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I have committed to artistic posterity what people think of Jake:

May not be safe for Jake's self-esteem )

(PS. Wanda, Jake drew that during one of his rage blackouts. He hates himself and your hair. And he killed an old man in the street, and stole shoes from six orphans.)
Everyone please say goodbye to Jubilation Lee.

Because I am going to kill her. Very soon. Almost immediately.

Once the filing is redone.
1. marieange is ugly. sooooo ugly. uglier than girl pete. if pete were a girl.

2. pete is not a girl

3. hahahahaha jake is in love with warren.

4. the end.
Well, I've been thinking about it, and I'd just like to ask everyone to stop talking about themselves on the journal system - actually, no, let's make it full-stop. I know I'm from a different culture, and perhaps it is my deep distaste for most of you that makes me so uncomfortable hearing anything about you, but I just think it's inappropriate to share anything about yourselves.

If you absolutely must talk to others, I suggest creating a complex code of smoke-signals. It is only fair for those of us who are thoroughly uninterested and occasionally nauseated by your continued existence. Until the development phase has lapsed, I suggest locking yourselves in small, soundproof closets. However, some of you may wish to take this opportunity to take a vow of silence, an action I fully approve.
It's like you people spawn by splitting into two. What the hell happened while I was not bored and out of work to do? It's bad enough that they're crowding out the office. Even that weirdo with the freak cat came back. Like that song, only worse.

I swear, it deteriorates every year. Like plagues of locusts, or those tiny annoying fire demons that singe the ends of your hair. What were they called again? Oh, god, like it matters. I'm getting depressed just looking at these journals. I knew I should have refused to have the internet in this place. No wonder all those teenage girls cut their arms and dye their hair. I have inner pain now too.
So not only am I stuck in the office tonight, but my usual barista at Starbucks - the surly, untalkative one who is actually very pleasant so long as you do not try to engage her in conversation (which is the mark of a good servant and something that the majority of you, bound for the service industry as you are, should remember) - was replaced with this cheery coffee afficionado who tried to talk to me the entire time I was there. I mean, do I care if someone's on the swim team at Columbia or that they're working at Starbucks for the summer for the tuition credit or if they like my hair? Who even says that? "Your hair is really pretty." Honestly. It's like that bike messenger who always makes me sign for Wanda's crap - like that's not Mark's job, for God's sake.

I mean, who writes their phone number on the cardboard sleeve, anyway? What am I going to do, give him feedback on his lattes? Besides, if you write over the drink order, people won't be able to tell what drink is theirs, and then things just descend into chaos. What do I do to make this happen?
Mark and Illyana bug Oomes' apartment. The irony is lost on them. For now.

This should already be very clear to everyone, but apparently it is not. So I shall continue my quest to educate and enlighten.

To point: People should stay in their own shapes. I don't really care if your shape is freakishly-coloured or textured or you have stupid elf ears or sharp teeth or a pointy tail. It is your shape and (though it may be sad for you) you must strive not to change out from it. I realize that the current bizarre incident was out of anyone's control, but keep in mind for future reference that usually, very bad things happen as a result of someone deciding to change how you look. Avoid these people, or, if pressed, inflict bodily harm upon them.

Also, people who don't stay in their own shapes should certainly be well-enough briefed on etiquette to perhaps mention their condition to poor, innocent, unsuspecting students at whom they levy not only cooking lessons, but also a "lesson" on "communication". As though that was really necessary! I certainly do not have a problem communicating.

(Though I suspect I could use some practice on the cooking side of things.)
Given recent events, I thought it best to remind everyone of another delightful aspect of life on Earth: Demon attacks. It has come to my attention that some of you have never even seen a demon. For those of you just joining us, demons are large ugly creatures who like to cause mass violence. They are magical beings, hard to kill, extremely strong, etc, etc. (Most of them, anyway.) They come in many shapes and sizes but are not generally hard to miss.

Regretfully, I will not be around full-time much longer to provide this knowledge on command, as I have been given a job in the city, so I present, for posterity, a guide to avoid being killed by demons.

How to tell if a demon is about to attack you:

1. A demon appears.
2. More than one demon appears.
2a. In which case, more than one demon will attack you.
3. Do you smell sulfur? If so, are you in a science lab of any kind? If not, this is a good sign of demonic activity. It has to do with coming from hell. Even if you are in a lab, exercise caution.
4. Are you a virgin? Have you given your blood to a stranger lately? You may have summoned a demon inadvertently. This has happened before, so you might as well confess and get it over with.
5. Have you summoned or otherwise attracted the attention of a demon on purpose? If so, good luck on not getting killed. Try to keep it away from the rest of us, please.

How to survive a demon invasion:

1. Run away.
2. After you have run as far away as possible, hide. Most demons do not possess a particularly robust intellect, so you may be safe.
3. Oh, try not to panic. Some demons feed on fear, so they might be able to track you and eat your spine. It's a really small percentage, though.

That ought to do it.
Jamie Madrox, I swear to every god who isn't too unnecessarily violent that I'm going to get you back.

It's on.


Oct. 10th, 2005 10:39 pm
While you're all whining about humanity and the price of sin and whatever, can you please take a brief theological moment to be glad that you're all still human where it counts? (Most definitely not your brains.) I mean, not to play the "a demon sucked out the better part of my soul trying to destroy the world and left me to die in the dead of winter" card, but please. Property damage? How much of this house have any of you destroyed at any given time?

I don't care; it just irks me to see stupid people define things like they're going out of style. What are you, Webster's Dictionary? Give it a rest.


Sep. 28th, 2005 12:11 pm
They just let anyone back in these days, don't they?
I forgot to mention it before, but Clarice? Ever do that again and I will make sure you never regain the use of your hands.
Well. People coming back from the dead. That's.



It's great. Fantastic, even. Hurray.

I think I even remember what she looks like, a little.


Dec. 12th, 2004 10:50 pm
And just when I'd got used to it being so quiet around here, you all had to come back.

When I am an old lady, say in four or so years, I am definitely going to have an old lady house all to myself.
I take a few weeks away from the journals -- where all trouble here starts, I'm telling you now if you had any doubts -- to sort out the raging headaches and bruises, and somehow things have managed to get quite worse than when I left. I've seen on television that your constant state of aggravation is not healthy. Some strange bald man named Doctor Phil makes a living telling people they're being stupid (I consider this a bright future career opportunity for myself -- and I am much prettier than Doctor Phil to boot), and that they should simply calm down. Well, all of you should calm down. I haven't seen so much running about and carrying on in all my life.

Not that there was much of a population to be doing the running about and carrying on in Limbo, but this is what English class has told me is alliteration. Or a simile. Or a hyperbole. I'm almost sure it's one of those three.

Perhaps we can return to our regularly-scheduled mishap, natural disaster, and/or terminal boredom now. On the other hand, I hear the weather's nice in Acapulco these days.

And who likes Acapulcans, anyway? We ought to go there and share the cloud of misery hanging over us day in and day out. Perhaps our mere presence could stir up a nice blizzard -- possibly even a karmic blizzard, if we've been at our usual lows. Otherwise I'm sure there's no end to the havoc we could cause, and it would be much more interesting than sitting in class pretending that causing havoc isn't what we do best.
Not so much as a flicker of supernatural activity on the home front today. Or at least, nothing demonic. (That "coven" of witches stayed up in the schoolyard naked until practically six in the morning, though. Why do old people do things like that? It was bloody cold out last night. And their chanting was atrocious.)

Now I get to figure out why my sword of ultimate magical power didn't work on the bloody demon. Colour me a bit puzzled there. I mean, it worked on gods' magic, and quite easily at that. Which probably means that I got crossed with some fundamental rules of magic and am going to end up turning the pages of ye olde magick books with tweezers so they don't set my hands on fire. (Apparently, this was all the rage in protection spells back in the day. I'd take them off, but hopefully this will serve as a deterrent for anyone who's trying to steal them -- which I suppose is the point of protection spells in the first place.)

You'd think there would be perks, being as good at things as I am, not to mention talented, learned, educated, et cetera, et cetera. But no. No, for me, it's all Compendium of Magickal Theory, volumes one through sixty, in Latin.

All clear.

Oct. 31st, 2004 10:36 pm
My scrying has turned up one would-be rapist (he'll be having some trouble with that as his feet are now fused to the sidewalk -- oops), two petty thugs robbing a convenience store, six drunk teenagers spray-painting road signs, two more drunk teenagers smashing pumpkins in the suburbs, a brawl amongst some homeless people, five drivers speeding dangerously, and a blissful lack of more demons.

So you're all safe to sleep.

(That was a joke. If I'm not sleeping, none of you get to either. Don't think I don't mean it.)

I'm keeping an eye on the grounds every so often, and I will be sure to deal with it personally should any more demons want to have some fun tonight. Can you believe, I didn't even get to dance with the normal high school's quarterback again (his girlfriend is probably much happier about this)? Bloody demons, just when I was socializing myself.
Bloody hell. Stuck in the medlab for two weeks and not only do I miss the gunfire but the officially sanctioned field trip? Clearly fate is just not on my side.

I'd offer to do something useful, but I'm down one functioning arm and apparently off to instruct my demon hoardes in the art of hostile Earth invasion or something. Honestly, Amanda, could you please try for some imagination next time you decide I'm evil? It's like reading the telephone book at this point, your paranoia, and really, if you're going to accuse someone of being evil you might have the courtesy to be interesting about it.

Some people. No capacity for manners whatsoever.

I would write a long, boring entry about myself, but that seems to have been covered extensively already. You're all so very bloody mouthy. Just fill in the blanks for yourselves -- I'm sure you'll do so anyway, and I have to admit that my scaring you is one of the best things about being me. Boo.

Anyway, in my new if relative freedom, I'm going to buy coffee and perhaps try to catch up on my schoolwork before I fail as spectacularly as I probably will anyway. I realise I ought to be drinking the blood of my enemies and laying waste to entire populations of peasants, but that's rather unhygenic, isn't it? So messy, too, and I've just changed my pyjamas. Perhaps tomorrow.
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