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The Strange and Terrible Tale of Spider Jerusalem

Jan. 26th, 2006 05:18 pm Well.

So, this Nexus Wiki thing terrifies me beyond the ability for rational thought.

...Who wants to write one for Spider?

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Jan. 23rd, 2006 12:31 am

Well, I haven't been playing Spider lately. Haven't been playing anyone, in fact. I know you all miss me.

But I just saw the free rename thing, and since this username sucks anyway, I figure: why not?

So, what should I rename Spider's journal? What would Spider have named his journal?

No, I do not have a poll for you. Suffer.

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Dec. 18th, 2005 07:15 pm OOC? Kinda.


Do I even have to play Spider any more? These guys have it pretty well taken care of.

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Dec. 13th, 2005 09:37 pm ((Guh.

Fuck. Sick and moving. Will get back to RPing when I can.

Sorry about that.


Current Mood: sicksick

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Dec. 11th, 2005 03:15 am The Platonic Revolution Marches Ever Onward!

Current Mood: accomplishedaccomplished

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Dec. 9th, 2005 07:30 pm [Transcribed from Vertigo: Winter's Edge 2]

In South Foulness, on the Nazareth Road, they give thanks for the day when the Beatified Mostyn Gorbals pissed down the Foulness' vat-grown Messiah's throat to save his life when his heart caught fire. December 25th is Drink-My-Urine Day in South Foulness. Which is why no one ever goes there.

The denizens of South Foulness now recognize each of their neighbor's urine by its distinctive tang and pressure.

My name is Spider Jerusalem. And I fucking hate Christmas.

The Birmingham Street boys shriek "It's Chriiiiistmas" as they descend on celebrity graveyards, exhuming, chopping up, and sorting long-dead rock stars, getting good and fucked up on the rich deposits of old drugs and crystallized adrenaline in their beery, wet carcasses.

It's a winter thing.

Inbred spawn yell and scream and fuck each other in bedrooms and on the streets while their parents slob in front of the TV and dream of living with someone else.

Church bells terrify wildlife and scare the VD scabs off old folks until Xmas-gift puppies are rounded up and strapped to the offending instruments as living mufflers.

By me.

Children spend happy daytime hours building huge, elaborate snowmen in the gardens near my apartment. And so I descend from my high perch of hate in the night with a low-power remolder pen. I lay surveillance cameras, to capture the reaction in the mornings, when awakening children rush outside to see if their snowmen survived the night --

~ ~ ~ ~ ~


SPKF Listner: Hey--I see Spider Jerusalem! As the City
prepares to wind down for the winter festivals, Spider, tell us--what are your

SPIDER: Plans?

SPKF Listner: For the winter?


SPKF Listner: No Christmas? No Hanukkah?


SPKF Listener: No Festival of Winter Hearts? No Wild Hunt? No Three-Nights-of-Hands-Clasped-Against-the-Cold?


SPKF Listner: No Drink-My-Urine Day?

SPIDER: Fuck off.

No family. No girlfriend. No friends.

No love. No hope.

No point.

And Santa Claus is dead! I killed him! [He unbuttons his pants; the panel fades to the point where it's obvious that this is being shown on TV] I killed him with THIS! And I left his stinking corpse in an underground cavern where it is raped by hundreds of toxic-effluent-crazed Gila monsters every second of every day!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

SPKF Anchorwoman: Six thousand traumatized children taken to hospital after Jerusalem interview--TV station claims force majeure--Jerusalem's editor still unavailable for comment... In happier news, Drink-My-Urine Day attracted record crowds this year... *--

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Dec. 9th, 2005 06:30 pm Your attention, please?

A little OOC bit before I kick the plot into high-gear:

There now exists spidermountain, which is Spider's home on The Mountain. Most of the action from now on will take place there. mr_one_percent will generally be for Spider's writings and OOC stuff. So if you're interested in watching Spider Doing Things, watch spidermountain. Thank you.

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Dec. 8th, 2005 11:16 pm Typing? Who does that?

Look, everyone! It's Royce! Hi, Royce!

Current Mood: amusedamused

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Dec. 7th, 2005 08:44 pm Open Call for People Who Don't Know Better

My journalistic gonads, they are tingling. It's been three years since I departed from my quest for Truth, in favor of the simple life of a Mountain-dwelling, hillbilly shitfarmer. For a while, I was at peace.

No longer. My massive and mighty Meat Cannon of Journalism is steaming and remanding action! But I am alone in my endeavors. Chanon is in California on her, what, third book tour? Fourth? And the short one is back in the City with a staff gig. She's not that good.

So it has come to this. I need direction, and I need assistants, certainly of the filthy variety. Please post suggestions and resumés below. A note: If you don't enjoy fetch quests or being shot at, this is the wrong fucking job for you.

Your Unholy Master,

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Dec. 7th, 2005 05:33 pm Am-in-al issues.

So. I have recently come into posession of a kitten. It is tiny and orange and adorable. It is currently being referred to as ... The Kitten. This needs to be remedied. Any suggestions?

(Will accept IC or OOC answers -- just 'cause you're fictional, doesn't mean that your opinion doesn't count!)

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