Tinhuviel Artanis

Hello.

I'm Sithster Tinhuviel Artanis and I have such doubt.

This community was started because our little mascot here, my dog Toby aka Sister Ubiquita, chewed a hole in his blanket and, on the night Aunt Tudi and I watched the movie 'Doubt,' decided to stick his head through the hole, making himself look like a little nun.

When I saw him sitting there in his wimple and habit, I told Aunt Tudi, "Toby has such doubts."

I relayed this story to Sister Jilldo and Sister Megs, who both died of laughter, then returned to join me on Skype so that we could destroy every Joker quote in the 'The Dark Knight' with ..... DOUBT.

We plan on doing the same with other movies and forms of media (including The Joker Blogs because I'd have it no other way), and we welcome you to join us in the insanity and.... DOUBT.

My personal doubt is that I'm sane at all anymore. I think this tipped me right over the edge.

Now you know.

paisleydaze

luvthyjoker

Joker jumped out of the car and was up the steps of the old warehouse before Cathy had even gotten the heavy door of the Gremlin open enough for her to maneuver herself out of the unwieldy car. Gremlins had always been a bitch in every way. She was glad they were near extinction. Finally making her way out of the blue monstrosity, Cathy made her way up the steps and followed the Joker into the old warehouse.

Inside, it looked like it may have been a rag factory at one time. Cathy could almost see the neat rows of sewing machines, a harried woman sitting at each one repeating the same stitch for 8 to 10 hours over and over and over again. Now the place was nothing but dingy dust. She looked around and found the stairs. Yes, a two story rag factory. The boss probably would have lived here, too, to oversee his textile empire at all times. There were probably apartments near the back of the building.

“C’mere Twist Tie, follow me. My place is back herrre,” Joker said, taking Cathy’s hand and making a dash to the back of the warehouse. Cathy was in heels. She couldn’t go that fast and she faltered. The Joker stopped and looked at her.

“Can we just go at a normal pace?” she asked.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Why don’t you go at your normal pace and I’ll be back there waiting on you?” And he was off in a full run, laughing the entire way. Cathy was beginning to feel a little hurt by his attitude. Still, she followed.

When she joined Joker at his little apartment, she found a bedroom with two mattresses on the floor covered in a crumpled blue sheet and patchwork comforter. Beside it on the floor was a boom box and about half dozen CDs scattered on the floor. Adjacent to the bedroom was a small bathroom and a kitchen nook. And that was it. No money, no gold, no spoils of the Joker’s reign of terror on the Syndicate’s pawn racket. She wondered where it was, not that she was interested at all in the Joker’s riches. No, Cathy was here for one thing and one thing only.

( PAAS )

The Writer's Rant from Tinhuviel on Vimeo.

Props go out to Kanike, who helped with the word association therapy and with naming the psychologist. Oh, and many thanks for the therapy in general. It’s a difficult job being a psychopath…..on paper that is. Ha.

Also many props go out to Gunslingaaahhh, Masquedbunny, MsManagr, RevClaudia, Opal Lynn, and Mldrfan, who offered support and suggestions regarding the Heath references and phobias. Special props go to Guns, who offers up all manner of Heath education I did not possess prior to this operation. I swear, J would never have a date if it weren’t for his harem of willing supporters.

chris_walsh

1. 
   
2. therealljidol: I was a competitor in the first season of LJ Idol when there were like 3 people fighting like emaciated canines over the chicken bone that was the title of LJ Idol Winner. Being the vicious dog that I am, I won the competition. Since then, LJ Idol has become somewhat of a phenomenon not only on Live Journal, but also on the Internet, being one of those sublime occurrences that allows people to stretch out their writer's muscles while making new friends. It's not just a competition for writers; it's a gathering place for creative people who who want to be a part of something that helps define the word groovy. Even though I know there's no way I could ever win, not with all the talented individuals vying for the title now, I'd still love to be a part of the competition, just for the heck of it. Actually, I do participate on the peripheries of the competition. If there's a prompt I feel compelled to write on, then I will. I get to enjoy the writerly aspects of the competition without stressing over the competitive aspects. Fae Publishing is in the process of producing a book showcasing the best of what LJ Idol has had to offer over the years. I'm happy to say I'm a part of this undertaking. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I'd be able to say "Yo! I'm a published writer!" because of something clauderainsrm, of all people, would cook up out of that demented can of potted meat he calls a brain. I guess that means I have to be all grateful to him, for at least the next ten minutes. So, Gary? Thaaaaanks...
3. 
   
4. Spork: Ah the Mighty Spork! I like to say the word 'spork' almost as much as I do 'weasel.' And the mere thought of a weasel with a spork sends my imagination into never-before-explored regions of full-on hilarity. It's like something Eliza Doolittle would be forced to repeat constantly before going on that cotillion date with Professor Higgins: "A snorkel of weasels must spackle with the spork when it rains in Spain all the zippity-doo-dah-day!"
   
   If I ever opened a restaurant, I would name it the Golden Spork and I'd have a giant spork out front like the monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey. It would greatly amuse me to see patrons of my establishment react to my giant spork in much the same way the apes did the monolith in the Kubrick film.
   
   Then, of course, there's the entire re-writing of the Spoon scene in The Matrix to better fit the whole Spork Motif. Yes, there's a Spork Motif. At least, there is now. Here on the Cliffs, we're all about sporks and weasels. Don't ever forget it.
5. 
   
6. Buttah: I have an aunt on the Mother Unit's side of the family who is the epitome of Mike Myers' Coffee Talk lady. She even gets verklempt. That's really apropos of nothing except for the fact that the Coffee Talk lady declares things she admires to the utmost to be like buttah. I tend to do the same. If I mention that something is like buttah, I really like it. If I state that something "is like a big stick o'buttah," that pretty much means it's so awesome, it will clog your arteries with nothing but pure win. For instance, the Gorillaz are like buttah, but Shriekback is like a big stick o'buttah. Law & Order is like buttah, but Law & Order: SVU is like a big stick o'buttah. Han Solo is like buttah, but Darth Maul is like a big sexy stick o'buttah! Dig?
7. 
   
8. Fanfic: That thing I'm not writing at the moment and it may be too late to even finish it now. We'll see. I actually just learnt that people write fanfiction about actual living, breathing people. Like this one chick on Twitter writes Green Day fanfiction. I don't think I could ever do such a thing. My fanfiction has to be about fictional characters only, thankyouverymuch. And, believe it or not, I've not written that much fanfic. My first sojourn in that realm of fandom was writing Darth Maul fanfic back in 1999 and 2000 for the Darth Maul Estrogen Brigade. My second fanfic outing has been Joker fanfiction, mainly the Date Series, written for Rancid Rainbow. The majority of my fanfic has been erotic, but that's not to say all of it is erotic. A couple of my Maul fics were comedies and some of my J-fic has ranged from Jungian/occultish to dreadfully misanthropic. I even collaborated on a fiction, which I usually never do. It resulted in the first of a two part 'interview' written by dandyxrandy and myself. Writing fanfiction helped break a horrible block with which I'd been struggling back in 1999, so I figure I will always return to the medium as inspiration strikes because it's it's too fun not to dabble with and it really helps work on the writer bone.
9. 
   
10. Izzard: One of my greatest heroes and quite possibly the most quotable human being on the planet. When green_goblin7t introduced me to Eddie Izzard, I was instantly in awe and in love. The man is a brain in a frock. Simple as that. Really, words just fail me when it comes to Eddie Izzard. He's....my hero!
11. 
    

He sat in the lofty comfort of his second floor room, gazing out across the endless ordered lawns that surrounded what his neighbours thought was an abandoned millhouse. The Joker’s place was the eyesore of this neighbourhood and the people who lived there inclined to keep their eyes averted from the place, hoping that it would someday go away. Much like the way people reacted to him when they saw him, either with or without the war paint.

But the Joker didn’t care. As long as they stayed away and showed an active disinterest in his little corner of the world, he was pleased as punch. Judy even. He’d docked his iPod, the very one he’d taken as a souvenir from the lovely dentist who had no vision beyond her little organised universe. It was people liked that the Joker liked to make squirm before he killed them. I wanted to see the realisation of Chaos in their eyes before he released them into Oblivion, a flesh gift to the gods of Existentialism.

He had an itch and not one you could scratch with one of those curly pieces-of-shit wood you get at tourist traps. It was further fueled by the music his iPod had decided to play on shuffle. Lots of Massive Attack. Dr. Romello had had a thing for this band, apparently, and the Joker could see why. The steady, driving beats, the wall of bass, the undeniable sonic manifestation of seduction could not be denied. And that was what J wanted now, seduction. He wanted to seduce and be seduced. He wanted to sink into the inevitability of flesh where madness and scars were nightmares in another world.

But he didn’t really want to go out this evening either. He’d planned on lying low since the uproar over the nun. The Joker could depend on Sidney to bring him someone, he guessed, but that did seem terribly antiseptic. The Joker chuffed heavily and rubbed his paintless face, gazing out to the far Gotham horizon. The sun was beginning to sink. Decisions, decisions…

About that time, a movement below caught the Joker’s eye. He looked down to see a woman of about 35 staring up at him. Just standing there in his yard, peering up at him like she’d never seen another person before in her entire life. Not taking his eyes from her, J pressed a small comm button on the desk next to the window.

“Yeah, boss?” Sidney said.

“There’s a woman in our front yard staring up at me. Go..get..her.”

Sidney didn’t even respond back because he was that good. Why waste time saying “all right” when it had better damned well be all right? He watched as Sidney emerged from the house, his bald brown pate reflecting the evening sun. The Joker giggled at Sidney, who didn’t say a word to the woman, just grabbed her by the arm and hustled her in doors. Sidney didn’t play around. He liked Sidney. Turning his head away from the window, the Joker inclined the left side of his head to his bedroom door, listening.