Space Jockey One: Okay, let’s seed some life on this desolate rock. This desolate, lush rock with flowing water and a breathable atmosphere and … what exactly are we doing here again?

Space Jockey Two: Setting up a metaphor, man.

Space Jockey One: Okay, so I drink this chalice full of DNA-scrambling Kool-Aide, and then what happens?

Space Jockey Two: You die in pretty much the most horrific way possible, then your crumbling body falls into the ocean, then the Black Goo of Life transforms your cells into the protoplasm from which all life on Earth arises!

Space Jockey One: Yeah, okay, I’m with you on the “DNA re-sequencing” thing, and the “life on Earth” thing, but I’m still having trouble with the “horrific death” part. Is that really necessary?

Space Jockey Two: Of course it is! The metaphor demands it! You’re giving your life so that others may live! You’re like Space Jesus!

Space Jockey One: Yeah, I see where you’re going with that, it’s just … there’s really no other mention of a Space Jesus in this movie.

Space Jockey Two: Yeah, we had to cut that out. The film was running a little long, and the test screeners complained about being bashed over the head with important religious symbolism.

Space Jockey One: So why do I still have to kill myself?

Space Jockey Two: Metaphor!

First, I’d like to ask you guys a favor. If you’ve read my debut novel, Sire, I’d really appreciate it if you went over to Amazon and gave it a rating. Ratings are one of the things that really help a book sell, and I’d love to know what you all think of it. Thank you.

And if you haven’t read it? It costs less than one of those fancy-dancy farapalates you kids drink these days, and there’s way less nudity in Starbucks. Unless I’m just going to the wrong starbucks.

And with that little bit of self-whoring out of the way:

Aunt Jenna: Hi Elena! Have you ever heard the theory that Near Death Experiences are the brain’s way of coping with the terrible realization of our own mortality?

Mama Gilbert: Hi Elena! It’s your birthday!

Pama Gilbert: And Christmas!

Elena Gilbert: Wow! Getting murdered is way better than getting kidnapped! Tee hee!

The Lady of the Manor: We sold another one of your old Jesus-ey books.

Thomas: Which one?

The Lady of the Manor: Matthew Henry’s Commentary.

Thomas: Oh yeah. How much did we get for it?

The Lady of the Manor: Like two bucks.

Thomas: Seriously? That think cost me like forty dollars. Of course, there probably aren’t a whole lot of people clamoring for Matthew Henry’s Complete Commentary on the Whole Fucking Bible. Of couse, if it actually was called Matthew Henry’s Complete Commentary on the Whole Fucking Bible, more people might pick it up…

The Lady of the Manor: So, about dinner …?

Vampilaric Stabman’s ToDo List:

• Grade papers
• Smash students’ civil war dioramas
• Torture Caroline
• Fail Elena Gilbert
• Vampire genocide

The Lady of the Manor: I think I prefer Dr. Jones to Evilaric as a history teacher.

Caroline Forbes (on the phone): Hi Tyler! We should have all of the hot sweaty sex!

Tyler Lockwood (on the phone): Love to babe, but I have to pretend to be Klaus’ bitch for a while longer! Today I’m giving him a mani-pedi!

Rebekah: Hi Caroline! In order not to totally ruin this plot, I’m going to pretend my ears aren’t sensitive enough to hear a mosquito fart in a hurricane!

Caroline Forbes: That’s really nice of you! Almost as nice as coming over to clean up after yet another dance that you didn’t get to attend! Sorry your mother hijacked your body, wore you around like a meat suit, used you to steal the Ultimate Weapon of Vampire Vanquishment, then had Evilaric stab you in the heart with a Magic Dagger of Kinda Dying for a Little While!

Rebekah: Aw, thanks! And I’m sorry my mother turned your history teacher / vampire hunter / contributor to the delinquency of minors into a rage-driven, unkillable stab machine! He seemed really nice!

Caroline Forbes: He was! Totally not the kind of guy who would kidnap you, tie you to a chair, ram pencils through your hands, then gag you with a vervain-soaked rag!

Rebekah: That’s … oddly specific.

Caroline Forbes: You’re right! I sure hope that doesn’t come back to haunt me later!

Vampilaric Stabman: Funny you should say that … necksnap! Carolinedrag! Sunburn!

The Lady of the Manor: YOU KEEP YOUR WHORE HANDS OFF OF CAROLINE!

Rebekah: I’ll just be … over here, then …

Klaus: Hi Rebekah! What took you so long?

Rebekster: Oh you know, just had to consort with the enemy and whittle a fake Original Oak of Slaughter Stake real quick!

Klaus: Sounds like fun! Speaking of fun, I’m going to throw Elena in my trunk and drive her across state lines! So let’s abandon this mansion I spent millions of dollars on and hit the road!

Rebekster: But I wanna go to the daaaaaaaaaaaaaaance!

Klaus: Seriously? You’re a thousand years old, unkillable, wealthy beyond the wildest imagination of the commoners in Mystic Falls, and you can literally have any man in the world by batting your eyelashes (and dilating your pupils), and you’re still hung up on whether or not you can make the quarterback fall in love with you? Jesus.

Rebekster: Well actually I want to get you in a confined location so I can murder you, but you’re right, Matt is yummy!

Elena Gilbert: Hi Alaric! I brought you some necessities! Like bourbon! And whiskey! And gin!

Alaric Saltzman: Thanks Elena! You’re the best!

Elena Gilbert: So are they really going to keep you in here until your evil alter ego, Evilaric Stabman, tells us where the Original Oak Slaughter Stake is?

Alaric Saltzman: Oh, I’m not in here because of all the murders. Damon and I are playing a … game.

Elena Gilbert: ?

Alaric Saltzman: The safe word is “banana”.

Elena Gilbert: !

The Lady of the Manor: If you had three wishes, what would you wish for?

Thomas: Well… genies are notoriously tricksies mother fuckers, so my wishes would be several hundred pages of dense legalese.

The Lady of the Manor: You’re the most cynical person in the world. I’d wish for a magic tissue box of money, and every time you pulled money out of it, there would be more money. And eternal, effortless beauty.

Thomas: See, here’s how he’d fuck you. Creating more money every time you pulled some out of the magic box would cause inflation to go sky high, and eventually money itself would be useless. And eternal, effortless beauty? He’s turn you into a statue or something.

The Lady of the Manor: …

Thomas: Tricksies mother fuckers.

The Lady of the Manor: You think about things too much.

EW has the latest Vampire Diaries poster, provocatively titled “does the bloodline end here?

I know it’s not technically possible to have sex with a poster, but damn. I talk a lot about how much I admire the writers and cast on this show, but the marketing team does a fantastic job, too.

(via Vampire-Diaries.net)

Elena Gilbert: Hi Damon! I brought muffins! And my sneaking shoes! So where’s Alaric?

Damon Salvatore: Laying on the floor, naked and sweating. Guy stuff. So long now bye bye!

Alaric Saltzman: Is she gone? Because I have a powerful need for some nice, thick wood! Powersaw!

The Lady of the Manor: You don’t just HACK Garamond in HALF like that, RICK. UGH.

Stefan Salvatore: Guy guy guys! Length isn’t everything! Don’t forget the girth!

Alaric Saltzman: Well, that was invigorating, but I think I’m going to go turn myself in for murdering all those people.

Damon Salvatore: Do what because you something huh?

Stefan Salvatore: Please. I murdered more people than you when I got coffee this morning. If their name isn’t in the opening credits it doesn’t count.

The Lady of the Manor: I just watched an episode of Buffy where they went ice skating, and then she killed someone with her ice skate.

Thomas: Oh yeah, and then she kissed Angel, and he was all like “no, I’m in my vamp face,” and she’s all “I didn’t even notice.”

The Lady of the Manor: …You’ve watched that show too much.