Although I have a large amount of cryptic fan mail to catch up on (and when I say large, I am telling a gentle underwhelmement, as the spout box was held hostage a while back by a Flabbergastingly Bored Someone) it’s all hiding in a file on my computer at home. So I’ll pick up just where Someone was beginning to lose his or her tenuous grip on reality:
I WANT TO KNOW
I DONY KNO
Indeed. Ask your Mother when she gets home. We’ve always thought your mom was a spy. And a big slut. She had shifty bedroom eyes. Just look at this:
i like flowera
i like hobbits
See? Disgusting. Communist. A danger to the nation’s youth.
I am a hobit fancier >=D what are you?
Me, I’m into elves (as any democratic socialist of moral fiber would be) – though I still haven’t seen the movie; no point in it since I’d only fall asleep half way through. Hopefully I’ll get ’round to it after Santa’s Birthday (it’s now been three hours without Vicodin, and I only hurt as badly as menstrual cramps, hooray!).
Also in the news chez gabbro, I euthanised an old pair of jeans today. It’s sad, giving up on something you’ve already patched past death – like losing a beloved pet that also helped you not have to do laundry so often. However, their memory will live on, as I used bits off their legs to fix another, more beloved pair, which I am bound and determined to transform into zombie-pants made of nothing but patches. Rest in peace in my grandmother’s quilting stash, pants.