On the plus side: Vicodin.
1)So, yesterday I went to the Grown Up Dentist for the first time (yes, at 20). It was a magical place where the chairs were actually long enough for me, my dentists didn't press my nose as she lowered the chair, and I was informed that I have EIGHT CAVITIES and must have my wisdom teeth removed ASAP BECAUSE THEY ARE ALL IMPACTED. I didn't even
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I do not take LSD. BUT, I recently found out that my dad once accidentally had a joint spiked with what was probably LSD)...I quote, "I was looking at a Christmas tree, and all of the sudden I was an ornament. And all of the people were cardboard!".
While you were asleep society forced me to play at being an adult. So far I'm not a huge fan. Too much angst and depression for my tastes. COME TO ME AND REMIND ME OF MY FORMER YOUTH. WITH YOUR BODY. *ka-wink*. You are having a hellish summer too? Why? It is indeed exceedingly cruel that the warm, sunny, school-free months should be so grueling. I miss that one summer when I did nothing but take figure drawing classes and read in Barnes and Noble. GYYAAAH. Only a life of piracy can save me now!
I WANT TO RE-READ HAVEMERCY ALREADY :D SO GAAAAYYY. Reading that was like SHOOTING UP SOME GAY. Now it's in my bloodstream and I desperately need another fix. PS: you went to the signing?! I should have traveled across the land to stalk you them.
DOCCCTAAAHHH WHOOOOOOO >:D >:D >:D
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EXCEPT I ALREADY TOTALLY LOOK AT PENS ~~~~THAT WAY BECAUSE WHEN I WENT TO THE MOST MAGICAL BOOK SIGNING EVER, ladyjaida and danibennett TOTALLY HAD. THE MOST AMAZING. PENS. EVER. THEY WERE SPARKLY! AND MORE IMPRESSIVELY SHAPED LIKE DRAAAAGONS. AND NOW, WELL, YOU SEE WHERE THIS LEADS RIGHT? NOW I AM GOING TO FOREVER ASSOCIATE MY MAGICAL MEMORIES OF SAID MAGICAL SIGNING WITH JON STEWART'S ASS. I. DON'T. EVEN. HELP? I THINK?
Ahem. Composure. I am capable of it. I promise? Maybe? WE WILL SEE.
But no, even apparently you exist even during hellish summers working with people in the triple digit IQ range!
I feel like we should be celebrating my versatility, but I don't know how. You see, My Un-fairy Friend*, being personally fondled by God Himself sort of makes chummy beers and arm-punches pale in comparison. Might I suggest PIRACY?
"I was looking at a Christmas tree, and all of the sudden I was an ornament. And all of the people were cardboard!".
............your dad officially has all rights to manning the poop deck.
Do not wish to talk about own summer-bruising misfortune. Have difficulty talking about actual scary Shit-Ass Moons, remember? Acknowledging them makes for loss of ability to employ full sentences. For physical manifestation of Shit-Assery see: fact that I currently have what appears to be a swollen purply sausage attached to my foot. Which was lovingly cultivated by WALKING. Fact that mother has Lyme disease. No doubt someone is about to ACTUALLY contract Lupus at this point, which will cause the entire infrastructure of House to collapse so will both harm and/or kill a loved one AND kill a beloved television series. MY LIFE IS PAAAAAAAAAAIN!
OKAY SO LOOK. LOOK. I. OH. FUCK YOU DOCTOR WHO! OH HA HA HA HA I RHYME! Now that I feeee~eeeel the poetry of the show, I think I need to watch it. We Magical Fairies are suckers for poetry, don't you know.
*PLEASE CAN WE TAKE A COLBERT-ESQUE PICTURE TOGETHER I NEED TO SHOW MY NINE THOUSAND FRIENDS ON MYSPACE THAT I'M TOLERANT SO THEY DON'T RIOT. Since you are a Lowly Peon and are thusly unfamiliar with Magic Fairyland Riots, I will try to use infinitesimal descriptors in exp--OH LOOK I FAILED ALREADY. Fine, I'll hardly use any words. Have a visual representation:
See this exceptionally Pretty specimen on the left? This is Jolly Old Fairyland on a Normal Day.
(If you feel the need to cry at the following sight, well, I will build you a CATHEDRAL of tissues. I can't blame you, you see.)
The Once Pretty Tragedy on the right is what happens...when...well...oh god, I can't bring myself to talk about it anymore. *weeps copiously. with snot.*
(YES. YES, THAT IS THE SAME PERSON BOTH TIMES. I feel he is an unwilling participant in some sort of crazy liberal propaganda. IF YOU GO TO THE RIGHT, YOUR BEAUTY WILL GRADUALLY FADE UNTIL YOU FINALLY ENTER THE LAND OF NO RETURN AND CRUMPLE TO DUST, AND NONE BUT JOHN MCCAIN CAN SAVE YOU, or at least comfort you in knowing you're not actually The Most Ghastly Display of Robbed Youth Ever.)
(Also, the Once Pretty Specimen is William Beckett, in case you were wondering. Yes, Becky of The Academy Is... ahahahahaha oh my dear, I need. to suck you into BANDOM. YES BAMDOM! You don't even have to actually LISTEN to the music, BUT THERE IS TENTACLE SEX. THERE IS TOASTER SEX. THERE ARE TRAGIC HAIRCUTS. HOW CAN YOU RESIST??? Oh mwah ha ha ha ha, for I do believe this summer has just started looking up.)
PS: I THOUGHT I WAS A SHAKESPEARE FAIRY? I FEEL LIKE AN EINSTEIN'S FAIRY IS A DEMOTION. KYOKO, WHY DON'T YOU LOVE ME ANYMORE? I LEAVE YOU WITH SEXY PEACE OFFERING AND HONEST GOOD INTENTIONS:
♥ ♥ ♥
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(Yes, this comment was edited solely to Stick It To The Man. WHY YOU LIMIT MY LOVE, MAN? I WILL RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIISE ABOOOOOOVEEEEEE good god I am finally so far off my nut I've landed in Volstov. I miss Fairyland. We may not have had giant metal dragons, but dude. I repeat: FAIRIES!)
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FACT: You know all those pens that go mysteriously missing, like socks and ponytail holders? UP JON STEWART'S ASS (the socks and ponytail holder are there too, I suspect). We've solved the age old mystery of sock-heaven!
see: fact that I currently have what appears to be a swollen purply sausage attached to my foot. Which was lovingly cultivated by WALKING. Fact that mother has Lyme disease. No doubt someone is about to ACTUALLY contract Lupus at this point, which will cause the entire infrastructure of House to collapse so will both harm and/or kill a loved one AND kill a beloved television series. MY LIFE IS PAAAAAAAAAAIN!
:(
You know I'm bad at words of comfort, and/or TACT. So I only have two things to say, aside from "That sucks, my love, I hope karma prevails in the end and the shit-ass moon is blown up by space pirates".
1. My dad got lyme disease and decided to self-medicate using information he found on the internet. BECAUSE HE'S A DOOCCTORR. He didn't do it very well.
2. Don't worry, it's never lupus! You are safe! Lupus probably doesn't even exist.
MOVING ON: OH FUCK NO, I WILL NEVER EMBRACE BANDOM. OH MY GOD NO. I TRIED IT, I REALLY DID. AND THEN I RAN THE OTHER WAY.
Watch Doctor Who! It's gayer than bandom!
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HOWEVER. YOU NEED BANDOM IN YOUR LIFE. FUCK YES. DO YOU KNOW WHY, IT IS BECAUSE IT IS AWESOME AND ALSO BECAUSE I WAS ONCE TOO, LIKE YOUR ARTLESSLY NAIVE LITTLE SELF, A HATER. BUT NOW I AM ENLIGHTENED! And also I feel I need to drag you kicking and screaming into a fandom in payment for all the crack you've lovingly fed me. AND ALSO I AM THE FATHER OF YOUR CHILD/SWEATER-SNOTTER OF YOUR REHAB/SNICKET TO YOUR HELQUIST. YOU. CANNOT. IGNORE ME!
Believe you me, once I was all-too-attached to my ways of music snobbery and pretentious indie asshattery. In fact while attempting to protest bandom, I made a veritable HAT for my ass (it was cone-shaped, like a dunce hat, which was an omen of my lament for my snobbity snobbity ways, which of course I had no idea about at the time, and--what, you thought I was kidding about the asshat?). While trying to balance it, I composed endless dissertations on What That One Guitar Twang Meant in That One Joni Mitchell song, truly, I did. And then, in my sad little life, I discovered the Cobra mission statement. Which was shortly before I realized I was in love with Gabe Saporta and would alacritously agree that yes, it is totally warmer in his basement.
Oh yeah, and Gabe? Gabe Fuckin' Saporta may be a fag, but he's doing the fucking around here. (♥♥♥♥♥)
And then, you know, all them Cobras, they kind of have these ridiculously, not-liking-us-is-like-oh-I-don't-know-
shall-I-liken-it-to-KICKING-A-PUPPY-DO-I-NEED-TO-BRING-BACK-THOSE-GAWSHDURNED-DOE-EYED-DOLEFUL-
PUPPIES-NOW-HMMMM PRECIOUS, PRECIOUS FACES. Oh, and you know, that Victoria girl? She's kind of hot.
(PLS TO BE EXCUSING MY RAMPANT EDITS. REALLY REALLY FUCKING TIRED OKAY. AUUUUGH.)
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If you are still resisting, you obviously have not seen our opulence of glorious, glorious fic, have you. We have the fic that planted me indelibly into bandom, in which there are puppets and rampant homosexuality. Also crack. Have I mentioned our brand of crack yet? I am effusively fond of it.
On a more solemn note, we have the gorgeous, heart-breaking, soul-destroying apocalypse fic. Read it and weep, kid.
Then there's the awesome characterizations, and also peyote in addition to the usual liberal helpings of crack. Yay!
ARE WE NOT LITERARY ENOUGH FOR YOU, ELITIST SNOBFACE? YES WELL. WE EVEN HAVE BOOK CLUBS. TAKE THAT!
OH YEAH AND THAT VICKY-T GIRL AGAIN!
Also, the fic is great. Have I mentioned that yet?
And if all of this isn't enough to get through to your poor lost soul, well, I know your fandom has badfic, but does your fandom have badfic with CRISPY TOASTED TOASTER DICKS? I THINK NOT!
(JUST REMEMBER, KYOKO. I AM DOING THIS BECAUSE I LOVE YOU. I AIM TO MAKE YOUR LIFE A BRIGHTER PLACE, AND IT ONLY HURTS AT FIRST, POPPET. YOU GOTTA GET THE COBRA BLESSED NOW! \m/)
:DDDDDDD
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