(no subject)
these men hate us (though you could almost - almost - pity some of them) (oh wait, actually, no. they're scary fuck-ups.)
back in the land of the fully-human,
kanzenhanzai found these 1940s towel adverts featuring naked soldiers. many naked soldiers, both questionable of heterosexuality and pert of buttock. and
china_shop posted slash pictionary clues. warning: possibly not safe for people with graphic imaginations.
(there's even one that will make
thesme_01 a happy, happy woman: Mal Reynolds has “phone” sex with Captain Kirk, and comes all over Serenity’s control panel. poor wash is going to have something (cute but horrified) to say about that, i should think.)
meanwhile it seems i've been infected by the pie.
tardington? please stop sending me text messages about hugh dillon's dietary habits, thank you very much.
kanzenhanzai? you are not absolved of all blame at this time. (see also: new journal subtitle, pending a radical overhaul as i'm so very tired of the greyness and the boxiness. meanwhile, a little more blaming is aimed at ms. crunchy love 2006.) finally, i'm not linking to the first (OF TWO) conversations i have had about golden showers this week (and, oh my, the first typo'd version of that was 'golden whors') in the vain hope that
the_familiar might thus refrain from defriending me. hi! *waves* hi? hey. why are you sidling towards the exit like that?