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Hello everyone in our office! Tomorrow's the first day everyone is going to be in the new space which is a goddamn delight.

Also Nate might be bringing a dog? I don't remember if tomorrow kicks off Nate Brings A Dog Week, but i hope it does. 

ANYWAY, now that we definitely have a new dog it's time for us to grow up and start being role models for the dog. First order of business: meetings. Here's how they're gonna go down. 

Every morning at 10:30, News will have their topical meetings. Anyone who is not on the news team is welcome to join. 

At Noon on Mondays, there will be an all-office meeting where we'll all chat and gab and dish about our weekends. More importantly, now that we're a gigantic office with hundreds of employees, this will give everyone a chance to touch base and we can discuss ongoing projects for the week. This will also continue to function the way to Monday meetings always have: pitches and brainstorming and Pat pushing ideas based around things that rhyme. 

At Noon on Wednesdays and Thursdays, the non-news team (we'll come up with a better name soon) will have pitch meetings. Like the news meetings, anyone who is not on this team is welcome to join. 

Also, let's do this right. Those are the times the meetings start. If you're going to be late, give someone a heads up. No longer is it a situation where where I look up from my computer and realize everyone's in and say "you guys wanna have a meeting or something?" Just plan on being in the conference room at that time (or wherever News is having their meetings). 

If anyone has any questions (probably not since i nailed this?), let me know. 

Very excited for all this. You're all the best. Very serious about that actually. It's pretty cool knowing that everyone in the office is the best. Except for Scollins. I fired him weeks ago but he keeps showing up, which, granted, is quite endearing. 

 

Pulp Pulp

 
 

CHAPTER 3

 

T

ag Heuer glanced down at his Rolex (this irony was not lost on him; even though it wasn't mentioned earlier, Tag had conveniently earned an advanced degree in Tactical Weaponry and Irony during his time at Cambridge-On-Oxford)—a watch that probably cost at least $8,000, if not more. It was exactly 3:49 p.m. 

"Shit is about to get fucking bananas in this part of the book," Tag said to himself through gritted teeth as he checked his reflection in a nearby store window to see how his stunningly lifelike Bengal tiger camouflage face paint was holding up in the blistering Monte Carlo sun.

"Just a reminder: I'm a spy."

But before he could finish his next thought—probably something about poison blow darts or grappling hooks or something—a massive explosion ripped through the diamond store he had been watching through a pair of those really cool-looking binoculars with the red lenses.

"I guess the honeymoon's over," Tag said, a little confused as to why he had chosen to use that particular colloquialism.

Three men in black balaclavas suddenly ran from the smoking façade of the store and jumped into a waiting van, one of them holding a metallic silver briefcase—the nuclear launch codes. But how could the terrorists have known the codes were hidden in the diamond store, a place where it makes absolutely no sense for them to be? 

No time to explain that now, thank-fucking-Christ. Tag hopped into his bright red Lamborghini Gallardo LP 570-4 Superleggera

and sped off after the thieves, careful to avoid detection by nimbly darting between the hundreds of other bright red Lamborghini Gallardo LP 570-4 Superleggeras on the Italian roadway. Wait, is Monte Carlo in Italy? France, maybe? 

"Monte Carlo is a city in Monaco, a sovereign city-state located on the French Riviera in Europe! It is the most densely populated country in the world!" some guy who was walking on the sidewalk shouted at Tag as he drove by. "I didn't just get this information off Wikipedia, by the way!"

Tag slipped in through a side door of the old warehouse where he had trailed what he sincerely hoped were not Arab terrorists, because that's a whole rat's nest the publishers would rather not get into, and quite frankly, pissing off a bunch religious extremists is the last thing anyone needs right now. Although, considering the state of print media, maybe any publicity is good publicity, right? Hmm. Tough one.

Anyway, just as Tag thought: The warehouse was filled floor to ceiling with nuclear launch codes. As Tag gasped with surprise, despite the fact that his suspicions had been confirmed, the flashlight he was holding in his teeth clattered to the floor. A stupid mistake, especially since he was only holding a gun and his other hand was free, and also because he is a highly trained secret agent.

Footsteps. Mercifully, someone was coming to move the narrative along.

As the terrorists rounded the corner, Tag laid down quickly on his side and began to lick his hands and rub them over his ears, purring loudly, as he imagined a Bengal tiger would. After all, tigers are just big cats, right? So they probably do that sort of thing. 

"Vee have you now, Meester Heuer."

Damn. The camouflage hadn't worked. Even worse, these guys had non-Australian accents, so you just knew they were really bad. As if to prove this very point, one of them knocked Tag out from behind with the butt of his gun, but not in such a way that anyone could describe it as clichéd.


Probably too late to set this whole thing in Zurich or Tel Aviv, Tag thought as he regained consciousness, realizing that he was tied to a chair in a dank basement. He kicked himself (not literally—remember, tied to a chair), considering some of the upcoming structural problems this would have solved in Chapter 8.

Tag quickly shook off these thoughts and planned his next move, reminding himself over and over again about how much a divorce and child support can cost, and how sometimes a writer has to sacrifice his art to pay the bills, especially when that writer has a stupid fucking editor—a philistine dipshit who wouldn't know real literature if it kicked his goddamn head in—breathing down his neck because the manuscript was due over a month ago.

"Are eve awake, Meester Heuer?" the head terrorist said while laying out an array of horrible torture devices that would take too long to describe, so there's no point wasting time coming up with a bunch of good adjectives detailing what they would look like. "Because vee certainly vouldn't vant you to sleep through thees. Pardon me: 'this,' I meant. This, not thees."

Suddenly, several shots rang out, and the terrorists all dropped to the floor, stone dead. The silhouette of a familiar, improbably curvy woman holding smoking pistol stood in the basement doorway.

"Weren't you introduced earlier?" Tag asked uncertainly through the haze of gun smoke.

"Yeah, but I think my last name is misspelled now," brilliant Russian scientist Katerina Lermentovotov said. "Also, I'm a brunette, not a blonde like it said before. In any case, I'm a really smart scientist, so it's not sexist that I have this huge rack."

"Plus you saved me. So that's like a really good, non-misogynistic twist," Tag said.

"I think we've got our bases covered. Shall we get out of here and go back to my fancy hotel room and drink real champagne, not that cheap stuff that gives you a really bad headache? Innuendo?" Lermentovotovvotovot said with a coy smile.


"It's sex for us, baby," Tag said, tastefully wrapping up this part of the book before the rough, kinky hotel room intercourse could distract too much from the story. 

"Hey, here's my penis," he added, exposing himself to Katerina at the last possible second before the chapter ended.

Goddamn it.

 
 

testingnotitle

 

CHAPTER 3

 

Tag Heuer glanced down at his Rolex (this irony was not lost on him; even though it wasn't mentioned earlier, Tag had conveniently earned an advanced degree in Tactical Weaponry and Irony during his time at Cambridge-On-Oxford)—a watch that probably cost at least $8,000, if not more. It was exactly 3:49 p.m. 

"Shit is about to get fucking bananas in this part of the book," Tag said to himself through gritted teeth as he checked his reflection in a nearby store window to see how his stunningly lifelike Bengal tiger camouflage face paint was holding up in the blistering Monte Carlo sun.

"Just a reminder: I'm a spy."

But before he could finish his next thought—probably something about poison blow darts or grappling hooks or something—a massive explosion ripped through the diamond store he had been watching through a pair of those really cool-looking binoculars with the red lenses.

"I guess the honeymoon's over," Tag said, a little confused as to why he had chosen to use that particular colloquialism.

Three men in black balaclavas suddenly ran from the smoking façade of the store and jumped into a waiting van, one of them holding a metallic silver briefcase—the nuclear launch codes. But how could the terrorists have known the codes were hidden in the diamond store, a place where it makes absolutely no sense for them to be? 

No time to explain that now, thank-fucking-Christ. Tag hopped into his bright red Lamborghini Gallardo LP 570-4 Superleggera

and sped off after the thieves, careful to avoid detection by nimbly darting between the hundreds of other bright red Lamborghini Gallardo LP 570-4 Superleggeras on the Italian roadway. Wait, is Monte Carlo in Italy? France, maybe? 

"Monte Carlo is a city in Monaco, a sovereign city-state located on the French Riviera in Europe! It is the most densely populated country in the world!" some guy who was walking on the sidewalk shouted at Tag as he drove by. "I didn't just get this information off Wikipedia, by the way!"

Tag slipped in through a side door of the old warehouse where he had trailed what he sincerely hoped were not Arab terrorists, because that's a whole rat's nest the publishers would rather not get into, and quite frankly, pissing off a bunch religious extremists is the last thing anyone needs right now. Although, considering the state of print media, maybe any publicity is good publicity, right? Hmm. Tough one.

Anyway, just as Tag thought: The warehouse was filled floor to ceiling with nuclear launch codes. As Tag gasped with surprise, despite the fact that his suspicions had been confirmed, the flashlight he was holding in his teeth clattered to the floor. A stupid mistake, especially since he was only holding a gun and his other hand was free, and also because he is a highly trained secret agent.

Footsteps. Mercifully, someone was coming to move the narrative along.

As the terrorists rounded the corner, Tag laid down quickly on his side and began to lick his hands and rub them over his ears, purring loudly, as he imagined a Bengal tiger would. After all, tigers are just big cats, right? So they probably do that sort of thing. 

"Vee have you now, Meester Heuer."

Damn. The camouflage hadn't worked. Even worse, these guys had non-Australian accents, so you just knew they were really bad. As if to prove this very point, one of them knocked Tag out from behind with the butt of his gun, but not in such a way that anyone could describe it as clichéd.

 

Probably too late to set this whole thing in Zurich or Tel Aviv, Tag thought as he regained consciousness, realizing that he was tied to a chair in a dank basement. He kicked himself (not literally—remember, tied to a chair), considering some of the upcoming structural problems this would have solved in Chapter 8.

Tag quickly shook off these thoughts and planned his next move, reminding himself over and over again about how much a divorce and child support can cost, and how sometimes a writer has to sacrifice his art to pay the bills, especially when that writer has a stupid fucking editor—a philistine dipshit who wouldn't know real literature if it kicked his goddamn head in—breathing down his neck because the manuscript was due over a month ago.

"Are eve awake, Meester Heuer?" the head terrorist said while laying out an array of horrible torture devices that would take too long to describe, so there's no point wasting time coming up with a bunch of good adjectives detailing what they would look like. "Because vee certainly vouldn't vant you to sleep through thees. Pardon me: 'this,' I meant. This, not thees."

Suddenly, several shots rang out, and the terrorists all dropped to the floor, stone dead. The silhouette of a familiar, improbably curvy woman holding smoking pistol stood in the basement doorway.

"Weren't you introduced earlier?" Tag asked uncertainly through the haze of gun smoke.

"Yeah, but I think my last name is misspelled now," brilliant Russian scientist Katerina Lermentovotov said. "Also, I'm a brunette, not a blonde like it said before. In any case, I'm a really smart scientist, so it's not sexist that I have this huge rack."

"Plus you saved me. So that's like a really good, non-misogynistic twist," Tag said.

"I think we've got our bases covered. Shall we get out of here and go back to my fancy hotel room and drink real champagne, not that cheap stuff that gives you a really bad headache? Innuendo?" Lermentovotovvotovot said with a coy smile.


"It's sex for us, baby," Tag said, tastefully wrapping up this part of the book before the rough, kinky hotel room intercourse could distract too much from the story. 

"Hey, here's my penis," he added, exposing himself to Katerina at the last possible second before the chapter ended.

Goddamn it.

COUSINTESTAGAINTHO

princetestpage

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hi i’m prince. i wanted 2 start my own magazine but i am shy. i ran into will ferrel at a party. he is the star of my favorite movie, megamind. he told me that his company funny or die has an ipad magazine. i asked him “what is an ipad?” he showed me 1 and it was glamorous.

i told will ferrel, “i would like 2 make a magazine on the iPad, but i am shy.” he said 2 me, “don’t be shy, prince. u are funky.” will ferrel makes me smile. :) i gave him some beautiful crystals as a present.
will ferrel told me i could be the editor of an ipad magazine this month. i am going 2 share with u some of my deepest and most scandalous thoughts. u will see a side of prince like u have never seen before. do u want 2 see me? i made a little game 4 u above. connect the dots 2 see prince. now here is a picture of a raven:

i have many treasures 4 u in this magazine. together we will publish our erotic desires and rave in2 a new technological atmosphere. 

blessings,
prince

 

 

click below to see prince's version of connect the dots

 

 
 

things i saw that are purple

hi i’m prince. welcome 2 my magazine. here are some things I saw that are purple.


find out what it sounds like when doves cry.

 
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beautiful women

hi i’m prince. i am a gemini. this part of the magazine is a list of women i think are beautiful. some of them i have gotten freaky with. try 2 guess which ones. i will not tell u it’s a secret shhhh

julianne hough
lindsay gould
gessi accompora
stephanie james
lee heathers
sheila e
francesca izzo
sarah burke
tilda swinton
krissy kerr
rachel hirsch
mollie isabel
nichole roberts
tisha roberts
emily collins
madea
heather giles
stephanie lazarus
dara von swank
meg harry
jennifer cambry
michelle hales
juice newton
abby owens
brooke lewy
valarie denise
casi grace
dani shih
marrisa reese
ali bevelaqua
jenna hallinan
gillian keifer
claire squires
lana del rey
mary baumann
lauren andre
sami katz
tempest bryant
crystal malone
lisa g from the howard stern show
alix weintraub
fara fenigan
maria ruiz
joanna sherry
eaven hooke
deirdre aaron
kate barker
carly rae japsen
jennifer neville
dara gudmundson
casi maggio
nikki hoesel
sheena easton
miri marciano
judith nelson
maya siegel
devorah liftutz
this girl that i thought was ke$ha but might not have been
sissy sommers
monica maron
sheila larson from newbridge
betty koch
rochelle goldenberg
christine singel
joanna zjadman
marsha warfield
erin driscoll
julie kraut
amy scheuer
megan harber
becca nicoll
karina mckenny
laura campbell
elizabeth kucinich
carolyn moore
justine bilicki
erica rio
chelsea peretti
 
 

 
 

My favorite chandeliers

hi i'm prince. now is the part of the magazine where i share with u some of my favorite chandeliers.

 
 

 
 

hi i’m prince. i had fun making the iPad. here’s what u can expect in the next issue.

 
 

i interview a pile of sand slipping through the fingers of a single mom (very emotional)
8 great tips for purchasing an ascot
kevin smith is a devil!!!
funky word jumble
20 questions about god 4 wendy and lisa
banana pudding recipe

 

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Morbi in sem quis dui placerat ornare. Pellentesque odio nisi, euismod in, pharetra a, ultricies in, diam. Sed arcu. Cras consequat.

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r_funch

 

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit. Donec odio. Quisque volutpat mattis eros. Nullam malesuada erat ut turpis.

Suspendisse urna nibh, viverra non, semper suscipit, posuere a, pede.

 
 
 

In This Episode:

Clark Duke

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Andy Kindler

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Quiz

Answers


 

Follow Ron


You should be so lucky Ron would give you a rose.


Behind The Scenes


Press Assets


Episode 1 Extras

Episode 2 Extras


Time Lapse

Director's Cut


Band Corner


Staff

Photography Nate Maggio

Concept Dan Abramson

Additional Graphics Natasha Fedorova

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`/,0|-O stars

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HERE ARE SOME WORDS

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The Forrest Moon

Many Icelandic cultures saw the moon as they saw their homes: covered in trees. But it wasn't trees that was the mystery-- but what was inside! They wanted to harvest MoonTreeSap and MoonTreeWoodpeckers. Needless to say, they were idiots.


^HJLKRE-best deal in town

zqed

 
 

From playful dolphins to the monstrous, glowing angler fish of the deep, the ocean is a place full of miraculous life and wonder. Scroll down to explore the many diverse layers of undersea life, and when prompted, don't forget to click the 'Enhance with Real Ocean Sounds' button to experience the mysterious sounds of the deep.


 
 

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