giant of an ex-soldier with a pleasantly obscene Viking axe and a good hand at shatranj) and what adventures the two globe-trotting swindlers run into after attaching themselves to the quest of the fugitive Khazar prince, Filaq. It's a story liberally laced with elephants, Jews, black humour, and dead men, all of which combine to make--well, it's difficult to describe, but it's very good, so I shall just say that it combines to make a swashbuckling knit-up of elephants, Jews, black humour, and dead men that is more, much more, than the sum of its parts. Trust me: it's better than it sounds.

~Mnem

Random influx of adorable + unnecessary angst

On the one hand, I've noticed we haven't really been writing to this blog much. The days of 500-word postings with nary a picspam in sight seem to be over, replaced by pithy one-liners stacked underneath five-inch monstrosities (five inches is a lot on a website). There's a part of me that misses those days. I like writing. Pictures are nice too, I suppose, and all the cool kids are getting a Tumblr now--which caters to those who like to plaster their walls with pretty photos, tack on at best an artily sparse caption and then book it the hell out of there--but oh, oh, this isn't a Tumblr. Ain't a photo album neither and sometimes I worry that's what it's turning into. No, this is a blog, as in a web log, as in an online journal, as in an exchange diary, as in words. Words that we don't take the time and care to write anymore. There is something sad about that.

On the other hand, why worry when you can have a cute little hamster instead? Hehe.

~Mnem