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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
 
 
 
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.