Hope you had a bitchy reaper, Bryan Hyland.
Screw the world.
Actually no, I take that back. I like the world and sometimes I even like the people in it.
Screw the clothes box. Even after all this time it still treats me horribly, and I swear it's working in collusion with the jukebox or something. There's no other explanation for why it started blasting Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini an hour before I rummaged through the box and pulled out its namesake.
Hello, God? It's me, George. Why so cruel? What did I ever do to deserve this?
But whatever. There I was, sitting on the beach in the damn thing and shaking a tube of sunscreen like it was a stubborn bottle of Heinz. Don't think I didn't spend another twenty minutes trying to coax and flatter and verbally and physically abuse the box into giving me a black one-piece, because I did. But it was just no use and I felt like going to the beach, dammit. I wasn't going to be defeated by a piece of fucking cardboard.
And yeah, so I probably looked like a retarded beach bunny, what of it? Don't worry, I had absolutely no plans to ask the next half-decent looking guy I saw if he would be a sweetheart and get my back.
[OOC: Timed to the afternoon. Late tags and slowtimes welcome. Come say hi to my embarrassed little reaper!]
Actually no, I take that back. I like the world and sometimes I even like the people in it.
Screw the clothes box. Even after all this time it still treats me horribly, and I swear it's working in collusion with the jukebox or something. There's no other explanation for why it started blasting Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini an hour before I rummaged through the box and pulled out its namesake.
Hello, God? It's me, George. Why so cruel? What did I ever do to deserve this?
But whatever. There I was, sitting on the beach in the damn thing and shaking a tube of sunscreen like it was a stubborn bottle of Heinz. Don't think I didn't spend another twenty minutes trying to coax and flatter and verbally and physically abuse the box into giving me a black one-piece, because I did. But it was just no use and I felt like going to the beach, dammit. I wasn't going to be defeated by a piece of fucking cardboard.
And yeah, so I probably looked like a retarded beach bunny, what of it? Don't worry, I had absolutely no plans to ask the next half-decent looking guy I saw if he would be a sweetheart and get my back.
[OOC: Timed to the afternoon. Late tags and slowtimes welcome. Come say hi to my embarrassed little reaper!]