Aims! Not good. May Santa bring you health and vigor, so you can wake up refreshed, and enjoy Christmas.
Spike's Bitches 48: I Say, We Go Out There, and Kick a Little Demon Ass.
[NAFDA] Spike-centric discussion. Lusty, lewd (only occasionally crude), risqué (and frisqué), bawdy (Oh, lawdy!), flirty ('cuz we're purty), raunchy talk inside. Caveat lector.
Aims! Not good. May Santa bring you health and vigor, so you can wake up refreshed, and enjoy Christmas.
This! And to all the ailing among us, the same.
Oh, Aims! I'm so sorry. Try to turn down the lights, and listen to some music, and stare at the Christmas lights and drink something warm and just let the fever let you drift.
Yeah... I'm sorry sweetie.
Sorry you're sick, Aims. I'm missing everybody back there, and all my friends who are dead pretty fierce tonight. I miss you guys especially.
Get better, Aims!
There's something wrong with my mother's furnace and the temperature has dropped to 63. My sister is acting as if it's the last few hours of the Scott expedition.
My greatest gift this year, as it has been for many years now, is all of you, the family of my heart.
Lots of love, Ginger.
I came home to discover that ALL of the useless fuckbag roommate's stuff is gone, and he left NO money. I think a small claims filing is soon to be in my future.
This is far and away the worst Christmas I've ever had. I will apparently be spending the day alone in an empty apartment, sobbing and trying to figure out how to save myself from the massive amount of chaos and damage this useless piece of shit fuckbag had done to my life in only six months.
{{{Sean}}} I'm sorry this is ruining your Christmas. I wish I lived closer.
I'm sorry, Sean.
The emergency HVAC person has fixed the furnace. We are saved!