Writing

[popvulture]

Just write yourself a metaphorical Tauntaun baby and slice into that sheeit.

NO COMMAS

I am filled with sadness.

[Iommic Pope]

That's great, because tauntauns are filled with warm entrails.

But, your idea I'm.....











intaun it.






Best thing I've read on the intaunet all day.








Ok, I'll taun it down now.

[D.o.S.]

that awful feeling when an 'intauntional' pun is too close to the previously used 'intaunet' to be posted in good conscience.

[Iommic Pope]

I wasn't sure which to run with, so I erred on the side of gross distaste and went for both.

Mistakes I knew I was making.

[Invisible Man]

Mistakes were made.

Fun fact: That scene is the only one in Star Wars (at least the original trilogy) where a non-Jedi/force user wields a lightsaber.

[Invisible Man]

Just write yourself a metaphorical Tauntaun baby and slice into that sheeit.

NO COMMAS

I am filled with sadness.

A woman without her man is nothing

FUCKING PUNCTUATE ME, BRO

[D.o.S.]

Just write yourself a metaphorical Tauntaun baby and slice into that sheeit.

NO COMMAS

I am filled with sadness.

A woman without her man is nothing

FUCKING PUNCTUATE ME, BRO

A (wo)man, without Herman, is not Hing.

[Iommic Pope]

Ah, Wu man! With - out - her.......man..... is nothing.....
(Read like Jeff Goldblum.)

[Invisible Man]

Undisappointed.

[Iommic Pope]

I am aiming for to be pleasing.

[Seance]

A woman without her man is nothing

FUCKING PUNCTUATE ME, BRO

AWOL man with outer menace nutting.

Vonnegut longed to take a long walk to forever. But there he was, stuck loading the belly of a Douglas C-47 Skytrain.
They were all busily loading thirty-two C-47s with thousands of chilled pints of donated jism, Operation Vittles was
sure to break the Soviet blockade of Berlin eventually. Who knows how much spunk they'd have to display.

Speaking of Berlin, it was clear to Kurt that a wall was not sufficient to stem the outside menace now raining down.
Kurt couldn't decide whether or not to go AWOL. But his hands decided for him. Swiping a jar of jism, Kurt turned to
leave the base.

Kurt had a woman at home. What was he without her? Nothing. Not Hing. General Hing was a real ding-a-ling.
A gerund of a general (always generalizing). Unfortunately the grunts in the guard towers didn't carry red pencils.
But they were eagle-eyed editors, deciding what to cut and what to let stand (STET). Lines of bullets rat-a-tat erasing
through ellipses... Kurt ran. He'd left all fear behind.

Kurt let his thoughts speak, if not nicely, at least out loud:
Let them shoot! A woman without her man is nothing. Fucking punctuate me, bro!