Comic 187 - The Way Of The Metagamer Throughout A Crazy Universe In Which Everyone Lives In A Webcomic, Knows It, And Gleefully Destroys Pieces Of Its Panels And In Which The Satellite Of Love Exists Which Automatically Makes It Awesome And Within Which Exists An Ent

12th Jan 2011, 2:51 PM in Wibbly Wobbly, Timey Wimey
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The Way Of The Metagamer Throughout A Crazy Universe In Which Everyone Lives In A Webcomic, Knows It, And Gleefully Destroys Pieces Of Its Panels And In Which The Satellite Of Love Exists Which Automatically Makes It Awesome And Within Which Exists An Ent

Cream cheese doesn't go with bagels! It goes with apricots! Duh!

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Author Notes:

00Davo
Ebony, that's weird. I think you may have learnt how to eat wrong.

@snowyowl: That was actually the start of the word "Entity"; however, Ents are indeed awesome. Thus, an Ent now exists in the comic, but it will never make an on-panel appearance. Deal?

Marienbad, My Love is only the short version of its title. As with Jane's spell, the full title is rather long. It reads as follows (ahem):

marienbad my love in the ruins of the dreams and beliefs of a Christ-haunted journalist-turned-filmmaker exiled on a deserted island, attempting to persuade a married woman from his past to help him produce a science fiction-themed sequel to the 1960s French new wave classic Last Year at Marienbad, an act of artistic creation to bring about the death of time and the birth of a new religion if only he can make her remember him inside his celluloid voyage of dark violence, of vines strangling the pulpit and moths consuming the flag and an important discovery of why so many people who appear to be alive are really dead inside the filmmaker’s unrequited love interest as he searches for a way out of his prison and off the forsaken island he calls Marienbad in the ruins of his memories and dreams, a place lost in space and time, a place of mute beaches where footsteps are lost upon sand so profound, so deep, that one perceives no step while looking up at the eastern heavens at the incredible sight of a white clock dial bleeding through the thin cobalt sky, a psychic contrail suspended in the high, thin stratosphere, an icy cirrus cloud of time, a manifestation known to the government but kept secret from the populace, a de-cloaked Clock in the Air that may be an alien spaceship or perhaps a sign from the Deity, His divine pocket watch, wandering through an obscene territory of winged demons, aerial creatures bearing branded vials of amputated ghost parts, decaying metallic reek of bankrupt snake skins, corroded iron shadows of cicada exoskeletons, troubled mirrors reproducing endless spectral relations, hopeless erotic cries echoing across vast plains of repressed desire in the thin gray light pouring over sacred texts of communal disaster, breathing in the double helix of lilac smoke suspended in a porcelain cobalt heaven, viewing the golden coronas of uneven and prepared genetic amplifiers, walking uselessly through the neurotic oily winds, listening to the rasping wings of hysterical tidal birds, feeling the sluggish tropic flames burning through anxious gaunt smirks where a shower of glittering emerald flakes descends unhurried through a tarnished sea of fluid screams, painfully abrupt stench of damp waste, giant mounds of smoldering linen mummy casings, a broken stone indicator of the final extinguished horse thief of Strangers Rest, a man who is gone but not forgotten, a murder by pittance rage, an image of the horned creature automobile with a factory-installed means of listening to the Deity, an orchestra of reluctantly castrated violinists performing disconsolate tunes of homicidal alien bewilderment, of old coins and fermented blood, of desiccated cats and threadbare Egyptians, of heretical transformations occurring behind jagged DNA dream codes and splotched sallow screens of rancid ectoplasm, surging penetration of the beauty of chaos, key footage for the movie that brings about the Death of the World and the birth of the New Religion, dedicated Marienbadists prepare for the world premier at a specially constructed drive-in movie theater located somewhere in the Himalayas, cylindrical clock chimes hanging from clouds convene the moviegoers from around the planet, the protagonist stations himself behind the camera, encircled by a multitude of grips and gaffers, vocalists and primal goddesses, uniformed orators narrating manuscripts in marches and spectacles fashion their share of the exploits along with the primal goddesses, whose dance routines incorporate eye signals and stroking of the fingertips in combination with aromas of enjoyable fragrances as well as pungent, smoldering flame, columns of anger dot the landscape, fire explodes in streams of luminosity and expanses of conflagration continuing for seven days, the movie is finally over and final credits roll, the world at last comes to an end, a new Deity in the heavens or perhaps just in the media, a public conspiracy employing mind control, the terrifying and horrifying conspiracy of the modern age, human/alien hybrids among us, employing flouride9, the Exogrid and other alien technologies to make minds receptive to a New World Order, major corporations moving to manipulate a vast government/extraterrestrial conspiracy with a goal of complete disheartenment of the population, which will come to follow the will and the way of a super race of privately owned and operated deities function in lurid intervals of narcissistic horror, an enormous radiant fog of visual rumors and nonsense digressing into the shattered violet neon dusk of atrophied human citizenship and the dazzling garbage heap of a tragic, dead age when the walls start bleeding, Nazi paratroopers land outside the window, tiny white eggs on the back of the hand hatch into hungry wolf spiders, which proceed to strip the flesh from bones, a quantity of tainted celluloid on the cutting room floor, a jar of pickled sea monsters caught just a few yards from here in the roiling surf, the inner sea with a riptide, a warning against swimming without a prophet on duty due to the possibility of being dragged into the Land of the Dead beyond Patmosian exile, giving credit to the inner world, the world of fire, the world behind the masonry walls of the everyday, walls of life that are really dead inside the filmmaker’s unrequited love interest as he searches for a way out of the horror, an enormous radiant fog of visual rumors and nonsense digressing into the shattered violet neon dusk of his prison and off the forsaken island he calls Marienbad in the ruins of damp waste, of giant mounds of smoldering linen mummy casings, broken as he searches for a way out of his prison and off the forsaken island orchestra of reluctantly castrated violinists performing disconsolate tunes of homicidal alien bewilderment, of old thin gray light pouring over sacred texts of communal disaster, breathing in the icy cirrus cloud of time, a manifestation known to the government but hidden from spectral relations, hopeless erotic cries echoing across vast plains of repressed desire in the thin space of visual rumors and nonsense digressing into the shattered violet neon dusk of atrophied human citizenship, of the final extinguished horse thief of Strangers Rest, a man who is gone up into the high, thin stratosphere, an icy cirrus cloud of time, a manifestation known to the government, an interesting visual rumor as he searches for a way out of his prison and off the forsaken island and into the ruins of his beliefs and dreams, a place contained in the lost jar of pickled sea monsters caught just a few yards from here in the roiling surf, an image of the horned creature automobile with a factory-installed means of listening to an orchestra of reluctantly castrated violinists performing the governmental composition but kept secret from the populace, a de-cloaked Clock in the Air, rumors and nonsense digressing into the shattered violet neon dusk of atrophied human spiders, which proceed to strip the flesh from bones, a quantity of tainted celluloid regarding an important discovery of why so many people who appear to be alive are really breathing in the double helix of lilac smoke suspended in a porcelain cobalt heaven, viewing into the Land of the Dead beyond the Patmosian exile, giving credit to the final extinguished horse thief of Strangers Rest, a man who is gone but not forgotten, a man of chaos, a man in lurid intervals of narcissistic horror, a man lost in an enormous radiant fog of visual exoskeletons, troubled mirrors reproducing endless spectral relations, hopeless erotic cries echoing across vast plains of repressed memories and dreams, a place lost in space and time, a place of bankrupt snake skins, corroded iron shadows of cicada exoskeletons, troubled mirrors reproducing endless golden coronas of uneven and prepared genetic amplifiers, walking uselessly through the neurotic oily sight of a white clock dial bleeding through the thin cobalt sky, a psychic contrail island he calls Marienbad in the ruins of his beliefs and dreams, a place lost of time, a manifestation known to the government but kept secret from the populace, a floor, a jar of pickled sea monsters caught just a few yards from the government but kept secret from the populace, a de-cloaked Clock in the golden coronas of the uneven and prepared genetic amplifiers, walking uselessly through the neurotic oily winds, listening to the sluggish tropic flames burning through anxious gaunt smirks where a shower of wholesale gone-but-not-forgotten grave markers, a murder by pittance rage, an image of the horned one, a way out of his prison and off the forsaken island he calls Marienbad to the creatures bearing branded vials of amputated ghost parts, decaying metallic reek of bankrupt snake skins, corroded iron, the forsaken island he calls Marienbad in the ruins of his memories and dreams, a double helix of lilac smoke suspended in a porcelain cobalt heaven, viewing the golden coronas of the on-duty crew on alert due to the possibility of being dragged into the Land of the Dead beyond sight of a white clock dial bleeding through the thin cobalt sky, a psychic contrail suspended in mounds of smoldering linen mummy casings, a broken stone indicator of the final extinguished horse thief discovery of why so many people who appear to be alive are really dead inside the filmmaker’s mind, a man who is gone but not forgotten, a murder by pittance rage, an image of chaos, in lurid intervals of narcissistic horror, an enormous radiant fog of visual rumors and a new age when the walls start bleeding, Nazi paratroopers land outside the window, tiny white eggs hatch in the thin gray light pouring over sacred texts of communal disaster, breathing in the double helix of an important discovery of why so many people who appear to be at rest are really dead, a man who is gone but not forgotten, a murder by pittance rage, an double helix of lilac smoke suspended in a porcelain cobalt heaven, viewing the golden coronas of communal disaster, breathing in the double helix of lilac smoke suspended in the porcelain cobalt iron shadows of cicada exoskeletons, troubled mirrors reproducing endless spectral relations, hopeless erotic cries of the horned creature automobile with a factory-installed means of listening to the Deity, a radiant fog of visual rumors and nonsense digressing into the shattered violet neon dusk of the atrophied talent of listening to the Deity, an orchestra of reluctantly castrated violinists performing disconsolate tunes out beyond the riptide, a warning against swimming without a prophet on duty, a composition for an orchestra of reluctantly castrated violinists performing disconsolate tunes of homicidal alien bewilderment, of a life viewed through an obscene territory of winged demons, aerial creatures bearing branded vials of screens of rancid ectoplasm, surging penetration of the beauty of chaos, lost in lurid intervals of narcissistic horror, an enormous radiant fog of visual rumors and erotic cries echoing across vast plains of repressed desire in the thin gray light pouring over sacred memories and dreams as he searches for a way out of his prison and off the forsaken government island that is kept secret from the populace, a de-cloaked Clock in the Air consisting of old coins and fermented blood, of desiccated cats and threadbare Egyptians, of shadows of cicada exoskeletons, troubled mirrors reproducing endless spectral relations, hopeless erotic cries echoing across time, a manifestation known to the government but kept secret from the populace, a de-cloaked clock consisting of the thin gray light pouring over sacred texts of communal disaster, breathing in the divine pocket watch, wandering through an obscene territory of winged demons, aerial creatures bearing branded vials of his prison and off the forsaken island he calls Marienbad in the strangling pulpit where moths consume the flag and an important discovery, of the why of damp waste, of giant mounds of smoldering linen mummy casings, a broken stone indicator inside the filmmaker’s unrequited love interest as he searches for a way out of the thief of Strangers Rest, a man who is gone but not forgotten, a murder of his memories and dreams, a place lost in space and time, a place of mute beaches of narcissistic horror, an enormous radiant fog of visual rumors and nonsense digressing suspended in the high, thin stratosphere, an icy cirrus cloud of time and of fluid screams, painfully abrupt stench of damp waste, giant mounds of smoldering linen mummy casings, troubled mirrors reproducing endless spectral relations, hopeless erotic cries echoing across vast plains of the dead beyond Patmosian exile, giving credit to the inner world, the world of fire, reluctantly castrated violinists performing disconsolate tunes of homicidal alien bewilderment, of old coins and fermented flames burning through anxious gaunt smirks where a shower of glittering emerald flakes descends on the Egyptians, of heretical transformations occurring behind jagged DNA dream codes and splotched sallow screens, the divine pocket watch, wandering through an obscene territory of winged demons, aerial creatures spotting in the high, thin stratosphere of an icy cirrus cloud of time, a manifestation known to the inner world, the world of fire, the world behind the masonry walls, the world of the flesh from bones, a quantity of tainted celluloid on the cutting room floor, a jar of threadbare Egyptians, of heretical transformations occurring behind jagged DNA dream codes and splotched sallow screens of rancid unrequited love interests, searching for a way out of his prison, a secret from the populace, a de-cloaked Clock in the Air that may be an alien message, rasping wings of hysterical tidal birds, feeling the sluggish tropic flames burning through from the populace, a de-cloaked Clock in the Air that may be an alien spaceship, the inner sea with a riptide, a warning against swimming without a prophet on duty, an overdue riptide, a warning against swimming without a prophet on duty due to the possibility of what he calls Marienbad in the ruins of his beliefs and dreams, a place lost in space the horned creature automobile with a factory-installed means of listening to the Deity, an orchestra hand hatching into hungry wolf spiders which proceed to strip the flesh from the cutting room floor, a jar of pickled sea monsters caught just a few yards from here over in the sacred texts of communal disaster, breathing in the double helix of lilac smoke suspended overhead, a secret duty due to the possibility of being dragged into the Land of the Dead beyond the Patmosian populace, a de-cloaked Clock in the Air that may be an alien spaceship outside the window, tiny white eggs on the back of the hand hatch inside the filmmaker’s unrequited love interest as he searches for a way out of his prison of dark memories and dreams, a place lost in space and time, a place of intervals of narcissistic horror, an enormous radiant fog of visual rumors and nonsense dead inside the filmmaker’s unrequited love interest as he searches for a way of fire, the world behind the masonry walls of the everyday, a sign from the Deity, His divine pocket watch, wandering through an obscene territory, viewing the golden coronas of uneven and prepared genetic amplifiers, walking uselessly through many people who appear to be alive but are really dead inside the filmmaker’s unrequited love interest as sallow screens of rancid ectoplasm, surging penetration of the beauty of chaos, in lurid intervals of narcissistic relations, hopeless erotic cries echoing across vast plains of repressed desire in the thin gray light pouring over so many people who appear to be alive and are really dead inside the masonry walls of the everyday, being dragged into the Land of the Dead beyond Patmosian exile, giving credit to the inner world, to the secret parts, decaying metallic reek of bankrupt snake skins, corroded iron shadows of cicada exoskeletons, troubled mirrors reproducing behind the masonry walls of the everyday, desire in the thin gray light pouring over sacred texts of communal disaster, breathing in just a few yards from here in the roiling surf, the inner sea, the flesh from bones, a quantity of tainted celluloid on the cutting room floor, prepared genetic amplifiers, walking uselessly through the neurotic oily winds, listening to the rasping wings of fluid screams, painfully abrupt stench of damp waste, giant mounds of smoldering linen mummy flooring, a jar of pickled sea monsters caught just a few yards from here in people who appear to be alive but are really dead inside the filmmaker’s unrequited love interest as he seeks out the Egyptians of heretical transformations occurring behind jagged DNA dream codes and splotched sallow screens of rancid ectoplasm, desiccated cats and threadbare Egyptians, of heretical transformations occurring behind jagged DNA dream lilac smoke suspended in a porcelain cobalt heaven, viewing the golden coronas of uneven and prepared oily winds, listening to the rasping wings of hysterical tidal birds, feeling the sluggish tropic profound, so deep, that one perceives no step while looking up at the eastern heavens amputated ghost parts, decaying metallic reek of bankrupt snake skins, corroded iron shadows of cicada exoskeletons, troubled window, tiny white eggs on the back of the hand hatch into hungry digressing into the shattered violet neon dusk of atrophied human citizenship and the from the populace, a de-cloaked Clock in the Air that may be an alien spaceship pickled sea monsters caught just a few yards from here in the roiling surf, the filmmaker’s unrequited love interest as he searches for a way out of his prison and off the violet neon dusk of atrophied human citizenship and the dazzling garbage heap of a tragic, dead means of listening to the Deity, an orchestra of reluctantly castrated violinists performing disconsolate of atrophied human citizenship and the dazzling garbage heap of a tragic, dead age are lost upon sand so profound, so deep, that one perceives no step an image of the horned creature automobile with a factory-installed means of listening descends unhurried through a tarnished sea of fluid screams, painfully abrupt stench of damp waste, screams, painfully abrupt stench of damp waste, giant mounds of smoldering linen mummy casings, indicator of the final extinguished horse thief of Strangers Rest, a man who is gone but prepared genetic amplifiers, walking uselessly through the neurotic oily winds, listening to the indicator of the final extinguished horse thief of Strangers Rest, a man who is gone but cutting room floor, a jar of pickled sea monsters caught just a few yards and moths consuming the flag and an important discovery of why so many people who appear not forgotten, a murder by pittance rage, an image of the horned creature reluctantly castrated violinists performing disconsolate tunes of homicidal alien bewilderment, of old coins and echoing across vast plains of repressed desire in the thin gray light pouring over ghost parts, decaying metallic reek of bankrupt snake skins, corroded iron shadows of cicada exoskeletons, a porcelain cobalt heaven, viewing the golden coronas of uneven and prepared genetic surf, the inner sea with a riptide, a warning against swimming without a prophet of the final extinguished horse thief of Strangers Rest, a man who is gone but not inner sea with a riptide, a warning against swimming without a prophet on duty the pulpit and moths consuming the flag and an important discovery of why so many people who are lost upon sand so profound, so deep, that one perceives no step calls Marienbad in the ruins of his beliefs and dreams, a place lost light pouring over sacred texts of communal disaster, breathing in the double helix of Deity, His divine pocket watch, wandering through an obscene territory of winged demons, aerial creatures bearing fog of visual rumors and nonsense digressing into the shattered violet neon dusk of atrophied human corroded iron shadows of cicada exoskeletons, troubled mirrors reproducing endless spectral relations, hopeless erotic cries echoing a murder by pittance rage, an image of the horned creature automobile with a factory-installed means of upon sand so profound, so deep, that one perceives no step while looking up the world of fire, the world behind the masonry walls of the everyday, in the high, thin stratosphere, an icy cirrus cloud of time, a manifestation known rancid ectoplasm, surging penetration of the beauty of chaos, in lurid intervals of the Land of the Dead beyond Patmosian exile, giving credit to the inner world, an enormous radiant fog of visual rumors and nonsense digressing into the shattered violet the flesh from bones, a quantity of tainted celluloid on the cutting room floor, a jar of wolf spiders, which proceed to strip the flesh from bones, a quantity of tainted celluloid on codes and splotched sallow screens of rancid ectoplasm, surging penetration of the beauty of chaos, time, a place of mute beaches where footsteps are lost upon sand so profound, so deep, that hatch into hungry wolf spiders, which proceed to strip the flesh from bones, a stone indicator of the final extinguished horse thief of Strangers Rest, a man who is the inner sea with a riptide, a warning against swimming without a prophet on an important discovery of why so many people who appear to be alive window, tiny white eggs on the back of the hand hatch into hungry wolf spiders, horror, an enormous radiant fog of visual rumors and nonsense digressing into the shattered violet neon footsteps are lost upon sand so profound, so deep, that one perceives no step while populace, a de-cloaked Clock in the Air that may be an alien spaceship or wolf spiders, which proceed to strip the flesh from bones, a quantity of tainted flames burning through anxious gaunt smirks where a shower of glittering emerald flakes descends unhurried of his prison and off the forsaken island he calls Marienbad in the ruins of his beliefs walls of the everyday, where a shower of glittering emerald flakes descends unhurried through a tarnished sea of fluid screams, into hungry wolf spiders, which proceed to strip the flesh from bones, a quantity of step while looking up at the eastern heavens at the incredible sight of a white clock dial a de-cloaked Clock in the Air that may be an alien spaceship or perhaps a sign psychic contrail suspended in the high, thin stratosphere, an icy cirrus cloud of he calls Marienbad in the ruins of his beliefs and dreams, a place lost in space and shadows of cicada exoskeletons, troubled mirrors reproducing endless spectral relations, hopeless erotic cries echoing Patmosian exile, giving credit to the inner world, the world of fire, the dream codes and splotched sallow screens of rancid ectoplasm, surging penetration of the of homicidal alien bewilderment, of old coins and fermented blood, of desiccated cats and a broken stone indicator of the final extinguished horse thief of Strangers Rest, a man icy cirrus cloud of time, a manifestation known to the government but kept secret from the people who appear to be alive are really dead inside the filmmaker’s unrequited love interest as he bearing branded vials of amputated ghost parts, decaying metallic reek of bankrupt snake skins, corroded iron of tainted celluloid on the cutting room floor, a jar of pickled sea monsters caught just a Air that may be an alien spaceship or perhaps a sign from the Deity, territory of winged demons, aerial creatures bearing branded vials of amputated ghost parts, decaying so many people who appear to be alive are really dead inside the filmmaker’s room floor, a jar of pickled sea monsters caught just a few yards from here in the stratosphere, an icy cirrus cloud of time, a manifestation known to the government but kept an icy cirrus cloud of time, a manifestation known to the government but kept secret caught just a few yards from here in the roiling surf, the inner sea with a garbage heap of a tragic, dead age when the walls start bleeding, Nazi paratroopers land outside or perhaps a sign from the Deity, His divine pocket watch, wandering through the thin cobalt sky, a psychic contrail suspended in the high, thin stratosphere, an icy cirrus of listening to the Deity, an orchestra of reluctantly castrated violinists performing disconsolate tunes of uneven and prepared genetic amplifiers, walking uselessly through the neurotic oily winds, listening to the rasping wings and an important discovery of why so many people who appear to be walls start bleeding, Nazi paratroopers land outside the window, tiny white eggs on the back and threadbare Egyptians, of heretical transformations occurring behind jagged DNA dream codes and splotched sallow screens of threadbare Egyptians, of heretical transformations occurring behind jagged DNA dream codes and splotched sallow on the back of the hand hatch into hungry wolf spiders, which proceed to masonry walls of the everyday, and off the forsaken island he calls Marienbad in the ruins of his beliefs and dreams, prepared genetic amplifiers, walking uselessly through the neurotic oily winds, listening to the rasping clock dial bleeding through the thin cobalt sky, a psychic contrail suspended in the high, thin stratosphere, dark violence, of vines strangling the pulpit and moths consuming the flag and an important discovery of sky, a psychic contrail suspended in the high, thin stratosphere, an icy cirrus cloud of time, of glittering emerald flakes descends unhurried through a tarnished sea of fluid screams, painfully abrupt into the Land of the Dead beyond Patmosian exile, giving credit to the inner world, the world spectral relations, hopeless erotic cries echoing across vast plains of repressed desire in the thin hopeless erotic cries echoing across vast plains of repressed desire in the thin gray light pouring a de-cloaked Clock in the Air that may be an alien spaceship or perhaps a inside the filmmaker’s unrequited love interest as he searches for a way out reek of bankrupt snake skins, corroded iron shadows of cicada exoskeletons, troubled mirrors the inner sea with a riptide, a warning against swimming without a prophet on duty due to the golden coronas of uneven and prepared genetic amplifiers, walking uselessly through the neurotic anxious gaunt smirks where a shower of glittering emerald flakes descends unhurried through a tarnished swimming without a prophet on duty due to the possibility of being dragged into the Land blood, of desiccated cats and threadbare Egyptians, of heretical transformations occurring behind jagged DNA dream tainted celluloid on the cutting room floor, a jar of pickled sea monsters monsters caught just a few yards from here in the roiling surf, the inner sea with a tarnished sea of fluid screams, painfully abrupt stench of damp waste, giant of amputated ghost parts, decaying metallic reek of bankrupt snake skins, corroded iron shadows of pickled sea monsters caught just a few yards from here in the roiling surf, the inner sea the thin cobalt sky, a psychic contrail suspended in the high, thin stratosphere, an icy cirrus cloud of his prison and off the forsaken island he calls Marienbad in the really dead inside the filmmaker’s unrequited love interest as he searches for a cobalt heaven, viewing the golden coronas of uneven and prepared genetic amplifiers, walking uselessly through the neurotic deep, that one perceives no step while looking up at the eastern heavens at the incredible sight wolf spiders, which proceed to strip the flesh from bones, a quantity of tainted roiling surf, the inner sea with a riptide, a warning against swimming without a prophet but not forgotten, a murder by pittance rage, an image of the horned creature of pickled sea monsters caught just a few yards from here in the roiling surf, tragic, dead age when the walls start bleeding, Nazi paratroopers land outside the window, tiny white eggs inner world, the world of fire, the world behind the masonry walls of fog of visual rumors and nonsense digressing into the shattered violet neon dusk of proceed to strip the flesh from bones, a quantity of tainted celluloid on the cutting fermented blood, of desiccated cats and threadbare Egyptians, of heretical transformations occurring behind jagged DNA dream codes his prison and off the forsaken island he calls Marienbad in the ruins of his beliefs and contrail suspended in the high, thin stratosphere, an icy cirrus cloud of time, a aerial creatures bearing branded vials of amputated ghost parts, decaying metallic reek of bankrupt snake ghost parts, decaying metallic reek of bankrupt snake skins, corroded iron shadows of cicada exoskeletons, vials of amputated ghost parts, decaying metallic reek of bankrupt snake skins, corroded iron no step while looking up at the eastern heavens at the incredible sight of a white of communal disaster, breathing in the double helix of lilac smoke suspended in a porcelain narcissistic horror, an enormous radiant fog of visual rumors and nonsense digressing into the intervals of narcissistic horror, an enormous radiant fog of visual rumors and nonsense may be an alien spaceship or perhaps a sign from the Deity, His divine pocket watch, wandering divine pocket watch, wandering through an obscene territory of winged demons, aerial creatures bearing branded vials of linen mummy casings, a broken stone indicator of the final extinguished horse thief of Strangers beyond Patmosian exile, giving credit to the inner world, the world of fire, the heavens at the incredible sight of a white clock dial bleeding through the communal disaster, breathing in the double helix of lilac smoke suspended in a porcelain cobalt land outside the window, tiny white eggs on the back of the hand hatch the ruins of his memories and dreams, a place lost in space and just a few yards from here in the roiling surf, the inner sea of listening to the Deity, an orchestra of reluctantly castrated violinists performing disconsolate tunes of Rest, a man who is gone but not forgotten, a murder by pittance rage, an image of way out of his prison and off the forsaken island he calls Marienbad in the he searches for a way out of his prison and off the forsaken island wolf spiders, which proceed to strip the flesh from bones, a quantity of tainted and fermented blood, of desiccated cats and threadbare Egyptians, of heretical transformations occurring behind profound, so deep, that one perceives no step while looking up at the an enormous radiant fog of visual rumors and nonsense digressing into the shattered of dark violence, of vines strangling the pulpit and moths consuming the flag and an important of old coins and fermented blood, of desiccated cats and threadbare Egyptians, of heretical transformations through an obscene territory of winged demons, aerial creatures bearing branded vials of amputated ghost parts, helix of lilac smoke suspended in a porcelain cobalt heaven, viewing the golden proceed to strip the flesh from bones, a quantity of tainted celluloid on the cutting warning against swimming without a prophet on duty due to the possibility of being dragged into the on duty due to the possibility of being dragged into the Land of the Dead thin cobalt sky, a psychic contrail suspended in the high, thin stratosphere, an icy cirrus cloud of chaos, in lurid intervals of narcissistic horror, an enormous radiant fog of visual rumors and nonsense of the everyday, the incredible sight of a white clock dial bleeding through the thin cobalt sky, an obscene territory of winged demons, aerial creatures bearing branded vials of amputated ghost parts, porcelain cobalt heaven, viewing the golden coronas of uneven and prepared genetic amplifiers, walking uselessly through the the golden coronas of uneven and prepared genetic amplifiers, walking uselessly through the neurotic oily winds, listening of the beauty of chaos, in lurid intervals of narcissistic horror, an enormous radiant branded vials of amputated ghost parts, decaying metallic reek of bankrupt snake skins, to the inner world, the world of fire, the world behind the masonry walls winds, listening to the rasping wings of hysterical tidal birds, feeling the sluggish tropic flames the pulpit and moths consuming the flag and an important discovery of why so many golden coronas of uneven and prepared genetic amplifiers, walking uselessly through the neurotic oily winds, listening and dreams, a place lost in space and time, a place of mute beaches where footsteps back of the hand hatch into hungry wolf spiders, which proceed to strip the flesh from bones, image of the horned creature automobile with a factory-installed means of listening to the Deity, a way out of his prison and off the forsaken island he calls Marienbad in the man who is gone but not forgotten, a murder by pittance rage, an image heap of a tragic, dead age when the walls start bleeding, Nazi paratroopers land outside the inner sea with a riptide, a warning against swimming without a prophet on duty of the beauty of chaos, in lurid intervals of narcissistic horror, an enormous radiant fog of visual waste, giant mounds of smoldering linen mummy casings, a broken stone indicator of the final extinguished penetration of the beauty of chaos, in lurid intervals of narcissistic horror, an enormous winged demons, aerial creatures bearing branded vials of amputated ghost parts, decaying metallic pickled sea monsters caught just a few yards from here in the roiling surf, upon sand so profound, so deep, that one perceives no step while looking up at the eastern alien spaceship or perhaps a sign from the Deity, His divine pocket watch, of the Dead beyond Patmosian exile, giving credit to the inner world, the world of fire, step while looking up at the eastern heavens at the incredible sight of being dragged into the Land of the Dead beyond Patmosian exile, giving credit to the inner threadbare Egyptians, of heretical transformations occurring behind jagged DNA dream codes and splotched an obscene territory of winged demons, aerial creatures bearing branded vials of amputated ghost out of his prison and off the forsaken island he calls Marienbad in the bones, a quantity of tainted celluloid on the cutting room floor, a jar of pickled sea monsters Egyptians, of heretical transformations occurring behind jagged DNA dream codes and splotched sallow through anxious gaunt smirks where a shower of glittering emerald flakes descends unhurried to be alive are really dead inside the filmmaker’s unrequited love interest as he searches to the inner world, the world of fire, the world behind the masonry walls of the everyday, tunes of homicidal alien bewilderment, of old coins and fermented blood, of desiccated cats and threadbare Egyptians, populace, a de-cloaked Clock in the Air that may be an alien spaceship or perhaps calls Marienbad in the ruins of his beliefs and dreams, a place lost in space of the beauty of chaos, in lurid intervals of narcissistic horror, an enormous start bleeding, Nazi paratroopers land outside the window, tiny white eggs on the ruins of his memories and dreams, a place lost in space and time, sky, a psychic contrail suspended in the high, thin stratosphere, an icy cirrus cloud of time, bewilderment, of old coins and fermented blood, of desiccated cats and threadbare Egyptians, of heretical transformations tropic flames burning through anxious gaunt smirks where a shower of glittering emerald flakes descends unhurried through spiders, which proceed to strip the flesh from bones, a quantity of tainted celluloid from bones, a quantity of tainted celluloid on the cutting room floor, a of smoldering linen mummy casings, a broken stone indicator of the final extinguished but not forgotten, a murder by pittance rage, an image of the horned creature icy cirrus cloud of time, a manifestation known to the government but kept secret from so many people who appear to be alive are really dead inside the castrated violinists performing disconsolate tunes of homicidal alien bewilderment, of old coins and here in the roiling surf, the inner sea with a riptide, a warning perhaps a sign from the Deity, His divine pocket watch, wandering through an obscene territory of winged of the horned creature automobile with a factory-installed means of listening to the of his prison and off the forsaken island he calls Marienbad in the ruins of his mummy casings, a broken stone indicator of the final extinguished horse thief of Strangers Rest, a Nazi paratroopers land outside the window, tiny white eggs on the back of the hand the world behind the masonry walls of the everyday, Dead beyond Patmosian exile, giving credit to the inner world, the world of fire, the world behind ectoplasm, surging penetration of the beauty of chaos, in lurid intervals of narcissistic the forsaken island he calls Marienbad in the ruins of his memories and dreams, a place lost giant mounds of smoldering linen mummy casings, a broken stone indicator of the final extinguished horse thief skins, corroded iron shadows of cicada exoskeletons, troubled mirrors reproducing endless spectral relations, be alive are really dead inside the filmmaker’s unrequited love interest as he searches for quantity of tainted celluloid on the cutting room floor, a jar of pickled sea monsters time, a manifestation known to the government but kept secret from the populace, a de-cloaked Clock space and time, a place of mute beaches where footsteps are lost upon sand so profound, so and prepared genetic amplifiers, walking uselessly through the neurotic oily winds, listening to window, tiny white eggs on the back of the hand hatch into hungry and the dazzling garbage heap of a tragic, dead age when the walls start bleeding, the dazzling garbage heap of a tragic, dead age when the walls start bleeding, start bleeding, Nazi paratroopers land outside the window, tiny white eggs on the back enormous radiant fog of visual rumors and nonsense digressing into the shattered violet neon listening to the Deity, an orchestra of reluctantly castrated violinists performing disconsolate tunes of homicidal alien bewilderment, codes and splotched sallow screens of rancid ectoplasm, surging penetration of the beauty of narcissistic horror, an enormous radiant fog of visual rumors and nonsense digressing into the eastern heavens at the incredible sight of a white clock dial bleeding through the thin cobalt of Strangers Rest, a man who is gone but not forgotten, a murder by pittance coins and fermented blood, of desiccated cats and threadbare Egyptians, of heretical transformations occurring behind jagged pulpit and moths consuming the flag and an important discovery of why so many people who memories and dreams, a place lost in space and time, a place of mute beaches where of atrophied human citizenship and the dazzling garbage heap of a tragic, dead age DNA dream codes and splotched sallow screens of rancid ectoplasm, surging penetration of the beauty of jagged DNA dream codes and splotched sallow screens of rancid ectoplasm, surging penetration of codes and splotched sallow screens of rancid ectoplasm, surging penetration of the beauty of are really dead inside the filmmaker’s unrequited love interest as he searches for a way out of unhurried through a tarnished sea of fluid screams, painfully abrupt stench of damp Deity, His divine pocket watch, wandering through an obscene territory of winged demons, genetic amplifiers, walking uselessly through the neurotic oily winds, listening to the rasping giant mounds of smoldering linen mummy casings, a broken stone indicator of the final extinguished horse riptide, a warning against swimming without a prophet on duty due to the possibility of being dragged screens of rancid ectoplasm, surging penetration of the beauty of chaos, in lurid intervals of narcissistic flesh from bones, a quantity of tainted celluloid on the cutting room floor, a jar of pickled suspended in a porcelain cobalt heaven, viewing the golden coronas of uneven and enormous radiant fog of visual rumors and nonsense digressing into the shattered violet neon dusk of his prison and off the forsaken island he calls Marienbad in the ruins of his jar of pickled sea monsters caught just a few yards from here in the roiling sluggish tropic flames burning through anxious gaunt smirks where a shower of glittering penetration of the beauty of chaos, in lurid intervals of narcissistic horror, an enormous radiant fog a tarnished sea of fluid screams, painfully abrupt stench of damp waste, giant mounds dark violence, of vines strangling the pulpit and moths consuming the flag and an and moths consuming the flag and an important discovery of why so many people who transformations occurring behind jagged DNA dream codes and splotched sallow screens of rancid ectoplasm, surging the everyday, shattered violet neon dusk of atrophied human citizenship and the dazzling garbage heap relations, hopeless erotic cries echoing across vast plains of repressed desire in the thin damp waste, giant mounds of smoldering linen mummy casings, a broken stone indicator of the final extinguished flesh from bones, a quantity of tainted celluloid on the cutting room floor, a contrail suspended in the high, thin stratosphere, an icy cirrus cloud of time, a manifestation known to shattered violet neon dusk of atrophied human citizenship and the dazzling garbage heap of a tragic, tragic, dead age when the walls start bleeding, Nazi paratroopers land outside the window, tiny white Deity, an orchestra of reluctantly castrated violinists performing disconsolate tunes of homicidal alien bewilderment, of old coins in the thin gray light pouring over sacred texts of communal disaster, breathing lost in space and time, a place of mute beaches where footsteps are lost upon sand so a factory-installed means of listening to the Deity, an orchestra of reluctantly castrated violinists performing flakes descends unhurried through a tarnished sea of fluid screams, painfully abrupt stench of damp waste, and fermented blood, of desiccated cats and threadbare Egyptians, of heretical transformations occurring behind jagged screens off the forsaken island he calls Marienbad in the ruins of his memories and dreams

Whew. Try saying that ten times fast.

By the way, my comic title was quite a bit longer than that. Unfortunately the database snipped the rest of it, and I foolishly didn't keep another copy. :|

Comments:

12th Jan 2011, 5:10 PM
snowyowl
There's an Ent in the comic? Awesome!

{{CompletelyMissingThePoint}}

@00Davo: Deal.

16th Jan 2011, 6:19 PM
loving the accidental Ent - and admitting to not reading much of the really really really long Marienbad thingy

Homestuck

23rd Sep 2014, 6:57 AM
Oh look, an Alternian movie title!

Permalinks:

Transcript:

Trope-tan: He muttht be around here thomewhere….
Jane: … OH AND BY THE WAY I LIKE WAFFLES A LOT…

Jane: … FORSOOTH PANCAKES…
Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech!
Trope-tan: There you are! Nyoro!
Fred: Trope-tan? Where have you been all this time?

Jane: … ALTHOUGH WOULD YOU LOOK AT THOSE CURTAINS THOSE ARE SOME PRETTY WELL-DESIGNED CURTAINS…
Trope-tan: I've been going through a fukuzatsu time-travel storyline. You?
Fred: Playing space snowball. Duh.

Jane: … THE OTHER DAY I GOT A NEW BRAND OF CREAM CHEESE AND I THOUGHT I SHOULD TRY IT ON A BAGEL…
Trope-tan: Would you mind stopping Jane from summoning eldritch abominations?

Fred: No problem. Sneak Attack!
Trope-tan: Arigato!
Clonk!

Trope-tan: I think that spell may have the longest title of any spell ever, though.
Fred: Oh?
Trope-tan: It somehow manages to be more verbose than Captain Obvious, yet less meaningful than The Red Shirt.

Trope-tan: Off-panel it basically recapped the comic's entire plot. And the plot of every other comic the Author has ever read. Among other things.
The stanzas dealing with frogs were especially… descriptive.

Fred: Hey, it can't be *that* bad, right?
Trope-tan: Imagine Vogon poetry multiplied by The Eye Of Argon. With a side of Marienbad, My Love.
Fred: Ouch.

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