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27 February 2005 @ 11:52 pm
John Galt lives.  
1. By John Galt, I mean me, because yeah, I pretty much am that pretentious on a Sunday night as I lie in my beautiful room using my beautiful computer as it runs beautifully. I am alive. I live, I breathe, I parambulate.

2. I have seen all of Deadwood. I basically adore it. pearl_o, sweetie, all the canon het pairings that are interesting and fabulous that you could possibly want are in this show. Also, as my mouth is as filthy as the floor of the bathroom in Grand Central at 3:30 in the morning on a Saturday, I appreciate the fact that every other line of dialogue includes the phrase 'fucking cocksuckers'. At any rate. *loves Deadwood*

3. Laundry really shouldn't be as daunting a task as it is right now, should it?

4. I owe emails and comments and suchwhats. I will get to those sometime in the next couple of days -- *grins* as I'm notoriously bad with that kind of thing, I thought it'd be best for me to say No! No! I have not forgotten to write back! I've just been offline!

ETA: Okay, El Jay is being a fucking cocksucker now, because somehow weirdly it's doing a thing where it's mixing up the comments for my entries, and putting comments from an entry a week ago on this entry, and suchwhat. It's way fucked up, and I've got to tell you, it's messing with my worldview.
 
 
Current Mood: confusedconfused
Current Music: Because the Nights-10,000 Maniacs
 
 
 
Dolimirdolimir_k on February 18th, 2005 11:16 am (UTC)
We met in the Phillippeans while on assignment, working for different governments. We hit it off right away, mostly because of our devil-may-care attitude. We used to meet at a seedy little bar called Joe's, where a Vietnam Vet used to serve so-so whiskey, but boy could he play the blues. We griped quite a bit about our bosses and how our organizations were run. I was impressed by your intelligence. And while you never said, I'm pretty sure you have a photographic memory.

One day we found ourselves on opposite sides. I was hoping that we wouldn't run across each other, but we aren't both the best for nothing.

Damn.

Hold on a second.

*snick*

Hi. Your name is Nifra. Let me tell you about yourself...
when she smiles it's like a revelation: Shiny!fox1013 on February 18th, 2005 02:42 pm (UTC)
We met, as one does, in the dark prison cellar owned by a cadre of vampires with a deep and abiding love of vengeance. It was a wonderful meeting; we were the only two collecting money off the already-dead bodies just in case, which I think started a powerful bond. We talked all about our lives, our goals, your tragic accidents when you were young that left you with the body parts of various animals. In days I could honestly say you were my closest friend.

Of course, within a week you had become Darla's favorite, and were never in the cellar anymore. And within another week you had... changed. It was unsettling.

But you keep smuggling me food, even as the others down here are wasting away. And you got me this computer with internet access.

You're my favorite vampire with one boar's leg EVER.
O is forozymannedias on February 18th, 2005 06:47 pm (UTC)
You are Nifra, creator of NifraSues (but you are not, unfortunately for you, the king of kings). Your eyes have been described as having radials. You feel an overwhelming urge to cut your hair while grieving. You have a penchant for Green Tank Tops and monkey-faced, earnest football players. You are not sure why you put up with me, my guff, my lip, and my sass. The Giganto Citrus is after your ass. You are a reptile, just like your mother. Your hobbies include mansex and english history. Also, redux: you are an asshole. Is the thing. In it's way. Is your feeling.

We met when our brains called out to each other, seeking their other half (or quarter, as the case may be). We spent hours of our precious youth that can never be reclaimed watching Enobarbus talk about how the poop was beaten gold, wondering if there was anything we wouldn't rather be doing. We caused arguements over flecks and aforementioned radials. We made salsa. We did our paper right after we finished our cheesy sticks. We theorized on the sexual preference of your cat. It was good.
shayheyred: HotMonkeyshayheyred on February 19th, 2005 04:38 am (UTC)
When Jonathan Leakey rescued you from the orange-nosed baboons of Zanzibar, who had stolen you as a baby from your pram, none of us thought you'd ever be able to speak a human language. Hell, we wondered how to get you back down from the trees. Luckily I was versed in monkey language, and after several years of intensive work, you said your first word.
Porn
Later, you learned to say Porn, please.
We took you on the road, showing you in an iron-barred box, because you had an unnerving propensity for biting. Eventually you learned to simulate human behavior, though you still sleep with a banana.
We have great hopes that someday you may finally play the piano. And maybe even stop picking things from Lyra's hair.