As the number of candles on a birthday cake increases each year, becoming before many years are up a veritable and volatile forest fire that shines so brightly it may singe even frosting, so too do the happy returns wished by your well-wishers at 667 Dark Avenue and elsewhere increase annually, to the point where only the broadest and flattest of cakes could bear them all aloft.
Happy birthday, Mr. Handler, and congratulations for the achievements of a man's life so far. There are times when it seems that surviving another confusing and tempestuous year is itself no mean feat, but this year, which began with unfortunate events and threatens later to include goldfish with ghosts, bad moods with sticks, and books with dirty parts, we find there is still much to look forward to.
A remarkable property of the birthday cake candle is its ability to grant wishes when extinguished. You have granted ours, and today we wish that your own wishes may be granted in turn.
With all due respect,
All the members of 667 Dark Avenue, including the following:
Post by Mr. Remora on Feb 28, 2017 15:35:24 GMT -5
May I call you Daniel? Today's your 47th birthday, and there's so much to say about it. I think we can affirm that at this point, you've done way more important things than a lot of people: you finished your studies, you got married, you had a child, you've written (several) books and even produced your own Netflix show. I'm not sure if you planted a tree, but nowadays, considering the planet's situation, I think that's not a priority anymore.
What does your 47 have in store for you? Well, I bet many glorious things. Don't think, for example, that in Argentina 47 represents The Dead. Also forget about AK-47 because guns are disgusting. Focus on the important things: 47 is the dialing country code for Norway, and at 47, Kent Couch attached 105 helium balloons to a lawn chair and ﬂew 193 miles. You should totally try to do that.
I hope you have a wonderful year full of success and happiness, and please don't think that according to the stadistics you only have 30 years of life left!
PS: Did you know there's an Argentinian actor called Daniel Hendler? What are the odds!
'The world, no matter how monstrously it may be threatened, has never been known to get this bananas' - Lemony Snicket
Post by Stay-at-homet on Feb 28, 2017 15:49:25 GMT -5
Dear Mr. Handler,
No doubt you are aware of the impact you've had on the lives of strangers a generation or two your junior, but I'm guessing it never hurts to be reminded. I'd like to thank you for teaching me that rhetorical devices can be used for the power of good, not just evil. It is a piece of knowledge that, thanks to your books, I learned much earlier than I even knew what rhetorical deivces are, but I remain convinced that had it not been for your influence, I would be a far more bitter person than I actually turned out. May whichever series of events turns out to constitute your 47th year be fortunate indeed.
congratulations for making it 47 years in this dangerous world, and giving us something worthwhile to read amid the chaos around us.
In a user-submitted interview you've once recommended La Aventurera to me, which I've seen and greatly enjoyed, so I thought it only fair to return the favour by recommending the works of Aki Kaurismäki (especially since you like Jim Jarmusch's films); f.ex. La Vie De Bohéme, or The Man Without a Past are great.
- Terry Craig
Banner by Jean Lúcio
PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT: If anyone has a banner of mine missing due to TinyPic shutting down, you can get it back here, where I've re-uploaded all of them to a new server.
Post by Linda Rhaldeen on Feb 28, 2017 21:59:14 GMT -5
Dear Mr. Handler,
I've used an anagram of your name as an online handle since 2005, so long that sometimes it feels more like my name than my real name does. Thank you for being such an important part of my life, and have a wonderful #47.
I will send a fully-armed battalion to remind you of my love.
So like, there's this weird garden thing that luuks like the gardener was drunk, or hiGh, or possibly just obsessed with phallic imagery - it's filled with a bunch of hedges shaped like snapes or something, also an eye. This belongs to HAWT MUSTASH GUY, who is maybe gay or asexual or possibly something else but definitely not straight. HAWT MUSTASH GUY spends all his time working in a greenhouse for animals, a word that is normally used for indoor plants. He's kind of mixed up though; his phallic animals are inside but his phallic plants are all outside. He likes to solve riddles through a phallic telescope that tell him to travel internationally with children who probably don't even have their own passports. Alos once he had an daycare center inside a piano with dead parents. But then knife dude was like nOT TODAY PIPPI mustache-STOCKING and killed him dead. I don't think knife dude had childs interest in mind though, he's just a smelly murderr that rimes with rice pilaf. Also he made Matty miss the Equus audition, the rudehead. Except forget I said that, that's an episode 4 spoiler. Anyways, he ate all the potstickers ands only a vanilla does that.
Ok for real, I wrote an actual episode three review for the next 667er over 2 weeks ago but it still haven't been posted since my fellow columnists are the wORST but until then I hope this review tides you over.
Willis compares a writer to a basketball player that nobody else knows This was going to be written when I thought the Timberwolves were going to trade Ricky Rubio but then they kept him. So it is less emotional now but still special.
I discovered Daniel Handler as Lemony Snicket in like 2003. I loved his books but I especially loved the community I found because of him in 667 Dark Avenue. I discovered Ricky Rubio in 2009 when the Timberwolves drafted him. I love the way he plays but I especially love the community I found because of him in Canis Hoopus. Daniel Handler helped me through some tough days during my teenage years. Ricky Rubio helped me through a very tough 2012. I owe them both a lot. They are my favorite author and favorite athlete respectively. They are both charismatic and fun, but when it comes down to it they get things done. I love them both.
Last Edit: Feb 28, 2017 23:58:42 GMT -5 by Deleted
This bad fanfic is also part of The Pepper/668er Daniel Handler birthday edition but I tragically forgot to send it to Willis, so I'm posting it alone. Happy 47th, Mr. Handler, here's a manslaughter.
(No authors (fortunately) or presidents (unfortunately) were harmed in the making of this garbage. This garbage is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to individuals living or dead is a coincidental. No genuine desire is felt for the death of any president of any country so please don't come to my home secret service because my dog always barks a lot when people visit and it's awkward.)
Somebody Has Probably Had This Weird Dream Before
Fictional Daniel Handler Fictionally Assasinates Fictional Donald Trump At Four A.M. On Top Of A Warehouse and It's Kind of Underwhelming but if You Had Been There You Would've Been Like “Wow, What the Fucck, That Just Happened and It Was Kind of Really Cool to Watch?” So It's Not Like Totally Disappointing if You Have a Vivid Imagination or I Guess If You Hate Donald Trump At All)
Once upon a time there was a man named Tronald Dump and he was very silly and lowkey evil and he also dressed like in Tron because his name was Tronald. He said he wanted to be President and he was such a silly, lowkey evil, clothes-like-in-Tron-wearing guy that a lot of people thought that was really absurd and a bad idea. It was so absurd that the people laughed and laughed, and they laughed and laughed so long and so hard that they didn't notice when a bunch of their friends and family stopped laughing and went to vote for him. And then Tronald Dump was the President of the United States of America.
The people were horrified. They did not want this meanspirited babyman who looked like someone smashed a Ken doll repeatedly in the face with a hammer and then stuck it in the oven to be their president. They did not want a dramatic increase in violent anti-Semitism, racism, and Islamaphobia. They did not want people deported from their lives and families in America back to dangerous situations. They did not want women and LGBT people to be denied basic human rights. They did not want their friends in other countries to make fun of them for having such a smelly, ugly president.
When President Dump wasn't giving life-ruining orders or lying on Twitter, he liked to go from rooftop to rooftop on his Tron jetpack. I haven't seen Tron so I don't actually know if they have jetpacks but probably they do. President Dump liked to jet around the rooftops of America late into the night with a box full of raw eggs, which he threw at the people below, even if they were vegan or had an allergy.
The people had a meeting to discuss what to do about The Great Dump Egg Fucckery, as the papers called it.
“We have got to do something about all this egg dumping fucckery,” said a guy.
“This is the worst thing he has done yet!” said another guy.
“Um,” replied the first guy.
The people thought maybe somebody could go find President Dump on the rooftops and fight him when he was away from his secret service agents, and since I don't feel like coming up with other, better fake ideas, that was all anyone thought of. Dwayne The Rock Johnson seemed like the best choice. He was very tall and strong and handsome and his face was very kind and he could fly. But Dwayne The Rock Johnson was in Italy filming a movie where he played a handsome tall flying werewolf.
“Hey, I have an idea,” said Haniel Dandler.
Oh wait sorry I forgot.
Once upon a time there was a man named Haniel Dandler who published stories, and on occasion, poems, and on rarer occasions, tweets. Even though his name was Haniel which could reasonably be shortened to Han like in Star Wars, he did not dress like Star Wars, because he was not Han like in Star Wars, he was a normal human being.
One of the things he wrote was a thirteen-book children's series about a man with severe depression stalking a bad actor who was stalking three orphans who were stalking a peaceful and happy life, sort of like that everyone hunting each other Peter Pan thing but with less racism and more PTSD. Everyone told him, “Haniel, that's too long and sad for kids,” but he did it anyway and kids eat that stuff up I guess. He also wrote a bunch of other books, like over twenty total books I guess?, and he always carried a copy of each of them in a backpack as a plot device.
When Haniel wasn't busy being a bestselling author or having cocktails with his talented wife, Brisa Lown, he also liked to go out onto the rooftops of America late into the night. He did not have a Tron jetpack but instead hopped from rooftop to rooftop on his Moon Shoes. Like all authors, he owned a distinctive blue author cape and author cowl, which he wore for privacy as he traversed the country dropping fragments of the script for his Netflix series in the streets below. It was still littering, but it didn't smell bad like streets full of raw eggs.
So when the other people at the meeting proposed the idea of someone meeting President Dump on the rooftops for a bout of fisticuffs, Haniel Dandler whispered to his wife Brisa Lown, who still is very talented and also very pretty which I forgot to mention earlier, that since Dwayne The Rock Johnson was busy being a handsome werewolf in Italy, it fell on Haniel to fight Tronald Dump.
“That seems like a pretty bad idea,” said Brisa Lown because she was rational and smart. But they both knew that he had to do what the power of his Moon Shoes allowed him to.
That night Haniel donned his cape, cowl and Moon Shoes, strapped on his backpack, and hopped up a fire escape into the world of the rooftops. He had been hopping around rooftops since bedtime, and after several hours he stopped for a rest on a warehouse overlooking a river. He looked very dramatic and cool with one foot on the edge of the building and his hands on his hips and the part of his cape that wasn't trapped under his backpack flapping in the breeze and if I could draw I would've made this into a comic instead of a bad and overly long fanfic.
Haniel heard the distinctive sound of a Tron jetpack coming from behind him, and turned to see President Dump approaching and laughing meanly.
“Who are you?” demanded Dump. “You look like a tall kindergartener on Halloween.” Which was true.
“Well you look like a raw potato a dog chewed on.” Which was true. “My name is Haniel Dandler and I'm going to kick your ass.”
Tronald Dump laughed and him and took one of the raw eggs from his box. “You look like you write books for a living or something, how are you going to kick my ass? I can deadlift four thousand pounds.” That was probably a lie. Haniel Dandler had no way of knowing, because he was an author and only knew about vowels and the Oxford comma.
Dump threw the the egg at Haniel, who could only watch in horror as the egg approached him seemingly in slow motion. His mouth hung open which is probably the worst way to have your face when a raw egg is being thrown at you. But the president was bad at throwing things, and the egg went right over Haniel’s head.
“Hey!” he cried, swinging around to look at his backpack. “Watch it, you'll get that on my—” Splash! Haniel looked around him and couldn't see the president anywhere. He looked up, wondering if the president had jetpacked above him for an aerial attack. He looked at the river below, and saw the president's ugly-shoed feet slipping underwater.
Haniel realized that Dump had been knocked into the river by the ridiculous bulging bag of far too many books when he turned around, and that his jetpack was weighing him down so that he couldn't swim to shore. “Oh shiit,” he said.
Technically speaking he could have kicked off his Moon Shoes, jumped into the river, and saved him. But it was four in the morning and he was very sleepy, plus Dump kind of deserved it for scooting around on a jetpack like an asshole when a good pair of Moon Shoes would suffice. And also for being evil? So he went home, slept for a few hours, and then ate a waffle. And the news said President Dump had run out of Tron jetpack gas over a river and tragically drowned like a jackass. And neither Haniel Dandler nor Brisa Lown nor their son who had a name and was part of this story ever talked about it again.
But there were stories about that night. About a mysterious backpack-wearing savior bouncing heroically through the night and bringing change to Fictional America. Some say you can still hear the springs of his Moon Shoes on a quiet night. Some say you can still see his dramatic silhouette when the moon is full. But whether or not he still roams the rooftops, knocking out cartoonish villains with a big bag of stuff, he will always be bouncing across the rooftops of our hearts. FIN.
Last Edit: Mar 1, 2017 4:38:16 GMT -5 by trip: i will not have my artistic integrity marred by censors
'The world, no matter how monstrously it may be threatened, has never been known to succumb entirely' - L.S.
Merry Ann: My theory is that they target forums where their links get attention (clicks or posts). The best thing you can do is ignore it until a mod or I can delete it. Click the "Setting" gear and "Report Post" to report it to us as spam, or PM me / the section mod
Nov 23, 2020 11:05:47 GMT -5
Mr. Remora: Don't ignore them
Nov 24, 2020 10:30:31 GMT -5
Mr. Remora: Don't be rude
Nov 24, 2020 10:30:34 GMT -5
Mr. Remora: You wouldn't like to be ignored would you
Nov 24, 2020 10:30:44 GMT -5
Mr. Remora: They just want love, sympathy and tenderness
Nov 24, 2020 10:31:22 GMT -5
Hermes: I do not think we have yet reached a level of artificial intelligence where this could be true
Nov 24, 2020 10:49:19 GMT -5
Hermes: Notwithstanding the very interesting ASOUE theory by a bot which Uncle Algernon posted recently.
Nov 24, 2020 10:50:22 GMT -5
Jean: Yes ... That was really interesting, and I was worried that one day people like me would be replaced.
Nov 25, 2020 4:04:46 GMT -5
Marlowe: Zortegus is phrasing that in a way that makes me think he's quoting/referencing something, but I'm not sure what it is
Nov 25, 2020 15:32:34 GMT -5
Jean: Z is saying that robots that are spamming people want to be loved.
Nov 25, 2020 15:49:41 GMT -5
Marlowe: I know, but the way it's phrased is strange, like he's referencing something
Nov 25, 2020 20:20:42 GMT -5
Jean: Diego Maradona RIP
Nov 25, 2020 22:39:19 GMT -5
roxy222: What ASOUE theory by a bot? I need to see this.
Nov 28, 2020 2:59:52 GMT -5