(from
fierceflawless)
The last sentence of the first entry of each month. Right.
January: You know the rest.
February: Like Jenn Sullivan.
March: I wonder if there's some flexibility on the at-home gig?
April: This kind of memetic transfer makes me want to just burn my TV and only read things written in cuneiform.
May: I might be able to start sitting out on my back porch.
June: Is this what the kids are listening to these days?
July: We were talking about the humans in a scornful and dismissive way, but I didn't get a look at myself, so I don't know if I was me, or some kind of lionish version of me.
August: More to come from over there, the land of haggis and rolled r's...
September: Lufthansa makes great food, and they have big chairs, but their taste in movies stinks.
October: "So, I've given it some thought, and I've decided. We just have to keep fucking."
November: Strange, how that can just happen.
December: If anything, it's kind of suppressed the urge, 'cos now I'm getting good cat time without cat ownership.