User:Weien/Archives

Old userpage:

Messy Room

You are standing in a messy room...

Forming a smug little cone in the center of the room is a pile of debris. From looking at the pile you see everything from blank sheets of paper to unassuming little cardboard boxes to assorted lengths of yarn, all of which are covered with a moderate amount of a slush-like broth that looks vaguely like what you'd find in an ordinary can of alphabet soup, except that this soup's alphabet seems to have a few different types of brackets, or something. Growing out of this pile is a statue-like person, who holds a mouse in one hand and has a keyboard tucked under the other arm. Frozen on his face is a steeled visage of relentless determination.

The mouse swivels to face you, and sighs. Its voice is not as shrill nor as squeaky as you imagined that it would be. Nevertheless, with eyes rolled and tongue hanging slightly out, it explains the situation...

"Thith guy's not doing anything yet," it whispers with the flawed enunciation of someone who has their tongue sticking partway out of their mouth. "Seems like he's got good intentions, though. But some people are just... I mean, they'll go to absurd lengths to write down a little something as a substitute for the standard 'under construction' note, but they fail to realize that in the same amount of time it took to write it, they could already have gotten pretty far on a normal user page, complete with a nice bio, a sweet userbox, and at least a nominally humorous pic thing or two."

It smiles weakly as it tries to free itself from the person's grip. This done, it uses its arms to prop up its furry chin (you can't help but notice the furriness of its chin) in a clear attempt to relax. Contorting its face to a somewhat freakishly sunny disposition, it continues...

"So I'm the one stuck here to cover for him--pretty much the only animate object in this room, if you don't count the soup."

The mouse pauses, and sits up on the person's fist, trying to get a good look at you (but never letting up on the smile).

"Yes," it murmurs, finally. "You look like the trustworthy sort. If you're interested, I'll allow you access to this." With these last words, the mouse produces a small, coffee-colored tome. "It's not even very interesting," you hear it drone in the background, as you open the book. "But I suppose there's more information in there than even a really superb user page could ever tell..."

Then, as a sort of passing thought stemming out of being thoroughly bored of the pronoun "it," you wonder what the mouse's gender is.