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I realize you've all been waiting with bated breath.

Not baited. Also, nobody POURS over a text. They PORE. And also viscous is not a synonym for brutal. I'm just sayin'.

Not that any of that matters any more.

The question you are asking is, does V stand for Vendetta, or will Parseltongue be our new official language? Will newscasts sound like discussions of the works of Thomas Pynchon, or like the equally hard-to-follow exhalations of a leaking tire?

For answer, I turn your attention to the zombie-like prayer dance performed by the acolytes of our new MONOSIGIL:

There you have it. ALL HAIL LETTER S! S is for . . . well, S is all there is, now. S is everything. S is you and me, and we are S. S is supreme. I_ f_ct, I'_e _een o_rd_r_d _o s__p _s__g a__ _th__ l___e_s i__e___e_l_. F__r S, _o_ S _s t_rr_bl_ _n _ts gl__y! S _s h_rs_ b__ f___! S ____s _s! S sss sssssss ss sss sssssssss!




Oct. 3rd, 2007 02:27 pm
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Friends, something beautiful and gruesome and poetical has happened. Something which the gods and the spirits and the small furry assassins have spoken of in hushed tones since the dawn of, well, Tuesday. The two letters left standing are V and S.


No singing, please. Incoherent yelling is appropriate.

Naturally, the Livejournal Gaming Commission is looking into this. My HTML has been subpoenaed, my initials have been confiscated, and my URLs are . . . sore. But I am confident that we will be cleared of all wrongdoing. YOU, THE VOTERS, HAVE SPOKEN. An epic battle is in the making, one which will rival the legendary match between Ryu and Scorpion, or even that of GORDON VS. DAVID:

In fact, Luis will serve as referee for this match. Has anyone seen his marbles?

Let us not forget the fallen.

K - in the words of Jupiter Sunrise, "Are you even real? Do you think that maybe we could be lovers once in a while?" Something for us all to think about, I think.

Z - Costa Gavras is not amused by your snoring imitations. Besides, I can snore louder than any of you IN MY SLEEP.

Now it is time for our mighty warriors to do their warrioring. Grab your popcorn and your raincoats!

[Poll #1065474]

Results--and a much simplified alphabet--on Friday.
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The bad news for anyone named Tom or Matt or Tim or Mitt (I mean, really. Did they name him after the catcher's glove?) is that you no longer exist. No vowels, no M, no T. For that matter, George and Gloria and Hilda and Bertha are all gone. If you're reading this and your name does not exist, just stop it, because you're really freaking me out.

The bad news for us all is that there will be no more SEX, not even for those who mumble. You may S, which is a sort of greasy and sinuous activity which I do not recommend you partake in soon after eating. S may result in a rash of swollen red pustules, if you are doing it right. Please do not scratch at, poke, or puncture the pustules, as eventually the next generation will emerge from them in an agonizing and beautiful process which doctors refer to as "devouring the host."

The battles were hard-fought, but M, T, and X are gone. Only K, S, V, and Z survive. If the Ramones had ever existed, they might have written an alphabet song which went like this:

"K! S! V, Z!/K! S! V, Z!/K! S! V, Z!/K! S! V, Z!"

Then Phil Spector would have added a cello track and used the master tapes for target practice.

Here's a bit of nostalgia from years past, when all the letters were alive and the guy from the Crash Test Dummies was writing a song about them:



Results Wednesday.
snurri: (Default)
For the third round of the alphabet deathmatch. T and V are locked in a death grip as we speak, and it's affecting my cable reception. Someone, break the tie, please!
snurri: (Default)
You wished it would end. You prayed it was only a dream, but it's not. IT'S A NIGHTMARE.

This round's casualties:

F. Flighty and profane, it made every day a little brighter.

L. L was for love, and laughter, and The Incredible Mr. Limpet.

Q. Quo vadis, world? Quo vadis?

R. It was the . . . it was . . . I just can't do this anymore. I'm sorry.

W. (Incoherent wailing.)

Y. It's a good question. I can't answer it.

Did you ever have those dreams where you fly? Freud said those were about sex, you know. Well, from now on you will just have plain old dirty sloppy sex dreams like everyone else, because YOU WILL NEVER FLY AGAIN. Or fry. It's not good for you anyway, you know. Flying, I mean. Because eventually, everyone comes back to earth, and if there's anything that makes you want to die, it's that. Believe me, I know.

I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. This whole thing with . . . I mean, we've killed nineteen letters of the alphabet! Don't you feel any remorse for what's being done in the name of your entertainment? Don't you have a soul? Won't you miss onion rings? WHAT ABOUT JALAPENO POPPERS?

[Takes deep breaths.]

We'll get through this. We'll make another word for flying with our new alphabet:

K, M, S, T, V, X, Z

Styx was asked to write a new alphabet song, but was accidentally erased from existence when Y was killed. We were unable to find a replacement in time for this round. If you wish to celebrate the new alphabet, I recommend you meditate on the nature of life and death and harsh, pointy consonants while jumping up and down on a Klingon.

The tournament format requires that one letter receive a "bye" for this next round. Three letters received 13 votes each. Two of those letters appear in my name, however (which is now V STZ), so in order to avoid the appearance of bias I have decided that the lucky letter is K. Yay, K. Congratulations. Aren't you great. Whoop-de-do.

K may have won because of its terrible scratchy nails. Listen to Karen:

Will no one think of the talking kangaroos?

The Trail of Tears Continues Here. )

Semifinals Monday. Until then, keep your kings in a kilt.
snurri: (Default)
Or, Round Two: Thunderdome.

The first battles have ended. The action was swift and bloody, and the back end of the alphabet has made a surprisingly strong showing. Zigging and zagging, weaving and yawing, tackling and stabbing and . . . the violent x- and q-type things. Impressive, and disturbing, and all quite unnecessary, but YOU DEMANDED IT.*

*(Someone did, anyway. Unless I dreamed it.)

Ladies and gentlemen, your new alphabet.

(To the tune of "Michael, Row Your Boat Ashore," as performed by Lou Reed.)

"F, K, L, M, Q, R, S, T, V, W/
X, Y and Z!"

Now, a tribute to the dead.

A. The one that began it all, now nothing but a fading scream.

B. A's jovial, ascot-wearing sidekick. We will miss its loud, grating laughter.

C. Was it plosive or sibilant? In the end, it seems, it was only redundant.

D. Somewhere, TH is hiding a smile of satisfaction.

E. Widely regarded as the alphabet's Everyletter. It will be missed, but not by Vanna White.

U. Was a single U not enough for you, world? DOES IT ALWAYS HAVE TO BE ABOUT QUANTITY?

G. Reruns of "Leave It to Beaver" will now have to be redubbed in their entirety.

H. It just goes to show, the world hates an aspirate.

I. We have all entered a Carol Emshwiller story. Report to local assimilation centers immediately.

J. Some called it a delinquent; its waggish protrusion was a source of fascination and disgust. Perhaps it was simply too pretty to live.

P. Was it prim or permissive? Proper or prurient? The question, alas, will never be answered.

O. It died with a look of surprise.

N. Could it have been the asthma?

As a sign of my own grief, I will henceforth be known only as V SWRTZ.

Here are some words which will still be usable in our new, STRONGER alphabet:


Not sure about those last few, honestly. SOME SACRIFICES WILL HAVE TO BE MADE.

Round One's biggest winner is . . . S!!! S has earned a second round "bye," which I understand it plans to spend in traction. If you see S on the street, please do not do like Grover done:



(NOTE: Voting is now closed.)

The Poll of Death )

Results Friday. Until then, I will be out scratching the vowels off of street signs.
snurri: (Default)
It's time to put the basic units of the English language to the ultimate test. You know what that means:


That's right. The ultimate tournament of alphabetical supremacy! Only one will survive, and you, the public, will choose the victor. You bloodthirsty literates, you.

Why? You dare to ask WHY?!? Because language is blood, you Philistine. Ask the Picts. Or the Philistines. JUST DON'T CALL THEM DURING DINNER. (It's spaghetti night.)


Are you ready? Is your blood up? Are you prepared to have your vowels disemboweled and your consonants culled?

There will be no mercy. Your keyboard will never look the same.

In case you need to be reminded of the combatants, here is an instructional video from James Earl Jones:

Sobering, isn't it? Thank you, James. I think we all understand the stakes, now.

Get ready. Voting will be open for forty-eight hours OR WHENEVER I FEEL LIKE CLOSING IT. (NOTE: VOTING IS NOW CLOSED.) The top vote-getter will receive a round two "bye." In the event of a tie letters will be forced to sing "Blue Eyes Crying In the Rain" in a contest judged by the judge. The judge will choose judge the winner judge and judge judge next judge round. Judge.

WARNING: Participating in this event may cause all written and printed text to appear as gibberish for a period of between twenty minutes and forty-thousand years judge.

Now, the poll: )

Tune in Wednesday for the gory results, and for the BLOODBATH that will be ROUND TWO judge.


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