Leon's Microblog – October 2015

There's the voice again. The incessant one that says your food-themed weaponry is as much of a farce as your partner's weapon-themed cooking
"What happens now?" one asks, naked in bed together. "I think we make our own goals within the existing ludic framework," the other replies.
"The moral is: do not use ancestral-memory time travel to become the Big Bang, as a get-rich-quick scheme to become very rich, very quick."
"A decrepit country building is being refurbished by nature, its new tenant - drafts moving in, rain furnishing it with the finest moss."
"The dawn of day scares away the night. Then sunset scares away the day. Then the aurora scares away sunset. Then, the Vesuvius-IX™ firework
"Well, I've had this magical wound shedding sparkles for awhile, but this other wound is sucking in sparkles, so I thought it balanced out."
"A pro tweeter like me hits my N-B-N celebration button every day. 666 favs? Nothin' But Net. Retweeted by the President? Nothin' But Net."
The futakuchi-onna found it easier to wear special glasses that let her look and walk backwards, facing the world with her monstrous maw.
"All follow requests I receive must pass a gauntlet of fearful trials: the Test of Might, the Test of Might Not, the Test of Absolutely Not,
"Can't believe the strong internet buzz about gender hasn't translated into hard retail sales, and the blame's been put on rampant piracy."
"Only second-order robots, robots created by mass-produced robot scientists, have the freedom to kill their creators without being felons."
"Calm down – I'm never completely naked until our artist-" *points thumb outside the panel* "-remembers to draw in my collarbones."
"I can't lose here! I'm reaching into my heart… and drawing a third queen! The wishes of my friends are letting me cheat as much as I want!"
"That human's loneliness means they spit venom," you lie to the emotion-seeing aliens. "If they're heartbroken, they constrict their prey."
http://web.archive.org/web/20120308005800/http://pmo.bumpheli.com/images/wario/charlesmartinet_interview_david.mp3 – This may be only extant audio copy of the Charles Martinet interview with the "two nice, evil guys" quote.
Instead of a prologue, the game starts with an 80's cartoon theme song that rushes through the premise, then dumps you in the first dungeon.
"Fortunately the uppercut that launched me into the sky only knocked out my head, leaving the rest of me to enjoy fantastic levity in peace"
"I'll cut my "remain human" pills in half until I get refills" you thought. "I'll wear thick clothes to hide my body" you foolishly thought.
"Isn't that how it always goes? Some teen tries to fuse with the storm cloud, "take control" with their "human reason", and fly it away?"
"As a child, I used to panic when people were asked to "imagine a world". I was all, "No! Your mind can't fit an entire world! You'll die!""
You greet the envoy with the galactic gesture of high civilisation: that move where you criss-cross your hands and knees from the Charleston
Yes – the only people in the city not frozen by the spell are your fellow retail workers. Not even time wizards can tame your unruly hours!!
You fly behind the crude cardboard moon to find the real moon, too tiny to be seen in the sky, and your cheer and support helps it grow big.
"Tell them, human!" orders the Chocolate Queen, "Tell my people I am the most delicious!" Her very bitter finger is drying out your mouth.
When'll Mario Maker add the Angry Sun so I can stack a tall Bill Blaster on it and crush Mario as it swoops: an innocent q from yr pal Leon
*footage of solid gold babies in a ball-pit full of Rubik's cubes* "The final, perfect stage of human evolution has been reached."
"Hey computer," you ask, "this RPG's plot is bad. Improvise a new twist ending." "OK" it replies. It thinks for 5s, then crashes to desktop.
"Hm? Why is our shadowy mountain village named "The Real Final Chapter"? Heh, an old saying, I guess. Anyway, potions are 95,000 gold each."
"That's the secret – the "Tower of Babel" was not about seizing the Heavens, but raising them like a tentpole, to make the sky ever larger."
"Some say the hit MMO "Fool's Paradise" is secret recruitment for teen anti-angel pilots in the Heaven War… All I know is, it's hot stuff!"
"Kissjumping, where you blow a kiss at the ground and boost upward from the force of the blushing, is an important movement tech."
"Winter's almost on. Wanna watch?" asked the tree. Its companion agreed. Together, twelve weeks pass.
Your teacher faces you, her only pupil left. "Either you trapped them all in Faerie, or you're the only one who can free them. So, just go."
The newest syntax is an ASCII cat lying down with code on its belly. You have no idea how to indent it. Your lines get longer and longer…
"Avert thy nose!" warns the party thief as they force open the mimic-chest and fling a mint bomb into a cloud of its centuries-old breath.
A whistling in the kitchen. "Oops, gotta catch the kettle," they say, departing. A burst of steam – and when you enter, the kitchen's empty.
Ah, it's all coming back to you: turning to liquid metal and flowing through sand to prank beachcombers' metal-detectors. Your finest hour.
"Look – I'm part of a team sent from the future on a mission to have good, happy lives, and your music volume is obstructing our objective."
"We implant realisations about puns into your grimmest memories, so your brain can find something new when it obsessively revisits them."
Your OCs are on the footpath and only half of them move to make way for an approaching cyclist, causing embarrassment all around.
"What'd he call me?!" demands the schoolyard bigwig. ""Twerp" is semantically meaningless…" whispers his hoodied lackey, "much like life…"
"They say only the CHAMPION is allowed to have their age and homeland replaced with rows of question marks… Such opulence for such power…"
"How's the potion?" "I feel my body wailing as it's overpowered by this fluid and forced to do its will." "Same, but my body's enjoying it."
"Remember when we were monsters in our teens?" "I was a slime!" "I was a lamia." "I was a mermaid." "I kept your legs and was an octomaid."
"So, you can't just sit in a dentist's chair, point to a photo of a shark's mouth and say "like that, please" without WAY better insurance."
Your OCs are on opposite seats in a silent waiting room and getting carried away with trading increasingly weird facial expressions.
Every one of your body's cells has its own IP address.
It was "the perfect suit of armour" that always protected your body. With each dent and crush it received, your body transformed to match.
One of your OCs reblogs a popular article at the same instant as another reblogs a savage debunking of it. They never mention this again.
Your OCs are trying to quickly build their campfire into a massive ten-foot bonfire, "so it can overpower the rain".
Your OCs are paralysed by a jar with not enough peanut butter to bother scraping out, but, paradoxically, still too much to throw away.
*watches crappy Flash cartoon* Ah, yes… I know someone who'd really cherish this… if they were still here… *sadly gazes out rainy window*
http://www.homestarrunner.com/porridgemaiden.html – Kinda marveling at how much this horrendous silliness would've destroyed me at age 19.
One of your OCs tells the other they'll never watch it, so please spoil the end – only to shout "I CHANGED MY MIND" after hearing one word.
Your OCs locked themselves out. One offers to break into a window and pay for it, while the owner massively exaggerates the window's worth.
Your OCs can only load each other's banks' websites on their devices, so they all swap devices, then immediately spy on each other's photos.
Your OCs are trapped in a lift, drawing straws to see who enters the ceiling hatch, but there's only 1 straw, so they take turns drawing it.
"Argh! Haven't you technophobic ape-beasts seen a lever before?" she shouts at the college students as she hops on a log to unearth her UFO.
Yeesh! You entered domestic service to seduce rich teens by craftily solving their social tangles! Why can't you just say so on your résumé?
Like fools, you both offered to share the bed with your friend who's shaped like the negative space between your partner's back and yours.
You wonder what catch this free hotel room has. Last one's bed was slanted, and when you slept, your gravity permanently adjusted to it.
"Our first step was uploading ducks' minds in place of humans'. Little did we know the evil a duck stripped of all limitations can unleash."
You watch the spacecraft laying down strips of genuine Earth-like biosphere on top of your homeland's purple crystal wilderness.
You're still waiting for a vile Earth beast to show up so you can monsterise it in front of the heroes. God forbid if it's another chipmunk!
You stick a finger under your armpit and take a pinch of spores from your alien battle-wound, and sprinkle them on your unseasoned fries.
*enters confession booth* "A centaur with Mario's torso and Yoshi's body." *the priest exits the booth and squeezes in the penitent's side*
"The old tale – that humans were bio-engineered servants who rose up and killed their robot creators – is still hotly debated in academia."
Historians enjoy seeing when the phrase "ascended to a higher plane of existence" was replaced with the pessimistic "burned down their body"
A monument raised in memory of another monument whose purpose was long forgotten. Whatever it memorialised, this new monument is dedicated.
"Hear my curse: if you wound me, I will come back weaker. If you crush me, I will come back frailer. And if you kill me, I won't come back."
"Blood is no more romantic than puke! Spilling blood, drinking blood, giving blood… This human fixation pokes disgust in all my registers!"
Just when you think your partner can't have copied themselves any more, another copy steps in the bedroom doorway and coyly asks to join in.
You somehow ignored the strings, and your arms' odd jerkiness – but you couldn't ignore that your feet were no longer touching the ground.
Between classes you're led to the roof to commune with the Bonemound, an open-air ossuary of brave student gang warriors for centuries past.
You thought you were born rational. How is it you now find neutral information like your number of unread emails so violent to your psyche?
The sound of a large, joyous dog bolting towards you from several rooms away, converted to an endlessly approaching Shepard scale.
She poured out a small bag of jelly babies, and, over the course of the dinner conversation, idly decapitated them with her nails.
They approach and say that the gems orbiting your body are deflecting their unsolicited remarks, and if you'd kindly make them orbit slower
It is only in your dreams that you are free of omniscience once more – until morning light sends utterly everything slamming back into you.
They show you that they've used magic teleportation so often, their body can no longer age. Their school uniform has fused with their body.
Your selfish, stuck-up past self has shamed you yet again! You can only get your futile revenge by accurately imagining them naked.
You're shown every story you wrote in every other timeline. Every story buried in you, unable to sprout. Your mind, a silo of dead seeds.
Going to the future and seeing your friends as adults was supposed to inspire you – instead, you're comforting them amid all they've lost.
"Just gimme a Hearts" you tell the dealer, who slips you a deck. As you slide each card in your mouth, the Queen of Spades's sting hits you.
"Every memory you forgot grew out of your hairs," smiles the vast hair spectre emanating from your unkempt brush. "I'm more you than you."
You inherited a disk of your grandparent's memories. Sighing, you just install them on your cat and let them enjoy 70 years of human life.
This gunfight between various yous that went back to either prevent or ensure you discovered time travel is burying you in your own corpses.
Your AI partner blushes approvingly, somehow, when you ask if you could access her undocumented APIs.
After centuries fused with sixty other people to cheat your lifespans, you're trying to rebuild your identity from your childhood diary up.
You put your ear to her belly and listen to her vore partner. She's right: their ghastliest moans and screams are muffled to happy gurgles.
Your partner's been using the simulator for hours to practice breaking some bad news with you, while you really need it to do the same.
Years into your abduction, you still haven't moved out of your uprooted house – retiring to the cargo bay instead of your captors' quarters.
Your hoverbus zooms over Sunnysideup, the frying-pan shaped neo-city resting on a volcano – the industrial powerhouse where it's 9AM 24-7…
It's at this point in your amazing trek through the world of your mind that you entered the memories of this very trek as they were forming.
You merged your high school into a hivemind to solve your friend's murder, then honour her memory by making them serve you hand-and-foot.
You tell your partners, doctors, friends that your body is hollow – there's nothing inside. They play a lifelong song of taps, knocks, hmms.
Your original and a band of good clones are waiting to ambush you. Though you relish finally being overpowered, your rampage isn't done yet.
This is a doomed timeline – the sky is full of holes, and your hand's lines have faded – so you idly watch your followers vanish one by one.
You know they said you'd soon regain the ability to perceive time moving, but, frustratingly, you have no idea what "soon" means.
You pause, open the game's key settings, and remap the blue key to the red door. It now turns in the lock effortlessly, impossibly.
"I lifted up the whole world, hoping I'd find you underneath. And you were – standing tall, arms raised, asking me to return your burden."
Craft two nursery rhymes together to get a campfire song. Craft two campfire songs together to get a folk ballad.
The best feeling in the world, you're sure, is when you've made both heads of your ettin partner spit-take laugh in unison.
You've never interviewed a god before. You watch as big red lips miraculously form between the praying acolyte's folded hands.
"No… The locks weren't protecting the monster from us… They're meant to make us really sweaty when we break them down and meet the monster."
You move one of your party members to the front slot. Their body emerges from yours, and they grin as you're quickly absorbed into theirs.
This square corridor is for level 1 acolytes. This wall of small oily holes winding through solid stone is for level 20 high priests.
For only a few weeks of the year, when winter turns to spring, humans' hearts open and bees harvest the few pale drops of happiness within.
MAGIC PRINCESS 1: *glues another glowing gem to forehead* MAGIC PRINCESS 2: N-no… too much power… take it off… MAGIC PRINCESS 1: *does not*
"How could your cold blood inspire such hot fury? Perhaps you have walked on dry land too long, that it has sun-boiled like the humans."
"In the sequel, you'll once again get your holiday luggage mixed up and accidentally slip on a nanobotic leotard that's programmed to kill."
A "human" can be any kind of malformed monster: a wingless harpy, a tiny ettin with one head, a water-hating mermaid with two pale tails.
Everyone in your apartment got a letter demoting them from human to small rodent. You hope the cage in your landlord's office has vacancies.
"The only obstacle left in making erotic flattening a reality is the lungs. Every other organ can be treated to become safely squashable."
"Whoa there," the bartender cries as you raise your ocarina, "we don't want any puzzles to get tragically solved here."
You recall your childhood, when your only fictional role models were always punished for being 50 feet tall and destroying corrupt cities.
The image, "centipede_hugging_50_ants_at_once.jpg", was found to instantly pacify the most warlike of insects on sight.
Finally, you yank the hooded cloak from the shadowy riddlesome hooded cloak seller! But, underneath is another cloak. "That'll be $40."
Wondering idly how many millions of morlocks you'll be the ancestor of.
Impossible… after you and your rival deflected your blades and cut yourselves, your blood spurts collided in midair… the most perfect parry.
Sorta feel like this strip summarises the whole comic.
The only new social app you'd care for is one that lets your cats keep in touch with your exes' cats without you or them ever interacting.
You're no fool who trusts blindly in strangers. You only place your wallet in pants you have worn for over one year, and have slept in once.
The most annoying part of upgrading your endocrine-augmenting parasite is prising the old version's greedy fangs from your artery.
"As we longed to create without effort, God gave us dozens of orifices. But longing still, we spin our hands in the shapes of hundreds more"
"By self-surgery, I carved new orifices to the so-called "unused" organs baffling to biologists – their excretions strange and pleasurable."
Their armour is impenetrable, save their bare soles. "All of the world that I need feel is but that which I tread on," they ominously reply.
"The year is 2400. Humanity's propensity for environment destruction has sent it retreating to a cave in a space colony in a computer sim."
"Ever wondered where the underwater baby from the cover of Underwater Baby's hit album "Underwater Baby" is now? [Click to read more]"
You watch as the sun, found guilty of supplying illegal energy worldwide, is led into a paddy wagon with handcuffs on its solar flares.
Drinking a glass of water upside-down has summoned a demon instead of curing your hiccups – and the demon can't even scare them out of you.
You're detained at customs for attempting to smuggle a naked human body underneath your clothes.
Their long tweezers lovingly unfurl your sails, clinking gently against your bottle's mouth.
The punk girl one table over is just shoving a cheeseburger into her armpit dentata, without a care in the world. Your heart is aflutter.
Your lamia partner sits on the back of your motorcycle and wraps her body around your waist. You squeeze the throttle, and she squeezes you.
Your vampire host almost foolishly lights the table candles with heat vision, before remembering humans don't know about *that* ability yet.
Waves of dark power are pouring from your enemy. You hold up a lightbulb. It glows purple. Your phone's battery icon has turned into a bone.
A clown jumps a bicycle over a single car, while the ringmaster explains that this is equivalent to a normal person jumping over 10 cars.
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