superartie: (innocent look)
One might expect that Artie's office would be baggage free. In fact, one would be wrong. There was, for instance, a bag that said PERMANENT PRESS PANTS on it, which was clearly part of a matched set with the one that said ALUMINUM SIDING.

Perhaps the strangest, though, was the large, old fashioned steamer trunk leaning against the wall by the door which read GERTRUDE STEIN.

Artie just didn't seem to have noticed they were there, yet.

[ooc: open!]
superartie: (trash can)
Artie had a trashcan on his head. He was running into the walls of his office.

Look, you did office hours your way, he did his his way.
superartie: (flags)
Artie had an office. He quite possibly had never had one before. It was just as possible he had no idea what a teacher generally did with an office.

"One . . . two . . . three . . . four. . . ." Artie was currently doing some aerobics in his office. "Eins . . . zwei . . . drei . . . vier . . . im Deutschland!"

Artie's aerobics involved bouncing around the roof off walls and falling over the desk.

His office was open.
superartie: (constant vigilance)
Or, you know, Artie's info post.

I'm totally taking a lot of this word for word from the info post I did for Artie the first time around. For those who don't know, Artie first came to Fandom in January 2006. He left at the end of September, reassured that the town was suitably weird, and thus protected from the devastating forces of Teh Emoo. But, well, it's been awhile. So he's baaaaaaaaaaaack!

Getting to know Artie! The Strongest Man . . . in the World! )
superartie: (teh emoo)
Teh Emoo placidly chewed its cud.

It rather liked it here. The ducks were pretty. The grass was plentiful.

Perhaps it would stay.

Raise an emoo family.

It walked a few feet to find some clover.

[ooc: open for park-ish needs, but the emo may be stronger this close to Teh Emoo. . . .]
superartie: (blows)
Somewhere on the island there was wretched, wretched emo, and a lot of it.

To counter act this, Artie was outside his porta-home with a tetherball set up, using his head to bounce it around. Mortimer fluttered about on the other side in a confused manner.

How did Artie playing tetherball by himself counteract emo?

Lord only knows. But here's hoping he'll succeed.
superartie: (trampoline)
Artie was harrassing the ducks again.

There was no trace of exploded head of Gentleman on his striped uniform, though the enthusiasm in his shouts might indicate that he was quite glad to be able to speak again.

Then again, he's always enthusiastic, so maybe it doesn't.

[ooc: openinated]
superartie: (krebtego)
"No, Mortimer! That's not how we play this game! When you move, I eat the game piece!"

. . .

"I will return your memory to you someday. Gertrude and Ernest miss you!"

. . .

"I do not sell aluminum siding! Don't be ridiculous! If you're going to be like that, then I won't play with you anymore!"

[ooc: just establishing that Artie is still diligently working away to get his poor bug's memory back.]
superartie: (death of a salesman)
Okay, so, um, just to let folks know what's the what, here.

cut because I tend to babble, 'specially about Artie )

Thanks!

ETA for the Dadaists This means that this is pretty much the one week when Artie would give people detention. Let me know if you'd be up for having detention with V this weekend.
superartie: (tree)
Artie was out and about in the park with a butterfly net.

This might have something to do with those foul freaky feathered fiends, the ducks.

It also might have something to do with the fact that Mortimer, his buggy companion, is nowhere in sight.

It's Artie. Who knows, really?

[ooc: open for all your park/superhero needs]
superartie: (dance like no one's watching)
Artie was performing a merry jig atop his porta-home. His usual red and blue outfit was replaced with an almost identical one in shades of green. He wore buckled shoes and a white plastic bowler with shamrocks on it. Mortimer wore a similar hat, only bug sized.

Artie paused for a moment, listening.

"Why, yes, Mortimer. A search for a pot of gold is a perfectly pipe plan!"
superartie: (land canoe)
The weather was cool and the sky was cloudy, and Artie was canoing.

Mortimer the bug as also in attendence, flying in lazy circles at the end of its red thread leash, which Artie had thoughtfully tied to the bow of the boat.

Artie was serenading his friend, the bug, with a song. Though, being Artie, it was more of a spoken word rendition of the song.

cut for lyrics )

Though the music is upbeat, the singing is somewhat melancholy, as though Artie were nostalgic for better days of summers and falls with a puny viking, beating up the ocean, delivering papers, searching for ice cream men, staying up late, fighting bowling balls.

Either that, or Artie just realllllly can't sing.
superartie: (Default)
Artie was in rare form today. He was teaching his friend, the bug, about fitness.

"Don't! Eat! . . . Metal!" He cried to the bug. "Don't eat metal!"

The bug appears somewhat unimpressed.
superartie: (krebtego)
Artie seems to be properly recovered from his encounter with the mayor. Indeed, his spirits are lifted, he's enjoying life, and everything appears to be pipe.

He's currently seated on nothing by a Krebtego board set up on a pedestal by the water, studying the pieces intently.

His opponent?

His little buggy friend from last night.

Who is really much friendlier than that unpipe mayor.
superartie: (I am super!)
Artie was . . .

standing still?

He wasn't even posing.

He was just stading outside his porta-home, looking up at the sky, his hand held close to his jaw.

He seemed to be talking to himself, which was appropriately Artie-ish. . . .

No, wait, look a little closer. . . .

Yes. See that? On his hand? That's right, the bug.

He was talking to the bug.

About the constellations.

It's good to know someone was looking out for the education of bugs.
superartie: (concentrate)
Artie is out on beach by the docks, jumping about and flailing his arms as usual.

Today, however, he's wearing sweatbands on his head, wrists, and ankles, and has a KrebStar 2000 portable radio on a belt around his waist, spouting an odd mix of mid-nineties underground alternative.

Every now and then he pauses and goes back to his porta-home for a sip of an Orange Lazarus.

It seems obvious that this is not just a case of Artie being Artie. This is Artie in training, and for something big. What it could be, well, we couldn't say. But perhaps, noting Artie's past battles, it has something to do with the International Adult Conspiracy?

Or, possibly, he's getting ready to swim to the Olympics.

Or maybe we're wrong, and this really is just Artie being Artie.

With Artie, one can never really tell.
superartie: (tree)
Artie is bounding and posing along the coast of the island. His traditional red and blue outfit has been replaced. He's currently wearing a jump suit of the identical cut, only one half of it is yellow and black, and the other half is navy blue and green. His face is painted in halves to match. Every now and then he spins to face the other way and shakes his fist in the air, shouting angrily.

He's quite possibly having an argument with himself. He does seem to be having a good time, however.
superartie: (Default)
Artie bounds and spins, his arms out-stretched, a wimple on his head. (Yes, you heard me, a wimple. No, I don't know where he got it. As for why? Well . . . .)

The Orchestra swells:

The hills are alive
With the sound of music!


Suddenly, the orchestra is cut off by an electric guitar and a whammy bar. Artie freezes and jerks upright.

"Powers! Weakening! Song in my heart! Fading!"

And he pitches forward, stiff as a board, and collapses to the ground.

Twitching.
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