Me too, Strega. Me too.
Natter 43: I Love My Dead Gay Whale Crosspost.
Off-topic discussion. Wanna talk about corsets, duct tape, or physics? This is the place. Detailed discussion of any current-season TV must be whitefonted.
Still shivering. Now there's some people at the door smelling vaguely of fish who want to discuss life after death or something like that. They threatened to put a recap in my ass if I don't hear them out. (I know, I'm high-larious.)
And yeah, it's after midnight here. I'm waiting for the laundry to finish up so I can finally go to bed. I refloored the shed in the back yard this weekend, which was supermanly and all, yes, but I'm really freakin' tired.
When I was at the comic shop today I got Alan Moore's "The Courtyard" so any & all Cthulhu references are even funnier/creepier than usual.
Hey, I've got a copy of that! Once "eldritch" and fish people are on the table, I'm just about out of Lovecraft jokes, though.
Tentacles are always good joke fodder.
Which I originally typed as "fooder." So. Yeah.
I think maybe I shouldn't be listening to Bob Geldof right now. Or maybe I should, since I wanted to feel depressed and get it over with.
It's hard to feel bad when I've only just experienced Fin Fang Foom. But I guess that goes in the comic thread. Shh.
So, what's with the mope?
Boy. Boy unexpectedly engaged to someone-not-me boy. You can catch up here although it's not all that interesting if you aren't me.
I'm annoyingly awake now, on top of being mopey and intoxicated. How irksome.
When I was at the comic shop today I got Alan Moore's "The Courtyard" so any & all Cthulhu references are even funnier/creepier than usual.
Cthulhu, like cows and monkeys, is always funny.
Lillian's musical stuffed octopus is named, err, Cthulhulaboo.
Which still fails to amuse me as much as naming the freaky stuffed bear my mother got her "Marion" did, but hey, you get your kicks where you can.
(Now I want for someone to start an 80s cover band called Kajathulhu.)
I've officially lost my whole weekend to this freaking cold.
Lost weekends were more fun when I was still a regular drinker.
Ah, the bastard! He ought to know better. If I hadn't finished my last beer a few hours ago, I'd raise one to your next crush being far more pointy.
On that note, though, I gotta go. The laundry, she is finished, and now that I have a shirt to wear tomorrow, it's time to sleep so I can convincingly stuff it. I hope your night turns less mopey and more snoozey soon.
That was an xpost, natch, but Plei, you funny. Hey, did I tell you that I'm coming out to a conference in Seattle in June?