Grant Doolin > Recent Status Updates

Prepotente: The width of a standard LEGO® brick is 15.8 millimeters. I would guess we’re slightly larger, but that’s a very good estimate.

Louis: How did you type the registered-mark thing?

Bed time...

And then there’s Piglet, who is what some people call a twink, and he’s in a relationship with a bear who is unbelievably selfish.

“If Miss Beatrice could drive, you certainly can. And you’ll have Dr. Metcalf helping you.” Bucket Boy looked as if he were about to bolt. “I don’t know who Miss Beatrice is.” “She only got, like, five or six tickets,” Donut added. “She only got them when the cop was a woman or they were gay. At least that’s what she was always saying.” “I don’t know what any of that means.”

I wish I could read this all day...

Hadrian Marlowe at fault for multiple constitutional crisis, invading the peaceful Soviet Bloc and perpetrating an embassy disaster much alike Benghazi.

Time is but a circle.

The best idea the Sollan Empire ever concocted, was sticking all SWEs in a library and forbidding them from technology.

Every major civilization appears to have made it off earth, and yet, the British ended up in charge. What a sick joke.

My sollan emperor told me cielcin keep eating his reinforcements so I asked how many reinforcements he has and he said he just goes to the planet and gets a new batch of soldiers afterwards so I said it sounds like he’s just feeding legions to the cielcin and then his prince alexander started crying.

Thank God Noah told me to push past page 100, shit was a snoozefest but now im hooked again.

And the Middle East…” I left the sentence hanging. “Not surprisingly, the development of cheap nuclear fusion had a huge impact on the Middle East.”

It is well known that stone can think, because the whole of electronics is based on that fact,

A boxful of marzipan ducks on a nearby stall came to life and whirred past the stallholder to land, quacking happily, in the river (where, by dawn, they had all melted: that’s natural selection for you).

The Luggage said nothing, but louder this time.

“I don’t like it,” said the picture imp, from his box around Twoflower’s neck. “Why not?” inquired Twoflower. “It’s weird.” “But you’re a demon. Demons can’t call things weird. I mean, what’s weird to a demon?” “Oh, you know,” said the demon cautiously, glancing around nervously and shifting from claw to claw. “Things. Stuff.”

“!” said the stranger, and grabbed his arm.

All the words the doctor had been saying—crushed spinal cord, diffuse blood pooling, paraplegic—finally reached his brain.

“Fookin’ bastahds flingin’ the victuals up, and the prols jus gotta shove, wut? Well, fook that, ya mudder-humpin’ spunk guzzlas!”