Rate the avatar of the person above you: part two

[thesummerqueen]

10/10 - more beautiful

You and Tib can get off on the Constitution. I'll get off with you on literature.

[Shell B]

The Constitution is literature!

10/10 delusional.

Let's see. Oh, I'm readying Henry Miller right now.

This then? This is not a book. This is libel, slander, defamation of character. This is not a book, in the ordinary sense of the word. No, this is a prolonged insult, a gob of spit in the face of Art, a kick in the pants to God, Man, Destiny, Time, Love, Beauty … what you will. I am going to sing for you, a little off key perhaps but I will sing. I will sing while you croak, I will dance over your dirty corpse…

[thesummerqueen]

10/10 - Because you do stroke my historical erogenous zone.

I had to start rereading Lord of the Rings after watching Fellowship (extended) on Cynthia and Justin's gorgeous TV. Sight-gasm.

He often used to say there was only one Road; that it was like a great river: its springs were at every doorstep and every path was its tributary. "It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door," he used to say. "You step into the Road, and if you don't keep your feet, there is no telling where you might be swept off to."

What a great visual.

[Shell B]

10/10 anyone who likes Tolkien . . . My next tattoo is going to be the doorway to the Mines of Moria.

They passed through all perils, until they came with the dust of their long and weary road upon them to the drear dale that lay before the Gate of Angband. Black chasms opened beside the road, whence forms as of writhing serpents issued. On either hand the cliffs stood as embattled walls, and upon them sat carrion fowl crying with fell voices. Before them was the impregnable Gate, an arch wide and dark at the foot of the mountain; above it reared a thousand feet of precipice.

[thesummerqueen]

10/10, because you get Tolkien tatts.

Let's not forget two AWESOME FUCKING AUTHORS (Pratchett and Gaiman) who cowrote this book every atheist should read with pleasure:

God moves in extremely mysterious, not to say, circuitous ways. God does not play dice with the universe; He plays an ineffable game of His own devising, which might be compared, from the perspective of any of the other players*, to being involved in an obscure and complex version of poker in a pitch-dark room, with blank cards, for infinite stakes, with a Dealer who won't tell you the rules, and who smiles all the time.
*footnote: ie, everybody

[Jackalope]

10/10 proof that there's nothing sexier than a Jewish gardener.

[Shell B]

Still a 10/10 for Lovecraft.

Let's not forget Dickens' best novel.

My shirt and trousers, stained with heat, dew, grass, and the Kentish soil on which I had slept--and torn besides--might have frightened the birds from my aunt's garden, as I stood at the gate. My hair had known no comb or brush since I left London. My face, neck, and hands, from unaccustomed exposure to the air and sun, were burnt to a berry-brown. From head to foot I was powdered almost as white with chalk and dust, as if I had come out of a limekiln. In this plight, and with a strong consciousness of it, I waited to introduce myself to, and make my first impression on, my formidable aunt.

[Tiberius]

∞/10

I would write some James Joyce styled letters to her any day.

[Shell B]

10/10

Dirty farts.

[Mister Agenda]

10/10, resembles a young Sigourney Weaver.