Conversations with a madwoman

A TOAST!


- The mad fucker who knits zombie chickens and is an absolute goddess *Toasts*
- The train-building lecherous old fart with a delightfully wry sense of humour *Toasts*
- The published writer who nevertheless paddles in depraved pools with absolute glee *Toasts*
- The woman with a heart beyond compare, whom I am honoured to have known for so many years, despite The Hat she sent me *Toasts*
- The metal-screeching game-faced bastards who are utter fuckin' marshmallows and take over my couch far too little. *Toasts* *Toasts* *Toasts*
- The frankly terrifyingly brilliant astrophysicist, as unstoppable as McKay but with twice the tact *Toasts*
- The hard working motherfather who manages to outdo even my batshit propensity for self-injury and her lovely wife *Toasts*
- The bastard ren-fairing english man who is indeed the lord of fiendishness *Toasts* (AND YOU STILL OWE ME A NEW POOL CUE YOU FUCKER)
- The evil minded demongod, who truly takes the "the" out of "psychotherapist" *Toasts*
- The batshit nintendo comedienne who loves to pick on public church proselytisers *Toasts*
- And finally, my lord, my master, the only one I can be weak to, and the only one who allows me to be strong. I would give you sloppy kisses, but you're asleep atm and would probably hurl a rat at me. MWAH *Toasts*

AND ALL THE REST OF YOU MAGNIFICENT BASTARDS! QUEERS AND STEERS, THE LOT OF YOU. I SALUTE YOU!

BUT YOU STILL CANNOT HAVE MY HAT.

torasin hath departed for Cad's buck's night, and will no doubt reel home some time tomorrow smelling of beer, pot and seedy cheap strip clubs. (I bailed out on Chich's hen's night 'cos...yeah, I love her like a sister, but a night stuck in a small room with a bunch of drunk giggling girly girls I have nothing in common with? Sounds like an accurate summation of my own personal idea of hell. They're probably wearing tiaras. And they are doing karaoke)

So! I have the house to myself. I can do all those things you do when you have the house to yourself. I've already wandered around naked, whacked off twice, and done the washing. Actually I think I did most of those before torasin left. Dammit.

I have just returned from a long meander around the neighbourhood on a hot summer's eve culminating in a trip to the bottleshop. I am liquored up, and think it's time for a drunken cacklefest on Trillian (omeeos for those who have AIM). *bangs flagon on desk* WHERE'S MAH FRENCH TART?

(And yes, I know, I should be taking those meme photos but 1) batteries need charging and 2) can't take a shot of the main library in the loungeroom 'cos there's a cage full of rats enjoying the aircon in front of it)

( WHOOPSIE )

so yeah. me - drunk. Can't even calim tipsy at this point. At least (as you can see from the desk) I got my office cleaned first!!

But I did see something that made me laugh myu arse off.


( I swear to god I did not pose them like this. )

AND AMARULA


( Mister Flibble is very. Fucking. cross. )

Well I fucking suck then, don't I?

*sighs*

Woke up depressed and peevy this morning. Sometimes I just feel like giving up. Seriously. I'm tired of having to walk on eggshells, constantly worried about what I'm going to say wrong this time, or what I'm going to do wrong this time and you know? it's just not a way to live. Not a way to live at all.


I'm gonna go live in a cave under the sea. And rape dolphins

Fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck fuck

Playing the Text Based Hitchikers game. Of course I'm tobogganing down that deliciously sliuppery slope from tipsy straight into drunk, and I'm typoing.

So I get thrown in the bloody airlock before I picked up the smegging plotter!

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

I'm fucked when I get on the heart of gold.

I'm also not game to restart the game 'cos with the way I'm typing I'll get smashed along with what's left og myhouse when the bulldozer comes in through the fuckign window.

ARDSFGHDKHDFHJDFLJHDFLHJFDLJH

but the new screenshots are rather amusing.

Fiddling with Ford Prefect accomplishes nothing