025: In Which Fifty is *Not* the New Thirty [voice, backdated to this morning]
[The recording clicks on presumably by accident. This hypothesis is supported by the fact that Eris' voice is nowhere near any phone or microphone of any kind and is instead trailing around her apartment room in a cacophony of profanity, threats apparently aimed at Cronus, and the sound of various household objects apparently being thrown into walls or kicked over. This all comes to a halt, though, as she heads to the mic itself, finally noticing that it's... well. Actually on. Whoops.]
... oh, son of a...
[She clears her throat and finally makes use of the voice post intentionally, though she sounds hoarse from the temper tantrum previous outburst.]
So, in honor of this whole The Beatles Hero Worship thing my fellow members of the press have gotten into over the last week, I've opted to give primal scream therapy a shot. It's pretty liberating up until, well, the screaming stops and the sore throat begins. So, yes. This! Hilarious. Because I made fun of my son's mortal age, I get it, very clever. I'd say don't quit your day job, Cronus, but this is kind of your day job, isn't it? Bra-fucking-vo, you --
[... brb coughing.]
Anyway. It could be worse. And speaking of, Sissy, read about your back problems, I could pretty much hear the tiny violins. Heartbreaking! That's all.
... oh, right. Hygeia, dear, clean-up on aisle six. Like hell am I cleaning this mess up.
[Click.]
... oh, son of a...
[She clears her throat and finally makes use of the voice post intentionally, though she sounds hoarse from the temper tantrum previous outburst.]
So, in honor of this whole The Beatles Hero Worship thing my fellow members of the press have gotten into over the last week, I've opted to give primal scream therapy a shot. It's pretty liberating up until, well, the screaming stops and the sore throat begins. So, yes. This! Hilarious. Because I made fun of my son's mortal age, I get it, very clever. I'd say don't quit your day job, Cronus, but this is kind of your day job, isn't it? Bra-fucking-vo, you --
[... brb coughing.]
Anyway. It could be worse. And speaking of, Sissy, read about your back problems, I could pretty much hear the tiny violins. Heartbreaking! That's all.
... oh, right. Hygeia, dear, clean-up on aisle six. Like hell am I cleaning this mess up.
[Click.]