[Have a shoe, Barge. A left Jimmy Choo stiletto to be precise. A very expensive strappy stiletto which has it's heel hanging off like she'd snapped it some how. The show is dropped onto a pile of several other expensive pairs of shoes, and then there is Parker's ice cold eye.You owe me thirty-seven fucking pairs of shoes, Admiral. Good ones, the ( Read more... )

[Parker is a slow loris, and she's trying to avoid being seen as she heads down the hallway to the kitchens in order to find some fruit. Of course, she's hard to miss as Parker, because this adorable little climby creature is swearing like a sailor ( Read more... )

Well now that all of that bullshit is done...

[Added after, with Kota approval.]

Who can fucking cook a turkey?

[Private to the Admiral]
Alright, asshole, the last week sucked, but give us turkey's for Thanksgiving. Turkeys and all the things that goes with them. We need a good fucking meal.

[Private to Paddy.]
How much do you know about

[Barge Filter]
Only the fucking Master could fucking find a place and make it fucking worse than the barge. You almost need to fucking respect him fucking for it.

Has anyone fucking seen McCoy? I think I need a fucking Doctor.

PrivateIt's fucking awkward that by the fucking Barge's clock, my mother has now been fucking dead longer than I've been ( Read more... )

Well thank fucking god that's over. At least I can leave my room without having to worry about friends people I know punching me in the fucking face.

Denise, I need more fucking smokes.

I don't give a flying fuck about whoever the fuck it is that has everyone in a fucking uproar. It's just one more twisted fuck in an already fucked assortment.

BUT TO FUCKING CLOSE THE FUCKING PUB IS FUCKING GOD DAMN BULLSHIT.

Dear Admiral,

FUCK YOU.

Edited Private to the Manly men gang.

Poker?