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My Old Friendby ~keudo
CodeSmilin' Jack was a strange figure, cut from the rough cloth of both the hero and the villain. Tall and lean, he had no more meat on his bones than the vultures that circled his body. He wasn't dead, however, just very unhappy, for unhappy circumstances had beset him, and had left him unsatisfied and emotionally drained. The bright red light of noon pierced his goggles, stunning his mind and blinding him to all but the shadows that inspected his prone form. He sat up slowly, leather creaking and stretching, his precarious seat in the shifting sands slowly drifting him further down the embankment that led to the road. He put a hand to his chestCode
by ~keudo
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- Current Residence: Nowhere happy
- Favourite movie: Alien
- Favourite band or musician: Manson
- Favourite genre of music: Rock/Metal
- Favourite poet or writer: Salvatore
- Favourite style of art: Realism
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- Favourite gaming platform: 360
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- Personal Quote: "Listen! Do you smell that?"
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In a way, Judy Chicago's "The Dinner Party" is feminism's version of Washington Crossing the Delaware--or it would be if Washington had made the trip with his fly open.
--
Because you can't spell Slaughter without laughter!
--
In a way, Judy Chicago's "The Dinner Party" is feminism's version of Washington Crossing the Delaware--or it would be if Washington had made the trip with his fly open.
--
Because you can't spell Slaughter without laughter!
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