Expat of Sadgewich

Oh, shit--I think my journal's virused.

How do you check it?

My lobbyists are braving the inclement weather to redress this.

Since communication has failed at all levels we request that you kill them.

Details here.

You got that dadgum badger thingy stuck in my head. Thank God I recognized its addictive qualities the first time i went, and bookmarked it.

Badger badger badger badger--mushroom mushroom!--badger badger badger badger.....

somebody help 'song. I'm not even sure I want to know what would tear up somebody as tough as her, but, just through reading her for a couple weeks, I do know that I don't want to hear her in pain. Don't know any channels to send well-wishing through, and, being a total stranger, not sure that my intrusions would be welcome.

Why the fuck does life have to hurt good people?

whitworth, email me on my new addies--must test.

Anyone who has too much money to spare, and would like to make some absolute fool down in Miami jump and yelp for joy, would do worse than to visit this site.

You see, there are some things that Amazonians just can't buy.

Don't worry about framing it--I know how, lol...

Bill Mosely--Choptop; fine. Otis Firefly? RAWK!

Yes, I am still playing this stupid-ass game.

Note that, although I posted a link, I didn't put up the one that leads straight to the game, as that would make you a vampire under RavenBlack--and if you go there because of me, I would much rather you go under MY care...

http://quiz.ravenblack.net/blood.pl?biter=Rot

If you sign up for vampirism, I get ten pints of blood. Yay!

But--in other news, I have now got to go and root through my pics and send some to my grandmother.
Goodbye.

Let's see--God hates Cap'n, murnkay is an asshole (the votes are in!), my kitty is losing her mind, and mad at me because I want to build old guitars into custom coolness, and damn the torpedoes! ahahahaha!

It also seems that my mind is coming unhooked from my hands, causing a great and grand groovy fuckall when I try to type. You don't really see much of it here, thanks to my ability to still see when I've fucked a word right out of it's proper form, but wee things are still getting through, little things that are not part of my normal typography.

We damn near stalked hedgegoth--the kitty were thinkin about goin to the zoo tomorrow, when I mentioned in jest that we go to stalk hedgegoth.

(there he is! there he is! oo!)
(shh! I think he hears us!)

Although, for technical reasons, I will now state that I haven't stalked anyone. I was more of a passive type than that, just tending to go to places that my prey frequented, sit around, and think about them.

Shri's roof leaks--just in case you missed it. Found her on AIM, and we had us a good ol'fashioned blast. I offered to kneecap him, if through some fluke I step through a wormhole on my way to the pisser and wind up in Kansas. Now, granted: some people like to use the line, I think we aren't in Kansas anymore, to signify a departure from their home, their norms, but what if, all of a sudden, you found yourself, a denizen of other places, whisked involuntarily into Kansas?

Exactly what do you say then?

Someone should write a book for scenarios like that, where you can't find the right thing to say. Or maybe we should all, as a group, decide on a single word that would be used to express all unprepared situations. Akin to Mary Poppins and her Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, save that my vote would immediately go for the word Gibbledyfuck.

You have to pick a word with one of those consonants that no one can make their damn minds up about, so that the word itself can be expanded to encompass more situations, for example, to use my word:

pronounced JIB ledeefuck, it would be the perfect thing to shout as you evacuate your bowels in the presence of a rogue prop from Stan Winston's studios, possessed by the unquiet spirits of unrequited Furries.

Pronounced Gibb-eldeefuck, it could more easily fall into a more disco-based post-apocalyptic scenario, as in the time where John Travolta ground L. Ron Hubbard's femur up into a hallucinogenic paste and served it in the deli trays where they film Soul Train.

The fact that everyone seems to be having some sort of crisis has made me suddenly very nervous about my upcoming physical--be it something in the air, that makes it so square when we get together? Have the planets aligned unconfortably in the dark confines of Uranus to destroy us all? Are the Fat Boys planning a reunion tour?

(elapsed time 13:47:83)

Sorry! Spaced out there for a bit.

I'd probably go into some sort of insensitive rant, right about now, but I don't want to sound like an ass. Being one is still okay on my list, I guess, but sounding like one has suddenly fallen off of the holy eateries list, well outside of kosher.

I have now put the ever-sexy Kyremius upon ye, o minions of the internet tide-pools. Also, i have completed my ever-crappy Monkeychucks, which I had intended to be far more professional looking--but I got impatient to play with them. The pain has begun. First injury: bonked my knee. Care must be taken with those of us who wear larger rings--the Monkeychucks keep bouncing off my wedding band. (if they'd play better tunes perhaps I wouldn't have to abuse them so)