...you couldn't repeat that?

Alright, you know the drill by now... Damacus' institutionalised (finally) or something so everyone's favourite partial deity, Crucible Tongs is here to spout some improvised rubbish to keep up the one post a day quota. Why I always end up on the wrong end of my horrendous ideas is beyond me like the moon was to JFK...

Well I could deliver my cold hard *'Molochic' judgement on Damacus right now for not having his indefatigable list of online friends to mine for a wider spread of views that will only be acted upon in the form of virtual ravings. I won't be doing that tonight because if he seriously is missing it'd be my mens rea *childish giggling*. Instead here's a bunch of stuff people have said to me I knocked together with vampires, Enjoy!

*Expect a poem

-'You're only good online'

I'll start with a scathing yet accurate observation from someone 'conveniently' leaving the state. Whether or not this is so said individual can solely experience me virtually is anyone's guess... Anyway, what I initially thought was a distressing jibe on my er 'potency' turned out to highlight the fact that, yes indeed Mr Tongs, you're in a right mess when you're face to face with your fellow man. Okay, okay I know, if we've ever spoken in actuality I probably avoided eye contact. FYI not my fault, I can't help that my left pupil reacts to light slower than the other, glaringly obstructing the symmetry of my face. I'm sensitive about this defect, it's like some gaping black hole on the left of my face. Small children drool in horror and wet themselves in delight as they realise the gaping hellgate is actually just a front for my *vampiric left eye.

*This is a hardcore folkloric vampire reference, where the **undead would have a gaping left eye as the unwitting peasants lifted the lid of an exhumed coffin, anybody who's watched some lame movie or something with me will no doubt be familiar my compulsion to point this out. I teach you things, and see told you I could get vampires in here! Oh and for the record I was a fan before they became physically attractive... and before the steam engine...

**coined by Bram Stoker, nothing huge, you probably already knew. Not really deserving of an asterisk really, just me showing off.

-'Are you going to The Hawthorn?'

Yeah, someone seems to ask me this six times every Tuesday. I'd like to think the implication is that I'm loved... by a great lurching fellow who stole my gratuitous posing with cards idea, Yeah, don't think I didn't notice Damacus... In reality, of which I'm cripplingly aware (Surprised? The tea highs don't make it convincing but I am), it could easily be replaced with 'come stand around nearby so when the need arises I can be intelligent and witty and you can acknowledge it so women/other demographic I'm shamelessly trying to impress don't think I'm lying, also a ride there/home would be good'. I'm an accessory, not even a good one like John Lennon sunglasses *swoons*, more like brooches with pearls or something and pictures of dead people... not dead at the time of... *broochification, that'd just be sick... or genre defying if you've got an open mind... my grandmother doesn't, I'm not allowed to get her Christmas presents anymore... Yeah so this line gives a direct insight into my standard pub routine. Get invited, meet arrival time with pedantry most extreme to stand about, smile, nod, laughing at things you can't hear and praying to my obscure Gnostic D.I.D. riddled god that that wasn't a terribly thought out confidence. So in short, I get invited places, Nerrrrr! Oh but it's in no way because I'm cool or awesome or greatly trumping or anything.

*Expect 2 poems

-'...' *read as various nods of approval*

A response I usually illicit when I strike with some verbal genius among those who really can't be bothered acknowledging me. Although the other night I was playing *pool, nods were abound. Pool is one of those games I like to disguise as a spontaneous burst of **$3 fun and neglect to inform anyone of the fact that I own a pool table and used to play somewhat regularly. 'Awe' nods beat out 'Fantastic-but-can-you-leave-now-I've-laid-some-fantastic-groundwork-here-and-you're-getting-closer-to-saying-something-profound-or-wierd' nods and not only because the latter is a hyphenated syllabic nightmare. Darts is slowly becoming my impromptu praise game. After being shamed on three occasions at darts, the crowning being a loss to my father... read it from a Freudian perspective, more humourous that way. So I've spent some time each day 'training' for that seven seconds of abundant nodding. I mean seriously training, I was sweating it out the other day... well because of the heat of a million hells (Ignore cocytus anyone familiar with the Divine Comedy *smiles with pretense... then remembers that for that I'm walking with stone slabs on my back forever...*) needlessly experienced due to the stubborness involved when going around the board left handed from the other side of the room, and it's taking two and a half hours...

*read as billiards if I don't sound awesomely pretentious enough
** advertised as $3 but took both my two dollar coins, centre table, you've just made a pedantic life long enemy... one that WILL kill everyone you love so we can do battle at the North Pole...

Well, people talk to me, I don't see anyone talking to you, otherwise you would've blogged about it instead of forcing me to shamelessly do 2 in a row... seriously if you're following this and you know of our 'post a day guarantee!' (HA!! You can avert your eyes no longer from our plight!!) and have something to say, just get in contact with anyone who posts pretty regularly... or extremely regularly in someone's case... We can send you the invite and you can be as trumpingly awesome as me! You know, referencing stuff because you still think it makes you look smart...

Also, after that first post I forgot to continue with a recurring theme I had in mind, so I leave you with this from the legendary Biff Tannen...

'Why don't you make like a tree and... get out of here?'-B. Tannen