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Sunday, January 6th, 2013
4:18 pm - I've been seduced by a demon and it's mangling my judgment
The living statues gather at the end of La Rambla, and most of them are perfect.


Years ago, I read a blog written by a professional statue, and he made staying still sound like a magical adventure. He could people-watch all day, and when it got quiet sometimes tourists would tell him their secrets, knowing that he'd always listen and never respond. One time he fooled a city official into believing he was a real statue, and she wondered aloud to her colleague when they'd gotten that art piece installed.

I wanted to do it. I wanted to be a statue.

These things take patience though, so I figured I'd start small. I sat in front of a mirror so I could see if I twitched, and I set a timer for five minutes.

As soon as I clicked the on button and knew I couldn't move anymore, invisible weevils started crawling all over my body.
“Just ignore it,” I told myself, “they're not real.”
Oh, but they itched for real.
“It's all in your head. C'mon. You know that in your head too. Your head can be stronger than your head.”
And then the weevils started crawling up my nose. And man I know hair is dead but I could swear that each and every one of my nose hairs had a fully functioning nervous system devoted entirely to itchy weevil detection.

I spent the next fifteen minutes frantically clawing at my face.

So you can see why I maintain the deepest respect for skilled statue performers. I know about the invisible weevils going up their noses.

And the majority of those guys at La Rambla – they had skill.


A few of them kept moving around though. It's like they wanted to let their costumes do all the work for them instead of actually putting any effort into their jobs. And some of their costumes didn't even look that statue-like! I mean really, how lazy can you OH MY GOD.


That guy.
He was moving. He didn't look much like a statue. His job clearly didn't require the skill and dedication of the other... OH WHATEVER. I'M GONNA MARRY ME THAT DEMON AND THE FIRST STEP IS GIVING HIM ALL MY EUROS.


Yes demon man. Yes I love you.

This is what our wedding photos will look like.


(7 goblins | dance magic, dance)

Friday, January 4th, 2013
2:07 am - I blame jet lag
Oh wow. So, like, I thought I was the maximum amount of useless back home, but no. No it was all a lie. Turns out that in America I'm only MOSTLY useless. In Spain I have discovered and reached a whole new level of ineffectual.

And it's not just 'cause I'm American – all the other Americans here can do stuff. Zee has already earned her keep translating for the group, and Resplendent Bob made the Internet work. So far I'm only good for falling asleep on unlikely surfaces.

It's gotten to the point where I can't even properly fantasize about being useful.
Yesterday I imagined that Zee's dad opened the empty refrigerator and then collapsed.
“Oh no!” yelled Zee's mom, “Quick, we need more whimsy up in this bitch!”
And then I filled the refrigerator with helium balloons and the next time Zee's dad opened the door all the balloons popped out and bounced around the room and we had a party.

But that could never happen in real life because I'd need help finding a place that sold helium balloons and then converting my dollars into euros and then sneaking back into the building without my own key. So then I decided all my fantasies were stupid and I spent the rest of the day pretending to be Spider-Man instead. Barcelona is a great place to have wall-crawling powers. You can get your footprints on the most beautiful buildings here.

(5 goblins | dance magic, dance)

Sunday, December 2nd, 2012
1:07 pm - TeslaCon 3
I blinked. I blinked again. And the page still appeared to contain a row of bored-looking anthropomorphic bacon strips. Luckily, the artist was sitting next to me at the time.
“Tell me about this one,” I said.
“That's an unemployment line,” she said. “I drew it after I got fired from my last job for burning a bunch of bacon.”


Then I turned to the page that looked like vomit on flowers.
“And what about this one?”
“Oh! One time I was walking down the street and I saw this guy hocking a loogie onto a planter. I thought it really expressed something.”

I like these ladies Piña Colada meets on the Internet. He should keep bringing them home with him.

I almost missed meeting Piña Colada's new artist lady because I spent most of the day ON THE MOON. Or, ya know, at TeslaCon.
...which is the local steampunk convention set ON THE MOON.


It's technically December now, so I didn't even mind running into Moon Santa. It didn't hurt that he was was sitting on this lady's lap. She said she knew what Santa wanted for Christmas this year, and I believed her.


Krampus did not beat me with a stick. I suppose I have been insufficiently naughty this year.


Misha and I decided to fix our not-naughty-enough problem by crashing the ladies suffrage rally with monarchist protest signs.


Oh my god. It's a guy cosplaying Data from Star Trek cosplaying Sherlock Holmes from Sherlock Holmes. I love everything.


That guy on the left. I WANT TO STEAL HIS FACE.


Things you learn at a steampunk convention: Spicy chocolate gears are as tasty as they are ridiculous.


(15 goblins | dance magic, dance)

Friday, November 30th, 2012
10:08 pm - Oh Vessaline, why are you so mean?
This is Vessaline.


She was abused as a child and then kidnapped by faeries, whereupon she developed a taste for human flesh. That's the story, anyway.

When I started the plush Vess creation process, I was afraid I wouldn't be able to provide her with an authentic childhood mistreatment experience. What if her tiny, fluffy heart failed to wither and grow cold? The whole project would be ruined. Luckily, I've got the right kind of friends to help me out.

My cat gnawed on her innards.
My girlfriend juggled her limbs.
She had to watch my boyfriend play Magic: The Gathering for four hours.
And now I'm eating some cereal and making CRUNCH CRUNCH SLURP noises right next to her ear.

I'll bundle Plush Vess off to meet her new faerie keeper next month. I'm sure she'll be bloodthirsty enough to please him by then.

(6 goblins | dance magic, dance)

Saturday, November 24th, 2012
1:25 pm
MARA: My girlfriend thinks your coffee tastes like Satan's asshole, you know. She asks in the morning whenever she sleeps over, “Are we going to have good coffee, or are we drinking Satan's Asshole Roast again?”
LEX: Satan's Asshole Roast is a misnomer. We drink the same roast of coffee, it's just that you guys add more water and sugar and whipped cream and, like, vodka to it.
MARA: The vodka is part of the whipped cream!
LEX: I know, but it makes me sound more sane when I point out that I'm not the one who drinks vodka in the morning. And anyway, isn't Satan a master of temptation? I bet his asshole tastes really good.

Mara couldn't refute that, which is a little disappointing because I'd hoped the conversation would go on long enough for me to mention that one time when she lost a fork in her bra.
Because nothing supports your taste in coffee like not losing forks in your bra.

In completely unrelated news, this is S'anna.


She drew my character in the Changeling LARP and I basically can't stop vibrating in joy over how awesome it is. Look! Look at this thing!


Peat's costume is a little different than it was in the pre-LARP pictures Mara took last week because I added this mask my friend Sarah made. (You can find her etsy shop here: Dark Monday)


Sometimes I get jealous because I know so many awesome artists and I couldn't art to save my life, but then I decide that rolling around in pretty things sounds like a lot more fun than being jealous, so I do that instead.

(7 goblins | dance magic, dance)

Sunday, November 18th, 2012
8:38 pm
Gulp brand bait worms certainly have a flavor. I'm not quite sure it's the “natural live bait taste!” they advertise, but when you're holding them in your mouth, waiting to spit them all over the Winter King's suit, your tongue certainly knows there's something going on.

I guess I could chew on some real worms to test Gulp's flavor claims, but I doubt I'll bother. It's a failure of scientific curiosity on my part. Do they stone you for that these days? I like science! Really! I just like laziness and not chewing worms slightly better.

Anyway, Mara took some pictures of my Changeling character before I left for game yesterday. This is Peat Bog. She accidentally became Autumn King and she hates it a lot so she spits worms at people instead of making cogent political arguments.


Mostly she just wants everyone to leave her alone so she can concentrate on making mortals believe in fictional undead fish people. Is that so much to ask?


Piña Colada came home just as Mara and I were about to head back inside. I stopped to say hi because I'm polite like that.


(25 goblins | dance magic, dance)

Thursday, November 15th, 2012
4:21 pm
I almost missed the chance to watch Misha get his tattoo because my face was too busy being a tsunami of mucus. I figured the tattoo parlor would want to maintain a clean n' healthy vibe, sorta like a doctor's office. I mean, those are the main places that use fake skeletons as decor, right? Tattoo parlors and doctor's offices? So I called Misha and told him I couldn't come because his tattoo guy would kick me out for being a leak-nosed hooligan.

And that's when Misha told me something amazing: Allergy medicine works even if the thing you are allergic to is the cold virus. Awesome!

Man, I wish I'd known that earlier. I would've made way fewer snot lattes.

Anyway, even though I felt perfectly healthy after taking the allergy medicine, I was still careful not to touch anything in the shop. It was really hard when I found this giant fake tree covered in bones.



And then they had an entire superhero themed room and I wanted to just... like... rub against everything forever. But I maintained my self control and somebody should give me a cape just for that. I promise I won't blow my nose on the cape after this allergy medicine wears off.

Or maybe Misha should get the cape. After all, his hand glows under blacklight now. That totally counts as a superpower.



(9 goblins | dance magic, dance)

Sunday, November 11th, 2012
I just ran out of justice tampons, so I guess I'll have to buy the regular kind now.

The tampons originally came from a fancy resort where my parents were doing a puppet show. If you're a performer, the resort doesn't pay that well in dollars, but it does pay pretty well in time at the resort. You get treated just like a paying guest, so when you fill one of their kayaks with blackberries and then eat the whole kayak, you may get a bit of side-eye from the management, but they certainly don't stop you.

Only this time I didn't get treated exactly like all the other guests. I wanted to go to this arm workout class because sometimes I feel bad about having a set of flaccid noodles instead of arms, but the guard lady turned me away at the door.
“Only paying guests,” she said.

And the tiny, spiteful, noodle-armed demon in my head threw a tantrum. “You said we'd get treated just like paying guests! YOU SAID!”
I managed to quash all external signs of my demon-tantrum in front of the guard, but 11.6 seconds later I discovered that every single bathroom in the resort was equipped with a miniature treasure box full of tampons.

In the third bathroom I visited, an old lady caught me scooping double fistfulls of tampons from the treasure box.
She fixed me with a withering glare.
I stared her right back, all aglow with righteousness.
“It's for justice,” I said.

Oddly, her expression didn't change much after that. I don't think she got it. But Hitler used to be legal in the past so I guess I shouldn't expect old people to understand justice.

Hm. Reading about the situation now, it seems entirely possible that I've been using spite tampons for the last several months instead of justice tampons. Oh well. I'm more than a quarter century old. You can't expect me to understand justice.

(14 goblins | dance magic, dance)

Saturday, November 10th, 2012
3:24 pm - Precious Mermaid Oil
My new roommate isn't named Piña Colada. His parents named him after a completely different fruity alcoholic beverage, but I'd like to show a token of respect for his privacy so I'm not going to tell you which one.

If there's a story in this house, I'm pretty sure it's Piña Colada's and the rest of us are just supporting characters on his journey. Most of the people around here roleplay and Piña Colada doesn't, but he understands real adventure.

Like, he got to Wisconsin by hitchhiking from Florida with a backpack and a guitar. Piña Colada keeps his guitar wrapped in white lace like a bride but I'm pretty sure he doesn't actually want to marry his guitar. (Is that even a thing? Can you be sexually attracted to guitars? I want to say “no” because most of the words used to describe attraction have Latin roots and guitars didn't exist in Ancient Rome. Lyres were pretty popular though, so I guess you can be sexually attracted to lyres if you want.)

Piña Colada didn't have much of a plan for his arrival in Wisconsin, so it's a good thing he's extra charming. He met my girlfriend, and within a few days we'd offered him a room in our house. It was a pretty good investment. Not just because of the guitar, but because sometimes he says things.

Piña Colada walked through the room when I was telling people that one of my friends looked like a mermaid.
“My father used to hunt mermaids,” he said, “but not just for sport. He'd heat the house using their precious mermaid oil.”

So there's that.

My girlfriend is much better at coming up with roommates than I am. The last person I invited into the house was this guy:


I built him out of fleece and evil and then he tried to steal my soul so I had to kick him out. I hope he learns to play the guitar. Then he can win souls legitimately in guitar playing contests instead of just stealing them for no reason.

P.S. I'm trying out Blogger now. You can find my new journal here: Goblin Brains. I really miss writing long-form posts about my life, but facebook has this instant gratification element where people immediately interact with the things you say and it makes non instant-gratification babbling a lot harder. Not sure what to do about it. Suggestions Welcome.

(25 goblins | dance magic, dance)

Wednesday, July 11th, 2012
4:16 pm
My girlfriend Zee claims that she'd like to name her first child Gertrude Solidarity. Most people think this is a terrible name, but I maintain that those people simply lack STANDARDS when it comes to terrible names.
Today my mom sent me a doll I owned as a child, and I passed it on to Zee.

"Hey Zee, do you want this old doll? Her name... hm. I used to have two blonde dolls and I forget which one this is. It's either Raisino or Pregabee."

Zee decided that she liked both names enough that she'd combine them. I hope Zee gives the doll to her kid one day. Nobody will dare tease little Gertrude about her name while she's holding Raisin O'Pregabee.

(5 goblins | dance magic, dance)

Thursday, July 5th, 2012
8:44 pm
I thought it would be a safe question -- one appropriate for a restaurant where the waiters run around wearing vests and the tablecloths are made of actual fabric. After all, my parents love talking about their mini-garden on the deck. They grow peppers and basil in buckets of dirt and send me e-mails full of dirt-bucket pictures and pride. Sometimes I feel intimidated by Sam's family because they come from a much higher socio-economic class than my family, but parents are parents, right? So I asked Sam's mom a question my mom would like:
“I hear you have a garden now. How's that going?”

And I was right! Sam's mom and stepdad, Sharon and Aaron, got all excited. Sharon told me that she'd always liked the idea of gardening, but the ground was usually full of rocks and you can't grow vegetables in rock, so this year she'd decided to try lasagna gardening.

SHARON: With lasagna gardening, you can build an environment for your plants by layering materials over the ground instead of digging in it. You start with a layer of cardboard, and then you put manure on top of that, and then compost, and then pee --
LEX: Wait. I knew manure was a thing, but... you can buy gardening urine?
SHARON: We didn't buy it. We just saved our pee all winter and then dumped it on the garden after it thawed.
LEX: Oh. Um. Where did you store the --
SHARON: Old soy milk containers.
LEX: Huh.
AARON: Sometimes Sharon would use the pee to write me notes in the snow. “I <3 you, Aaron.”
LEX: That's... very sweet.

And it was. I like hearing about the different ways people express their love for one another. I also like not being a plant. Plants have to eat the worst lasagna ever.

(11 goblins | dance magic, dance)

Tuesday, June 26th, 2012
We're converting our Saturday roleplaying game from the Aberrant system to a modified version of the Hero system, so I guess I'll have to use six sided dice now.


The conversion process is... strange. Claudia paid almost as many character points for her sunglasses as for the ability to transport herself halfway across the cosmos.

After converting our characters, we ran a practice combat to test the system. This combat largely consisted of a man shooting cosmic rays out of his face in an attempt to keep us away from his delicious blueberry pie.

I love being a gamer.

(9 goblins | dance magic, dance)

Monday, June 25th, 2012
2:10 am
“Okay,” said the guy at Urgent Care, “I'm just going to write a summary for the doctor to review when she gets in. How did you hurt your foot?”
“Playing capoeira.”
“Huh. C - A - P - O... uh, can I just write 'dancing'?”
“Sure, if you like.”

And then the doctor walked into the room and asked if I'd been dancing on tables or wearing stiletto heels or something. It took all my meager willpower not to yell “NO, I AM A COMBAT BALLERINA.”* Turns out fractures to the fifth metatarsal are extremely common among the combat ballerina population.

Mara got all excited about taking me to the doctor because she works as a technical writer for a medical software company and she got the opportunity to assure herself that other medicine-people who write things down are idiots.

I have never heard a more perfect mixture of glee and disgust than the one that infused Mara's voice when she looked at the sharps container.
MARA: Lift to assure disposal? Lift to assure disposal? Oh my god.
LEX: What?
MARA: It should say something like “lift to dispose of sharp”. The word “assure” just implies a whole host of things that are SO INAPPROPRIATE in this context.
LEX: Huh. Okay.
MARA: And look at that sign on the door! “Before you Leave”? That's not just automatic computer formatting – somebody had to go in and capitalize that L on purpose. Whyyyyyy?

I was about to ask Mara if she needed a red pen, but then the doctor got back and dragged me into the other room for an x-ray. After the x-ray, the doctor asked where she could find my friend.

LEX: Oh, I think she's in the waiting room but if you don't see her there she's probably still editing your office.
LEX: Don't worry – she's a professional.

The doctor looked worried anyway. I don't know what's up with that. Maybe I should've assured her that I hadn't given Mara the sharpie.

* I am not actually a combat ballerina.

(16 goblins | dance magic, dance)

Thursday, June 7th, 2012
2:59 pm
Madison has the best therapy center. They don't call it a therapy center though – they call it Noah's Ark and it's full of free-roaming cats. It costs money if you want to take a cat home with you, but if you leave the cats in the store you can play with them and get all the free sanity you want.

The first time Zim took me to Noah's Ark, an elderly cat waddled up to us and started rubbing against Zim's leg. Or at least I assume Zim's leg-assailant was a cat – he looked more like a cross between a cow and the Goodyear Blimp, but he knew how to meow, so I'll respect his cat identity. Zim started to pet the cat, and the lady behind the counter interrupted him.

“Oh, that one's not for sale. Been here from the beginning, he has. Name's Lard Man.”

It was the most fitting of all possible names.

Today started kind of badly for me and a few of my roommates, so Zim suggested that we go to Noah's Ark. They had kittens this time! Three tiny kittens with the energy of fighter jets. Fighter jets that can do parkour.

I was so busy playing with the jet kitties that I didn't notice Lard Man at first. He was standing quietly in front of my foot as though he had oozed out of the floor there. When I leaned down to pet him, he fell over. I thought it was an accident at first, but when I rubbed his belly the purrs started. The kittens seemed curious about the sound, and they all started dive-bombing Lard Man. He took it like a great lumpy gentleman and just purred louder.

“Ah Lard Man,” said the lady behind the counter, “he'll be twelve years old come July. We tried to rename him Leonardo once, but it just didn't stick.”

Lard Man nuzzled my hand. I'm not sure how he managed it without turning back over or moving at all, but somehow he did.
The day's not so bad now. Lard Man is the best damn therapist ever. Somebody get the guy a PhD.

(14 goblins | dance magic, dance)

Monday, May 7th, 2012
1:50 am
My coworker opened the door to her car and I caught a glimpse of the back seat.
I blinked.

“It's full of heads,” I said.
“Yeah,” she said, “Do you want one? I'm not using the boy anymore. I tried to shave the bat symbol into his hair but it didn't work.”

So now I have an extra head. I can't decide whether to name him Bruce after Bruce Banner or Marcel after my cat.


(15 goblins | dance magic, dance)

Friday, April 6th, 2012
4:08 pm
It's a little hard to type with all these frogs on the table. Not real frogs. Real frogs probably would've hopped away by now. Plastic frogs are worse at jumping, but better at occupying static units of space.

And, okay, it not just the frogs – there's also the tofu cake. I'm not sure why my roommate decided to make a cake out of tofu when she doesn't live with any vegans. Maybe she just saw all the tofu in the fridge and was struck with an IMPULSE like those guys who climbed Mount Everest “because it was there.” The tofu in the fridge Was There. But now it's not There anymore; it's in a cake on the counter and nobody eats it because it's made of tofu and also because the cats have probably stepped on it by now.

But anyway, frogs. I love April first. It is the second-best holiday of all time.
This year I was primed for disappointment because I got my allotment of awesome (see previous post) out of the way early and then I had to work all day and also I didn't have time to burn anything, which is what I usually do at the start of April.

So I wasn't expecting anything special when I stepped into the back room for lunch, but then I saw the plastic frog on the floor outside my locker.
I looked around.
There was another plastic frog perched on top of my computer.


It looked almost as though the frogs were leading somewhere. Like... like to my backpack.
I approached cautiously and unzipped my bag.

And it was FULL OF FROGS.


So I did the reasonable thing. When customers got up to use the bathroom, I snuck over to their jackets and filled the pockets with frogs. I sanitized a few frogs and put them on the clean dish pile. Dropped a frog with a load of tips in the safe.

And now the rest of the frogs are here, waiting.
I'll find jobs for all of them eventually.

(7 goblins | dance magic, dance)

Monday, April 2nd, 2012
2:02 am
There are a lot of tiny air bubbles just under the surface of my skin. They crackle when I poke them. It's kinda creepy, but it also makes me feel like I'd be good at protecting packages during air transit.

April 1st is a good time for doing things that sound like bad ideas or that make me uncomfortable. This wasn't my first flesh hook suspension, but I was much more nervous this time because of the circumstances.
See, my first suspension happened in a secluded field outside. I got to hang from a tree. I did cartwheels and found tiny toads and my girlfriend came with me and I met a friendly lady with pink hair and a gigantic dog made of enthusiasm and saliva. It was the perfect atmosphere for flying.

I knew this time would be different – I went to a middle-of-the-night suspension party in the city, packed with sweaty people and cigarettes and music that went GGRRRR AAAAAARRRRGHHH AAAAAAHHHHH GRRRRRR.
At least I got to hide behind Misha.
Misha has magnets implanted in his fingers and he braids his beard into tentacles and reads fantasy novels and I'm glad he's my friend.

He's the only friend who understands this aspect of my life.
I wish more comforting nerd people got really into stabbing. Then I could go to stab-gatherings where everyone drinks tea instead of smoking cigarettes and we could listen to floaty songs about mermaids drowning people instead of the AAAAAHHHHH AAAAAAAH GRRRRR music.

Ah well. At least the people in the Madison stab-community seem nice, even if I don't know how to interact with them. My regular piercer, Marcus, is the most kind and trustworthy satanist I've ever met. Here are some pictures of him hauling me off the ground:

PicturesCollapse )

(25 goblins | dance magic, dance)

Tuesday, March 13th, 2012
3:27 am
If you follow me on facebook, you probably already know about the phone call I made to Babe Lincoln yesterday. It went like this:
"Hi, is this [Babe Lincoln]? Great. Great! Hi. This is Lex. Okay, um, is your toilet paper single or double ply?"

Turns out it was double ply - I needed to know so I could glue a bunch of it to her face and torso.


Then she paid me by taking off all her clothes and reading zombie Harry Potter fanfic out loud. I mean, she didn't do that just for me – it was part of the monster-themed Naked Girls Reading show at a local night club, but my ticket was free because I helped Babe Lincoln glue toilet paper to her face. I got quite the bargain, if you ask me.

My favorite part about this whole shenanigan (YES I USED SHENANIGAN IN THE SINGULAR DO YOU WANT TO FIGHT NOW) was that it gave me an excuse to experiment with gelatin for fake wounds. My experiments utterly failed, of course, but it's a start! I will learn this eventually. I just need to meet more naked ladies who want to look uglier than they really are for practice. I hope I meet some soon.

Until then, here are a few pictures from recent life.Collapse )

(20 goblins | dance magic, dance)

Sunday, March 4th, 2012
11:58 pm - I work with people.
One of my coworkers recently joined a gym. He told me about his complimentary orientation with a personal trainer when he got to work the next day. The trainer brought a sheaf of papers to the meeting so she could track his progress, but I think she regretted it by the end. According to my coworker, their first conversation went like this:

TRAINER: So let's talk about what you're looking to accomplish here at the gym. Do you have any specific goals in mind?
COWORKER: I want to be a beef king.
TRAINER: Okaaaaay. A beefcake.
She took out the first sheet of paper and wrote “wants to be a beefcake” in the goals section.
COWORKER: You wrote “wants to be a beefcake” - I want to be a beef king. King.
TRAINER: Beef... king. Sorry. Right. And, um, how long have you had this goal?

He went back the next week and told his trainer he had an additional goal.

COWORKER: I forgot to tell you before - I want to grow a butt.

Ever since then, the coworker has been blending a lot of protein powder into his smoothies. He calls the smoothies “man milk” and then he grunts while drinking them. It actually looks like he's making progress, though. Like, he's developed these little dents that stay visible under his shoulder muscles and biceps even when he's not flexing.

It makes me feel a little guilty about the current jellyfish-like state of my own arms, but not guilty enough to drink the man milk. That stuff looks vile.

I have another coworker who turned 21 last week and she drank 21 shots of espresso to celebrate. She spent most of the rest of her shift throwing up. Her supervisor told me she threw up 15 times, which is kind of a shame. I really think if she'd tried harder she could've found something to make herself throw up six more times. THEN she'd really have a story to tell the hypothetical grandkids.

(14 goblins | dance magic, dance)

Friday, February 24th, 2012
2:40 am
2:00 AM. I was sleeping when Zim started pounding on my bedroom door.

LEX: Mmf?
ZIM: Lex. Lex, you need to see this.

I stumbled blearily into the other room, where Zim showed me a video of a man cleaning a pipe.

ZIM: He's using pipe cleaners. He's using pipe cleaners to clean a pipe.
LEX: ...
ZIM: I didn't know you could do that. I... I just don't know about the world anymore.

(15 goblins | dance magic, dance)

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