(no subject)

[phosfate]

Arrrr...it snows, we're having a swell time sculpting a replica of Balin's Tomb, and then Mr There's-A-Bee-On-My-Snout-Get-It-Off-Get-It-Off suddenly makes a break for the Slow-Moving House, and goes into hibernation in the attic. Moron.

This is no fun. Bored. Lonesome.

I guess I'll go back to the Whorehouse and make me a latte.

Comments

[horseofrohan.livejournal.com]

*sniffle*

I'd rather live with you, while I'm in this delicate condition. Beorn's a great roomie, but he's hibernating and he lacks your special skills, Ann.

[annlarimer.livejournal.com]

Well, there's kind of this problem on regular-Earth where a flying horse would get shot at.

I can give you a button-pager thingie ergonomically designed for horses (from Ro-Tek!) and you can summon me instantly if you need anyone beaten with a shovel. Would that make you feel secure?

[horseofrohan.livejournal.com]

Oh yes please!

And will you come and coach me at the birth?

[annlarimer.livejournal.com]

Um...don't you want...forgive me if I'm indelicate here, but...someone who knows their way around the inside of a horse?