Are you fucking serious.
In response to
dial_a_psychic's post about a lovely custom shirt delivered to Sawyer.
--
The box was waiting on Sawyer's doorstep. It had the familiar markings and stamps indicating that it had been forwarded from the damn fanmail address Oceanic had set up for all of them. The officials there went through all the crap sent to the Six, disposing of the illegal shit, like underage naked shots and drugs, and the annoying crap, like people trying to weasel the "truth" out of the "conspirators."
This box, though, had clearly made it past the checks and so it was assumed safe for James ta open it and so he did, although not with a little trepidation. The idiots at Oceanic had still forwarded lots of annoying crap to James, like a bobblehead shaped like yours truly, more'n a dozen bouquets of rotting and disgusting flowers, and worse.
This, though? This might take the damned DHARMA cake.
James stared down at the bright material folded in the cardboard box. Fuck. He knew what this was, even if he really didn't want to.
Pulling the shirt out, James sighed as he saw the big Wikipedia logo, with the words "Wiki-Man" proudly emblazoned on under it. Stupid fuckin' "psychic."
As if summoned by the curse, James then noticed the attached note, which admonished James's lack of belief in "psychicness" with a snarky tone, and ended with "*h's + k's*," which James could only assume meant hugs and kisses.
Son of a bitch.
dial_a_psychic's post about a lovely custom shirt delivered to Sawyer.
--
The box was waiting on Sawyer's doorstep. It had the familiar markings and stamps indicating that it had been forwarded from the damn fanmail address Oceanic had set up for all of them. The officials there went through all the crap sent to the Six, disposing of the illegal shit, like underage naked shots and drugs, and the annoying crap, like people trying to weasel the "truth" out of the "conspirators."
This box, though, had clearly made it past the checks and so it was assumed safe for James ta open it and so he did, although not with a little trepidation. The idiots at Oceanic had still forwarded lots of annoying crap to James, like a bobblehead shaped like yours truly, more'n a dozen bouquets of rotting and disgusting flowers, and worse.
This, though? This might take the damned DHARMA cake.
James stared down at the bright material folded in the cardboard box. Fuck. He knew what this was, even if he really didn't want to.
Pulling the shirt out, James sighed as he saw the big Wikipedia logo, with the words "Wiki-Man" proudly emblazoned on under it. Stupid fuckin' "psychic."
As if summoned by the curse, James then noticed the attached note, which admonished James's lack of belief in "psychicness" with a snarky tone, and ended with "*h's + k's*," which James could only assume meant hugs and kisses.
Son of a bitch.