Ah, Shawn Wallace was on Law & Order tonight. The last time I remember seeing him was the Clueless TV series. He's getting up there in years. Kind of sad, don't know how much longer we'll get to hear his voice in new shows and films.
I had to look up who he was, I love that dude.
Yeah, he's always a treat. Not that I've followed his career, but he just seems neat.
I dunno, did people find anything about Lock, Stock or Snatch "clever"? I honestly don't see a big divisive point between those films. I mean, goofy and fast paced plot twists aren't clever or exceptionally enjoyable IMO.
If you can't enjoy the dialogue of those movies...
Well, then we will never see eye to eye on movies.
Room 414 is just a room. It is in a hotel that is 1-1.5 miles from the interstate. It has 12-14 floors, a gym that smells of disinfectant, and a pool that is too chlorinated. There is a continental breakfast and on weekends omelets are served on Styrofoam plates.
Room 414, like most rooms, is only of note because of the people in it. They come, staying for a day or two or three. And they leave.
There are two people in room 414, a man and a woman, and they are worried. He is naked, bending over to look through the bar fridge. She lies on the bed, her legs crossed, and she watches him. She chews on a strand of her hair and thinks about trying on his designer frames but doesn’t, though she’s wanted to for some time now. He stands up with two small bottles in his hand and complains that there is no tonic water in the fridge.
She is worried she has made a mistake.
He is certain he has made a mistake.
The man climbs back into bed and she begins to talk about the conference. It seemed too big, what with the economic climate the way it is, she remarks. He nods.
They drink $18 of vodka in a single gulp each. It doesn’t help much. The woman is naked under the starched sheets but he sits uncovered, clutching the tiny bottle in his hand and staring at the blank flat screen television. The hotel gets HBO but not Showtime.
Advertising really has to change its very nature to survive in this climate, she continues, glancing at his genitals. The woman has often stared at the man’s crotch during his presentations and imagined. His penis lay flaccid on this thigh, and it looked dark and a little tired, like the rest of him.
It’s already happened with the internet and Tivo. Times are changing. He doesn’t reply, and the silence floods the woman with panic. Words spill from her mouth to fill the quiet, things like optimal broadcasting and targeted marketing. By the time she gets to her point on how archaic focus groups are she is on the verge of tears.
The man gets up and begins to put on his briefs and the woman begins to describe her favorite part of the conference, her voice cracking. He nods in agreement as he buttons his pants. By the time he slings his jacket over his shoulder her fingernails are digging into her palms and her teeth are grinding. He puts on his glasses and announces his intent to return to his room, and that he’ll see her in the morning. He expresses his hope for a safe flight home and wonders if they’re on the same plane, perhaps they can share a cab.
She nods in his direction, her eyes pleading and red and he leaves. The door clicks behind him. She sits for a minute, wishing she had tried on his glasses. The woman gets another $9 of help from the bar fridge but doesn’t cry. Instead she gathers the sheets and sees if she can still smell his cologne. She can, a little.
In the morning she doesn’t shower and packs up her clothes. She leaves the newspaper and soaps behind and heads toward the elevator.
The maid comes later and strips the sheets and blankets. She notices the shampoo and soap are untouched for once. She sits on the bare mattress for a minute and massages her feet while she checks the daytime news on the TV. The stock market has fallen, and this doesn’t surprise her. She lays out crisp, clean sheets and leaves the minibar to be restocked by the assistant manager. It is a new beginning for room 414. Such possibilities.
A little after midnight a couple checks into the room, a young man in a rumpled tuxedo and a young woman in a shapely black dress. Tonight is the big night. If all goes according to plan it is to be the biggest, best night of either of their lives. This is surely the night they will tell stories about at dinner parties after they’re married. A month ago it was decided they would lose their virginities on this very evening, and for a month it has been supremely uncomfortable. The night has been planned out thoroughly.
She wakes up at 8 AM and showers and scrubs and exfoliates. At 9:30 AM she gets her hair done at the best salon in town, the appointment made months ago. Her dress, purchased weeks ago, is picked up from the dry cleaners at 11:00 AM. They have a light lunch though she is too anxious to eat much. Tonight is the night after all. By 2:00 PM she goes over to a friends house and begins the makeup process. They start over several times until they feel they have it right.
He wakes up at 11 AM and showers thoroughly. He shaves with all the care of a groom on his wedding day, and after some consideration, trims his pubic hair with a pair of scissors. He hopes it makes him look bigger. He massages some gel into his hair and splashes on a handful of cologne. His dad drops his rented tuxedo off in his room. He gets dressed and takes the three pack of Durex condoms out of his desk drawer and slips them into his pocket. According to his older brother, they are by far the best brand of condom available. This was only one of the useful tidbits his brother offered, and each one panicked him more than the last.
They’re ready for dinner and meet at a friend’s house with several other couples. There is a great deal of fuss. Buttonholes and corsages are affixed. When he first sees her he thinks she looks great, but is afraid of messing up her delicately teased hair or smudging her subtle yet effective makeup. The parents, all clicking and whirs of cameras, shriek and arrange them like dolls. Stand by the fireplace. Stand on the stairs. All the boys together. All the girls together. Couples now. They force a grin. It is a strange way to start the best night of their lives.
He takes her to dinner (reservations made months ago) in his dad’s car, a Porsche Boxster. Normally he would balk at the idea but what with the economy being the way it is he’s considering getting rid of it anyway. Besides, it’s the biggest night of their lives. Go get em’ tiger, his dad says with a wink when they are alone. This does not help his anxiety. The car rumbles and roars in a manly way but he’s used to his civic and stalls a few times. She doesn’t mind but he is horrified.
Dinner is pretty good and they go to the prom at the convention center. The music is quite awful and loud and it’s very hot. The entire evening he fingers the condoms in his pocket, making sure they’re still there and she notices but doesn’t say anything. By the time her hair collapses and his deodorant begins to fail they decide to go to the hotel room. It’s a short and silent drive. The engine is very loud and makes them too self conscious to speak.
They check in, mortified at the hotel clerk’s knowing grin. The plod to the elevators, a sad death march. What a nice room, it is remarked.
They sit on the bed and begin to kiss. They try to take off each other’s clothes but it’s too complicated so they strip themselves. They do everything they’ve done up until this point in bed until he asks if she’s ready. She nods solemnly. He unwraps the condom and rolls it the wrong way, then tries to roll it the right way but he’s lost his erection. This is quite possibly the most awkward moment in his life. But he continues, this is what they’ll tell at dinner parties, surely. Eventually they align themselves and he enters her slowly. He doesn’t put his weight on his elbows like he should and he finishes far too quickly. She doesn’t orgasm. He’s not sure what to do with the condom so he tosses it in the toilet, although he vaguely remembers hearing that this is the wrong place to throw out a condom.
They think at the same time – I’ve made a terrible mistake. I’ve ruined the best night of our lives. At least there wasn’t any blood.
They lay in silence and feel like crying. It has all led up to this, the preparation, the advice, everything. The magic of the evening is gone. They can’t sleep so they turn on the TV and watch a rerun of Everyone Loves Raymond.
They don’t know it yet, but they’ll have sex again. Not in room 414, but in his bed or her bed. It will be better and won’t end in Ray Romano. Eventually they will begin to explore each other’s body with reckless abadon and enthusiam. Anxiety will be left behind in favor of love and lust. By the time they leave for college they will look back on this night and laugh fondly, but it will not be mentioned in the company of others.
They don’t know this yet, so they laugh stiffly at the TV that illuminates the otherwise dark room and hope they haven’t ruined their relationship.
They wake up the next morning and put on their tux and dress since they forgot to bring a change of clothes. He checks out, and avoids making eye contact with the morning clerk.
The maid does her routine and powernaps on the bare mattress for a few minutes.
I dunno, did people find anything about Lock, Stock or Snatch "clever"? I honestly don't see a big divisive point between those films. I mean, goofy and fast paced plot twists aren't clever or exceptionally enjoyable IMO.
If you can't enjoy the dialogue of those movies...
Well, then we will never see eye to eye on movies.
We will never see eye to eye anyway.
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AlectharAlan ShoreWe're not territorial about that sort of thing, are we?Registered Userregular
Organichu: I don't know what those movies are and doubt I will ever watch them.
They are the two movies with Jason Statham (the action dude) that weren't all "egregiously insane loads of mindless action". They are cult favorites. I don't see them as especially better than his mindless action films.
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AlectharAlan ShoreWe're not territorial about that sort of thing, are we?Registered Userregular
Organichu: I don't know what those movies are and doubt I will ever watch them.
They are the two movies with Jason Statham (the action dude) that weren't all "egregiously insane loads of mindless action". They are cult favorites. I don't see them as especially better than his mindless action films.
Organichu: I don't know what those movies are and doubt I will ever watch them.
They are the two movies with Jason Statham (the action dude) that weren't all "egregiously insane loads of mindless action". They are cult favorites. I don't see them as especially better than his mindless action films.
The dialogue is what is great about them. I also enjoy Pulp Fiction and The Big Lebowski for the same reasons, if that helps.
Room 414 is just a room. It is in a hotel that is 1-1.5 miles from the interstate. It has 12-14 floors, a gym that smells of disinfectant, and a pool that is too chlorinated. There is a continental breakfast and on weekends omelets are served on Styrofoam plates.
Room 414, like most rooms, is only of note because of the people in it. They come, staying for a day or two or three. And they leave.
There are two people in room 414, a man and a woman, and they are worried. He is naked, bending over to look through the bar fridge. She lies on the bed, her legs crossed, and she watches him. She chews on a strand of her hair and thinks about trying on his designer frames but doesn’t, though she’s wanted to for some time now. He stands up with two small bottles in his hand and complains that there is no tonic water in the fridge.
She is worried she has made a mistake.
He is certain he has made a mistake.
The man climbs back into bed and she begins to talk about the conference. It seemed too big, what with the economic climate the way it is, she remarks. He nods.
They drink $18 of vodka in a single gulp each. It doesn’t help much. The woman is naked under the starched sheets but he sits uncovered, clutching the tiny bottle in his hand and staring at the blank flat screen television. The hotel gets HBO but not Showtime.
Advertising really has to change its very nature to survive in this climate, she continues, glancing at his genitals. The woman has often stared at the man’s crotch during his presentations and imagined. His penis lay flaccid on this thigh, and it looked dark and a little tired, like the rest of him.
It’s already happened with the internet and Tivo. Times are changing. He doesn’t reply, and the silence floods the woman with panic. Words spill from her mouth to fill the quiet, things like optimal broadcasting and targeted marketing. By the time she gets to her point on how archaic focus groups are she is on the verge of tears.
The man gets up and begins to put on his briefs and the woman begins to describe her favorite part of the conference, her voice cracking. He nods in agreement as he buttons his pants. By the time he slings his jacket over his shoulder her fingernails are digging into her palms and her teeth are grinding. He puts on his glasses and announces his intent to return to his room, and that he’ll see her in the morning. He expresses his hope for a safe flight home and wonders if they’re on the same plane, perhaps they can share a cab.
She nods in his direction, her eyes pleading and red and he leaves. The door clicks behind him. She sits for a minute, wishing she had tried on his glasses. The woman gets another $9 of help from the bar fridge but doesn’t cry. Instead she gathers the sheets and sees if she can still smell his cologne. She can, a little.
In the morning she doesn’t shower and packs up her clothes. She leaves the newspaper and soaps behind and heads toward the elevator.
The maid comes later and strips the sheets and blankets. She notices the shampoo and soap are untouched for once. She sits on the bare mattress for a minute and massages her feet while she checks the daytime news on the TV. The stock market has fallen, and this doesn’t surprise her. She lays out crisp, clean sheets and leaves the minibar to be restocked by the assistant manager. It is a new beginning for room 414. Such possibilities.
A little after midnight a couple checks into the room, a young man in a rumpled tuxedo and a young woman in a shapely black dress. Tonight is the big night. If all goes according to plan it is to be the biggest, best night of either of their lives. This is surely the night they will tell stories about at dinner parties after they’re married. A month ago it was decided they would lose their virginities on this very evening, and for a month it has been supremely uncomfortable. The night has been planned out thoroughly.
She wakes up at 8 AM and showers and scrubs and exfoliates. At 9:30 AM she gets her hair done at the best salon in town, the appointment made months ago. Her dress, purchased weeks ago, is picked up from the dry cleaners at 11:00 AM. They have a light lunch though she is too anxious to eat much. Tonight is the night after all. By 2:00 PM she goes over to a friends house and begins the makeup process. They start over several times until they feel they have it right.
He wakes up at 11 AM and showers thoroughly. He shaves with all the care of a groom on his wedding day, and after some consideration, trims his pubic hair with a pair of scissors. He hopes it makes him look bigger. He massages some gel into his hair and splashes on a handful of cologne. His dad drops his rented tuxedo off in his room. He gets dressed and takes the three pack of Durex condoms out of his desk drawer and slips them into his pocket. According to his older brother, they are by far the best brand of condom available. This was only one of the useful tidbits his brother offered, and each one panicked him more than the last.
They’re ready for dinner and meet at a friend’s house with several other couples. There is a great deal of fuss. Buttonholes and corsages are affixed. When he first sees her he thinks she looks great, but is afraid of messing up her delicately teased hair or smudging her subtle yet effective makeup. The parents, all clicking and whirs of cameras, shriek and arrange them like dolls. Stand by the fireplace. Stand on the stairs. All the boys together. All the girls together. Couples now. They force a grin. It is a strange way to start the best night of their lives.
He takes her to dinner (reservations made months ago) in his dad’s car, a Porsche Boxster. Normally he would balk at the idea but what with the economy being the way it is he’s considering getting rid of it anyway. Besides, it’s the biggest night of their lives. Go get em’ tiger, his dad says with a wink when they are alone. This does not help his anxiety. The car rumbles and roars in a manly way but he’s used to his civic and stalls a few times. She doesn’t mind but he is horrified.
Dinner is pretty good and they go to the prom at the convention center. The music is quite awful and loud and it’s very hot. The entire evening he fingers the condoms in his pocket, making sure they’re still there and she notices but doesn’t say anything. By the time her hair collapses and his deodorant begins to fail they decide to go to the hotel room. It’s a short and silent drive. The engine is very loud and makes them too self conscious to speak.
They check in, mortified at the hotel clerk’s knowing grin. The plod to the elevators, a sad death march. What a nice room, it is remarked.
They sit on the bed and begin to kiss. They try to take off each other’s clothes but it’s too complicated so they strip themselves. They do everything they’ve done up until this point in bed until he asks if she’s ready. She nods solemnly. He unwraps the condom and rolls it the wrong way, then tries to roll it the right way but he’s lost his erection. This is quite possibly the most awkward moment in his life. But he continues, this is what they’ll tell at dinner parties, surely. Eventually they align themselves and he enters her slowly. He doesn’t put his weight on his elbows like he should and he finishes far too quickly. She doesn’t orgasm. He’s not sure what to do with the condom so he tosses it in the toilet, although he vaguely remembers hearing that this is the wrong place to throw out a condom.
They think at the same time – I’ve made a terrible mistake. I’ve ruined the best night of our lives. At least there wasn’t any blood.
They lay in silence and feel like crying. It has all led up to this, the preparation, the advice, everything. The magic of the evening is gone. They can’t sleep so they turn on the TV and watch a rerun of Everyone Loves Raymond.
They don’t know it yet, but they’ll have sex again. Not in room 414, but in his bed or her bed. It will be better and won’t end in Ray Romano. Eventually they will begin to explore each other’s body with reckless abadon and enthusiam. Anxiety will be left behind in favor of love and lust. By the time they leave for college they will look back on this night and laugh fondly, but it will not be mentioned in the company of others.
They don’t know this yet, so they laugh stiffly at the TV that illuminates the otherwise dark room and hope they haven’t ruined their relationship.
They wake up the next morning and put on their tux and dress since they forgot to bring a change of clothes. He checks out, and avoids making eye contact with the morning clerk.
The maid does her routine and powernaps on the bare mattress for a few minutes.
Hmm. I like it one couple of criticism: I think the recurring talk of the bad economy, as well as the specific mention of a television show are too self-conscious. They date the story, and not in a good way.
Organichu: I don't know what those movies are and doubt I will ever watch them.
They are the two movies with Jason Statham (the action dude) that weren't all "egregiously insane loads of mindless action". They are cult favorites. I don't see them as especially better than his mindless action films.
Aren't you all forgetting "The Bank Job"?
I haven't seen that one yet.
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Powerpuppiesdrinking coffee in themountain cabinRegistered Userregular
Room 414 is just a room. It is in a hotel that is 1-1.5 miles from the interstate. It has 12-14 floors, a gym that smells of disinfectant, and a pool that is too chlorinated. There is a continental breakfast and on weekends omelets are served on Styrofoam plates.
Room 414, like most rooms, is only of note because of the people in it. They come, staying for a day or two or three. And they leave.
There are two people in room 414, a man and a woman, and they are worried. He is naked, bending over to look through the bar fridge. She lies on the bed, her legs crossed, and she watches him. She chews on a strand of her hair and thinks about trying on his designer frames but doesn’t, though she’s wanted to for some time now. He stands up with two small bottles in his hand and complains that there is no tonic water in the fridge.
She is worried she has made a mistake.
He is certain he has made a mistake.
The man climbs back into bed and she begins to talk about the conference. It seemed too big, what with the economic climate the way it is, she remarks. He nods.
They drink $18 of vodka in a single gulp each. It doesn’t help much. The woman is naked under the starched sheets but he sits uncovered, clutching the tiny bottle in his hand and staring at the blank flat screen television. The hotel gets HBO but not Showtime.
Advertising really has to change its very nature to survive in this climate, she continues, glancing at his genitals. The woman has often stared at the man’s crotch during his presentations and imagined. His penis lay flaccid on this thigh, and it looked dark and a little tired, like the rest of him.
It’s already happened with the internet and Tivo. Times are changing. He doesn’t reply, and the silence floods the woman with panic. Words spill from her mouth to fill the quiet, things like optimal broadcasting and targeted marketing. By the time she gets to her point on how archaic focus groups are she is on the verge of tears.
The man gets up and begins to put on his briefs and the woman begins to describe her favorite part of the conference, her voice cracking. He nods in agreement as he buttons his pants. By the time he slings his jacket over his shoulder her fingernails are digging into her palms and her teeth are grinding. He puts on his glasses and announces his intent to return to his room, and that he’ll see her in the morning. He expresses his hope for a safe flight home and wonders if they’re on the same plane, perhaps they can share a cab.
She nods in his direction, her eyes pleading and red and he leaves. The door clicks behind him. She sits for a minute, wishing she had tried on his glasses. The woman gets another $9 of help from the bar fridge but doesn’t cry. Instead she gathers the sheets and sees if she can still smell his cologne. She can, a little.
In the morning she doesn’t shower and packs up her clothes. She leaves the newspaper and soaps behind and heads toward the elevator.
The maid comes later and strips the sheets and blankets. She notices the shampoo and soap are untouched for once. She sits on the bare mattress for a minute and massages her feet while she checks the daytime news on the TV. The stock market has fallen, and this doesn’t surprise her. She lays out crisp, clean sheets and leaves the minibar to be restocked by the assistant manager. It is a new beginning for room 414. Such possibilities.
A little after midnight a couple checks into the room, a young man in a rumpled tuxedo and a young woman in a shapely black dress. Tonight is the big night. If all goes according to plan it is to be the biggest, best night of either of their lives. This is surely the night they will tell stories about at dinner parties after they’re married. A month ago it was decided they would lose their virginities on this very evening, and for a month it has been supremely uncomfortable. The night has been planned out thoroughly.
She wakes up at 8 AM and showers and scrubs and exfoliates. At 9:30 AM she gets her hair done at the best salon in town, the appointment made months ago. Her dress, purchased weeks ago, is picked up from the dry cleaners at 11:00 AM. They have a light lunch though she is too anxious to eat much. Tonight is the night after all. By 2:00 PM she goes over to a friends house and begins the makeup process. They start over several times until they feel they have it right.
He wakes up at 11 AM and showers thoroughly. He shaves with all the care of a groom on his wedding day, and after some consideration, trims his pubic hair with a pair of scissors. He hopes it makes him look bigger. He massages some gel into his hair and splashes on a handful of cologne. His dad drops his rented tuxedo off in his room. He gets dressed and takes the three pack of Durex condoms out of his desk drawer and slips them into his pocket. According to his older brother, they are by far the best brand of condom available. This was only one of the useful tidbits his brother offered, and each one panicked him more than the last.
They’re ready for dinner and meet at a friend’s house with several other couples. There is a great deal of fuss. Buttonholes and corsages are affixed. When he first sees her he thinks she looks great, but is afraid of messing up her delicately teased hair or smudging her subtle yet effective makeup. The parents, all clicking and whirs of cameras, shriek and arrange them like dolls. Stand by the fireplace. Stand on the stairs. All the boys together. All the girls together. Couples now. They force a grin. It is a strange way to start the best night of their lives.
He takes her to dinner (reservations made months ago) in his dad’s car, a Porsche Boxster. Normally he would balk at the idea but what with the economy being the way it is he’s considering getting rid of it anyway. Besides, it’s the biggest night of their lives. Go get em’ tiger, his dad says with a wink when they are alone. This does not help his anxiety. The car rumbles and roars in a manly way but he’s used to his civic and stalls a few times. She doesn’t mind but he is horrified.
Dinner is pretty good and they go to the prom at the convention center. The music is quite awful and loud and it’s very hot. The entire evening he fingers the condoms in his pocket, making sure they’re still there and she notices but doesn’t say anything. By the time her hair collapses and his deodorant begins to fail they decide to go to the hotel room. It’s a short and silent drive. The engine is very loud and makes them too self conscious to speak.
They check in, mortified at the hotel clerk’s knowing grin. The plod to the elevators, a sad death march. What a nice room, it is remarked.
They sit on the bed and begin to kiss. They try to take off each other’s clothes but it’s too complicated so they strip themselves. They do everything they’ve done up until this point in bed until he asks if she’s ready. She nods solemnly. He unwraps the condom and rolls it the wrong way, then tries to roll it the right way but he’s lost his erection. This is quite possibly the most awkward moment in his life. But he continues, this is what they’ll tell at dinner parties, surely. Eventually they align themselves and he enters her slowly. He doesn’t put his weight on his elbows like he should and he finishes far too quickly. She doesn’t orgasm. He’s not sure what to do with the condom so he tosses it in the toilet, although he vaguely remembers hearing that this is the wrong place to throw out a condom.
They think at the same time – I’ve made a terrible mistake. I’ve ruined the best night of our lives. At least there wasn’t any blood.
They lay in silence and feel like crying. It has all led up to this, the preparation, the advice, everything. The magic of the evening is gone. They can’t sleep so they turn on the TV and watch a rerun of Everyone Loves Raymond.
They don’t know it yet, but they’ll have sex again. Not in room 414, but in his bed or her bed. It will be better and won’t end in Ray Romano. Eventually they will begin to explore each other’s body with reckless abadon and enthusiam. Anxiety will be left behind in favor of love and lust. By the time they leave for college they will look back on this night and laugh fondly, but it will not be mentioned in the company of others.
They don’t know this yet, so they laugh stiffly at the TV that illuminates the otherwise dark room and hope they haven’t ruined their relationship.
They wake up the next morning and put on their tux and dress since they forgot to bring a change of clothes. He checks out, and avoids making eye contact with the morning clerk.
The maid does her routine and powernaps on the bare mattress for a few minutes.
Hmm. I like it one couple of criticism: I think the recurring talk of the bad economy, as well as the specific mention of a television show are too self-conscious. They date the story, and not in a good way.
Yes, I am not sure they add anything, and I started skimming the economy talk without really realizing it.
Room 414 is just a room. It is in a hotel that is 1-1.5 miles from the interstate. It has 12-14 floors, a gym that smells of disinfectant, and a pool that is too chlorinated. There is a continental breakfast and on weekends omelets are served on Styrofoam plates.
Room 414, like most rooms, is only of note because of the people in it. They come, staying for a day or two or three. And they leave.
There are two people in room 414, a man and a woman, and they are worried. He is naked, bending over to look through the bar fridge. She lies on the bed, her legs crossed, and she watches him. She chews on a strand of her hair and thinks about trying on his designer frames but doesn’t, though she’s wanted to for some time now. He stands up with two small bottles in his hand and complains that there is no tonic water in the fridge.
She is worried she has made a mistake.
He is certain he has made a mistake.
The man climbs back into bed and she begins to talk about the conference. It seemed too big, what with the economic climate the way it is, she remarks. He nods.
They drink $18 of vodka in a single gulp each. It doesn’t help much. The woman is naked under the starched sheets but he sits uncovered, clutching the tiny bottle in his hand and staring at the blank flat screen television. The hotel gets HBO but not Showtime.
Advertising really has to change its very nature to survive in this climate, she continues, glancing at his genitals. The woman has often stared at the man’s crotch during his presentations and imagined. His penis lay flaccid on this thigh, and it looked dark and a little tired, like the rest of him.
It’s already happened with the internet and Tivo. Times are changing. He doesn’t reply, and the silence floods the woman with panic. Words spill from her mouth to fill the quiet, things like optimal broadcasting and targeted marketing. By the time she gets to her point on how archaic focus groups are she is on the verge of tears.
The man gets up and begins to put on his briefs and the woman begins to describe her favorite part of the conference, her voice cracking. He nods in agreement as he buttons his pants. By the time he slings his jacket over his shoulder her fingernails are digging into her palms and her teeth are grinding. He puts on his glasses and announces his intent to return to his room, and that he’ll see her in the morning. He expresses his hope for a safe flight home and wonders if they’re on the same plane, perhaps they can share a cab.
She nods in his direction, her eyes pleading and red and he leaves. The door clicks behind him. She sits for a minute, wishing she had tried on his glasses. The woman gets another $9 of help from the bar fridge but doesn’t cry. Instead she gathers the sheets and sees if she can still smell his cologne. She can, a little.
In the morning she doesn’t shower and packs up her clothes. She leaves the newspaper and soaps behind and heads toward the elevator.
The maid comes later and strips the sheets and blankets. She notices the shampoo and soap are untouched for once. She sits on the bare mattress for a minute and massages her feet while she checks the daytime news on the TV. The stock market has fallen, and this doesn’t surprise her. She lays out crisp, clean sheets and leaves the minibar to be restocked by the assistant manager. It is a new beginning for room 414. Such possibilities.
A little after midnight a couple checks into the room, a young man in a rumpled tuxedo and a young woman in a shapely black dress. Tonight is the big night. If all goes according to plan it is to be the biggest, best night of either of their lives. This is surely the night they will tell stories about at dinner parties after they’re married. A month ago it was decided they would lose their virginities on this very evening, and for a month it has been supremely uncomfortable. The night has been planned out thoroughly.
She wakes up at 8 AM and showers and scrubs and exfoliates. At 9:30 AM she gets her hair done at the best salon in town, the appointment made months ago. Her dress, purchased weeks ago, is picked up from the dry cleaners at 11:00 AM. They have a light lunch though she is too anxious to eat much. Tonight is the night after all. By 2:00 PM she goes over to a friends house and begins the makeup process. They start over several times until they feel they have it right.
He wakes up at 11 AM and showers thoroughly. He shaves with all the care of a groom on his wedding day, and after some consideration, trims his pubic hair with a pair of scissors. He hopes it makes him look bigger. He massages some gel into his hair and splashes on a handful of cologne. His dad drops his rented tuxedo off in his room. He gets dressed and takes the three pack of Durex condoms out of his desk drawer and slips them into his pocket. According to his older brother, they are by far the best brand of condom available. This was only one of the useful tidbits his brother offered, and each one panicked him more than the last.
They’re ready for dinner and meet at a friend’s house with several other couples. There is a great deal of fuss. Buttonholes and corsages are affixed. When he first sees her he thinks she looks great, but is afraid of messing up her delicately teased hair or smudging her subtle yet effective makeup. The parents, all clicking and whirs of cameras, shriek and arrange them like dolls. Stand by the fireplace. Stand on the stairs. All the boys together. All the girls together. Couples now. They force a grin. It is a strange way to start the best night of their lives.
He takes her to dinner (reservations made months ago) in his dad’s car, a Porsche Boxster. Normally he would balk at the idea but what with the economy being the way it is he’s considering getting rid of it anyway. Besides, it’s the biggest night of their lives. Go get em’ tiger, his dad says with a wink when they are alone. This does not help his anxiety. The car rumbles and roars in a manly way but he’s used to his civic and stalls a few times. She doesn’t mind but he is horrified.
Dinner is pretty good and they go to the prom at the convention center. The music is quite awful and loud and it’s very hot. The entire evening he fingers the condoms in his pocket, making sure they’re still there and she notices but doesn’t say anything. By the time her hair collapses and his deodorant begins to fail they decide to go to the hotel room. It’s a short and silent drive. The engine is very loud and makes them too self conscious to speak.
They check in, mortified at the hotel clerk’s knowing grin. The plod to the elevators, a sad death march. What a nice room, it is remarked.
They sit on the bed and begin to kiss. They try to take off each other’s clothes but it’s too complicated so they strip themselves. They do everything they’ve done up until this point in bed until he asks if she’s ready. She nods solemnly. He unwraps the condom and rolls it the wrong way, then tries to roll it the right way but he’s lost his erection. This is quite possibly the most awkward moment in his life. But he continues, this is what they’ll tell at dinner parties, surely. Eventually they align themselves and he enters her slowly. He doesn’t put his weight on his elbows like he should and he finishes far too quickly. She doesn’t orgasm. He’s not sure what to do with the condom so he tosses it in the toilet, although he vaguely remembers hearing that this is the wrong place to throw out a condom.
They think at the same time – I’ve made a terrible mistake. I’ve ruined the best night of our lives. At least there wasn’t any blood.
They lay in silence and feel like crying. It has all led up to this, the preparation, the advice, everything. The magic of the evening is gone. They can’t sleep so they turn on the TV and watch a rerun of Everyone Loves Raymond.
They don’t know it yet, but they’ll have sex again. Not in room 414, but in his bed or her bed. It will be better and won’t end in Ray Romano. Eventually they will begin to explore each other’s body with reckless abadon and enthusiam. Anxiety will be left behind in favor of love and lust. By the time they leave for college they will look back on this night and laugh fondly, but it will not be mentioned in the company of others.
They don’t know this yet, so they laugh stiffly at the TV that illuminates the otherwise dark room and hope they haven’t ruined their relationship.
They wake up the next morning and put on their tux and dress since they forgot to bring a change of clothes. He checks out, and avoids making eye contact with the morning clerk.
The maid does her routine and powernaps on the bare mattress for a few minutes.
Hmm. I like it one couple of criticism: I think the recurring talk of the bad economy, as well as the specific mention of a television show are too self-conscious. They date the story, and not in a good way.
i thought the economy being bad was a general enough thing
Room 414 is just a room. It is in a hotel that is 1-1.5 miles from the interstate. It has 12-14 floors, a gym that smells of disinfectant, and a pool that is too chlorinated. There is a continental breakfast and on weekends omelets are served on Styrofoam plates.
Room 414, like most rooms, is only of note because of the people in it. They come, staying for a day or two or three. And they leave.
There are two people in room 414, a man and a woman, and they are worried. He is naked, bending over to look through the bar fridge. She lies on the bed, her legs crossed, and she watches him. She chews on a strand of her hair and thinks about trying on his designer frames but doesn’t, though she’s wanted to for some time now. He stands up with two small bottles in his hand and complains that there is no tonic water in the fridge.
She is worried she has made a mistake.
He is certain he has made a mistake.
The man climbs back into bed and she begins to talk about the conference. It seemed too big, what with the economic climate the way it is, she remarks. He nods.
They drink $18 of vodka in a single gulp each. It doesn’t help much. The woman is naked under the starched sheets but he sits uncovered, clutching the tiny bottle in his hand and staring at the blank flat screen television. The hotel gets HBO but not Showtime.
Advertising really has to change its very nature to survive in this climate, she continues, glancing at his genitals. The woman has often stared at the man’s crotch during his presentations and imagined. His penis lay flaccid on this thigh, and it looked dark and a little tired, like the rest of him.
It’s already happened with the internet and Tivo. Times are changing. He doesn’t reply, and the silence floods the woman with panic. Words spill from her mouth to fill the quiet, things like optimal broadcasting and targeted marketing. By the time she gets to her point on how archaic focus groups are she is on the verge of tears.
The man gets up and begins to put on his briefs and the woman begins to describe her favorite part of the conference, her voice cracking. He nods in agreement as he buttons his pants. By the time he slings his jacket over his shoulder her fingernails are digging into her palms and her teeth are grinding. He puts on his glasses and announces his intent to return to his room, and that he’ll see her in the morning. He expresses his hope for a safe flight home and wonders if they’re on the same plane, perhaps they can share a cab.
She nods in his direction, her eyes pleading and red and he leaves. The door clicks behind him. She sits for a minute, wishing she had tried on his glasses. The woman gets another $9 of help from the bar fridge but doesn’t cry. Instead she gathers the sheets and sees if she can still smell his cologne. She can, a little.
In the morning she doesn’t shower and packs up her clothes. She leaves the newspaper and soaps behind and heads toward the elevator.
The maid comes later and strips the sheets and blankets. She notices the shampoo and soap are untouched for once. She sits on the bare mattress for a minute and massages her feet while she checks the daytime news on the TV. The stock market has fallen, and this doesn’t surprise her. She lays out crisp, clean sheets and leaves the minibar to be restocked by the assistant manager. It is a new beginning for room 414. Such possibilities.
A little after midnight a couple checks into the room, a young man in a rumpled tuxedo and a young woman in a shapely black dress. Tonight is the big night. If all goes according to plan it is to be the biggest, best night of either of their lives. This is surely the night they will tell stories about at dinner parties after they’re married. A month ago it was decided they would lose their virginities on this very evening, and for a month it has been supremely uncomfortable. The night has been planned out thoroughly.
She wakes up at 8 AM and showers and scrubs and exfoliates. At 9:30 AM she gets her hair done at the best salon in town, the appointment made months ago. Her dress, purchased weeks ago, is picked up from the dry cleaners at 11:00 AM. They have a light lunch though she is too anxious to eat much. Tonight is the night after all. By 2:00 PM she goes over to a friends house and begins the makeup process. They start over several times until they feel they have it right.
He wakes up at 11 AM and showers thoroughly. He shaves with all the care of a groom on his wedding day, and after some consideration, trims his pubic hair with a pair of scissors. He hopes it makes him look bigger. He massages some gel into his hair and splashes on a handful of cologne. His dad drops his rented tuxedo off in his room. He gets dressed and takes the three pack of Durex condoms out of his desk drawer and slips them into his pocket. According to his older brother, they are by far the best brand of condom available. This was only one of the useful tidbits his brother offered, and each one panicked him more than the last.
They’re ready for dinner and meet at a friend’s house with several other couples. There is a great deal of fuss. Buttonholes and corsages are affixed. When he first sees her he thinks she looks great, but is afraid of messing up her delicately teased hair or smudging her subtle yet effective makeup. The parents, all clicking and whirs of cameras, shriek and arrange them like dolls. Stand by the fireplace. Stand on the stairs. All the boys together. All the girls together. Couples now. They force a grin. It is a strange way to start the best night of their lives.
He takes her to dinner (reservations made months ago) in his dad’s car, a Porsche Boxster. Normally he would balk at the idea but what with the economy being the way it is he’s considering getting rid of it anyway. Besides, it’s the biggest night of their lives. Go get em’ tiger, his dad says with a wink when they are alone. This does not help his anxiety. The car rumbles and roars in a manly way but he’s used to his civic and stalls a few times. She doesn’t mind but he is horrified.
Dinner is pretty good and they go to the prom at the convention center. The music is quite awful and loud and it’s very hot. The entire evening he fingers the condoms in his pocket, making sure they’re still there and she notices but doesn’t say anything. By the time her hair collapses and his deodorant begins to fail they decide to go to the hotel room. It’s a short and silent drive. The engine is very loud and makes them too self conscious to speak.
They check in, mortified at the hotel clerk’s knowing grin. The plod to the elevators, a sad death march. What a nice room, it is remarked.
They sit on the bed and begin to kiss. They try to take off each other’s clothes but it’s too complicated so they strip themselves. They do everything they’ve done up until this point in bed until he asks if she’s ready. She nods solemnly. He unwraps the condom and rolls it the wrong way, then tries to roll it the right way but he’s lost his erection. This is quite possibly the most awkward moment in his life. But he continues, this is what they’ll tell at dinner parties, surely. Eventually they align themselves and he enters her slowly. He doesn’t put his weight on his elbows like he should and he finishes far too quickly. She doesn’t orgasm. He’s not sure what to do with the condom so he tosses it in the toilet, although he vaguely remembers hearing that this is the wrong place to throw out a condom.
They think at the same time – I’ve made a terrible mistake. I’ve ruined the best night of our lives. At least there wasn’t any blood.
They lay in silence and feel like crying. It has all led up to this, the preparation, the advice, everything. The magic of the evening is gone. They can’t sleep so they turn on the TV and watch a rerun of Everyone Loves Raymond.
They don’t know it yet, but they’ll have sex again. Not in room 414, but in his bed or her bed. It will be better and won’t end in Ray Romano. Eventually they will begin to explore each other’s body with reckless abadon and enthusiam. Anxiety will be left behind in favor of love and lust. By the time they leave for college they will look back on this night and laugh fondly, but it will not be mentioned in the company of others.
They don’t know this yet, so they laugh stiffly at the TV that illuminates the otherwise dark room and hope they haven’t ruined their relationship.
They wake up the next morning and put on their tux and dress since they forgot to bring a change of clothes. He checks out, and avoids making eye contact with the morning clerk.
The maid does her routine and powernaps on the bare mattress for a few minutes.
Hmm. I like it one couple of criticism: I think the recurring talk of the bad economy, as well as the specific mention of a television show are too self-conscious. They date the story, and not in a good way.
i thought the economy being bad was a general enough thing
It might only come across as too deliberately apropos because of what's going on right now.
Really? Wow, I thought I'd selected some of the better stuff.
Hurm, I don't have my PHB so this is a little trickier...
You'll want to look through the item vault book, whatever that one is, to see if you can't find a better weapon than the bastard swords. Going up one damage die gives you on average 1 point more of damage. But you do one more point of damage using off hand weapons as is. So, if you can find a good offhand weapon you don't have to waste a feat. Plus you can only use one bastard sword anyway, not all that exciting to me.
Also, I'm not finding the two bladed warrior feat, what does it do and what book is it in?
You want action surge as a feat. Human racial, +3 to rolls when you spend an action point. One of the best racial feats in the game in my opinion. Pop an action point before using a daily when you have CA and you're looking at a +5 right there. Really makes sure you land your big shit.
Weapon focus is okay, I guess. But you won't be using two heavy blades anyway so eh, you could probably find something better.
You might want to consider picking up the feats to multi-class ranger, they have a lot of two weapon fighting abilities.
Advance lunge doesn't seem to fit if you are going to be using heavy blades. Pick a weapon type and specialize.
Unstoppable is okay, you could probably do better.
Room 414 is just a room. It is in a hotel that is 1-1.5 miles from the interstate. It has 12-14 floors, a gym that smells of disinfectant, and a pool that is too chlorinated. There is a continental breakfast and on weekends omelets are served on Styrofoam plates.
Room 414, like most rooms, is only of note because of the people in it. They come, staying for a day or two or three. And they leave.
There are two people in room 414, a man and a woman, and they are worried. He is naked, bending over to look through the bar fridge. She lies on the bed, her legs crossed, and she watches him. She chews on a strand of her hair and thinks about trying on his designer frames but doesn’t, though she’s wanted to for some time now. He stands up with two small bottles in his hand and complains that there is no tonic water in the fridge.
She is worried she has made a mistake.
He is certain he has made a mistake.
The man climbs back into bed and she begins to talk about the conference. It seemed too big, what with the economic climate the way it is, she remarks. He nods.
They drink $18 of vodka in a single gulp each. It doesn’t help much. The woman is naked under the starched sheets but he sits uncovered, clutching the tiny bottle in his hand and staring at the blank flat screen television. The hotel gets HBO but not Showtime.
Advertising really has to change its very nature to survive in this climate, she continues, glancing at his genitals. The woman has often stared at the man’s crotch during his presentations and imagined. His penis lay flaccid on this thigh, and it looked dark and a little tired, like the rest of him.
It’s already happened with the internet and Tivo. Times are changing. He doesn’t reply, and the silence floods the woman with panic. Words spill from her mouth to fill the quiet, things like optimal broadcasting and targeted marketing. By the time she gets to her point on how archaic focus groups are she is on the verge of tears.
The man gets up and begins to put on his briefs and the woman begins to describe her favorite part of the conference, her voice cracking. He nods in agreement as he buttons his pants. By the time he slings his jacket over his shoulder her fingernails are digging into her palms and her teeth are grinding. He puts on his glasses and announces his intent to return to his room, and that he’ll see her in the morning. He expresses his hope for a safe flight home and wonders if they’re on the same plane, perhaps they can share a cab.
She nods in his direction, her eyes pleading and red and he leaves. The door clicks behind him. She sits for a minute, wishing she had tried on his glasses. The woman gets another $9 of help from the bar fridge but doesn’t cry. Instead she gathers the sheets and sees if she can still smell his cologne. She can, a little.
In the morning she doesn’t shower and packs up her clothes. She leaves the newspaper and soaps behind and heads toward the elevator.
The maid comes later and strips the sheets and blankets. She notices the shampoo and soap are untouched for once. She sits on the bare mattress for a minute and massages her feet while she checks the daytime news on the TV. The stock market has fallen, and this doesn’t surprise her. She lays out crisp, clean sheets and leaves the minibar to be restocked by the assistant manager. It is a new beginning for room 414. Such possibilities.
A little after midnight a couple checks into the room, a young man in a rumpled tuxedo and a young woman in a shapely black dress. Tonight is the big night. If all goes according to plan it is to be the biggest, best night of either of their lives. This is surely the night they will tell stories about at dinner parties after they’re married. A month ago it was decided they would lose their virginities on this very evening, and for a month it has been supremely uncomfortable. The night has been planned out thoroughly.
She wakes up at 8 AM and showers and scrubs and exfoliates. At 9:30 AM she gets her hair done at the best salon in town, the appointment made months ago. Her dress, purchased weeks ago, is picked up from the dry cleaners at 11:00 AM. They have a light lunch though she is too anxious to eat much. Tonight is the night after all. By 2:00 PM she goes over to a friends house and begins the makeup process. They start over several times until they feel they have it right.
He wakes up at 11 AM and showers thoroughly. He shaves with all the care of a groom on his wedding day, and after some consideration, trims his pubic hair with a pair of scissors. He hopes it makes him look bigger. He massages some gel into his hair and splashes on a handful of cologne. His dad drops his rented tuxedo off in his room. He gets dressed and takes the three pack of Durex condoms out of his desk drawer and slips them into his pocket. According to his older brother, they are by far the best brand of condom available. This was only one of the useful tidbits his brother offered, and each one panicked him more than the last.
They’re ready for dinner and meet at a friend’s house with several other couples. There is a great deal of fuss. Buttonholes and corsages are affixed. When he first sees her he thinks she looks great, but is afraid of messing up her delicately teased hair or smudging her subtle yet effective makeup. The parents, all clicking and whirs of cameras, shriek and arrange them like dolls. Stand by the fireplace. Stand on the stairs. All the boys together. All the girls together. Couples now. They force a grin. It is a strange way to start the best night of their lives.
He takes her to dinner (reservations made months ago) in his dad’s car, a Porsche Boxster. Normally he would balk at the idea but what with the economy being the way it is he’s considering getting rid of it anyway. Besides, it’s the biggest night of their lives. Go get em’ tiger, his dad says with a wink when they are alone. This does not help his anxiety. The car rumbles and roars in a manly way but he’s used to his civic and stalls a few times. She doesn’t mind but he is horrified.
Dinner is pretty good and they go to the prom at the convention center. The music is quite awful and loud and it’s very hot. The entire evening he fingers the condoms in his pocket, making sure they’re still there and she notices but doesn’t say anything. By the time her hair collapses and his deodorant begins to fail they decide to go to the hotel room. It’s a short and silent drive. The engine is very loud and makes them too self conscious to speak.
They check in, mortified at the hotel clerk’s knowing grin. The plod to the elevators, a sad death march. What a nice room, it is remarked.
They sit on the bed and begin to kiss. They try to take off each other’s clothes but it’s too complicated so they strip themselves. They do everything they’ve done up until this point in bed until he asks if she’s ready. She nods solemnly. He unwraps the condom and rolls it the wrong way, then tries to roll it the right way but he’s lost his erection. This is quite possibly the most awkward moment in his life. But he continues, this is what they’ll tell at dinner parties, surely. Eventually they align themselves and he enters her slowly. He doesn’t put his weight on his elbows like he should and he finishes far too quickly. She doesn’t orgasm. He’s not sure what to do with the condom so he tosses it in the toilet, although he vaguely remembers hearing that this is the wrong place to throw out a condom.
They think at the same time – I’ve made a terrible mistake. I’ve ruined the best night of our lives. At least there wasn’t any blood.
They lay in silence and feel like crying. It has all led up to this, the preparation, the advice, everything. The magic of the evening is gone. They can’t sleep so they turn on the TV and watch a rerun of Everyone Loves Raymond.
They don’t know it yet, but they’ll have sex again. Not in room 414, but in his bed or her bed. It will be better and won’t end in Ray Romano. Eventually they will begin to explore each other’s body with reckless abadon and enthusiam. Anxiety will be left behind in favor of love and lust. By the time they leave for college they will look back on this night and laugh fondly, but it will not be mentioned in the company of others.
They don’t know this yet, so they laugh stiffly at the TV that illuminates the otherwise dark room and hope they haven’t ruined their relationship.
They wake up the next morning and put on their tux and dress since they forgot to bring a change of clothes. He checks out, and avoids making eye contact with the morning clerk.
The maid does her routine and powernaps on the bare mattress for a few minutes.
Hmm. I like it one couple of criticism: I think the recurring talk of the bad economy, as well as the specific mention of a television show are too self-conscious. They date the story, and not in a good way.
i thought the economy being bad was a general enough thing
It might only come across as too deliberately apropos because of what's going on right now.
yeah I see what you mean
Casual Eddy on
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Powerpuppiesdrinking coffee in themountain cabinRegistered Userregular
We can tolerate you without tolerating your taste in movies. Which is a good thing, because the day we have to choose between no Organichu and endorsing your movie taste... well, that'll be an interessting day.
Wait, you have two bastard swords? Erm, you can't do that. Unless that is what your mystery feat does? And if so the hell book is that in, cause, uh...that's crazy.
We can tolerate you without tolerating your taste in movies. Which is a good thing, because the day we have to choose between no Organichu and endorsing your movie taste... well, that'll be an interessting day.
So far I think:
Family Guy's the best show ever (not just on TV now)
Dane Cook is hilarious
RPGs suck
Most cult films suck
The Who aren't very good
I mean, the list is getting up there of "anti-[chat]" opinions.
Posts
Yeah, he's always a treat. Not that I've followed his career, but he just seems neat.
Vaguely clever.
You know, like Terminator, where they have a few metaphors and such here and there between the badassery.
But something where it's just some angry dude going to beat some guys up? Fuck that.
I'm not sure I like them more, in fact I'm pretty sure I don't, but I do like Statham's action roles. They're very entertaining films.
Quis: For your consideration
Battle.net
If you can't enjoy the dialogue of those movies...
Well, then we will never see eye to eye on movies.
Terminator was a somewhat clever movie, yeah. I don't think that applies to Snatch or Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels.
Around here it's where to meet girls who will die virgins.
--
Organichu: I don't know what those movies are and doubt I will ever watch them.
I like it a lot!
We will never see eye to eye anyway.
Really? Wow, I thought I'd selected some of the better stuff.
Battle.net
They are the two movies with Jason Statham (the action dude) that weren't all "egregiously insane loads of mindless action". They are cult favorites. I don't see them as especially better than his mindless action films.
Aren't you all forgetting "The Bank Job"?
Battle.net
The dialogue is what is great about them. I also enjoy Pulp Fiction and The Big Lebowski for the same reasons, if that helps.
oh uh
what's wrong with his build? I don't want no scrub fighter bringing us down
Anyways, night kiddies.
Hmm. I like it one couple of criticism: I think the recurring talk of the bad economy, as well as the specific mention of a television show are too self-conscious. They date the story, and not in a good way.
I haven't seen that one yet.
Yes, I am not sure they add anything, and I started skimming the economy talk without really realizing it.
i thought the economy being bad was a general enough thing
i see
wait seriously? there's a single line about the economy in each situation
You can say that about just about anything.
Battle.net
a tuna sandwich
wait no you're right
It might only come across as too deliberately apropos because of what's going on right now.
Maybe it was the identical phrasing that did it then. It seemed like more.
Hurm, I don't have my PHB so this is a little trickier...
You'll want to look through the item vault book, whatever that one is, to see if you can't find a better weapon than the bastard swords. Going up one damage die gives you on average 1 point more of damage. But you do one more point of damage using off hand weapons as is. So, if you can find a good offhand weapon you don't have to waste a feat. Plus you can only use one bastard sword anyway, not all that exciting to me.
Also, I'm not finding the two bladed warrior feat, what does it do and what book is it in?
You want action surge as a feat. Human racial, +3 to rolls when you spend an action point. One of the best racial feats in the game in my opinion. Pop an action point before using a daily when you have CA and you're looking at a +5 right there. Really makes sure you land your big shit.
Weapon focus is okay, I guess. But you won't be using two heavy blades anyway so eh, you could probably find something better.
You might want to consider picking up the feats to multi-class ranger, they have a lot of two weapon fighting abilities.
Advance lunge doesn't seem to fit if you are going to be using heavy blades. Pick a weapon type and specialize.
Unstoppable is okay, you could probably do better.
yeah I see what you mean
We can tolerate you without tolerating your taste in movies. Which is a good thing, because the day we have to choose between no Organichu and endorsing your movie taste... well, that'll be an interessting day.
I'm just razzing the noob a bit, it's an okay build, it just needs tweaking.
it's been my favorite excuse for everything the last few months. I find it funny.
*grins* If you could work that into your story it would more than justify using the line twice.
"Around there" is that state that thinks starring in "True Lies" counts as political experience in handling terrorist incidents.
So far I think:
Family Guy's the best show ever (not just on TV now)
Dane Cook is hilarious
RPGs suck
Most cult films suck
The Who aren't very good
I mean, the list is getting up there of "anti-[chat]" opinions.