we're finally notdotq anymore

Jesus is gone now, but in these wrists, and in my side—!!

» Continue reading this…

foxgirl carcass in alley this morning, Crocker tread on burst stomach

the ’sphere is afraid of me. i have seen its true face.

How fucking dare anyone out there make fun of lolikit after all he has been through!

He lost his job, he went through a semester of college. He started two fuckin websites.

His PR guy turned out to be a user, a cheater, and now he’s going through a trademark battle. All you people care about is….. readers and making money off of him.

HE’S A FOXGIRL! What you don’t realize is that lolikit is making you all this money and all you do is write a bunch of crap about him.

He hasn’t performed in ’sphere in months. His blog is called “finally” for a reason because all you people want is immediate gratification!

LEAVE HIM ALONE! You are lucky he even wrote for you BASTARDS! LEAVE LOLIKIT ALONE!…..Please.

ghostlightning talked about learnedness and said if lolikit had panache he would’ve pulled it off no matter what.

Speaking of learnedness, when is it learned to publicly bash someone who is going through a hard time.

Leave lolikit Alone Please…. !
Leave Dr. lolikitsune alone!…right now!….I mean it.!

Anyone that has a problem with him you deal with me, because he is not well right now.

LEAVE HIM ALONE!

.lolikappa

lelangir here. I had to drag lolikappa away from the keyboard just now… he was getting a bit too emotional. My fingers are wet and sticky now.

…

From lolikappa’s tears, you dolts!

Anyway. It’s like Madame lolikappa quacked: leave lolikit alone. It’s hard enough dealing with the ungrateful bitch; it’s even worse if we have to deal with his detractors as well. Thanks, and good night.

Jim, cut please.

What? Mr. Crocker is outside? He wants his royalty payments? … how the fuck did he find out we were using his script? Shit! Look, Jim, get out the guns. Get out the fucking guns! It’s us or him, and I’m not going without a fight.

What? We could get out of this mess by throwing lolikit’s carcass to Crocker?

Guess the fans won’t be seeing anymore of the doctor…

Hot off the presses, fangzhao’s report that K-ON! is a crappy Lucky Star remake has not reached deaf ears. Nor unsympathetic ones. I am in complete agreement with fangzhao; and you all know what I think of Lucky Star.

(Updated.)

There were like, five panty shots in Hatsukoi Limited Episode 1. I’ve seen panties maybe twice in my life

As you can see, the sky is the limited.

I tremble at the prospects.

On a more serious note, more, please? I’m interested in what’ll happen when Ayumi finds out that no, just because Misao’s opponents were cowardly, he is not necessarily a Good Guy. It is far more likely that both he and his opponents are just a bunch of dogs who are in need of a good euthanasia. She will then be caught between three unpleasant decisions: running away with Misao, having an abortion, and raising the kid on her own.

What?

She’s not pregnant?

Really?

I do believe that Misao fits the mold put forth by Full Metal Panic’s Kaname Chidori: “it feels like I’ll get pregnant just being around these guys.” Sure, he’s not a rugby player, but he could be a pretty balling one.

Anyway. The show’s most serious failing is the same as that which bewitched Ichigo 100%’s anime adaptation cannibalization: voices. I haven’t forgotten how disgusting Junpei sounded, and I’ll never forget how disgusting Ayumi &c. sound. It’s just pain, brothers. Just pain.

And, as you all know, I thrive on pain (look at MAL for a confirm on that one).

*eagerly acquires the second episode*

P.S. Tangential: when do we get a Pretty Face anime?

Update: Episode 2 was a disaster; Kusuda is terrible.

(Updated.)

Positively taken with the masterful art-style present from episode one of endearing slice-of-life/comedy K-on!, I hung myself upside down from a tree for three weeks in order to contemplate the meaning of my relatively bland existence. I died and was reborn, and when I examined my robes I found them gray no longer. (They were blood-soaked, possibly the result of the runes.) I took a long, soapy bath and, when the laundry finished drying, I looked at my figure in the mirror.

My Days, Jim, has kindly recorded the words I uttered as I examined my new self:

“I have become moe, destroyer of brains.”

(Thanks, Jim.)

As I stood there, transfixed by my own fixation, I realized that I was missing but one thing: a musical instrument. I was going to revive pop music. I quantum divided my hand into a drill, focused on the tones I most dearly wished to reproduce, pierced time and space and the twelfth wall, and—you guessed it—produced my instrument: a shiny new well-greased flute.

Transformation complete, I stand before you on my wobbly spearlegs.

Now, who will be my three accomplices? I know that I’m the most bad-ass thing to ever set foot on the stage of the world, but a band is four (or five?!?!!?!?), not one.

UPDATE: Please post your interest in joining the band in the comments below, along with your cell-phone numbers. You will receive anonymous texts instructing you where to go for your… *ahem*… auditions.

Discuss.