Hi!

Click "random deviant" on your community messages page, and share a hug!

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It's all funny until someone gets hurt... then it's HILARIOUS.

*BANetwork For artists of black descent.

Ahah!!! So now i know Master Therin's Deviant Name. Alwyas a good thing to know.

*explodes*

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That is all

>_> Hello ^_^

I found yet another PO memeber on DA *waves*
Nice to met ya, i don't know if we talked before but i'm S2K4^^ If we did, hey and if we didn't hey anywway.

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R.I.P DEUEL ANDREW BERNARD A.K.A LINK (1989-2006)
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"Serenity's Seal of Approval" - Crybringer
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What have you done for Danny Phantom today?

Insomnia Sucks. Nuf said.

Grapefruit. I hate the stuff, myself, think it's too bitter and sour to possibly be good alone. I was talking about this with a customer today at work, and I stumbled, metaphorically, of course, across a sudden realization, or maybe more of a sudden question.

For sitting there on the coveyor belt in front of me were two fruits that were completely unrelated in every way, and yet they had similarity of name.

Two large grapefruits, and a bunch of grapes.

And I got to wondering, out loud mind you, which, I suppose, is why I have so few repeat customers, how this strange nomenclatural coincidence came about. The first thought that came to mind was that two guys, in completely different parts of the world, say Greece and Florida, just for the sake of example, came across two completely different fruits, grapes in Greece and -fruits in Florida, picked them, simultaneously, and took a bite, and, immediately in Greece and after a few minutes of deliberation and experimentation with regard to peel removal in Florida, came up with *exactly the same name.* Grape, thought the Grecian(or possibly not) guide. Grape, thought the Floridian (or, again, possibly not) farmer. And each went straight away to England, hub of the fashion world at the time, to attempt to sell his "Large, Yellow, Floridian Taste Explosion," and his " Small, Purple Greek Cherry of Joy." Each set foot on English soil within days, or possibly hours, of eachother. Each booked lodgings for the week in a hotel near the castle. And each rented a stall directly across the street from the other and began to hawk his wares. The exchange, in simultaneous voice, might have gone somewhat like this:

Both: "Brand new fruit/berries imported from far off lands! A magnificent taste sensation! Soon to be the most fashionable treat around! Come and get your Grapes! Hey, you're not selling grapes, *I'm* selling grapes! I discovered them in Greece/Floridia, while I was off expanding home territory! No you bloody well didn't, *I* did! You bloody wretch, you stole my name!"

From this point on, of course, what was once the exchange and has degenerated into a shouting match in the street will now be spoken in a different language. This language is known to every male of the human species, on one base level or another. It's what we call a good old down home street brawl.

It will not be finished either, for coming down the street at a regal pace, resplendent in his most regal robes, and holding his head in the properly regal fasion. This meant that he was staring so exclusively up at the traditional English overcast sky that he could not see what was less than fifty feet in front of him, and never took notice of *that* anyway, instead relying on his subjects to get out of his way and keep him on his feet for him. This worked damnedly well for the most part, and this was the first time the King had ever encountered such a hindrance as the one that was now rolling over and over toward him, unseen, through the muddy street. Suddenly, a great outcry is heard, and the crowds lining the streets fall hushed. Or, now that I think about it, they stay hushed, for they had fallen hush as soon as the King became visible. The King, beet red from top to toe, picks himself out of the mud, pulls the two bickerants up in front of him with his great arms, and demands, in loud, manly, royally eloquent tones, " WHAT THE DEVIL DO YOU SLIME BAGS THINK YOU'RE DOING!"

Both, pointing: "This man stole the name of my fruit! No I didn't, you did, you bloody great git!"
King: "SILENCE!"
Both, still pointing, but only because they haven't thought to drop their fingers: [silence]
King: "SHOW ME THE FRUITS."
Both, now pointing at their respective stalls: "T-T-Those are me grapes, your highness..."
King: "BUT THOSE ARE CLEARLY *BERRIES*, ARE THEY NOT?"
Grecian Guide: "Well, y-y-yes, your highness, but they're still grapes all the same."
Both, ignoring the king entirely again: [bicker bicker bicker]
King: "SILENCE!"
Both:"..."
King: "SINCE THOSE ARE BERRIES, WHILE *THESE* ARE SURELY OF THE LARGER FRUIT NATURE, I DECREE THAT *THESE* SHALL FROM THIS POINT FORTH BE KNOWN AS THE GRAPE *FRUIT.*"
Both: "Y-Y-Yes your majesy!"
King: "I FURTHER DECREE THAT THESE TWO MISCREANTS BE CONFINED TO MY DUNGEON FOR THE NEXT TWENTY YEARS."
Both: "But!"
King: [RAISED EYEBROW], for every movement the king makes is, of course, utterly manly and royal.
Both: [hang heads]
And thus it is done. From that point forth, all grapefruits were known as grapefruits and all grapes were known as grapes. And so it continues to this day...

However, that is only one possible scenario. Since I'm all created out for the moment, I'm going to leave the rest up to you.

Concerning the Irish and the Scots...

I'm Irish, but only through heritage. I grew up here, and I've never known an actual, honest to god Irishman, or a Scotsman, for that matter. However, going from family legends and such, I ended up with this, in a conversation with my friend, who shall remain nameless.

(friend): u irish invented drinking
(friend): cummon
TherinTelemon II: indeed we did
TherinTelemon II: it's a wonder we ever won anything besides drinking contests, I mean the only thing we fuckers ever do is guzzle the shit like it was water
TherinTelemon II: I mean, think of the war against the Scots
(friend): lol
TherinTelemon II: no one really won, because neither side could stand up long enough to actually fight
TherinTelemon II: it was six thousand guys milling around and going "Hey, is that my leg?"
(friend): lol
(friend): well, the scots had a good strat. unfortunately, everyone was too drunk to either care, or execute
(friend): i mean, just picture it:
(friend): large burley men, with flowing red hair, swinging around huge swords, playing the world's MOST obnoctious instrument
(friend): what would u do?
(friend): personally, i would think that they were running drunk demons, getting ready to kill me for my drinking problemns
TherinTelemon II: "yew fuckers ofer therre, yew're gonna bloew a right big whole in that wall right there...no, THAT wall. No, yew fuckers, THIS WALL RIGHT HERE! GOD DAMMIT GET YER ARSE OFF THE GROUND AND LOOK WHERE I'M POINTIN'! Oh, am I really?...Oh...Shall we have another drink then?

Just something for your amusement! If I offend any of you who happen to be honest to god Irishmen or Scotsmen, I apologize.

Ewww...Holiday Shopp syndrome is one of the worst affectors of human personality I think I've ever seen. Today, I spent most of the day finishing off the things I had yet to buy for my family. The stores, of course, were packed. Parking was a nightmare. And here lies the root of today's aggrivation. I was walking in from my parking spot, and I saw two guys literally duking it out over a parking spot that one had taken and the other had been waiting for. Come ON! I mean, I know you've been waiting for maybe five minutes, at most ten, for this spot, but is it really worth it? I mean, step back and think. If you're ready to pound someone into the ground simply because they lack "Holiday Spirit" , maybe you should reassess your take on said spirit while you cool your feet in the middle of a life-or-death battle in Iraq. But on the flip side, if you're in so much of a hurry that you would just jump in and take something this other guy has been waiting for for like five minutes, then you're clearly not in the spirit and as such, should not receive so much as a dirty bowl of feces in your stocking. In case you couldn't tell, I was ready to smash both of their heads together, which I guess kind of invalidates my own statements just previous. Still and all, I think the moral of that rather depressing story is this: If you're going to wait until the last minute to do what needs to be done, which, admittedly, most of us do, then you should learn some patience any way you can beforehand. If you can't go about something the right way, don't bother going about it, because while you may end up fine, you've just ruined someone else's entire day. It doesn't seem like much, and maybe I just care too much about my fellow man, but is it really worth ruining someone's day just to save yourself ten or twenty feet of walking?

Anyway...Happy Holidays, whatever you may be celibrating!

Parents, specifically parents who don't care, are one of the few things that piss me off every time I think about them. However, since I don't spend very much time thinking, I tend to stay calm.