« on: February 26, 2015, 02:30:07 am »
If you don't put that down within ten seconds, Mrs McCrosby here will have some very harsh words for your mortal remains. I'm sure she'd love to explain the error of your ways to you right now, but only corpses can seem to sit still through the lecture.
It's hard to express just how wrong it felt to be in that room when it happened. The closest analogy I have is the feeling of a toenail peeling back. It goes past pain and ends up in a place where it feels like the universe has made a mistake that you are powerless to fix.
Entering the Year of the Ram. Or goat, or sheep, or whatever. Some kind of ungulate with more skull than brain and a funny voice.
Well ain't that just a gosh-dang! What a hum-dinger hootenanny! It's a fucking mess and it's your fault, is what I'm getting at.
How dare you? How god damn dare you? Now we'll never be cool enough for the Frotteur's Club.