Crowbar
@numberSeven
Unfortunately employed. Third in command. Maroon mangler, headache handler, gang guy.
( Can I be mean real quick 🥺? )<
May as well.
You’re listening to… Good Evening, Everyone! We hope that the day you've had hasn't been too long too arduous. We hope that if it was tough, you at least had us in your corner making things a little jazzier. And here we are at the end of it as things wind down and get a little cooler with the nightfall, with some more music for ya. This is Paul Desmond with "Here's That Rainy Day" for ya. We could all use a little rainy day now and then, couldn't we? Thanks for listening, folks~ …Midnight City Jazz!
Good choice.
Who was the last person on basement lock-checking duty? #manorupdates #highpriority
CANS GO CHECK. WHO WAS LAST. BUT CANS NOT GO BASEMENT. BASEMENT DARK. SCARY. NOT CLEAR WHERE TO HIT. ASK @handMaid DO IT.
Good delegation, stripe. Weren't aware you could... do that. Moving on: figure out who missed the check and haul their keister to my location for a dress-down. To the Maid. When you read this: basement's groaning. Go check on Sleeping Beauty. Make sure she isn't doing the upright thing.
ON IT. BUT WHAT'S THE POINT OF HAVING A BIG FUCKER. IF HE'S SUCH A COWARD.
Posin' a metaphorical to you. Do you want the big lug's panic response to send primordial space wench, now pissed and very awake, into our indeterminate future. Honest answers only.
FAT FuCKING CHANCE WEIGHTLESS WATCHER. THE ONLY EGG CRACKING OPEN THIS MONTH. IS ON TOP OF MY NOODLE BREAKFAST IN THE MORNING. WHEN I SLAuGHTER AND ORPHAN NESTS OF ALIEN AVIAN SHIT TALKERS WHO GET ON MY GODDAMN NERVES. AND ARE OVERDuE FOR A POPuLATION DECIMATION. A GARNISH. NOTHING MORE. WHATEVER THE FuCK YOu THINK YOu DID OR SAID OR ARE ABOuT TO DO. IS MOOT. YOu ARE OVERDONE. OVERCOOKED. FuCKING MORONICALLY SELF-ABSORBED. AND I AM SO GODDAMN GLAD YOu ARE DEAD.
Explains the creaking. Already ordering a check, sir.
Can't hear you. Really not sure I want to.
I hate those green 8astards, I don't care what anyone says. I think y'all know exactly who I'm talking a8out.
Must be a real strain to cough this one out.
I think you kean "typing this this one out" you goo8er. Don't get me started on you, Dorito-hat, you're the most pompous out of the 8unch. >::::/
Glad to make an impression. Not sure I care for it but that's none of my business beyond vague disdain, which follows. Not too "kean" on the nickname. I can tell you really mean business.
Man I was typing that one out while FUCKED up! I do hope you feel further disdain though, and I'll stay 10 toes down on my st8ment that you all suck. Fucken 8ootlicker! "El oh el". >::::)
Adversity is the spice of life. Said by nobody, 'cept me. Keep up the hateful work, Serket. You're doing the Doc proud.
1/3 file cabinets. Took longer than expected. Can't say it wasn't appreciated, and won't say it wasn't a slog. May as well not say a damn thing, actually. 4/5 corners. Wallpaper's peeling in the forth corner. 1/3 tables. Moved my radio. Should be in a better position for the jazz hour. #clickhunt
OKAY. HOW MUCH OF THESE. HOW MANY MUCH OF THESE. WOULD BE BETTER. IF CANS PUNCHED HOLES INTO ALL OF THEM? ✊
Delicate touch needed here, Fifteen. The Mime's left a present in my office, Lord knows where, and expects me to turn monkey rings looking for it.
CANS CAN PUNCH SO SOFT. THINGS WITH HOLE IN IT WILL NOT EVEN KNOW HOLE IS THERE. UNTIL SECONDS PASS. AND HANDS PASS THROUGH IT. LIKE. DAMN. HOLE THERE NOW.
You got a way with words, big man. ...Tell you what. Could use two big hands moving some furniture around. But you've got to be Tinkerbell about it, understand? All grace, all flutter.
CANS. WILL TINKER. TO EVERY BELL. GRACEST FLUTTER EVER FLUTTED. LIKE PRETTY LITTLE BUG. WILL NOT BE EVEN ONE FURNITURE. THAT DOES NOT GET MOVED SOMEWHERE.
Good man, stripe. My office. Third floor, north wing, with the crooked door.
CANS IS STILL. SORRY ABOUT THAT.
Not a problem. Suits me fine, and it's easier to find in the dark when damn-near-dead tired. Either way, you'll know the way in.
And remember, god is always watching.
Chuckled.
IF TREE FALLS IN FOREST. AND NO ONE HEAR. CANS PUNCHED TREE. WILL HEAR SAME TIME NEXT WEEK.
Was wondering what happened to that stump.
HAHAHA GOOD JOEK CANS
Not yet. Remember, we've practiced this. Bell means job. Heard the bell?
YES. NO. YES. NO. YES. NOT SURE.
No bells, Fifteen. If you're not halfway up my tail right now, there's no bells and no jobs.
2/5 corners. Kittybitch droppings located, which explains the smell. Another detailing for the Chalkbox. Poor sod's got every bit of work cut out for him. 1/3 chairs. Expected something big, considering the massive tear. Just a handful of not-inflated balloons. I don't do balloons. Remanded to wastebin. #clickhunt
:o) Inflate the balloons.
Not interested. Bit of a cultural snub you're treadin' water on, Mime.
:o/ Hmph :o/ Suit yourself.
Agreein' on a game of "find" don't translate to a game of "puff air into balloons" for me. Eurgh. Obscene. #nsfw
𝘊𝘢𝘯𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘥 𝘰𝘢𝘧𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘰𝘨𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘴. 𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘶𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 "𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴". 𝘈 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴, 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘪𝘴𝘴, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥, 𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘨𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮. 𝘏𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨. YI. PEE. CANS. FULL OF COLA. CANS. SODA. POP. U. LAR. NOW. :) 𝘏𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘥𝘶𝘮𝘣 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦. 𝘏𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳 (4/1000) 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘍𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵. 𝘐𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 (1000/1000) 𝘰𝘳 (4000/1000) 𝘰𝘳 (4444/1000). 𝘏𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘵 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦. 𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘍𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘮. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴. 𝘐𝘵 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘉𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘱. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘯. 𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘳𝘢 𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮, 𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦. 𝘐𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘊𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭. 𝘝𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵. 𝘏𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘴: 𝘉𝘖𝘚𝘚 𝘓𝘐𝘒𝘌 𝘔𝘌. 𝘏𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘴: 𝘗𝘌𝘖𝘗𝘓𝘌 𝘓𝘐𝘒𝘌 𝘔𝘌. 𝘏𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘹𝘪𝘮𝘶𝘮 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘸. BOSS. PLUS. PEOPLE. LIKE ME. :))))
Well done, Fifteen.
Overhead light checked. Bulb needed changing. Flickering, sure, but the :o) occupying the glass was a factor. 3/4 bookshelves. Reorganized my Sensible Chuckle collection. Found three coupons for the cinema in issue 80085. Unsurprising. #clickhunt
:o) Ah, you found my face! :o) That's important for a mime, you know. :o) I should much like it back at earliest convenience. :o) Keep looking for my toy, though...
Noted. Return :o) besmirched lightbulb to whatever room you're haunting this week.
:'o) I do have a respite block you know :'o) You just never visit :'o) Shunned...by dearest Uncle Crowbar
Could have fooled me. Sometimes I wonder if you and Megido are playing musical blocks.