Party Blog

Right now, this very minute, the blog party is happening. Where are you? Just to make you wish you were here even more than you already did, we're going to have various and sundry blog party attendees say various and sundry interesting things:

editorgirl: Shouldn't that read "editorfob"? Or am I the only one who realizes how Master Fob has appropriated our nyms? So. . . various and sundry. . . various and sundry. . . oh, hell, this is too much pressure, so I'm just going to say "Hi Mom" and "You love me! You really love me!"

thmazing: All is not well at the blog party. Here I am, typing in the intimacy of the Mr and Mrs Fob's bedroom, while out in the living room, further details are being arranged regarding the offing of JK Rowling. I suspect that certain persons attending this party have already been offed in preparation for this grand offing. I look around me, but no longer do I see dear friends such as Daltongirl and Daltonboy, Lola and the Marchioness, Bawb and Brozy, Edgy and Absent. Where have they gone?!?! What assurance can I be given that I am not next?!?! I haven't felt the same since I put on my jacket and it was filled with orange seeds. What ominous symbolism might they hold? How can I know tmzzzyjhokl

Tolkien Boy: Sandwiched as it is between two of my finals, it seems impossible to believe that Master Fob's party could be anything but the riotous, drunken melee that it is. Or perhaps it isn't, because the most exciting beverage served was Orangina, a delightfully frothy drink that seems to be the unholy lovechild of Florida Orange Juice and Sprite. It has, as it proudly proclaims, its own pulp, and that of course has set the tenor for our conversations this evening: sweet, carbontated, and pulpy.

In other news, reports of my systematic slaughter of party-goers have been mostly exaggerated. I did kill one person, but I was provoked. Everyone else, I just kicked their shins.

Asmond: I now join this cloak and dagger assembly, and pray that the souls of those who manage to escape this property are not darkened too black by the hours. Th wanted to know what dire portent the orange seeds did foretell, and I shall elucidate, the seeds are a symbol of birth and life, the orange-reminiscent of fire. Together these foul omens become the effigy of a conflagration. Who will die next in its foul flames?

I am in the Fobcave... and I'm writing on Master Fob's blog. This is a surreal experience! You should see it, this dark damp cave. There are bats hanging from that bar in the closet. There's this great big computer place where Batma--Master Fob analyzes... things... And there's a party in the other room. People are just sitting there chatting it up while I hide in this dark cave deep below the earth. Or not. Perhaps I'm just sitting here not knowing what to type in a rather pleasant room in a rather pleasant house with lots of magazines and books and cool people. In any case I'm having a great time! :)
-JB

Hap! Hap!
-Lunkwill

Nocturne~ Why do I feel like I have suddenly been transported into an Agatha Christie mystery? Well, I was the one done away with by Tolkien Boy. As I suspected, it wasn't just about the chicken fingers. So, after exposing Tolkien Boy as an effeminateVirgil he slit me open in a very Dantesque fashion. It was messy. I'm now going to go clean up the Fobkitchen. I hope I have made you all sufficiently jealous that you missed out on this super stupedously wonderful party and Tolkien Boy's one-and-only killing spree.

kirsa: I have the urge to admit to editing someone else's comment above, but I'm afraid I might perish in unquenchable flames were I to do so (does that count as subjunctive?) and due to my desire to survive long enough to get married in a week and a half (it's very difficult at this point in the party to avoid making dirty jokes after a comment like that) I will instead sit passively and NOT admit to editing anything, ever. And now you can all wonder about whether I did or did not edit anything, and my nefarious (and no longer secret) purpose will have been successfully accomplished (better than accomplishing a porpoise).

Mike (vengance.net): And suddently, a large sea dragon crashed through the window, and flooded the entire apartment. Each man left to himself, the women banded together and formed a large bunker. The photographer never stopped, and the lion was eating all the mosquitos.

Speaking about Annie, I wish I knew more of these people here, but can only wish that someday, in the far, far future, things will work out for them. As for me, I'm off to Jamaica, and having finished finals, I couldn't feel better.

Lady Steed: Acckk!

The Big O: gggffdddddddddddddddddfddddddddddddddddd dddddddmurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr dsdssazcgjjhfn

Thirdmango: This party started at 5:30. I showed up at 5:30. I was the only punctual one. Those that didn't come, even less punctual then I. It was a fun party, one in which you were missed, and cursed and sacrificed to a Pagan God. If you'd like your soul back, let me know. So as I ponder what else to write, I look around the room and find that Master Fob has such a large comic book collection that it makes me want to become his best friend so that I may read each of these comics. Then I look at his cds, and I suddenly want to borrow a lot of his cds. Then I look at his pushpins...

FoxyJ:I was unaware of any of these nefarious goings on, because I have spent much of this party barefoot and in the kitchen, where I belong. But seriously, I have enjoyed the party and am glad that so many people came and partied with us...

Master Fob again: That's it, folks. Only a few bloggers are left alive, but the party goes on. Those of you who came and left before we started the party blog, feel free to add to this post in the comments section. Those of you who didn't come may comment as well, but only if you do so with a repentant heart and a desire to come next time.