I think I've pretty much abandoned using pleonast. It's been forever since I updated, and other than checking out what a few friends post here every once and a while, I don't do much here. So here is where you can find me now:
See the latest pictures of my adventures and what's going on in my life on Facebook
Stuff that's on my mind, or things I don't want most of my friends on Facebook to see (because it shows just how much of a nerd I am) is on Twitter
Posts about life or funny things end up on my personal blog Pyrite Dreams
And, my 101 word short stories and occasional poetry and drawings are at Brief Conceits
I will still be checking out what other people write here.
is a great comic. Just thought you guys should know.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife. Winston Rutherford III, the wealthiest landowner in all of Hertfordshire, as well as completely unattached, should have fit this universal truth quite splendidly.
It was not that he was unopposed to the idea of marriage at all. It is just really hard to be taken seriously when you claim there is a little green floating man following you around that only you can see. Most women feel they can do better than Mr. Rutherford and the Great Gazoo.
To help get my creative juices going in the morning, I've decided to write 101 word short stories. (I'm gonna try it out for the next few days to see how it works out) I might not post them on here, but they will be on my livejournal if you happen to be interested. But I'll go ahead and post my first one I wrote earlier today:
"Four more standard star-orbit-revolution-units! Four more standard star-orbit-revolution-units!" cried the masses supporting Galactic Federation president, Zoron Google-Bronx.
President Google-Bronx took the holographic podium transmitting from an undisclosed alternate dimension. "My fellow Federationists, I accept your nomination! With your help, we will continue the change we began four standard star-orbit-revolution-units ago!" Cheers rose like an exploding supernova from the convention floor.
"But just to make sure, I am engaging the compulsory-brain-implant-obedience-chip." The cheers immediately ceased and were replaced by the collective hum of the chips. Google-Bronx's hologram transmission ended, and the delegates silently left the convention in single-file.
Long live President Google-Bronx!