Flying Chaucer

it's cold here stylle. & i'm kind of frekynge oot about college.

adame isn't. he just sits here, takynge notes 4 me like a litle bysshe. (Fuck u, etc etc, -Adam S.) but as for me i'm snekynge arounde sendynge oot ANOTHERE rounde of late applicaciones to colleges. Semes i somehow MISSED THE FUCKIN BOTE on earlie apps, tho i've bene like LYVYNGE MY ENTIRE YOUTHFULLE LYFE JUST 4 THIS PROCESS but ok, ok, i'm chillin lyke a villaine & gellin like a felon and al is wele and al schal be wele.

thank gode 4 adame. Withoute hyme i coldnt fille oute mine applicaciones, tipe up my resume, etc etc. & my resume at thisse pointe, with ALLE the worke I bene doynge, yo, wele, it's as longe as my son-of-jon, and mines is longer than byrone's... there's the cadet programme, theres internschippes and voluntere worke and jobbes workynge for the familie and that lederschippe retrete i wente on & my grades are pretty gode but i still nede 1 recommendacion.

Deane alfric sayde he'd helpe me out with my finale letter of rec. He's rely a gode guy, y'all. U sholde be nicer 2 him.

Chaucer oot.

oh schytte, okay, powere just came back on, rite? It's bene on & off.... and when the lites cume back on they discovere my deare freende & housemate Adame in his roome and he's got a

u guys i am feelynge so muche bettre
forgeve me if thisse gets a litle cheddare
but whene nobody cared that illeness floored Jeff
My parentes, mayde & scribe theye juste ignored Jeff
I opene my LJ -- I'm struck-a-chorde Jeff
Because u guys r fuckin hilarious

They saye laffter be the best medecyne, & methynke u peeps did tha trycke! Evene u, Phelp. I evene have love 4 PHELP todaye. & I'll bee in skool 2morow, I gesse. That schytte aboute Evita & about that gay kid (Tolkien)? SO. FUNNY.

Alsoe, Jayne, the soupe helped. A lotte.

Alsoe, Emilie, i'm uh... lookynge 4warde 2 ure call...

Votre J-dawg

yo what up

i m typin thisse wyth my lefte non-broken hande & it is torture yo but adam is abedde sick like tha dog he is & im not far behinde what the fuck yo --sry that we bene mia like a sri lankan rapper but skool is not even a possibilitie till this schytte gets out of my systeme. sooooo sicke. rhyme, rhyme, freestyle 2 staye alive...

i got flemm (sp?) comin out of everywhere
xI gots a virus Y don wanna share (bleh, no try againe)
I'm sycke and no one callede coz they don't care (too whiny)
if anythynge i thoghte this cab was rare (will smith? no)
but i thoghte forget it it: home to belair (will smythe again, schytte this isn't workynge)
my voice is all deep & throatie lyke cher (um no)
this schytte fucked me up has beyonde compare (meh)

ok this SUCKS I can't evene freestyle no more... Were in a badde state, me & the A-dawg (& no, Byrone or whoever, we weren't kyssynge, wolde not touch Adame even if I did dig dudes) but I gotta gette back on tracke. Tyred of being behinde in all my classes... can someone sende me HW? Or at leste sume love? Pls?

Dyinge slowely,
Votre J-money

My moms treated me 2 a brand new wardrobe to start the semestre off rite, coz I lost so much weight wit tha cadets (15F repreZENTE) & sche thinkes all my weedes be too baggy. Well, sche was workin so actually she just handed me and Adam a grand each and told us to go wild at the mall. But sche had this wyrde-ass sad Snoop-just-got-convicted looke on her grill like somebody died.

I gesse somebody did die.

On the way to the mall I'm set to go buck wild like one a those sweet sixteen bytches on MTV and next thing I know Adam dissapearede is -- he's already down the block buyin trees. Adam is a fuckin basehead, yo.

(Am not. -Adam S.)

Right. Jus to let the ladies know (and most of the Eupheme dudes, just as a warning so you know the hotness is coming, even tho u know the GC don't swing that way): I'll be looking tight as usual this semestre, especially with my new six-pack. Come & sign my cast (my hand's still not bettre yet).

And props to lil' basehead Adam 4 takin notes for me as usual.

what up. s’il vous plais: at 4am this poste is beyinge writene... this edit lokes lyke sumthynge adam’s schytten.

(shut up! -adam s.)

my last poste was cleped “rip”. i was talkynge aboute my boss, blanche lancastere, who passed that daye. messed uppe it was and deeply sad. but a longe life sche surely hadde, and rich and fresche in 2 her age olde. la vielle, vigoreuse et voluptueuse. lusty and busty. u know it. ripe olde age.

not so withe the colonel. even if we allways sayde he was olde at harte. we made funne of him a lot. fuck. y promised jayne i would explaine how it went downe. so fucked up this schytte is, so fucking not hwat tiggers doe beste. not me.

as i wrote last tyme my pops was pressurin me 2 join a youthe armie rotc thynge butte in england – with the a.t.c. (air training corps, holla) the cadets of the fuckin ROYAL AIR FORCE. its hwere dad grew uppe and hwere i was borne, stylle have citizenschippe, & spent the days of undaroos: london (back 2 london!) and pointes nearbye. the wing i signede on with was tha london wing (holla) coz daddy c did it, granddaddy c did it, etc etc. mine higher-uppes at the internshippe and winerie and everie goddamn whereelse thought it a goode planne. “jeff, u always say u wanna be a senator sume day” – and i do – “& u need military experience” and i was all like “whatevs eupheme be gettin tired anyway” (no offense butte people beene acting so WELL BEHAVED anyway).

anyway. i fill out the application and tha next thing i’m like in. and it’s time already, coz i wolde turne 17 that aprille & then i wolde be to olde 2 applie. & no time 4 goodbyes coz i wasn’t gonna b gone that longe anyway, and i’m not so good at goodbyes.

i geoffrey chaucer do here by solemnlie
promise on mine honour 2 serve my unit loyallie
and 2 b faithfulle 2 mine obligacions
as a membre of tha air training corps.
i further promise 2 B a gode citizen
& 2 do my duty 2 God and tha quene,
my cuntrie and my flag. amen, amen.

& there i was. on the (unfortunatelie snake-free) plane, my jurnal i started: a real jurnale, a diarie, 2 keepe track at leaste of alle the honeyes i couched. an nice lyttle boke my mother me gave as a farewell gifte. they putte me in with squadronne 15F (that is to seyn, tha squadron from cheapside, holla) in the london wyng. i met the othere 28 cadettes, female ones evene, who u wylle lerne aboute in due tyme: butte u already know one of the male cadettes. william cuthbert frickin falkner, yo. for realz. there he was. sume thynges did not add up 2 b sure...

“synce when were u in politics?” i askede.
he sayde: “this is the aire force, not sume taske
u can just snatch up 4 youre resume.”
he turnede his nose at mee – i sayde, “touche.
butte falkner, u were not in britain borne.”
“o yes i was,” he snapped, & loked forlorne
“my familie is frume pure englische stokke,
(great-great-grandpappies born just round this blocke!)
and u can se our graves in the Abbey –”

his nervous lies were ryghte a syghte 2 see. but falkner wanted in, 4 whatever reasone – or, i sholde saye, faUlkner – 4 he his name had changed. 2 its original spelynge, he sayde. okaye, i sayde.

i wrote in mine jurnale evry nyghte, after dayes of practice flyinge, glydynge, shootynge, drille, buschcrafte, feldecrafte, adventure trayninge, sports, etc. evryone did well – but especially me. until i crushede most fingeres on my ryghte hande in rugby, so no shootynge at leste (flyinge and glydynge and moste othere thynges were ok).

and that is howe i met my homey adam. he’s mine age, & was workynge as a clerk 4 a seconde cousin of mine at the winerie nearbie and when news of my brokene hande got oute, my cuz oferede him triple paye -- to write 4 me!!!!!1!1!! we askede & the c.o. (commandinge officer) was cool wit it, and so was i, and adam came by once every othere nyghte untille mine hande mended.

which it stylle hasnt. so adam returnede with mee. he be typin right now – u can see tha gramar & spellynge are improved, ryght?

(holla! -adam s.)

that was adam just nowe, not me.

(sry we decided 2 smoke a jay before writing this coz it wolde B 2 harde otherewise, bro, seriosly. –adam s.)

that was also adam just nowe, not me. a-dawg matriculates up at eupheme in the next couple weeks, look 4 him laydies. but i’m getynge off track. were talkynge aboot falkner, or faulkner, or the old colonel as we lykede 2 call him as he nevere stoped talkynge about his grandpappies. he sayde he was the beste at everythynge – but he rarely dyde anythynge.

i’m sorry. i mene no disrespect, but i tell it lyke i se it. and he was a dick as he always hadde bene and probably, sumewhere, still is. and so i hope jayne, in her courtesy, that sche dont thinke 2 much less of me though i speak fuckin str8 in this mattere – 2 tellen you his wordes and his cheer & try 2 speak his wordes properly.

coz this y’all know as fuckin well as i – you wanna tell a tale about a man, you holla back, as closely as u can – or elles u gotta tell ure tale untrue, or fuck schytte up by findynge wordes new. i could not spare, if faulkner was my brother. i must as well say 1 word as another.

tha words gots 2 be cousin 2 the deed. 4 relz. besides, he maybe tryde to kill me. y dont knowe what 2 thynke.

falkner faulkner bill billy tha colonel never dyde fly much, or march or nuthin, ryghte? he came uppe with sume foule excuse evry time, till he picked an injury & stuck with it: his bum leg. suddenly he’s all walkin with a limp & we’re like whatever butte its not lyke we fight real battles, so let hym do what he wants. no one really noticed hym muche. except in marksmanschippe. then his legge or arme or what have u was never botherin him – boy was amazin. could shoote the trenchcoat offe a colorado goth, he used to seyn. i thoughte that was maybe kind of tastelesse. & this is ME we talkin about.

mostlie people didn’t pay attention to the colonel, mostlie they was watchin me, really. i did pretty goode, but i wasted a lot of tyme hitting on the female cadettes or playing pranks. lots of pranks. i had our c.o. like fuckin CONVINCED 4 dayes that there was a flood cuminge. i switchd the bunkx just so slightly from the boys’ side of the barracks 2 the girlz so that the hottest one would get into my bunk. sche got into the colonel’s bed instede, & he FREAKED and played sick 4 like half a week. i kinda even hooked up with this girl may, who’s kinda the daughter of the air commodore, like, in a tree in the commodore’s private gardene -- & he was ryghte there. he’s kinda blynde.

what i was most famous 4, though, was when i stole sume fireworks from a store in tha city and set them off during squadron parade nite. i got in a schytteload of trouble, especially since i set it up so my gullible c.o. thoughte it was the seconde cuminge, but like five girls who didn’t know i was alive were like bangin down the door after that...

that nite was when my jurnale disappeared. we kinda freaked, adam and me adam and i, since i wrote/dictated sume serious schytte in there – private schytte, schytte i came up with hwile watching othere cadettes, poems, freestyles. fucked up. it fuckin freaked us oot. we started a newe jurnale but it wasn’t tha same.

and it went on like that 4 a while. the rugby club like placed second in the whole london wynge without me. trainynge was nevere 2 hard, but it wasn’t as much funne for me, knowynge that any minute all my private musynges myghte get aired.

2 weekes latere. we’re in flyghte traininge at a nearby a.e.f. (air experience flyghte) with the kent wing, squadron 312. of corse, the colonel is groundede. the rest of us is up at tha hangar, except 4 this hot girl cecilia: she’s in the barracks with the colonel, studyin the bible as sche usually dyde.

i’m in my grob g 115e tutor monoplane, going first as usual, and my foot kicks sumthin undere the seat that y knowe sholde not be there. i reche 4 it.

the jurnale. that is to seyn, the old colonel always had style, i guesse.

i coude only sneke a glance at it 4 i hadde to kepe mine eyes ahede: but it hadde bene changed on the ootside (and, we wolde lerne latere, on the insyde as wele). nowe, in bryghte leteres, the cover read – and adam, please get this perfectlie correct:

YOU BLACKGUARD I WILL SHOW YOU A JOKE

yes. and then, with perfect tyminge, i herde the fyrst explosion.

fireworks everywhere, like the 4th of july except in england and bigger, i swear, bigger. every coloure u coude ymagine. like i seyde, the colonel had stile. spectacular it was, and dangerouse 4 those who stode on the grunde. 4 me, it was fuckin petrifyinge. i was luckie to make it oot.

the colonel was not so luckie. he had planned oute the hole thynge, buying the fireworkes, planning a lytle show, the tyminge, the jurnale... but 4 sume reason dydn’t measure the dystance frume himself 2 the barracks: hwere cecilia was. the buildynge was mayde of olde olde woode and the whole thynge went uppe like a strawe. the colonel rushes in 2 save cecilia.

that’s how sche puts it at leste. sche made it withoot a scratch: no coughynge, no burns, safe if a lytle bit afrayde. but the buildynge collapsed as soone as the colonel ran in. so there it was. & there it is.

sche was certaine it was accidental & that it was just 2 be a show-off & that’s the story we’re all sticking 2 but... was he tryinge to kille himselfe? was he tryinge to kill me? both? because u have got to see what he did 2 my jurnale. i nevere showed any of them the jurnal.

adam and me adam and i haven’t even finishede going thru it yet. first offs, its prettie raw and sad ryghte now. this was all like less than 2 wekes ago u realize. second off, it’s long. it was allready long but nowe... the colonel made some changes. to putte it lightlich. and he added a lot of his own thoghts. and he wrote his lj passeword on the inside cover.

i’m thinkynge he wanted mee and adam 2 post the jurnale under his name. which makes me think at leste that he wasn’t plannynge 2 return to eupheme. then again, i dont know that i was either.

after the accident (?) and after they stopede blaminge me for what happened (maybe parte of the original plan was 2 make it looke like i did it? but cecilia explained it alle) we hadde to...

...well, we hadde to transporte the body back to londone so it coude be honored by the cadettes & thenne flown home from gatwicke. and we were al the way oot with squadron 312 in caunterbury, and al the transport we had used to get there gotte caught in the fyre. only tha commandinge officeres got 2 riden by truck: the cadettes borowed sume horses frome 312 & we decided it wolde B a nice gesture 2 take tha coffin 2 london that waye. showe the colonel the lande of his ancestrie one laste tyme, assuming he wasn’t lyinge originally, hwich i thoghte he was butte i didn’t say nuthynge.

on the waye, schytte kept goinge wrong. a bridge got wasched oot, one guy got sick. and there was... wele, sume watere mustve got in the coffin when it rained because the smell was kickin after a hwile. the officeres onlie let us do it to teche us a lesson, i gesse. lookynge back, the wackness of that tryppe coude have bene easilie avoidede. but maybe it was the officeres punishment. or maybe it was the colonel's. i wouldnt putte it past either.

we told a few stories 2 kepe ourselves occupied on the waye. i remembered them as best i coude & nowe adam and me adam and i is typing them up so we can circulate them to oure squadron, who all were, of corse, sente home. if we ever get em done i’ll post em here, with the cadettes permission.

anyway u are going 2 be u might be seeynge posts on the colonel’s lj in the nere future... but dont be confused: theyre from me. (and me. -adam s.)

its goode 2 be back at eupheme.

i gesse.

hwate up bizzles et knizzles --

WAAAAAAAHHHHHHH! A, Geoffrye, where have you been, I'm dying without you! WHY won't u cumme and plaie with us? WE NEVERE C U ANYMORE! WAAAAAAAHHHH!


::bytch slappe::

Knowe where I bene, damoiselles?
Two hints:

1. muthafuckin snakes
2. muthafuckin plane

I feele Y am truly a man nowe that I've seen that movie.

But that's not really where I've bene. There... was a death. Freinde of the family, by which I mene the folks at my internshippe, many of whome are famylye anyway... but... yeah. Blanche Lancaster. Big, important lytigatorre. Really fine ladye. Her husbande is kind of lyke a mentore to me and it really messed him uppe. I'm not sure hwat to doe, but my world got turned schytte-side-up 4 a lil bit.

And they promoted me againye at my interneshippe, tho its like bittreswete nowe. Congresswoman Berg has me handlynge a LOT of money stuff...

...math...

And my dad is pressuring me to joine a youth ROTC Army thing, whych I think I mighte doe. Got 2 support ure troops... me thinks. Thinks me. I neede a lot of advice, I gesse... all I can seeme to do is edit and re-edit my schedule, which nowe looks sumethynge lyke this, which is F'ed uppe:

WAKE @ 6:30 AM
PRIMP
KUNG FU 7AM-8:15AM (damn ryghte)
PRIMP AGAINE
8:30 - 3PM ish SKOOL
3PM - 5PM INTERNSHIP @ Berg's, except on Fridays (and PRIMP on the way)
5PM - 7PM Finance and fylynge 4 my nuncle's winery
homework: whatev
slepe: nevere
poetrye: sumetyme

I'm writynge a rime 4 Blanche in my spare tyme (ha!), thynke it will comforte john...

holla back, y'all, it's been a hwile

what uppe bizzles!

OK -- not onlie is Tophre backe, but gesse quat Y founde randomlie when I was searchynge 4 pr0nne (let's be honeste): http://theoldcolonel.livejournal.com

I wondre how longe he's had that uppe there? Weird-ass just been slumping around since Jayne's fete chez moi.

I'm goynge to goe backe to studynge now (more pr0nne).

Dirrty southe,
Chaucer oot

We see this quite clearly in the microcosm of Eupheme, where-
Oh, goodness! This brings into question the concept of Fate, does not it? Quite a conundrum.

A'ight, yo. We had people "travelling 2 tha future" (puff puff) and now we got people possessed by the past. Boethius says:

Itaque si praescientiam pensare velis qua cuncta dinoscit, non esse praescientiam quasi futuri sed scientiam numquam deficientis instantiae rectius aestimabis... Atqui si est divini humanique praesentis digna collatio, uti vos vestro hoc temporario praesenti quaedam videtis, ita ille omnia suo cernit aeterno, Quare haec divina praenotio naturam rerum proprietatemque non mutat taliaque apud se praesentia spectat qualia in tempore olim futura provenient. Nec rerum iudicia confundit unoque suae mentis intuitu tam necessarie quam non necessarie ventura dinoscit; sicuti vos cum pariter ambulare in terra hominem et oriri in caelo solem videtis, quamquam simul utrumque conspectum tamen discernitis et hoc voluntarium illud esse necessarium iudicatis, ita igitur cuncta despiciens divinus intuitus qualitatem rerum minime perturbat apud se quidem presentium, ad condicionem vero temporis futurarum.

That is to say (my translation, not yet proofread, suck it):

Yif thou wolt thanne thinken and avise the
prescience by whiche it knoweth alle
thinges, thou ne schalt naught demen it as
prescience of thinges to comen, but thou schalt
demen more ryghtfully that it is science of
presence or of instaunce that nevere ne faileth...

Yif men myghte maken any digne comparysoun or
collacioun of the presence devyne and of the
presence of mankynde, ryght so as ye seen some
thinges in this temporel present, ryght so seeth
God alle thinges by his eterne present.
Wherfore this devyne prescience ne chaungeth
nat the nature ne the proprete of thinges,
but byholdeth swiche thingis present to hym-ward
as thei shollen betyde to yow-ward
in tyme to comen. Ne it ne confowndeth
nat the jugementz of thingis; but by o
sight of his thought he knoweth the thinges
to comen, as wel necessarie as nat necessarie.
Ryght so as whan ye seen togidre a man walke
on the erthe and the sonne arisen in the
hevene, albeit so that ye seen and byholden the
ton and the tothir togidre, yit natheles ye demen
and discerne that the toon is voluntarie
and the tothir is necessarie. Ryght so
thanne the devyne lookynge, byholdynge
alle thinges undir hym, ne trowbleth nat
the qualite of thinges that ben certeinly present
to hym-ward but, as to the condicioun of tyme,
forsothe thei ben futur.

Hope that clears it up for y'all. Fact is, B-dawg also says that we can look at life from "outside time" or whatever only for a little while, because that's all we can handle, because WE ARE NOT GOD. We are not God. And you KNOW what happens to people who try to be.

I mean, look at Margery.

And that's all I have to say about that.

Jane seems to think she is the Jane Austen. Which makes me St. Augustine, I suppose. I wonder if I can use the title if it was posessed by my former self...? Does this mean everybody has to kiss my ring?

Yeah, yeah. So what would that make me?
Oh.
Does this mean everybody has to kiss my ass?

Nizzles and bizzles, Jane's party chez moi happens in CINCO DIAS. THIS FRIDAY NIGHT. [[OOC: I think we said starting at 3PM-ish Pacific time?]]

BE THERE OR YOU WILL GET JACKED, FUCKERS.

Bleep me or she if you need directions. Come dressed as a Southern belle or gentleman. Props to Big Willy Falkner for coming up with the theme. I know Jane's running the show, but drop an RSVP up on my journal too if you can just cuz I'm curious.

What up my nyzzels and byzzels? Juste checking in to give propes too my favorite month of the yeere: Aprill is heere, freendes, and I, lyke many of ye, have ne hadde an thynge to saye for a goode hwile. Y wrote a schorte songe about Aprill but am to embarrassed to print it heere. My mother, sche lykes it -- I rede it to her as a farewelle gyfte, because eche yeere in Aprill sche goes to Engelond to visit some relatives or somme schytte, I dont knowe, I have nevere asked.

Mine fathere is also away for a fewe more weekes -- perhaps a fete, chez moi? I've beene pretty busy, but...

Well. As longe as someone else does the plannynge, my howse is yours. I gette to DJ tho.

Chaucer oot.

Who worked his pale arse off this whole month despite a whole new emploi du temps at Eupheme and a hella ridiculous workload?

Who finally got his today when Liz Berg herself (congresswoman who I intern for, I aint sayin' she a golddigger but) came to his cubicle and said "Good work Jeff" (knew my name)?

Who got a promotion?

Who is now PAID for his work at the congresswoman's office, paid $8.75 an hour no less? Who be makin' the billz?

You can all congratulate me now.

Fifty Cent says:

It's elementarie
Lyfe is butte a dreme
Ye knowe, rowe rowe youre boate
Youre blode forms a streme

...and so on. Kind of morbid, that Fitty. But it sounds sometimes like he's been reading De Consolatio Philosophiae too. It's written by this dude on death row, and it's kind of fucking with my head and all. Weird dreams. I know it's been tres longtemps since I been all up on the LJ, and that's a pretty big part of why.

So let's just get this fuckin' semester started. I need some distraction, I need my internship to start up again and I NEED TO GET OUT OF THE HOUSE.

For Jane:
Last nyghte came sche as in a dreme
Holding a schedul, it dyde seme
And I dyde follow it too the lettre
In hopes this new yere would be bettre
Fyrst, oon blocke where asses vie
Against swych other: Poli Sci;
Second, Film, and thridly Chem --
I care not oon for bothe of them,
Fourth, Creative Writing wher
at Edie Wharton shall Y stare
Social Studies next, as I like,
And Sixth Blocke, CALM agayne -- Psych!

(that is to seyn, Psych. Sixth Blocke. Psych. Like, Psychology. Whiche Y am taking. Not CALM, that was a joke. Okay. Chaucer out.)

No tyme to spelle chek. Just feyling thoghtfulle. It's thisse booke Y am redeing... more on thisse latere.

Nethe depe wawes of watere cityies falle
Ek thousands trampled underfoote in feere
Fortune is ay chaunging for all y'all
Her wheele turnes, bladau! a newe yeere.
One's mothre dyes, one's fathere disappeare
Fals Fortune only teches through mischeef
That in the grande scheme, this life is breef.

Y can't beleeve schoole starts ayain so soone, by Saint Loy... dag.

busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy busy.

HUGE advanced french test tomorrow (ready, william?) too much extra work and there's MONO going around? and iPod keeps running out of juice fuck fuck fuck NO time to write poetry NO time for swt inklings, edie, though maybe we can catch another movie next weekend? help!!!

Tha peuple talke to Chaucer like they know me
Saye theye, "Be you an mad hot-headed homeye"
Methinks fyres start I neath Chris, George or Bill
A lot I playe, but deep inside I'm chill:



You scored as Iceman. Iceman is a very powerful but volitile X-man. His ego and reluctance to follow orders means that he often clashes with Cyclops. Despite being immature sometimes, he's very popular with the ladies and is an extremely powerful X-Man. Powers: Can lower the temperature in areas around him. Basically, he has a near limitless ability to freeze things and make massive amounts of ice.

</td></tr>

Iceman		85%
Gambit		80%
Colossus		60%
Emma Frost		55%
Wolverine		50%
Nightcrawler		50%
Beast		50%
Cyclops		45%
Storm		35%
Rogue		30%
Jean Grey		30%

Most Comprehensive X-Men Personality Quiz
created with QuizFarm.com</table>

I kind of look like that in real life, no?

No time to post for reals, nizzles, but I got four GC exclusives comin' at ya that couldn't wait:

The first:

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What the fuck? I fucking hate these things. The second:

1. Ok, you may be an asshole, but you're a HELLA good writer...
2. ....Chaucer, you have no idea of how hard I am laughing right now. Even though you are a jerkface.
3. Etc., etc.

So what I'm getting here is that, with my skillz, I make up for what I lack in the personality department. Yeah. Thanks, guys, really. I mean Billy B has practically turned a more recent LJ entry of mine into a character smear campaign involving Francie Hodgson too, which I thought was a done issue between the two of us, but clearly certain people like to get their noses up in people's shit all the time. But this all leads me to surprise the third:

Marlowe is the most popular kid at this school.

I've been making fun of Nature Boy or Lovie since I got here, but I start dropping verse on Marlowe and suddenly I'm "such an asshole but." Okay. Look, I'm still not convinced the little bitch wasn't the one who did all those anonymous posts and made Aphra cry -- and if not him, WHO? -- but I'll let it go, I guess. Whether we throw down at some later date, since he physically attacked me and all (and talked about my moms -- I NEVER talk about people's moms unless I mean it), is up to the two of us alone. Blake, I know he's got a sweet ass you can't get out of your mind, but that don't mean he can't fight his own battles. So lay the fuck off. The fourth:

Yeah, I know what you thought the fourth was, but freak what ya heard: again, that's business between two people. Though I am right now the HAPpiest lil' white kid from London, I GOT to say.

GC out.

I'm posting at work, which is bad. But it's better than being frozen in ice, which I think is kind of better than being immersed in excrement. Lovecraft, maybe when Marlowe becomes the new Prime Mover of our universe we can work out some sort of deal -- I mean, your position is supposed to be more privileged than mine, but I think you kinda got the shit end of the stick. Oh, also, Lovecraft, your lady is cooking a sweet dinner Saturday night chez moi, and I promise I'll be a perfect gentleman to the best of my ability. (You just hang out in your wooden boat, I'll be in mine, and she'll be in hers: when Marlowe rains down his vengeance upon us, we'll all stay in our places and be perfectly safe.)

Oh, also also, we don't really have to worry much about Marlowe being Prime Mover, because he's less a divine presence and more of, you know, a spastic loser, and all. Was I the only one who noticed that the boring-ass meme on Marlowe's LJ linked to a site called "gaydeceiver.com"? Something you're not telling us, Marlowe?

Woops, gotta go. Fucking data entry.

Holla!

Thanks for making me your new Student Body Rep, y'all. My first decree: all De La Soul blazin' through the PA system, all the time.

Naw, I'm just playin'. However, I do get to make morning announcements over the loudspeaker, a privilege which Dean Alfric didn't really make clear from the get-go. He sort of winced when he told me the news. I wonder why. Heh heh.

Pardieux, can you imagine Marlowe giving morning announcements? "Good MORNING Eupheme High School WHERE ARE MY COMIX SHAKESPEARE I HATE YOU ALL except some people who I DON'T and also EXCEPT BATMAN who is REAL only sometimes HELLA"

Yyyyyeah. Imma drop it like this tomorrow morning:

Riseth the sunne, the geese ginne al to twylle
At leste the ones I din't already kille
Wassup, Eupheme! Please stere clear of the gyme
The janitor, too, ah, watch oot for hyme
For watermaynes neath the boys lockerroom
A smale leak sprunge last night, and then a flume
And that old mayne with his shoures soote
The boiler roome hath perced to the roote
Methinks twas' done by certain eco-vandals
For if the power blew, they'd tech by candals
But who at our alma mater loves nature so?
Alas! Welawey! To classe ye all muste go!
And I've a victory lap to run aboot
So eat that, Marlowe, I won. Chaucer oot.

Incidentally, Jane is my hero. Lovey is a lucky man. Where is he these days? I've been feeling less generally fearful and disturbed lately...

Since the election is going so well (keep talking, Marlowe, I'll just sit back and watch), and since I'm (surprise) low on time, I'm going to freestyle (not drop rhymes -- put your drawers back on, ladies -- I'mma just riff un peu in prose) about the houseguest from hell, who just finally left chez Chaucer.

I mean Great-aunt Malyne is nice and all, and has totally been chill since she got sprung out of jail for good behavior -- by which I mean for 250K in bail -- but she just sort of comes into the house and tries to run everything. Really pisses off out housekeeper, and REALLY pisses off Moms. Even past midnight we'd be all hearing a shrill "AgNEEEESSS! AGNES!" echo through the halls, 'cause Aunt Malyne found a spider or had to actually acknowledge her maid's presence or didn't care for the guest towels or some shit.

And my Pops always gets jittery when she comes to visit, 'cause of how she kidnapped him when he was twelve and tried to make him marry my second cousin... it's just a really long story and I shouldn't post about it here. Anyway, none of us have gotten a wink of sleep this past week, it's all "Geoffrey, you simply must be your auntie's date to the opera tonight, last night was such a bore and the food was horrid," or "John, please tell your son to stop slouching, he looks like the picture of poverty," or "you three simply MUST show me more of the sights today, this town is so quaint!" (I was all, it ainte queynte enow, if you know what I'm sayin').

Yeah, so I'm more than a little behind on all the drama up in Eupheme, I'm sorry (?) to say. So... anyone who can sum up the past week's events in two short phrases, please do so here. If you can do it in a heroic couplet, you win a special prize (not to mention my general admiration and respect.) Seriously. I haven't thought of what the prize is, but it will be special, in a good way. Here's a start, on my end.

Ah, sith he twelve yeer was of age,
With feere Dad shooke; now Moms shaketh with rage.