A few open letters - aka I haven't actually vanished. Really.
Dear LJ,
Thank you for going down on the exact same evening I was going to try to catch up with my friends list. How rude. It wasn't actually your fault? Whatever! This is the internet; logic is optional! (Also true in politics, apparently.) On the plus side I got to play with some of your competitors last night! Did you know that some of them allow me to upload a mind-blowing number of icons? Wouldn't you like to do the same?
fm.
*
Dear contractors,
One, when you said you were coming for one day and ended up being in my house for four in a row you were very, very lucky that I did not incinerate you all with my patented Glare of Death, but when you then want to charge me for the hours you spent fixing mistakes you made to begin with all bets are off.
Two, I have had a dumpster sitting in my driveway for fourteen months, and I want it gone now. Telling me days after the date you promised it would be removed that you hadn't in fact even called yet is tempting fate. Remember the Glare of Death? It goes to eleven.
Three, Glare of Death!
fm.
*
Dear Harry Potter fandom,
Okay, you officially win the internet. You're everywhere! We surrender.
fm.
Thank you for going down on the exact same evening I was going to try to catch up with my friends list. How rude. It wasn't actually your fault? Whatever! This is the internet; logic is optional! (Also true in politics, apparently.) On the plus side I got to play with some of your competitors last night! Did you know that some of them allow me to upload a mind-blowing number of icons? Wouldn't you like to do the same?
fm.
*
Dear contractors,
One, when you said you were coming for one day and ended up being in my house for four in a row you were very, very lucky that I did not incinerate you all with my patented Glare of Death, but when you then want to charge me for the hours you spent fixing mistakes you made to begin with all bets are off.
Two, I have had a dumpster sitting in my driveway for fourteen months, and I want it gone now. Telling me days after the date you promised it would be removed that you hadn't in fact even called yet is tempting fate. Remember the Glare of Death? It goes to eleven.
Three, Glare of Death!
fm.
*
Dear Harry Potter fandom,
Okay, you officially win the internet. You're everywhere! We surrender.
fm.