(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

[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?