I can't get enough of the attention! More! More! More!
As soon as these leprechauns finish beating the gnomes into submission, I'll re-task them to gathering up all my spare, excess, lying on the ground, boring my teats off attention into an approved container and then shove it at the most deserving candidate for the next deserving staffing soiree.
I would do it myself but I ditched my car in the ding-dong ditch and the road is blocked and its raining and... look, I have to do everything around here, starting with needle
jokes drugs. So I'm going to look there first.
In the meantime, I see here on my daily shooting schedule sheet hotlist that I hotswapped from your logistics g-y when he dropped off your latest load of HotPockets (yeah, not your home dimension, how did you guess? you thought you had destroyed any access to any accessible synthcognational line? Well. That seems like a remarkably specific pre-caution to take in a cirucmstance like this, but, it'll fit in pacificst_shotgun_namstile) that you're allergic to HotPockets. Isn't that weird? Delivering + Warning them at the exact same time in real time?
Let's face it: Kuczi's hot. Give him three (3) wives, pronto. Kid's having too much fun every day, dying every night. What are we gonna do, fuckin'
boo! him to death?
Go read Rubini's blog. He's having a meltdown. Brought on by little old me, of course!
He has a blog? Who writes it for him,
me? (Ed.: You really are hopeless, aren't you?)
May 5: The Day of Practical Awakening
May 6: The Day of Materialized Fantasy
May 7: The Day of Devotion
Who loves my Baby(s)? That's gotta be alright with Me. (bitches: sweep the legs.) *crack*
