A guy is taking his girlfriend to prom. He waits in the ticket line for a really long time but gets them. He goes to rent a limo. The rental line is really long but he eventually does it. He goes to buy her flowers. The line at the florist is really long but eventually he gets the flowers. At prom, she asks him to go get punch. He goes to the refreshment table and there’s no punchline.
The scene in ‘The Gift’ where Tara hits Willow always kills me and makes me hate Glory with an undying passion. I think it’s pretty obvious that Tara was abused when she was younger and every other instance where she’s been around volatile or violent people, she seems pretty terrified. So when she hits Willow, it’s like Glory has truly killed something in Tara. She’s turned Tara into someone she never ever wanted to be; a person who hurts others. That look on Tara’s face afterwords, where she has just a moment of being lucid to what she’s just done, says it all.
"Shepard? There is something I want you to know. The Illusive Man ordered my creation years ago. Jeff was the one who allowed me to think for myself. But only now do I feel alive. That is your influence."
Satisfied with his message, Anon sat back in his office chair, the soft squeak of its worn metal joints protesting the force. “periphery arent even that good”. A perfect summation of his feelings. How dare this blogger find enjoyment in such a mainstream band? Who the hell does he think he is? Anon ran his fingers slowly and longingly over his collection of Ambient Noise records - only vinyl of course, CDs tamper with the true primal sound of the music. He inhaled deeply, taking in the majesty of his vastly superior records. He took great pride in how obscure he was, he knew that none in the world could contend with his taste in music. He had heard Periphery only once, and as soon as the first note of the electric guitar came in, he knew that they were poser filth. Actual production quality? Disgusting. And then the vocals came in. Not only were they clean and high pitched, but the words were actually discernible. Who the hell could listen to this garbage? A knock on the door interrupted his train of thought. “Anon, your dinner is ready!” his mother called. Finally, some food. He hit the “Ask” button quickly, and closed the browser. mrakyopelagic.tumblr.com would know his wrath. None could enjoy Periphery. None.