x_wither | Wafflehouse, you're my only friend...

Wafflehouse, you're my only friend...

I got an e-mail from Jennie, queen of tights. Sounds like she's loving her internship at the London ballet. Busy, though. I don't think she's got much time to keep everyone updated on stuff so she wanted me to say hi to everyone for her. (You'd think she'd give a social person that job.)

I've lost my wafflehouse girlfriend. This is terrible. I'm gonna have to go find another one now. I'm not sure I can go on like this.

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Sugar is pure. Pure like childhood and Christmas and pixies and shiny things.

Because I broke my leg a month ago, or it was broken for me. Why do you think I haven't been ~~beating you up~~ expressing my BOUNDLESS LOVE!

Snow is pure. Sugar is all...sticky. Like you. And your syrupy fate you like to hand out.

I was hoping you found a new victim? How'd you get it broken for you? How stationary have you been that I didn't see this at all?

You know you liked it.

And it was broken by someone who liked to break legs. I haven't exactly advertised it and have generally just been in my room. Unless I had to work or something. You have no idea how much pain sucks when drugs don't work on you.

We gotta work on these delusions of yours, Cammie. You'll never get out of your under roo's if you don't learn to see reality for what it is.

You want me to bring you anything? Drain-O or somethin'? Whatever your toxic cocktail of choice is. (That's the other reason you don't get to be my wafflehouse girlfriend, I don't think they'd serve you the dish soap or drain cleaner or whatever.)

But all screams are screams of pleasure!

I'm running low on anti-freeze and I sort of have a thing right now for borax. Bring me borax, like Lorax from kids' book only deadly and tasty. Very, very tasty.

And you know, that's why I have a flask. No one questions the flask of death.

I refute! (I'm pretty sure that's totally the wrong use of that word, but it sounds good and, um, impassioned?)

Borax and anti-freeze. I can do that. I'm still awake, there's a 24 hour grocery store. I could play "Cammie's slaveboy" for twenty minutes or whatever.

Until they think it's booze and you're obviously not 21 so they try to sniff it, think you're suicidal and call the psych hospital to try to get you to agree to the happy love yourself coat.

You can refute all you want. But that picture is too cute for me to care.

That'd be great. I'll pay you back whatever they charge you for that stuff. Because yay! Antifreeze!!

You know, funny you should say that as nothing will top that time when I was sixteen and pretty much wrought total chaos in a Wal-Mart by opening up a bottle of bleach and drinking it right in front of a couple of employees.

Ahh, memories.

I disarm you with my silly face! Mwahahahaha!

Nah, it's no problem. Don't worry about it. You can bring me non-toxic things to eat when I'm laid up or something. Which is probably more likely than not around here.

You are a terrible person, you know. They're making a special, new level of Hell so it's ready when you get there.

You are obviously some well trained overlord of evil.

Perhaps I shall! I mean, I remember what type of stuff tasted good. Way long ago in the great back then.

I am not a terrible person. I'm the best person ever, don't you think? You really should've been there. The resulting chaos was so awesome.

I am very well trained. Like a monkey. I am a Monkey Overlord of Doom. But I'm way better trained than Dori's little friend. What's his name again? Aardvark Zed?

When in doubt: Ask Laurie. She is like the Goddess Queen Mother of feeding a Kevin when he doesn't want food. (Talking about yourself in the third person is really weird. Why do people do that?)

Ask me how much you're the best person ever after the memories of the spatula and my fleeing fade.

You still don't know how to fetch very well. You need more training. I need more spatulas for that though. And don't ask me, I suck with pets. They tend to die around me.

I shall make a note of that. And Cammie is not sure and will never be sure.

Dude. Wal-Mart chaos. One-hit knock outs. Crutches of doom. Shiny green hair. Can kick Kyle's ass. I am made of awesome.

No more spatulas for you!

Maybe it was Peacock Jim?

You kicked Kyle's ass? How is that physically possible? He's like eighty times taller than you and like BAM! muscle!

I have plenty more where the first came from!

You want to know you should ask the kid. I don't keep track of these things.

Hey! I have my arm, and muscle isn't everything and I'm not that small! Right now, I can totally beat anyone with my crutches too.

You will be frisked for spatulas and they will be taken away from you!

yeah if you can get enough movement to reach them. And your arm isn't really fair in a fight. I'm pretty sure he could tear you to pieces if he didn't care.

I am a damn good shoplifter and thief. Those spatulas will never be found!

The second I start bleeding he will totally spew. My blood smells bad. And fights aren't about being fair. They're about winning.

Even with the arm, unless Cammie went all "I KILL YOU NOW", if I didn't give a damn, she'd be shredded. We're not sure how much my healing factor can take from her arm and really, I don't much wanna find out.

You're going to wound her ego. She'll get all butthurt. But on the bright side someone else might fit down the hallway when she and her ego are in it! They can't right now.

Well, she'a all gimp on crutches now, so butthurt can't be much worse.

I dunno, you should ask her boy toy whether or not she actually gets butthurt or not. She might like it a lot.

Man, I do not wanna think about them having like kinky porno sex.

It's all your thing if you're still picturing Manuel in that mental image, man. He wasn't in mine.

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I may be on crutches, but I am so not a gimp. Come within spitting distance and say these things to me.

Dude, GROSS.

You say that because you are scared of my aura of awesome. At least judging from the number of times you've run from me screaming.

Also: keep your eyes open, I think I lost my favorite pair of unmentionables in that suite in which you live with the guy who is hotter than you.

Edited 2010-01-15 05:20 (UTC)

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