(no subject)
All potion tests are canceled until such a time as I am no longer intoxicated further notice or the Barge explodes - whichever comes first.
Also, before any questions arise at the gossip trough that is the breakfast table because we aboard the good ship Misery have a baffling need to both state and question the blindingly obvious: yes, my hair has been cut. It's gone.
I look like Hans Gruber, thus cementing the resemblance.
Or Hix. Good God, I look like Hix. I need to shave.
No, I know neither where it went nor when it will be back.
[Private to Paddy]
At least one thing can be said for this mess: you're either a walking stereotype or I am very good at guessing things.
[Private to Morgan]
I'm very, really-
Very sorry.
[Private to Max]
You have no right to complain that you are forced to do as you do every three months. From a biological and logical (that was almost witty) standpoint, at least you know it's coming. You've got some bloody warning.
Now, as for the rest of us, Admiral Bernard Black takes delight in surprising us with it. Take for instance a harmless drink in a harmless port and a harmless conversation. Ten minutes later, you and I are doing something I would never have considered if you were the last bloody woman on earth.
That, Miss Guevara, is blindsiding, and it's a wretched thing. It causes discomfort. Having forewarning can lead to prevention. The avoidance of certain mixed drinks. A pre-biological clock round of intercourse.
My point, Miss Guevara, is that I -
My point is that I am out of Firewhiskey and you should shag someone to relieve your ailment. Not me. But someone. And never, ever complain.
[Private to Hix]
Dr. Ridcully! How pleasant to write to you, Sir! I left a bottle of something strong-smelling and alcoholic in your room and would like to have it back at your earliest convenience within the next five minutes.
Advance thanks are in order. You're a charlatan and a scholar.
[Private to Neville]
You are not my son, just so we're clear.
Furthermore, I may have said some things about your mother and you which require an apology which I am in neither the position or temper to give at this current time. One will be forthcoming at a later date.
[Private to Martha]
I'm
Don't
I can't
[Private to the Admiral]
Bernard, this is unacceptable. Perhaps you believe I am somehow indebted to you for safeguarding me in your book fort, but I think that professionalism somehow demands you draw a line. You see, I'm not as accepting of one night stands - drunken or otherwise - as you seem to believe I am.
Particularly not with Martha Jones. The other two I could ignore, and are in a position to ignore me.
If this is some sort of message which you are trying to convey about my living habits, then please rest assured that I have received and understood it far too well for it ever to bear repeating. Please, for Merlin's sake, do not repeat this message.
In short, Bernard, go back to your wine and leave me alone.
[OOC: ...Yes, you have all been drunk-dialed by Severus Snape. :\ ]
Also, before any questions arise at the gossip trough that is the breakfast table because we aboard the good ship Misery have a baffling need to both state and question the blindingly obvious: yes, my hair has been cut. It's gone.
I look like Hans Gruber, thus cementing the resemblance.
Or Hix. Good God, I look like Hix. I need to shave.
No, I know neither where it went nor when it will be back.
[Private to Paddy]
At least one thing can be said for this mess: you're either a walking stereotype or I am very good at guessing things.
[Private to Morgan]
I'm very, really-
Very sorry.
[Private to Max]
You have no right to complain that you are forced to do as you do every three months. From a biological and logical (that was almost witty) standpoint, at least you know it's coming. You've got some bloody warning.
Now, as for the rest of us, Admiral Bernard Black takes delight in surprising us with it. Take for instance a harmless drink in a harmless port and a harmless conversation. Ten minutes later, you and I are doing something I would never have considered if you were the last bloody woman on earth.
That, Miss Guevara, is blindsiding, and it's a wretched thing. It causes discomfort. Having forewarning can lead to prevention. The avoidance of certain mixed drinks. A pre-biological clock round of intercourse.
My point, Miss Guevara, is that I -
My point is that I am out of Firewhiskey and you should shag someone to relieve your ailment. Not me. But someone. And never, ever complain.
[Private to Hix]
Dr. Ridcully! How pleasant to write to you, Sir! I left a bottle of something strong-smelling and alcoholic in your room and would like to have it back at your earliest convenience within the next five minutes.
Advance thanks are in order. You're a charlatan and a scholar.
[Private to Neville]
You are not my son, just so we're clear.
Furthermore, I may have said some things about your mother and you which require an apology which I am in neither the position or temper to give at this current time. One will be forthcoming at a later date.
[Private to Martha]
I'm
Don't
I can't
[Private to the Admiral]
Bernard, this is unacceptable. Perhaps you believe I am somehow indebted to you for safeguarding me in your book fort, but I think that professionalism somehow demands you draw a line. You see, I'm not as accepting of one night stands - drunken or otherwise - as you seem to believe I am.
Particularly not with Martha Jones. The other two I could ignore, and are in a position to ignore me.
If this is some sort of message which you are trying to convey about my living habits, then please rest assured that I have received and understood it far too well for it ever to bear repeating. Please, for Merlin's sake, do not repeat this message.
In short, Bernard, go back to your wine and leave me alone.
[OOC: ...Yes, you have all been drunk-dialed by Severus Snape. :\ ]