dirk_gently: (screwed if you do)
What a bloody mess.
Wonder if that's what made the train go off...
dirk_gently: (cupotea)
Dear Santa...

Dear Santa,

This year I've been busy!

In August I signed my organ donor card (28 points). In May I pushed [livejournal.com profile] h_hollister in the mud (-17 points). In April I stole [livejournal.com profile] large_hammer's purse (-30 points). In July I donated bone marrow to [livejournal.com profile] 8th_castellan in a life-saving procedure (300 points). Last Thursday I turned [livejournal.com profile] anodynetwin in for tearing the tag off a mattress (3 points).

Overall, I've been nice (284 points). For Christmas I deserve an Easy-Bake Oven!


Write your letter to Santa! Enter your LJ username:

Hmh. I'm not sure I want an easy-bake oven, it wouldn't do to burn the house down. Heating frozen pizzas is as fancy as I get in the kitchen, thanks.
I'd also never push Hollister in the mud, although it brings female mud wrestling to mind... and the idea of Thor with a purse is one that ought to keep me smiling a while.

I'd like to point out that if anyone wants to wish me happy birthday, it was last month. I spent it as a tree. I've had better birthdays.
dirk_gently: (phone drink cig)
Answering the phone for Maddie’s place is a cushy job, and it’s not raising Dirk’s opinion of his former secretary. Of course, Maddie’s business doesn’t get many calls from irate old ladies wanting to know why they’re being billed several hundred pounds for things like ‘realignment of causal stability’ when Dirk still hasn’t found their lost cat. Most of the calls have to do with opening and closing hours, whether they accept personal checks, the address, and other mundane questions, although she may have lost one customer when Dirk tried to engage them in conversation about the greater butterfly effect in their home dimension as dictated by what drinks people order on any given night. For the most part he’s doing the job well, and happy to work ‘overtime’. He has a chair, and a couple of scientific journals he’s borrowed from Doctor Octavius, and at the end of the day he’s got a bed to go sleep in without the risk of a mad dryad in the neighborhood.
He’ll actually sit and answer the phone until someone relieves him of the duty, comfortably rooted to the spot. One would expect he’d want more mental and social stimulation, but he seems very content just sitting in one spot. It’s possible the lack of exercise and sunlight isn’t a good thing, because he’s today he’s not looking entirely well. His skin has been developing a slightly darker grayish cast to it, when he does move his joints creak softly, and until the phone rings he tends to sit so perfectly still that anyone passing by might feel compelled to check to make sure he’s still breathing.
dirk_gently: (cupotea)
Hmm. Now I wish I'd emptied the dustbins before I left the office. For those not up to date, I left home in rather a hurry. If you see any trees that seem to have come from nowhere in your home dimension, I recommend fleeing to the Nexus as swiftly as possible, and spreading the word. I was attacked by a voluptuous raving mad dryad in my own neighbourhood, and evidently I'm not the only one. It's some kind of cross-dimensional epidemic. The incident and it's multiversal ramifications are under investigation by myself and others.

It must be getting towards winter, I'm so stiff the past couple of days. I know I've got a birthday next month, but I am Not That Bloody Old. It's ridiculous.
dirk_gently: (Impending Doom)
Dirk strenuously denies he has any kind of psychic powers, but in his heart he has to admit that his senses do seem to go beyond those of anyone else he knows in his own world. What bothers him most is the way the ability always creeps up and smacks him in the face when he least expects it. When he truly focuses, actually tries to reach deep down for that sixth, seventh, eight, maybe even ninth sense*, he’s rewarded with a resounding hollow nothing. It’s the offhand comments, the meaningless babble and patter that ends up coming back to haunt him, turning out to be prophecy so startlingly accurate it cannot be denied. On the other hand his sense of premonition has saved him from harm more than once. Read more... )

*After careful analysis, Dirk’s already categorized and counted his extra senses, and a last check put him up to at least eight.
dirk_gently: (Schrodinger's cat)
1. Ask me three questions you want to know the truth about.
2. I'll answer two.
3. One I'll tell the truth about.
4. One I'll lie about.
5. The question left over you have to try to answer for me.
dirk_gently: (vices)
Dirk's starting to wear down a barstool, still a regular visitor even though Hippolyta's gone. He's not about to turn down an open bar tab to infinity, although he suspects it'll still come around to bite him in the ass some day. He's waiting, inhaling the cigarette smoke in the atmosphere. This isn't technically a date, but he's looking forward to drinks with a woman a decade younger...


Jan. 15th, 2008 09:52 pm
dirk_gently: (Schrodinger's cat)
I’ve been studying the clothes dryer again.

Using a pinpoint to get around is a lot more comfortable, and there’s less danger of getting stuck, and the last time I went through it was when I was a cat. I wish I could hold onto what I knew then, because I feel I’ve lost so much…Apart from a companionable home with Hollister I’ve lost a sense of being finely in tune with the mysterious workings of the universe. You may scoff, but cats have an intrinsic knowledge of a number of things that are deeply mystical to us. Precognition and an awareness of the supernatural are simply part of life to them. By comparison my senses now are dull and pathetic, and I ache for the loss. Some things just don’t translate from one brain to another. Smell was so textural and rich and sound was like a constant symphony of information. Don’t even get me started on the whiskers.
All I can do now is try to mock up some kind of sensors, and muddle out the dimensional vortex properties of the dryer with my human brain.
dirk_gently: (cupotea)

Dashing through the snow,
In an one-horse open sleigh,
O'er the dirk__gently we go,
Laughing all the way.

Jingle Bells
from the Christmas Song Generator.

Get your own song :

Story of my life, really. Story of my life.


dirk_gently: (Default)

April 2015

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