The hair-dryer, the bathtub, and the day nothing went right.
Current Song: Yuji Ohno -- Silhouette.
Current Mood: Groggy.
Right, I guess I haven't updated in a while.
Fantastic Taste of Chaos concert -- the others will be hard-pressed to beat it. Not that the bands played really incredible songs, though Silhouette rocked out hard, it was just a good time.
Ridiculous party the other night at Tarah's place. No word of a lie, we had drunken twins suctioned to each other just to stay upright and keep each other's clothes on. But of course they were drunk, so both those tasks occasionally faultered.
Rounding beer thirteen, Mark would later face-plant the .safe. in Chris's living-room corner. A huge gash soon formed from his lip to his nose, with blood spilling out every time he touched it -- every three seconds. I held him down like I was force-feeding pills to a dog just to disinfect the wound and convince him to go to the GRH for stitches, which he clearly needed.
You Pussy! was all he replied. To the best of my knowledge there's a scab there now that will soon blossom into a full-blown scar. Scarface. Stupid bastard.
I made it to beer ten before Tarah lost it and needed to leave, due to the drunken destructiveness of the double-twin-force.
Looks like the flea guy is coming again in an hour, so I'll need to .garbage bag. up all my stuff this time. He said last time that he couldn't kill the larva, yet the spray bottle I'd purchased from the local grocery store boasted such a skill. With a money-back guarantee. Just who are these people?
In closing news, I got another great idea for a plotline after I attempted to record Tarah's sleep-talk nonsense and accidentally hit the play button with the recorder on full volume. Some jackass happened to be screaming into the mic at that particular moment on the tape. I think it was me.
/Marc
"What today counts as an concomitant of a phenomena will tomorrow be used to define it."
--Ludwig Wittgenstein
Current Mood: Groggy.
Right, I guess I haven't updated in a while.
Fantastic Taste of Chaos concert -- the others will be hard-pressed to beat it. Not that the bands played really incredible songs, though Silhouette rocked out hard, it was just a good time.
Ridiculous party the other night at Tarah's place. No word of a lie, we had drunken twins suctioned to each other just to stay upright and keep each other's clothes on. But of course they were drunk, so both those tasks occasionally faultered.
Rounding beer thirteen, Mark would later face-plant the .safe. in Chris's living-room corner. A huge gash soon formed from his lip to his nose, with blood spilling out every time he touched it -- every three seconds. I held him down like I was force-feeding pills to a dog just to disinfect the wound and convince him to go to the GRH for stitches, which he clearly needed.
You Pussy! was all he replied. To the best of my knowledge there's a scab there now that will soon blossom into a full-blown scar. Scarface. Stupid bastard.
I made it to beer ten before Tarah lost it and needed to leave, due to the drunken destructiveness of the double-twin-force.
Looks like the flea guy is coming again in an hour, so I'll need to .garbage bag. up all my stuff this time. He said last time that he couldn't kill the larva, yet the spray bottle I'd purchased from the local grocery store boasted such a skill. With a money-back guarantee. Just who are these people?
In closing news, I got another great idea for a plotline after I attempted to record Tarah's sleep-talk nonsense and accidentally hit the play button with the recorder on full volume. Some jackass happened to be screaming into the mic at that particular moment on the tape. I think it was me.
/Marc
"What today counts as an concomitant of a phenomena will tomorrow be used to define it."
--Ludwig Wittgenstein