(no subject)
Dear lj,
I like Mark.I like him because he makes fart noises with his hands, sometimes without even meaning to. I like him for reasons, not the least of which is that he oft times leaves his blinker on for just slightly too long. He has monstrosities for hands, for his fingers cannot even accommodate rings. He shaves and looks much like a child. But when he is with beard, he looks like the most mountainous of mountain men (my uncle jim notwithstanding). His wrists are thick. That is all I have to say about his wrists.
I like him for the same reasons I liked all the boys I liked in the 8th grade - because he is weak and vulnerable to attack. He does not get made fun of anymore, by anyone named Matt Brown or Jordan Cole, or Andy Cherry you bastard. He is haunted by none of his childhood traumas, except for the time he brought X Men cards to show and tell in the third grade and was too shy to speak, and ran away (that same year he sang silent night in front of the class and after two lines, ran away).
He has the smoothest and most delighfully fragrant of all foreheads in the county. His shirt is stained with grease, but it is the grease of our tender loving (or possibly the grease of chili cheese fries, he probably wouldn't remember either way). He tells the worst stories as often as possible. He ruminates at length about the qualities of the pockets on his pants (some of them are better for holding things more securely than others and he makes sure we all know it).
He becomes angry and controlling in the kitchen because he learned how to work a kitchen when he was a waiter and macaroni grill and will take no lip about his masterful skills. He sometimes eats bowls full of brownie mix and milk as if brownie mix were a breakfast cereal for people without teeth (who probably don't have those teeth because they ate brownie mix as cereal). His arms hurt him, so he bought two slings and presumably sits at his computer, both arms in slings, looking much like a T-rex (I have no observable evidence for this).
To be continued (probably not).
I like Mark.I like him because he makes fart noises with his hands, sometimes without even meaning to. I like him for reasons, not the least of which is that he oft times leaves his blinker on for just slightly too long. He has monstrosities for hands, for his fingers cannot even accommodate rings. He shaves and looks much like a child. But when he is with beard, he looks like the most mountainous of mountain men (my uncle jim notwithstanding). His wrists are thick. That is all I have to say about his wrists.
I like him for the same reasons I liked all the boys I liked in the 8th grade - because he is weak and vulnerable to attack. He does not get made fun of anymore, by anyone named Matt Brown or Jordan Cole, or Andy Cherry you bastard. He is haunted by none of his childhood traumas, except for the time he brought X Men cards to show and tell in the third grade and was too shy to speak, and ran away (that same year he sang silent night in front of the class and after two lines, ran away).
He has the smoothest and most delighfully fragrant of all foreheads in the county. His shirt is stained with grease, but it is the grease of our tender loving (or possibly the grease of chili cheese fries, he probably wouldn't remember either way). He tells the worst stories as often as possible. He ruminates at length about the qualities of the pockets on his pants (some of them are better for holding things more securely than others and he makes sure we all know it).
He becomes angry and controlling in the kitchen because he learned how to work a kitchen when he was a waiter and macaroni grill and will take no lip about his masterful skills. He sometimes eats bowls full of brownie mix and milk as if brownie mix were a breakfast cereal for people without teeth (who probably don't have those teeth because they ate brownie mix as cereal). His arms hurt him, so he bought two slings and presumably sits at his computer, both arms in slings, looking much like a T-rex (I have no observable evidence for this).
To be continued (probably not).