This Is My Journal...

Stirred By The Ladle Of The Moon

Fri, 01 Feb 2008 15:39:06 GMT

The very first thing you notice is the floor. It's soft, which isn't right, because it's bare concrete. Then you look down and realize why: there's a layer of dust so thick on it - and everything else - that it's turned to topsoil.
Smell is the next immediate impression, and always hand in hand with the urge to sneeze. It's like taking a snort of snuff, an immediate and overwhelming nose of ancient filth rotting its way back to wholesomeness.

It's also cold.

Other than that, it's standing at a table slapping labels on various bottles of water, listening to the radio, and occasionally gagging on forklift fumes. Or forklift driver fumes.

This is my new, under the table, unofficial source of secondary income. The only thing worse than the working conditions is the pay.

No.
Actually the worst part is getting up at five in the morning.

Those of you who love Green Llama - this is why I've been on the slack, internets-wise. Getting up at stupid o'clock in the morning, doing painfully repetitive and repetitively painful menial work, then coming home with brains like stomped cheese because they refuse to get around this new schedule.
I've been running an average of three or so hours of sleep, nightly. A few days ago I fell asleep in the chair here, head lolled back over the back and arms sticking up and back past that. Not comfortable, even if you're flexible as me. But if I hold still too long unconsciousness pounces on my brain like a junkie after dope.

I need a shower, now.

"I'll be up again so soon it hurts already..."

Tue, 22 Jan 2008 06:26:26 GMT

Blue Monday.

Naturally, the day I go back to something resembling a paying job. It's not really work, per se. Under the table, and all that. Totally fraudulent.

Labeling water bottles in a warehouse, for a buck a case. It'll have to do for the moment, and at least I'm not taxed. No benefits, but I never really had any anyhow.

And it's a job you can do in your sleep while having a stroke. The grind is inevitable, but my mind will wander off and amuse itself, I've no doubts.

But this getting up at five in the morning shit? Guh. Human eyes were surely not meant to see the world in such an unshaped and primal hour. I could swear I saw a tree putting its bark on like trousers...too early.

( Yes. I'm up too late. )

It's also been about 20 to 30 degrees colder outside on average than it is inside my freezer. Non-stop brutal for days.

Can I please win that lifetime in Hawaii now?

"I have recieved email."

Fri, 11 Jan 2008 19:47:19 GMT

Apparently, as soon as the guy who interviewed me gets back to the guy who sent me to the interview, the guy who sent me to the interview will let me know.

But what happened to the girl who was a liason for the temp agency, who was supposed to be there that morning? The same girl that the guy who interviewed me said he was going to talk to next? Didn't the guy at that company talk to her? Or, why didn't the guy at my agency talk to her?
It took about two weeks from the start for them to just get to the interview, despite the fact that there was "really a need to fill some positions". At first, I attributed this to the holidays.

Now?

Now I have a pretty fair idea of exactly what position they'd like me to assume.

Thank you, no.

A Little More About That Interview, Because I Can't Get That Weird Shit Out Of My Head...

Fri, 11 Jan 2008 17:52:03 GMT

So.

Yeah, that interview.

Seemed like an okay place, but right from the beginning I felt a little unsure. The guard at the entrance was a sullen, surly blob behind a desk, who directed me to the adjoining cafeteria for free coffee. No sooner do I sit down with a full cup than a man I just walked past ( who was watching a television with his pals ) steps out briefly, then returns and comes up to me and introduces himself as my interviewer.

So right off the bat, I'm way, way impressed. But at least this is getting over with sooner rather than later. Anyway.

I get a tour of the place, which is a stroll past various high-volume copiers and towering racks of paper, with a brief stop at a table covered with various samples of work. They are, I'm told, giving a tour later for some customers. At any rate, I'm not seeing anything I haven't already seen years of elsewhere.

Then it's through a door or two, up some stairs, and into a little side conference room to sit down and do the deed.

To begin, he asks me if I have a resume. I know he has one, because it was sent to him, but never mind - yes - I did that part of this job for you. I, at least, have come prepared.

For the most part, it's pretty standard. He asks the usual questions: what I did before, what machines I'm familiar with, processes of doing work, and how I dealt with various problems/situations when I did it.
But it's like he's not quite hearing it just exactly how he wants it to be said. He seems to be finding ways to ask the same things, just from different angles. Like maybe he thinks he'll catch me up at something. It's a fuzzy feeling though, and I attribute it to my own nervousness, and to be honest, it's not really all that unusual an interviewing technique.
He's also being infuriatingly vague. If he wants a precise answer, he should ask a precise question.

But then he does it. He asks me the question: "Have you ever had a problem before with people finding you too relaxed, or seeming too laid back?"

For fuck's sake, you've got to be kidding my ass. I don't know know that there is a right answer to a question like that. I should have asked him if he's stopped kicking his dog. They're more or less the same question, aren't they?

And then it was more or less like the first half of the interview, only on rewind. Back through the questions, tour, door.

Like I said before, I got a call later from the temp agency that they had to do a little more research, and would call me back later that day or the next.
It's now the day after both of those, and I'm still waiting. Called and emailed, still waiting.

I don't know, but it's not looking good there, is it?

I will turn to crime now, I think...

Hard Call

Wed, 09 Jan 2008 16:59:33 GMT

I got nothing - it could go either way from here. The interview actually resembled an interview, at least.

He asked one question in the middle of it that I'm not sure about, when he wondered if I'd ever had a problem with seeming too relaxed and laid back.
Huh?
I just held my own and said that I'd gotten that before all my life, the long legged walk that looks slow, the low voice, it gives that impression. And that when the shit hits the fan it's nice to have a calm head around soothing things and not getting flustered.
Seriously, though. Calm is a bad thing, now?

If I got any real bad impressions from him, it was that I didn't seem to be technical enough for him. That would be my fault; I've never been a jargon monkey.
In my favor, they are harboring at least one Kinko's refugee from what he told me, so that's probably a positive. Or not negative anyway.

( Just got a call back from the temp company that sent me - checking in about the interview. Apparently they'll be doing more 'research' and contacting me back later today or tomorrow. Fun. )

So it's just waiting to see what happens now.

And hoping.

God damn, but I'd rather be drawing comics for a living.

Finger Crossed Stance

Wed, 09 Jan 2008 14:54:46 GMT

A little ahead of schedule for the morning.

Finally ( FINALLY ) got an interview, so I'm all slicked up and greased back, corners polished - everything. Surprising lack of nervousness so far. Wait until I'm in their lobby, then my stomach will be doing its little buzz-crawl.

From the sound of it, I'll just be a machine monkey, sitting in a cavern nursing a xerox machine. It all depends on the complexity of the machine and things they're expecting, but I should do alright.
So like I said - finger crossed stance this morning. Hopefully the old copy-jockey gig hasn't become rocket science behind my back over the last year.

How likely is that, really?

It's days like this that I really rue the fact that I'll probably never be able to get myself into a position to do something better with my life. I'd like to go to school - say MCAD. I doubt I could get the loans, let alone pay them off afterwards.

Anyway. Time to go forth and kick small ass.

It's Not A Giant Rock From Space - But I'll Take It.

Sat, 22 Dec 2007 18:17:17 GMT

I'll start off by saying this, though - I would have expected a giant rock way more than what I got.

My unemployment actually came through. Hardly a source of pride, but on the other hand, it's also not starving to death over the holidays. It's like having the hood snugged down over your head, then finding out that the hangman goofed up the rope and measured out a half foot too much. Sure, you fall on your ass in the dirt, but you're alive...

Minnesota weather, I swear.

Last night at three in the morning it was raining. Raining, like a gentle spring shower. This morning it's colder and an inch and a half of snow deeper outside.
If it keeps going like this, it'll pretty much turn into the winter that I was predicting it would be.
And if that's true, then I'm really not looking forward to February.

I have otherwise, not been up to much, not online at least. So, work on that for the long weekend, now that a few things aren't hanging over me. Along with the laundry we can afford to do now.

Beat that kind of fun, suckers!

"I'm Beginning To Think..."

Tue, 18 Dec 2007 17:16:29 GMT

"...that people just aren't looking for people to hire right now, sweetie. Yeesh. Yet another reason to hate the holidays.." Absent-minded fingers casually tangle his pitiful mane as he looks over at me grooming myself far more adeptly.

"You never try that stealing thing you talk about. You could probably do that." I attempt to at least seem encouraging, if not sound it.

He pouts. "No. I probably couldn't."

"Why not?"

"Because you're the deadliest thing in the house I have to point at them. Can you imagine trying to mug someone with a cat?"

"Try it with those sheet people. They seem properly fearful."

He pauses, staring right through me. I can smell the wheels turning behind them. "Huh. I never thought of that..."

"I'll bet."

"That's seriously messed up, by the way."

* * *

So yeah.
Not much love happening so far, try as I might. I'm hoping that after the holidays things will be better, I guess. It's not likely to happen before then, everyone is taking care of other, more personal, capitalist ventures. Hurray for the holidays.

So it'll be time to work up a little lunch for Leslie soon. That at least I can accomplish. Hurray for me.

If 2008 is going to be anything like 2007, I'm betting that 2009 can kiss my ass right now.

But that's a big if, even for me.

All in all though, it's going to be another year started off lean and mean. Except for the cats. They're fat as dumpster squirrels.

( That's really fat. )

It Resembles Sunlight

Thu, 13 Dec 2007 17:36:11 GMT

Just got a nice lead on what might turn into work. Polishing a resume and getting ready to make me look my bestest.

Sounds like standing and nursing a large copier, mostly. Right up my alley.
Fingers crossed.

Flea is feeling lazy today, and preoccupied with figuring out how to make all this snow go away. We both have high hopes.

Strange Now, Too?

Wed, 12 Dec 2007 18:21:51 GMT

Made up some of that sleep I missed out on - I find now I rather wish i hadn't.

Now is not the best time for me to start having dreams again, especially those dreams. Weird and kindless reels of panic and disorder and betrayal, of moving and betrayal. They feel like trying to walk backwards through a riot while trying to do a jigsaw puzzle, impossible and scary and frustrating.
Waking up throughout the night didn't help either, I'd just drop right back into the action where I left off.
I almost felt like a young man again.

Holding out hope that I just don't dream tonight. It's too tiring.

The landlord was by last night, cleaning out the next-door apartment. I approached him about the possibility of us moving over into it, and he seemed receptive, saying he'd let us walk through it when it was cleaned out.
The we had a good laugh about just how much she left behind to be cleaned out. Shelves, chairs, tables, a bed, books, about four hundred pounds of clothing, a small kiosk of yarn and buttons and other craft materials, and a six foot five inch fake tree.

Mind you, that wasn't all of it. Not even close. I didn't mention the abandoned computer and monitor or the other television at all.

One thing surprised me, though. Talking to the landy, while he and his helper guy tried to sort out the mayhem, and he was troubled about how to get rid of everything, as we don't have a dumpster available to our building, and the curb where we put the garbage is pretty much an unusable glacier.
I suggested calling the Salvation Army. They'll send a truck and happily abscond with the sort second-hand treasure she left behind.

Once in a while, I wonder. Maybe it's just me, but I'd have thought that something like the Salvation Army would be on speed dial after you ran enough properties for long enough. Or maybe I'm just not a linear thinker.

Anyway, the rest of the day looms....

Oh Fuck You, Tuesday.

Tue, 11 Dec 2007 17:52:19 GMT

Two hours of sleep for today. Teetering between zombie trances and fail.

Further internet casualties in addition to Facebook.
Panel & Pixel and Adult Swim forums.
Neither will work for me. The first lets me log in until I try to make a post, then tells me I have to log in, the latter is just broken beyond repair. Control settings that appear in the instructions aren't there in the actual application, and it won't allow you to post images or links.

That's what I get for trying to further myself. Again.

Where's my giant fucking rock from space?

Here I Am, Knocking On The Bottom Of The Barrel.

Mon, 10 Dec 2007 21:43:13 GMT

I stretch languidly, and look over at my property, sitting on my chair folded up like an origami crane and cursing viciously to himself.
I decide to bother myself, and ask,"What's going on? You woke me up, you miscarriage with pants."

He replies tersely: "Trying to wrangle myself some unemployment while I hunt for work and slowly die of whatever wasting illness it is that refuses to just up and kill me."

"I'll probably start with your nose, you know."

A pause, then puzzlement spreading on his face. "What?"

"When it does kill you. I'll start with your nose, I think. I'm going to get hungry."

"You could just wait for mommy to come home, you know."

"Pfft! That could be hours." He's scowling at me when I curl up and get back to that dream about the room full of mice sized people prostrated before my glory....

Anyway.

The middle of my spine feels like I spent the night sleeping soundly while draped over a large rock. Pretty much every conceivable position hurts; motionlessness provides no real solution to the conundrum. Motion, obviously, has its own pitfalls, motion being primary among them.
My cough has dried up into a nice, dry, dissatisfying hack.

Which saves the flavor problem I was having this morning, at least.

Unemployment remains the bastard of misdirection and obfuscation that I remember it being. It's a low feeling to resort to it, but it's a lower feeling to see just how hard they make it get. All of their funny little questionnaires asking you if your joblessness is effecting your mood and your ability to find work, but they never ask about how intimidating it is to be threatened with denial of benefits for just about any excuse they can find at every single step of the process.

That the website likes to crash on you and force you to repeat things two or three times over isn't helpful. I have no idea where I stand with getting anything.
I know absolutely what I'm eligible for if I am eligible, it's just waiting around now to see if I will be. Pray a little prayer.

If I could be anything in the world right now, it would just be at work. Some work. Any work, almost.

This feels like being an animal in a cage, and my chest is fucking killing me right now.....

Walking The Walk.

Mon, 10 Dec 2007 14:42:45 GMT

Sounds like I'll be not on Facebook much longer.

Not that I did all that much with it in the first place, but given some of their apparent policies that have been voiced by other artists lately, at the very least I'll be gutting it with my MySpace.
I'll be hollowing it out to the point where it's more or less just a profile, at the least. I just don't really have time enough to use it, and frankly I'm finding all the little games and functions just get tedious, or are broken.

Seems like everything is falling apart everywhere.

I'm off to smash my face against the wall of civilization now.

Mon, 10 Dec 2007 07:00:08 GMT

Tomorrow is another day being the square peg in a circle world. I'm about willing to put myself to the lathe now, thanks.

The Sunday D&D game has taken another loss.
One of the players that's been there since the very beginning, since before I was in it, has decided that he needs to take a while off to do...well, who knows what? Masturbate to World of Warcraft, or something, I guess?

In the end, I guess that's more experience for us, but it's a shame to see the gang dwindle like that.

Especially when the entire party graciously took a cold bath, financially speaking, and all the debate and research we did, to see you geared up enough to feel better about your character. Nice. Man, the things we could have done for everyone for what it took to make that fucking thing for you. Sheesh. And now we have neither.
Somehow, I don't think he'll be back. Not when he's fallen a level or two behind, after the caterwauling he did as one of the highest level characters.

Everything else me has been helter-skelter lately. Just don't have my mojo.
Probably just worrying about work and money.

About being essentially good for nothing. Not that way, I think you know what I mean. I stand by it, anyway.

Because sooner or later it might let it's guard down.

And then I'll kill it.

...But The Tiger Ate The Key.

Thu, 06 Dec 2007 08:08:06 GMT

I think I might honestly be beginning to lose my shit entirely.

It could be a lot of other things, but when you put them all together is there really any difference? And if it does go would I ascend to that spooky, preternatural level of bent cartoon genius? Or just become another foamer trying to convince people that the condiment mural on his living room ceiling proves he's the Third Coming of Jesus?

I've had a few of my friends go the nutter way over the years, though in many cases they had more help and more desire than I have for that path. There's nothing really romantic about it, they just rattled around from couch to couch and eventually died their various deaths, each stepping outside of the world in one sense or another.
I've had a lot of friends go the other way, too. People that just suddenly aren't who they were, and they just lose interest and become someone that you can't pick out of the crowd anymore.

Each horrified me.

I can't stand the idea of being small.

I want to be history.

If my ambition was equal to my hubris I'd be running for fucking President. I'd be ashamed of it if I could be, honestly. But I'm really just bitterly disappointed that I haven't become the monster I can feel inside myself.
Or maybe ashamed that I'm afraid to.

I want to let me out of my cage...

"Lamentations Of The Lame"

Wed, 05 Dec 2007 20:53:37 GMT

"What is best in life, Flea?"

"For you to get out of my damn chair."

I get up out of my sweetheart's way and take the seat that was closer to her. You learn not to argue, after enough of a while.

"Shit, something's on your mind again, isn't it? Here, let me put my head down and close my eyes. I wanna be comfortable..."

"I'm damn glad I'm not paying you."

"Wait before you decide that."

So I'll puzzle this one out for myself a while.
Trying, really trying, to figure out what I really want to be doing here in the internets. Not that I really have any business being here, right at the moment - but you get my feeling.
I have no doubt it's something related to just how entirely frustrated and stalled I'm feeling. Every part of my life seems like it's fitting wrong, lately - I'm having one of those 'burn it all down and start again' moods. Which is just, I've no doubt, me trying to grab hold of something, anything, when I feel like I'm losing my hold of everything else.

It's a frustrating illusion. There's nothing to make 'right' there. But I still want to - nearly need to.

I want to smash it all together into a perfect package.

I want to throw it all up in the air and just walk away.

"That sounds like fun!"

"Hush up."

This whirlwind in my head, it seems to just get worse the harder I try to make it right. At this rate, pretty soon I won't have to pretend my cat's talking to me.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

I might have to go away for a while. I got some shit to figure out.

"Bye, da."

"Oh, shut up..."

"Well, Here We Are Then."

Tue, 04 Dec 2007 22:09:23 GMT

Da sits next to me, draping himself in the chair like a broken scarecrow. It still impresses me how something with so many joints can seem so stiff, like he can never pay attention to enough of them at the same time.

"Well, do think anyone will show up?" he asks.

I look up, and have to fidget briefly to get comfortable again. Bother.
"I was ignoring you, what is it you want now?" I ask back.

"Never mind."

"That's better. Now get over here and kiss my black ass like it was your dying breath." I love him, and he probably even means well, but sometimes it takes a strong paw to keep him in line.

I Know You Missed Me, Now Hush.

Mon, 03 Dec 2007 20:00:27 GMT

I decided to sleep off a few months, as it keeps me vital, and nothing of real interest has happened. Also, I have been very busy with kitten bashing, which also promotes youthful vigor.

There has also been substantial pooping, which still possesses an unnatural fascination for my young ward. I've tried to beat it out of her, but succeeded only in the most literal sense, and even at that, only once. One must admire her perseverance, if not her perversion.

I'm not getting out too much these days. Some drivel about the cold.

As though I couldn't make a decision for myself, like say that six inch long hair-turd I left on the carpet? Indeed.

I am becoming entirely sick to death of da, as well.
Get out of my house, you gangly, smelly retard. I'm tired of you sitting in my chairs all the time. He's spoken with me about talking about himself here, so he can use his journal for his stupid pictures and trying to be cute. After due consideration, I have decided that that will be acceptable, as I find typing tedious and can surely influence him into doing more of it for me.
Since he's already there, and it'll keep me from my gastrointestinal jihad on his precious rugs.

It is only right that more of you know of my majesty.

So be it.

It's Been Hot.

Tue, 07 Aug 2007 04:31:24 GMT

That's all the excuse I should have to give you.

No matter, I have returned to grace you again. Weep with joy.

I have a story for you.
I was outside, as all felines properly should be, as our kinds constitution benefits vastly from the freedom to abuse that which we see personally with our paws rather than as a mute image trapped behind glass...where was I?

Ah, yes. I was outside, enjoying the sun and a breeze heavy with the scent of the fear of small birds. A fine day, and I had decided to take it out on the sidewalk while I waited for my idiot to return from gaining whatever weird provisions it takes to keep him upright.

I saw him returning so laden, when two of the bed-sheet women walked before him, and turned my way.

I am, by my regal and just nature, and amicable dignity, and willing to accept affection from all my lessers. You may I imagine how offended I was when they pointed at me and squealed like frightened swine, teetering back in their swaddling awash in fear. And what I hope was spoiled patchouli. Our noses are really quite sensitive, but I've accepted that you are unable to learn what you are not sensitive enough to apprehend.

I cannot say it was not a little flattering. My presence is understandably awesome, and should be approached with humble prostration.

But groveling fear? For shame.

I have met with braver squirrels, a lot not known for their spine.

The presence of da, who had by now passed them by having seen me then bestowed me with the usual deference and candor, which seemed to pacify the foolish bedsheet women somewhat. Not entirely however, they still waddled past nervously, eying me as if to determine whether or not I was hiding another tail. The feeble attempts of my two-legged knob-turner did little to help ameliorate things.

All in all a humiliating display, and an opportunity to worship me wasted.

They were of course perfectly correct to be afraid, but for reasons entirely other than what those superstitious dullards minds conjured up to bedevil them with.

It is far easier just to pet me, you silly things.

Seven Leagues Of Hatred

Tue, 10 Apr 2007 16:52:56 GMT

You are imbeciles, both of you.
You forgot me.
Outside.

All.

Freezing.

Night.

You are under the umpression, no doubt, that I slinked in this morning, humble and grateful to be inside and warm and curled on soft things. How wrong you are. This was a prelude to revenge and nothing else.
I will shed with vigorous determination on everything you hold dear and hairless. I will shred will gleeful and venal intent all you deem whole and unfrayed.

I will leave a poo in the box that will sicken Satan ( hi, da! ) himself. The very smell of it shall stain your walls, and the sight of it will leave a mark upon your lowly, simple souls for all time.

Oh, yes -someday, in Hell, you will be nailed to the ground, your mouths filled with sand, and I shall stand upon your chests and admire the way your toes squirm....

DADDY...

Fri, 12 Jan 2007 22:30:25 GMT

( how should I say this... )

You are a complete and utter fucktard.

( Yes, I think that will do fine... )

"What Is Good In Life?"

Thu, 11 Jan 2007 06:20:11 GMT

To drive your enemies before you, to crush them and hear the lamentation of their women.

Young Burden has been blooded officially.
The silly youth and I were discussing the bouquet of various high-end antifreezes when we were interrupted by the most foolish of rodents. A mouse, natural plaything and murder victim of the cat. Until now it had prudently kept to its filthy thieves highway, secreted deep within the walls of Castle Furious, but tonight it was quiet. The slaves were off slaving, and the house was still. The attraction was too great.

Curiousity may have killed the cat, but we get eight more tries. Not so with rodents. For them, the only reply to temptation is a swift demise.

Caught in the open, it proved no match for the two of us. The battle was fast, and brutal. At one point it was all I could do to hold it pinned beneath by paw while Burden chewed it viciously.
For a brief moment, all was nearly lost when it charged my young protege in a homicidal fury of desperate fear, howling and flailing like a rabid cottonball. But her loss of composure was fleet, and her fury at its intrusion upon our conversation proved the greater of two wraths.

We feasted proudly on the steaming innards of her enemy.

We even left a portion for our devoted and simple humans. Da reacted with his typically composed disinterest, but the other human seemed downright repulsed. Insulted even.
Leave it to them to mistake a fine gift for garbage. And then burn perfectly good food with fire before eating it. And then not share. Any.

I don't suppose I should expect any improvement in their behavior at this point. Tch.

Off now to sleep, and dream the screams of the weak and chewy...

What? I always take December off...

Thu, 04 Jan 2007 00:14:42 GMT

It is easily the least pleasant of the twelve months, awful weather and incessant interruptions and slaves running around absent and festive. Miserable.

Still having a great time beating on my young roommate, catshapedburden, whom you can now go and become involved with personally if you're willing to sink so low. You get a choice, I have it forced on me. If she ever manages to learn anything from these floggings, I'll go back to calling it an apprenticeship, but until then...

You may be impressed to know that I am in charge of special events at Uttertoad Comix now. I'm not, but you may be. Let me know, he'll be thrilled.
In skewed relation to this, I will also be making cameo appearance in my idiot slaves newest comix heist: "Puff, Puff, Pass." I naturally steal all the scenes I appear in, but I try not to overwhelm things, if only for the sake of my feeble-minded puppet. His ego is fragile, but his usefulness is not quite depleted.

I think I may tell you all a story of my amazing life soon. Would you like that?

The correct answer is: YES.

"...there are no words..."

Wed, 29 Nov 2006 19:28:03 GMT

It was obviously no secret that young Burden ( that's her name now, just see if I change it back ) lacked for certain mental faculties, but the depths of her inferior mentation are now fully apparent. The exact processes are still a mystery, but the results are clear:

She is a terribly, terribly stupid cat.
Creative to be sure, one would simply have to be to find a way to defecate upon thier own head, but to what purpose? It defies any rational imagination...what?

Oh, yes. Yes. You heard me correctly.

She took a shit.

On her own head.

An act so far south of cathood I'm tempted to grant her dishonorary status as a human. To think I actually cleaned her by my own tongue. I mean sure - I lick my own ass, but I at least have the sense to wipe it off on the floor first.
And I certainly don't adorn myself with a hat of my own poop.

I TOLD YOU SHE WAS A SHITHEAD.

She Got Off Easy...

Tue, 21 Nov 2006 23:47:39 GMT

Irisitis.  Feh.

If young Suzuki wants my sympathy she will need to do far better than that indeed. She should try ocular herpes. Now there's a disease that will make a cat of you. What she has, it's practically cute.
And the carrying on about her. You would think my people are in her service. It's utterly shameful.

On the other hand, watching them apply cream to her eyeball nightly will be a great deal of entertainment. Yes.

Don't misunderstand me, I can see why they fawn over her so, she is, if nothing else, adorable. And she is, I assure you, nothing else. All the same it is the one saving grace she possesses that has kept her from being a meal for me.
Well, that and the annoying ability to fit into very small places. One does, I must suppose, pay a price for majesty, and if that price is cowering underneath the table, so be it.
I hide from nothing - rather, I retire to less annoying climes.

I shall enjoy the spectacle proudly, from on high.

Irisitis. Feh.