A moment from times past.
7:31p - Baste my frog lick in the cake hair corn
Lunch Table Six
-By Tom Ivy, Bitch!
Pat: Thank you all so much for coming. And let me tell you that it is such an honor to be doing this interview with you.
Tom Ivy: That's very flattering. Thank you.
Pat: Let me start off by getting the obvious questions out of the way. How has the lunch table's sarcastic humor affected your everyday life?
Campbell: Well, for me it has to be--
Tom: You shut your mouth, bitch! Tom is in the room! You will speak only when I tell you to speak. Is that understood, maggot?
Campbell: Y-yes. . .
Tom: Yes, what?
Campbell: Y-y-yes, Lord Master Tom.
Tom: That's what I thought. Now be a good little bitch and fetch me my backpack. . . I'm sorry, Pat. What were you asking?
Pat: Um, I was, uh, just asking about--
Tom: SILENCE! It's time to look at my new pictures for the next photo project. (opens his backpack that Campbell has shakily handed to him) I've been working on my facial expressions. As you can see here, I was trying to go for that simple, dark and brooding look:
Notice how my eyes sort of flow off-camera as if I am entranced by something off in the distance.
Pat: Yes, that's very nice. You've always been known for your powerful expressions and--
Tom: Exactly. Like this one:
As you can see in this picture, I am going for a little less brooding and a little more dark. I capture that by looking right into the camera. It's like I am saying to the viewer, "Hello. I am Tom. Look how dark I am. . . but not as brooding as you would expect."
Pat: What about this one?
Tom: That one is more of a straight brood with nary a sliver of dark. It's one of my favorites.
Ralph: Lord Master Thomas, may I go get a drink of water?
Tom: (glares silently at Ralph for ten seconds) Campbell, who is this worthless fucking turd, and why is he speaking without my express, written consent?
Campbell: He's your lunchroom scapegoat and go-to boy, sir. Please don't fire him. He's really good, and he needs this job.
Tom: (glares for another ten seconds at Ralph) Very well. If you ever interrupt me again, I will stab you in the eye. Understood?
Ralph: Yes, Lord Master Thomas.
Tom: Now, come here. (Ralph hesitantly steps over to Tom and leans his head down. . . Tom then bites off a piece of his eyebrow and spits it at him. Crying, Ralph sprints from the lunchroom.) I apologize, Pat. You may continue with your interview.
Pat: Uhhh.... yeah. Sure. Uh, Claudia, you have been --
Tom: It's Tom. Tom Ivy.
Pat: Yes, I was directing my question towards Claudia, your girlfriend.
(Pat's thoughts)
The last thing I remember was the back of Tom's hand across my cheek. . . then the sickening feeling that I had lost control of my bladder. When I awoke, my pinky finger had been removed and placed in my own mouth. The lunch room walls were coated in large spots of thin, brown flakes that could only have been dried blood. And there, scrawled onto the chest of my girlfriend who hung lifeless from a makeshift crucifix, was the phrase, "Baste my frog lick in the cake hair corn." I still, to this day, have no idea what that means. But I will never forget the day I interviewed Lunch Table six.
I knew you would enjoy that...
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Whoa shit man. Blast from the past. I seemed a lot more enthusiastic about shit back then. If anyone is interested, my old livejournal Magnavox. It goes back to about 2002. Hard to believe thats almost 4 years ago man.
Lunch Table Six
-By Tom Ivy, Bitch!
Pat: Thank you all so much for coming. And let me tell you that it is such an honor to be doing this interview with you.
Tom Ivy: That's very flattering. Thank you.
Pat: Let me start off by getting the obvious questions out of the way. How has the lunch table's sarcastic humor affected your everyday life?
Campbell: Well, for me it has to be--
Tom: You shut your mouth, bitch! Tom is in the room! You will speak only when I tell you to speak. Is that understood, maggot?
Campbell: Y-yes. . .
Tom: Yes, what?
Campbell: Y-y-yes, Lord Master Tom.
Tom: That's what I thought. Now be a good little bitch and fetch me my backpack. . . I'm sorry, Pat. What were you asking?
Pat: Um, I was, uh, just asking about--
Tom: SILENCE! It's time to look at my new pictures for the next photo project. (opens his backpack that Campbell has shakily handed to him) I've been working on my facial expressions. As you can see here, I was trying to go for that simple, dark and brooding look:
Notice how my eyes sort of flow off-camera as if I am entranced by something off in the distance.
Pat: Yes, that's very nice. You've always been known for your powerful expressions and--
Tom: Exactly. Like this one:
As you can see in this picture, I am going for a little less brooding and a little more dark. I capture that by looking right into the camera. It's like I am saying to the viewer, "Hello. I am Tom. Look how dark I am. . . but not as brooding as you would expect."
Pat: What about this one?
Tom: That one is more of a straight brood with nary a sliver of dark. It's one of my favorites.
Ralph: Lord Master Thomas, may I go get a drink of water?
Tom: (glares silently at Ralph for ten seconds) Campbell, who is this worthless fucking turd, and why is he speaking without my express, written consent?
Campbell: He's your lunchroom scapegoat and go-to boy, sir. Please don't fire him. He's really good, and he needs this job.
Tom: (glares for another ten seconds at Ralph) Very well. If you ever interrupt me again, I will stab you in the eye. Understood?
Ralph: Yes, Lord Master Thomas.
Tom: Now, come here. (Ralph hesitantly steps over to Tom and leans his head down. . . Tom then bites off a piece of his eyebrow and spits it at him. Crying, Ralph sprints from the lunchroom.) I apologize, Pat. You may continue with your interview.
Pat: Uhhh.... yeah. Sure. Uh, Claudia, you have been --
Tom: It's Tom. Tom Ivy.
Pat: Yes, I was directing my question towards Claudia, your girlfriend.
(Pat's thoughts)
The last thing I remember was the back of Tom's hand across my cheek. . . then the sickening feeling that I had lost control of my bladder. When I awoke, my pinky finger had been removed and placed in my own mouth. The lunch room walls were coated in large spots of thin, brown flakes that could only have been dried blood. And there, scrawled onto the chest of my girlfriend who hung lifeless from a makeshift crucifix, was the phrase, "Baste my frog lick in the cake hair corn." I still, to this day, have no idea what that means. But I will never forget the day I interviewed Lunch Table six.
I knew you would enjoy that...
--------
Whoa shit man. Blast from the past. I seemed a lot more enthusiastic about shit back then. If anyone is interested, my old livejournal Magnavox. It goes back to about 2002. Hard to believe thats almost 4 years ago man.