Table of Contents

Click on all the links to read the responses to each TKO. Memorable posts are marked with a * and are highly recommended.

TKO Questions/Responses

TKO #1: "You have great lingerie but you also have cotton underwear that's been washed a thousand times and its hanging on the thing and ... and they have it too just I don't have to see it because it's not the fantasy ... do you understand? I'm tired of the fantasy because it doesn't really exist and there are never really any surprises and it never really...delivers." - High Fidelity

What things besides wearing cotton underwear would a lover living with you have to learn to live with?

Responses:
Grey Haven
Blue Devil
Professor Plum
Ivory Angel *
Czar Red
Russet Ranger
Mavue Momma *
Commander Cream
Jack Black
Purple Rain
Yellow Submarine
Princess Peach
Admiral Azure
Black Knight
Sgt. Silver
Euphony

TKO #2: "There's an old joke. Uh, two elderly women are at a Catskills mountain resort, and one of 'em says, "Boy, the food at this place is really terrible." The other one says, "Yeah, I know, and such small portions." Well, that's essentially how I feel about life. Full of loneliness and misery and suffering and unhappiness, and it's all over much too quickly." -- Annie Hall

Disagree. Life isn't full of misery and suffering. It's beautiful and worth living -- why?

Responses:
Commander Cream
Czar Red *
Yellow Submarine
Russet Ranger
Purple Rain
Jack Black
Mavue Momma
Blue Devil
Professor Plum *
Ivory Angel
Black Knight
Sgt. Silver

TKO #3: "Arwen: You are Isildur's heir, not Isildur himself.
Aragorn: The same blood flows in my veins; the same weakness."

Although our family does a lot for us, some of what they do is providing examples of what not to do. What mistakes of your parents, grandparents, or other elders do you want to avoid?

Responses:
Ivory Angel
Yellow Submarine
Princess Peach *
Blue Devil
Russet Ranger
Purple Rain
Czar Red
Mavue Momma
Black Knight *
Professor Plum
Commander Cream

TKO #4: "You know the difference between Republicans and Democrats? Republicans want a huge army and don't want to sent it anywhere. Democrats want a small army and want to send it everywhere." -- The West Wing

If you were in charge of the American military, what would you do? Read this post for some scenarios to consider. When IS war justfied?

Responses:
Yellow Submarine
Commander Cream
Blue Devil
Czar Red
Mavue Momma *
Purple Rain
Professor Plum
Ivory Angel
Black Knight
Sgt. Silver *

TKO #5: According to legend, everyone walked around naked until Eve started consorting with a serpent who was, depending on who you ask, either Satan or just a reptile with an attitude. Since then, nakedness in public has decreased, at least a little.

Detail the most naked you have been in a public place.

Responses:
Commander Cream *
Professor Plum
Czar Red
Blue Devil
Yellow Submarine *
Black Knight
Ivory Angel
Mavue Momma
Purple Rain
Princess Peach
Sgt. Silver

TKO #6: Be inspired by this photograph. Write.


Responses:
Commander Cream
Yellow Submarine
Ivory Angel
Princess Peach
Professor Plum *
Purple Rain
Mauve Momma
Czar Red *
Black Knight

TKO Question #7: Jim Olmeyer: Do you just want to lose weight, or are you looking to increase strength and flexibility as well?
Lester Burnham: I want to look good naked! -- American Beauty

There's a shallow edge to everyone. We're all friends here, so fess up. What are your guilty turnoffs? That is things you find unattractive in a potential partner that's a dealbreaker.

Responses:
Commander Cream
Ivory Angel *
Mauve Momma *
Professor Plum
Purple Rain
Yellow Submarine
Czar Red

TKO Question #8:
Shrek: Well it's no wonder you don't have any friends.
The Donkey: Wow, only a true friend would be that truly honest. -- Shrek

Only a true friend would be truly honest? Have you ever been forced to decide between being honest and being a good friend? (Were you ever forced to lie to a friend?) Which did you choose? Why? Do you regret it?

Responses:
Black Knight *
Commander Cream
Ivory Angel
Purple Rain
Czar Red
Yellow Submarine

TKO #9: Do you think there is a difference between the "deserving" poor and "undeserving" poor? Who should help them and how?

Responses:
Commander Cream
Yellow Submarine
Czar Red
Purple Rain
Ivory Angel
Mauve Momma
Black Knight

TKO #10: Be inspired by this photograph. Write.


Responses:
Yellow Submarine *
Ivory Angel *
Czar Red
Mauve Momma
Black Knight *

TKO #11: What do you want to do before YOU die? Your "wish list" to accomplish or experience before your end?

Responses:
Ivory Angel *
Commander Cream
Black Knight *
Yellow Submarine
Mauve Momma

TKO #12: "Fear not for the future, weep not for the past." -- Percy Bysshe Shelley

This advice is a lot easier than it sounds. Detail when you've violated both of these principles (not neccessarily at the same time).

Responses:
Commander Cream
Mauve Momma
Black Knight

TKO #13: "Forsake not an old friend, for a new one does not compare with him." -- Ecclesiasticus 9:10

We've all done it. Excluding romantic ex's, when have you voluntarily ended a friendship?

Responses:
Commander Cream
Mauve Momma

Results....

Voted out after... Click on their names to see their blogs/sites (if you have one and I missed it, post a comment) * means that they were removed due to inactivity, not voted out

TKO1: Euphony -- Timmothy Mullen
TKO2: Jack Black -- Chris Flowers
TKO3: Grey Haven -- Brendo Grady* & Admiral Azure -- KT*
TKO4: Russet Ranger -- Michael Allen (and here, he has two)
TKO5: Blue Devil -- Alan Tauber
TKO6: Sgt Silver -- Hajeer
TKO7: Princess Peach -- Mel Gibbard*
TKO8: Prof Plum -- Darryl Stein (and here, he has two)
TKO9: Purple Rain -- Abram Rose
TKO10: Czar Red -- Anna Grey
TKO11: Ivory Angel -- Jenny (and here, she has two) & Yellow Submarine -- Cyrano
TKO12: Black Knight -- Ian Samuel
TKO13: Mauve Mamma -- Andrea Saenz

That means our winner is Commander Cream -- Caity Ross; This was a 5-4 decision! You guys were such tight competition, it was a pleasure to watch you all compete. Have a great summer and we'll see you here again for OO3!!

Cejas

Sus cejas
son gruesas y gordas
orugas peludas y negras meneándose
a través de los planos lisos de su frente.
 
Sus cejas
son un poco desordenados
a veces un jardín cubierto de malas hierbas
que amenazan a declararles dictador de la cara.
 
Sus cejas
van arriba a menudo
cuando él está suplicando
o tratando a demostrar
su sinceridad o inocencia
pero nunca abajo
en enojo o silencio lastimado.
 
Es a causa de sus cejas
y los ojos verdes y tranquilos de abajo
que yo confío completamente en él
que mudaría a una ciudad desconocido
que escribiría de mi confianza en todas formas
tinta
carbón
mayonesa
serenatas del tercer piso
en una poema en vez de mi prosa usual y segura
aún en otra lengua.
 
Sus cejas traicionan a su corazón;
revelan el hombre que quiere ser-
honesto, fuerte, y con una marca en el mundo
que es solamente el suyo.
 
No sé del resto
pero estoy bien segura
que nunca ha sido un hombre
de quien ha sido escrito
una poema en español
sobre sus cejas.
 
---------------------------------------------------
 
Brows
 
His brows
are thick and fat
fuzzy black caterpillars wriggling
across the smooth planes of his forehead.
 
His brows
are a little messy
at times a garden overgrown with weeds
that threaten to declare themselves dictator of his face.
 
His brows
go upwards often
when he is pleading
or trying to demonstrate
his earnestness or innocence
but never downwards
in anger or hurt silence.
 
It is because of his brows
and the calm green eyes underneath
that I trust him completely
that I would move to an unknown city
that I would write of my trust in every form
ink
charcoal
mayonnaise
fourth-floor serenades
in a poem instead of my usual safe prose
even in another tongue.
 
His brows betray his heart
they reveal the man he wants to be
honest, strong, and with a mark on the world
that is only his own.
 
I don't know about the rest
but I am pretty sure
that there has never been a man
of whom there has been written
a poem in Spanish
about his brows.
 
---------------------------------
 
The OO prompts, and the other writers, have challenged me as a writer more than I could have imagined. For this last post I tried to think of something that would be extremely difficult to do and then made myself do it- I never post my poetry, and writing in Spanish is a lot of effort for me. I'm sure I made a few grammar mistakes, but I did originally write it in Spanish and then translate it- that's why a few English lines sound stilted. Thank you so much to Marie and all the posters and readers for being our fans. And of course to PF, my biggest fan and inspiration. Awww.

Mauve Momma #13

I have lived in fear for this moment: the prompt I had no good answer for. Not only that, but Marie had to taunt me with my strangeness: "We've all done it." (Which begs the question, who's all done it? Girls? I can't see many guys saying "We can't be friends anymore.") At any rate, I haven't done it.
 
There are places I’ll remember
All my life...though some have changed
Some forever, not for better
 
It happened to me, twice; in eighth grade my best friend of a year abruptly stopped speaking to me and refused to tell me why, finally informing me I "was mean." I had been getting rides from her mother to the bus stop every morning and the Montero became utterly silent and awkward. That stung a lot. It didn't happen again until college, where my debate partner and good friend suddenly quit the activity a few weeks before we were scheduled to go to camp together. She sent a long, rambling email to the coach and myself, outlining her internal dilemmas, and promising to call me immediately. She didn't. She didn't pick up her phone for me or return my calls or emails. All year. Not only had I lost my co-captain and sleepover buddy in an email breakup, there was no varsity debater I could pair up with for my senior year. I cried. That experience hurt more than any romantic problem I had had to that point.
 
Some have gone and some remain
 
But I have never given notice and quit like that; nor have I initiated a dramatic confrontation that ended a friendship. Not my style. It is much more like me to let things wither away, left unfinished, the way I slipped out of high school after three years, losing contact with half my original class in the process; the way I finished college a mere one quarter early, just enough to disappear from my rooms without telling everyone and be on a plane to Houston before graduation ceremonies started; the way I maniacally pound away at various manifestos, only to leave them half-written and ignored. Finishing what I start isn't my strong point.
 
All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
 
And because of that, there are very few people from high school and even less from college that I still consider friends. (With two exceptions, all my "college friends" went to other colleges. Oh, debate.) I'm a fair to middling correspondent. I lose phone numbers all the time. I remind myself to write back to your "how are ya" email before you fall off the first page of my inbox, and then I forget to remind myself.
 
But I'm honest enough to admit that even these actions are voluntary. When you're halfway across town with your buddies and three-quarters of the way through the pitcher, and you remember you promised to water your neighbors' plants, you know you're lying when you later say you forgot. And when you let it go for one day, and then one day more, you can't cry ignorance as to the results. You can't pretend the plants dried and yellowed by themselves, in a no-fault plant suicide. And as go the potted azaleas, so go the friendships. There's Ann, and Liz, and Natalie, and Jason, and Floria. At some point, one of us pulled the life support plug, and the other just went to the cafeteria for coffee and a day-old donut.
 
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I’ve loved them all
 
And it's just as well. Sometimes you don't have anything more to say to each other, once you reach different vantage points in life. My stories would make them yawn, or disapprove. (The Christian fellowship friends wouldn't know what to say about me moving in with a quasi-Jew.) It doesn't bother me that there won't be twenty childhood friends at my wedding. They have left behind the requisite yearbook signatures and bunny ears in my school pictures...stories about that one time at the track meet and that other on the choir bus. A stilted email does no honor to those memories. And so we let it die with dignity. And we love who we have around us now, completely and without thought of how long they'll stay.
 
Though I know I’ll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I’ll often stop and think about them
In my life-
I love you more.
 

I swear!

I am furiously writing for you fine folks right now. Not only did we have company this weekend, I had to do an online debate, and that was very time-consuming. I'm on it!
 
MM

Commander Cream: Here Be Monsters

This is my final post, so I thought I would indulge in some nostalgia.  Thank you Marie for running the game: I have loved writing for it.  Thank you everyone for humoring me for this long. 
 
I've always had an (over)active imagination. My childhood interests fed this tendency. I read Where the Wild Things Are until I memorized it.  Later, my imagination continued to be colored by all the fantasy books I could get my hands on, much to my parents' dismay.  My love for monsters and my older siblings' efforts to frighten me as a child filled my childhood with the improbable. Fortunately for my sanity and that of my parents, usually my monsters were localized to one area:  Shelby, Michigan.
 
My mother was raised on a small farm outside a small town: she left as soon as she could, as did all her siblings.  My grandmother continued to work the farm with occasional help from her children and grandchildren.  She grew corn, cherries and a mixture of other crops.  Every July we drove for over twenty-two hours, reached Shelby, and started working.  For me, it was a new world: even my suburban/rural upbringing could not compare to the wonders of Michigan and Grandma's farm.  In Michigan, simple ideas became fantastic- there was the Under-toad of Lake Michigan my mother always warned me about.  To my six-year-old self, some giant amphibian lived under the waves, waiting to drag swimmers down and drown them.  Fireflies became graceful pixies from my books.  According to my brother, I was not allowed into the cornfields alone because of the dragons that roamed there.  In contrast, the cherry orchard was considered safe, for the dragons never ventured among the trees.  (Actually, I wasn’t allowed into the cornfields alone because my mother thought I would get lost, but it was impossible to get lost in the orchard.)
 
There's this funny thing about cherry trees.  Twenty years ago, all cherries were picked by hand.  Migrant workers would show up in their beat up pickups, help bring the crop in, and then continue westward to other farms.  Cherry trees would grow quite tall and live twenty-five years or more.  And then "shakers" were introduced.  Now a crew comes, wraps a belt around the tree, and a machine shakes the cherries loose. Nowadays cherry trees only live for ten years and are forever stunted.  My grandma employed shakers, but there was one tree that was never touched by anything save a human hand.  This tree became my fortress during the month of July- to me the tree was like the magical apple tree from the Chronicles of Narnia: the cherries were always bigger, sweeter and juicer than those from any other tree.  It was simply another facet of my magical world.
 
It's hard for me to recapture Michigan as a magical place for me.  The magic shattered when I was seven or so. 

---

It was the first time I was allowed to go check the corn by myself.  My grandmother said I could go explore the acres of corn and see how the crop was coming along.  I had learned how to peel back the leaves and check the hard kernels as a toddler, but I was always with my mother or an older sibling.  Going out into the fields alone was somewhat of a rite of passage.  
 
Out in the fields, the corn towered over me, and the light was filtered through the huge leaves.  Even walking to the center exhausted my stubby little legs, but I was determined to really check the corn, like a true farmer. (To be honest, I have no idea why this required me to check the corn in the middle of the fields, but hey- it was a six-year-old’s logic.)  As I wandered in the corn, I began to hear a faint snuffling noise and felt the corn rustle around me.   The darkness of the corn field combined with my brother’s stories provided me with only one explanation for the noise.  A dog, a cat, a deer?  No, none of these would suit my active imagination.  It was…
 
A dragon! (Surely it had to be...)  A mixture of fear and elation filled me.  Fear won out, and I raced for safety.  The creature gave chase.  My sincere horror when watching Children of the Corn probably stems from this race through the corn fields.  With the corn leaves obscuring my vision, I never caught sight of my pursuer.  Breaking free of the corn, I found myself in the orchard.  I quickly climbed the old tree and armed myself with a handful of cherries.
 
Breathlessly, I perched in my fortress as I awaited the dragon.  When a badger peered out of the field, my elaborate fantasy crumbled to dust.  There was no Under-toad.  The old tree was not a magical fortress.  I could not slay monsters that stubbornly refused to exist.  I don’t think I ever really believed that dragons lived in the corn, or that pixies fluttered out of my reach during the nights, but to have an adventure so thoroughly shattered by the mundane destroyed Michigan’s magic for me.
 
My mother later came looking for me, convinced that I had lost myself in the corn fields.  When she found me in the orchard, still perched in my favorite tree, she was alarmed at my woebegone expression.  Only now can I articulate what I felt as a child:

 

“I don’t know that I want to live in a world without dragons...”

 

Commander Cream #13

The knock on my window instantly woke me.   Dim red letters across the room indicated that it was 2:53 am.  The blurred face in my window was my best friend Samantha.  She could have just told me to meet her somewhere.  During the summers I never had a curfew, so she didn’t need me to sneak out.  But Samantha loved the intoxication of secrecy.  She also loved the intoxication of very potent, illegal drugs. 
 
I had known Samantha for years.  We had been best friends since we were twelve.  She helped me find my footing in a new school.  Three years later we were basically inseparable.  Our first flight was together- to Las Vegas with her grandfather the professional gambler. We had summited mountains together- just the two of us urging eachother on. We had made plans for the road trip we’d take the next summer when I turned sixteen- we’d drive through Chicago, up to my grandma’s farm, and finally to Boston.  Samantha was old for her fifteen years.  I was very young for mine.  I was sheltered by my protective older siblings.  Samantha, an only child, experimented enough to make up for her lack of siblings.
 
Samantha was my Polaris: although I was friends with other people, I trusted her to guide me through the storms and clouds of adolescent friendships.  When we were fourteen, I began to see Samantha change.  The group wasn’t the open, happy group I had joined when I became friends with Samantha.  There were new people, people who eyed me with hungry eyes and whispered suggestions that I was too shocked to react to.  My mute refusal of this or that drug merited sly smiles and derisive chuckles.  A sharp look from Samantha quelled even the most insistent pusher.  I loved her even more. 
 
I pulled the screen from my window.  Her arm draped around a boy I didn’t recognize, Samantha gestured with her free hand.  “Come out, the night’s fine,” she slurred.  I glanced at her hands.  There was a bottle in one hand.  There was a small glass pipe in the other.  So.  Not just marijuana tonight.  Catching her eye, I noticed the dilated pupils.  Her hands were twitching.  Meth was the drug tonight.  
 
A sheltered, non-drinking, non-smoking, fifteen year old probably should not be able to identify drug use in their best friend at 3:00 am. 
 
The boy grinned at me.  It made me feel naked in spite of my tank top and pajama pants.  He reached through the window and grabbed my arm.  “Come on, I know someone you should meet.”  I looked frantically at Samantha.  She frowned and shook her head.  “Not this one, she’s clean.”  He let go of my arm, but he didn’t stop grinning. 
 
I felt safe around Samantha.  Nothing could ever hurt me when she was around.  But there was a point when Samantha was physically present, but she wasn’t there.  It had happened one night earlier in the summer.  I left as soon as I could, but fear followed me home.  From the looks of it, this night would not be any different.
 
“I can’t come Samantha.  Maybe you should stay here too.  We’ll go out tomorrow.”  The boy started to stir angrily, but Samantha jumped in first.  “You prissy little bitch!  You can’t stop me.  I’m so sick of defending you.  Either come out tonight, or I won’t see if you want to come out ever again.” Her hands curled into fists around the bottle and the pipe.  She bristled like an angry cat.
 
Methamphetamine users tend towards outbursts and paranoia.  I had never seen either from Samantha.  Her sudden fury caught me off guard.  She was my best friend. She was my guardian. 
 
I couldn’t say anything.  With a snort of anger, Samantha turned and stalked off.  The boy paused for a speculative look and then joined her.  I slumped to the floor.  My north star, my guiding light was gone.  
 

CC note

This was in the comments of MM's note, but I wanted to reiterate my thanks to everyone.
 
reposted:
 
First, I'd like to second MM's thanks. Having people actually read what I write is a new experience.
 
Second, MM and PF hosting company together- that's so cute! (No sarcasm)
 
Third, I'll try and post sometime this weekend, but no promises.

MM note

PF and I have some much-awaited out of town company this weekend, so I won't be posting until Monday.
 
Also, thanks a lot to all the readers and players for your support. I majorly appreciate it.
 
MM

Results & TKO #13

The second-t0-last player removed from the game is Black Knight with a ranking total of 18 (with eight people voting).
 
Also, Ivory Angel was Jenny (Vegetathalas) and Yellow Submarine was Cyrano.  He requested some annonymity because of the nature of his writing, but don't worry, none of you know him unless you browse BL.  He's a friend of mine from LONG ago.
 
TKO Question #13
 
"Forsake not an old friend, for a new one does not compare with him." -- Ecclesiasticus 9:10 
 
We've all done it.  Excluding romantic ex's, when have you voluntarily ended a friendship?
 
NOTES:
 
For this final round, each player MUST post their answer to the TKO AND another post of their choice.  These are both due by Tuesday next week; if you can finish sooner that just means the game will be over earlier, we'd all appreciate it.
 
If you signed up to vote the last time, then you will be automatically registered to vote again.  I will drop you an email 24 hours in advance of the end of the vote. 
 
If you'd like to vote FOR THE WINNER and this is your first sign-up, do so in the comments section before both players finish the TKO and extra post.