My squire is sick. What a big baby.
So he's been absolutely no use to me -- hey but what's new?
Looks like Astrid posted on her own blog at Thanksgiving. Yeah, we went down to Sanctuary to see what was going on. After all, need the little one to have as many experiences as possible. It was pretty crazy. Everyone was there. Everyone. And of course matters weren't helped by the fact that so many ate like animals -- probably, because many of them there were animals.
The baby was surprisingly sociable to everyone. Gods know he didn't get that from me -- blame Astrid for that one. He used so many languages, I couldn't keep count. And then, he's also learning dialect too, as I found out. He's learning Jesse's drawl and has even developed some Simi-speak. Simi thought it was absolutely delightful and carried him around like a teddybear showing him off to everyone. I felt proud.
I was reluctant though to have Astrid bring the little one over to his biological uncle. Valerius can think whatever the hell he likes of me but I won't have him looking down his aquiline nose at my child. I watched at a distance as my little one started chatting away in Latin. It was a better attempt than I had ever managed -- and in Rome, anyone knew your status by how you spoke the language. I think Astrid's brother-in-law was impressed though he tried to hide it behind his impervious facade of superiority. I heard him respond back in Latin, but I didn't catch what they said. Astrid assured me it was nothing but good.
Signing off,
Z
Tuesday, December 5, 2006
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Sort-of-Squire
I have mentioned my sort-of Squire a few times throughout this. And after the discussion we had last night, I think it's about time I say a few words about him.
He was good enough to set up the page layout for me. I sculpt, carve, kill. I don't do html. Latin and Classical Greek and English in all its variations have been more than enough languages for me. I leave the technical language bullshit to someone else. Yeah, good for you for figuring it out, my "squire." He's a lazy ass but he's actually kind of useful.
Yeah, he's my liason between me and the rest of you. He's my PR guy, will occasionally come on here to unscreen comments and do technical bullshit.
First time I met him, I was... taken aback by the similarities. He and I are frighteningly alike. Astrid didn't believe it either. And I'm not just talking about attitude the size of Alaska. His name makes him sound like a Finnish super-hero too. It's also very useful that he's pagan. I don't have to destroy any fragile ideas he may hold about bastardised organised religion.
Okay, fellow scum of the earth, the little guy is babbling at me in Macedonian and I have to go see what he wants.
~Z
He was good enough to set up the page layout for me. I sculpt, carve, kill. I don't do html. Latin and Classical Greek and English in all its variations have been more than enough languages for me. I leave the technical language bullshit to someone else. Yeah, good for you for figuring it out, my "squire." He's a lazy ass but he's actually kind of useful.
Yeah, he's my liason between me and the rest of you. He's my PR guy, will occasionally come on here to unscreen comments and do technical bullshit.
First time I met him, I was... taken aback by the similarities. He and I are frighteningly alike. Astrid didn't believe it either. And I'm not just talking about attitude the size of Alaska. His name makes him sound like a Finnish super-hero too. It's also very useful that he's pagan. I don't have to destroy any fragile ideas he may hold about bastardised organised religion.
Okay, fellow scum of the earth, the little guy is babbling at me in Macedonian and I have to go see what he wants.
~Z
Thursday, November 2, 2006
Halloween
Halloween is an experience, let me tell you.
Granted, it's not as bad as Mardi Gras, but still....
In Alaska, living out in the middle of nowhere, in a place that only fractionally counts as being in the area of Fairbanks, there wasn't much call for trick-or-treaters. So, Halloween was something I didn't know much about. What was I supposed to do, leave the light on?
Because the baby is getting older, Astrid and I decided to take the child out.
~Note about the little one~
I don't talk much about my kid. I know a few of you have been asking, but no. I didn't have a childhood, no role models in my life, no good examples to follow, but one of the sure things I am going to do is protect my kid. Sure, maybe most of you can't get to Mt. Olympus, and if you did, probably wouldn't know what the hell to do once you got there -- but on the offchance that we're down among mortals, or you are one of the few with the access key-card to Mt. Olympus' luxury honeymoon suite all expenses paid, I'm not saying anything more about my child than the bare basics. I'll spout off all I feel like about my own dubious existence, but my kid is not a subject for this journal. Even that author-woman who has been letting out a shit-load of secrets and fabricating a few stories of her own, at my demand, changed his name. You didn't seriously think we'd call our child Bob.... did you? No, seriously, my kid doesn't get jeopardised and I won't do it here.
~Back to Halloween~
So we took the baby. He got dressed up in a little cherub outfit -- toga (Greek-style) and golden wings. Astrid didn't seem to feel Eros would mind, considering Eros gets blitzed every so often and does his own Michelangelo impression with whatever's handy to serve as a large adult diaper. I've been unfortunate enough to witness it.
Astrid was going to simply wear her typical Olympus garb, but that wasn't happening. After all, she was requiring that I ''let loose'' and dress up too (yeah, you can imagine how that request went over). She finally decided on being Sarah from Labyrinth.
~Labyrith tangent~
Anyone see that movie? Was Jim Henson on a trip when he decided to do this? I mean, I fully expected it of David Bowie.... but... Kermit? Can you see Kermit wanting any part of this? I can't. And that little frog thought he had too much trouble being green... But, I have to admit, I liked it when Astrid sat me down and turned it on and nestled herself under my arm and against my chest. She originally suggested I be Jareth, and though it is generally assumed -- and I agree -- that I am insane, it's a great relief that I don't consider myself as crazy as David Bowie.
~Labyrinth tanget done~
So, you've asking yourselves "Wait, *you* Mr. Anti-social Former-DH of Questionable Sanity dressed up?" And essentially, the answer to that is yes. Why? Not for any masochistic desire of my own, but because I have a child, and not wishing to be even an ounce of the same worthless calibre *my* father was, I will do anything -- yes, *anything* -- to make sure my child grows up with as many good experiences as possible, even if that includes said-father to crack his marble-veneer and paint himself for the holiday.
Which I did. I was The Crow.
~Tanget on the Crow~
That movie was probably based off the whole DH experience.I don't know who let it leak to movie producers, but shit, that struck a little too close to the truth for the way things happen. Sure, it's not a crow that brings us back, and we've pledged our souls to eternal service in the meantime, but the Act of Vengence stays the same. The miraculous healing abilities stay the same (unless you're like me and get screwed over on that one). And your bad-ass-o-meter fluid breaks glass, it's gone so high.
~Crow tanget over as well~
So I was the Crow. Eric Draven. And surprisingly, I didn't feel all that compromised by the face paint. After all, he is an imposing figure who, like me, sought revenge -- even if mine wasn't for quite so selfless a cause. I just wanted someone to pay. And the Crow certainly made them pay, in ways from which I could have taken a few good lessons myself. I painted my face, put on a torn black t-shirt, taped up a pair of torn leather pants, put on the thigh-length leather jacket and carried a guitar around on my shoulder all night. Only thing wrong was the hair length. I'm letting it grow out again, and it grows fast, but not that fast. The goatee disappeared for the occasion as well.
It was relatively uneventful. Many people commented on our costumes -- when they had courage enough to get within seven feet of me -- and the kid seemed to enjoy it, saying "Happy Halloween" and "Trick or Treat" in Classical Greek or Atlantean or whatever language happened to come into his head, sometimes mixing languages as well. Eventually he got it right.
Signing off to take the kid to Italy for All Soul's Day,
Z
Granted, it's not as bad as Mardi Gras, but still....
In Alaska, living out in the middle of nowhere, in a place that only fractionally counts as being in the area of Fairbanks, there wasn't much call for trick-or-treaters. So, Halloween was something I didn't know much about. What was I supposed to do, leave the light on?
Because the baby is getting older, Astrid and I decided to take the child out.
~Note about the little one~
I don't talk much about my kid. I know a few of you have been asking, but no. I didn't have a childhood, no role models in my life, no good examples to follow, but one of the sure things I am going to do is protect my kid. Sure, maybe most of you can't get to Mt. Olympus, and if you did, probably wouldn't know what the hell to do once you got there -- but on the offchance that we're down among mortals, or you are one of the few with the access key-card to Mt. Olympus' luxury honeymoon suite all expenses paid, I'm not saying anything more about my child than the bare basics. I'll spout off all I feel like about my own dubious existence, but my kid is not a subject for this journal. Even that author-woman who has been letting out a shit-load of secrets and fabricating a few stories of her own, at my demand, changed his name. You didn't seriously think we'd call our child Bob.... did you? No, seriously, my kid doesn't get jeopardised and I won't do it here.
~Back to Halloween~
So we took the baby. He got dressed up in a little cherub outfit -- toga (Greek-style) and golden wings. Astrid didn't seem to feel Eros would mind, considering Eros gets blitzed every so often and does his own Michelangelo impression with whatever's handy to serve as a large adult diaper. I've been unfortunate enough to witness it.
Astrid was going to simply wear her typical Olympus garb, but that wasn't happening. After all, she was requiring that I ''let loose'' and dress up too (yeah, you can imagine how that request went over). She finally decided on being Sarah from Labyrinth.
~Labyrith tangent~
Anyone see that movie? Was Jim Henson on a trip when he decided to do this? I mean, I fully expected it of David Bowie.... but... Kermit? Can you see Kermit wanting any part of this? I can't. And that little frog thought he had too much trouble being green... But, I have to admit, I liked it when Astrid sat me down and turned it on and nestled herself under my arm and against my chest. She originally suggested I be Jareth, and though it is generally assumed -- and I agree -- that I am insane, it's a great relief that I don't consider myself as crazy as David Bowie.
~Labyrinth tanget done~
So, you've asking yourselves "Wait, *you* Mr. Anti-social Former-DH of Questionable Sanity dressed up?" And essentially, the answer to that is yes. Why? Not for any masochistic desire of my own, but because I have a child, and not wishing to be even an ounce of the same worthless calibre *my* father was, I will do anything -- yes, *anything* -- to make sure my child grows up with as many good experiences as possible, even if that includes said-father to crack his marble-veneer and paint himself for the holiday.
Which I did. I was The Crow.
~Tanget on the Crow~
That movie was probably based off the whole DH experience.I don't know who let it leak to movie producers, but shit, that struck a little too close to the truth for the way things happen. Sure, it's not a crow that brings us back, and we've pledged our souls to eternal service in the meantime, but the Act of Vengence stays the same. The miraculous healing abilities stay the same (unless you're like me and get screwed over on that one). And your bad-ass-o-meter fluid breaks glass, it's gone so high.
~Crow tanget over as well~
So I was the Crow. Eric Draven. And surprisingly, I didn't feel all that compromised by the face paint. After all, he is an imposing figure who, like me, sought revenge -- even if mine wasn't for quite so selfless a cause. I just wanted someone to pay. And the Crow certainly made them pay, in ways from which I could have taken a few good lessons myself. I painted my face, put on a torn black t-shirt, taped up a pair of torn leather pants, put on the thigh-length leather jacket and carried a guitar around on my shoulder all night. Only thing wrong was the hair length. I'm letting it grow out again, and it grows fast, but not that fast. The goatee disappeared for the occasion as well.
It was relatively uneventful. Many people commented on our costumes -- when they had courage enough to get within seven feet of me -- and the kid seemed to enjoy it, saying "Happy Halloween" and "Trick or Treat" in Classical Greek or Atlantean or whatever language happened to come into his head, sometimes mixing languages as well. Eventually he got it right.
Signing off to take the kid to Italy for All Soul's Day,
Z
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Ruminations
I've been ruminating recently on the past. Bad habit, I know. Thankfully, I don't do it often.
Yes, there are reasons why. One specific reason why. I keep waking up sweating, out of breath, my heart's racing, and I cannot move. My body does not respond to me. I feel suffocated, claustrophobic. No surprise considering the dream that usually precedes these symptoms.
Do I go into the dream? I keep telling myself "no," that the less emotionality, the less information disclosed, the better. And I think I should if only because I do not know any of you. You can hold it against me for all I care and it will not mean a damn thing to me. With the others, it would. They'd know... and I've been sure to keep all of my past as much a mystery as possible.
So, the dream. I will abbreviate. I know where it takes place -- a civic building, somewhere below the level of the streets. I'm in a niche in the wall, pinned there, a board across so that I cannot see, or rather, so they do not have to see me. Only my legs hang out and they too are pinned. Pinned while they are beaten and burned and tortured in various ways, until they are broken, until they are so mangled that there is no hope of standing on them. I know it's been three days since I've been put there, starved, naked, bleeding from previous means of persuasion. The dried blood makes me stick to the wall. My hair is matted, filthy, afixed to my face from the dried blood. Sometimes it alters; sometimes I am standing with my hand forced in fire, looking at the niche which I know is my next destination. But whatever it is, I know what comes only gets worse...
I hear their voices, shouting at me, demanding I condemn myself. I hear them... all the time.
I abhor thinking about my past, talking about it, pulling it apart like some object to be dissected and studied for the purpose of understanding. No. No, it should just be taken and accepted and tossed away. I do not want it. I do not care if I understand my past or not. Whatever else it is, it's gone. And there is nothing I can do. Yet, try as I might to move on and discard it (yes, unlike so many others, I do not cling), from Rome to the colonies, to Dark Europe, from Taberleigh to Alaska and from Alaska to New Orleans and back to Alaska, it has haunted me. I try for a new start. With Astrid, I hoped for a new start. And each time, I am disappointed again by the memories that masquerade as nightmares.
I think I am worrying Astrid. I get up so often, leave for good, end up pacing the halls all the rest of the night. She has not said anything to me yet. She knows what goes on in my head. If I was her, I am not sure I would want to know what the problem is. I'm sure she'll ask me soon. I don't know what I'll say to her.
Look, I don't want any shit for this entry. Got it?
Yeah, I'm sure you senseless creatins out there would like to point a finger at this and call it an "oh woe is me" moment, but this is my journal and you are just the fortunate spectators who have no right to say anything. So, feel free to grab the popcorn, sit back, read, appreciate and then appropriately comment, slink away, or die.
Yes, there are reasons why. One specific reason why. I keep waking up sweating, out of breath, my heart's racing, and I cannot move. My body does not respond to me. I feel suffocated, claustrophobic. No surprise considering the dream that usually precedes these symptoms.
Do I go into the dream? I keep telling myself "no," that the less emotionality, the less information disclosed, the better. And I think I should if only because I do not know any of you. You can hold it against me for all I care and it will not mean a damn thing to me. With the others, it would. They'd know... and I've been sure to keep all of my past as much a mystery as possible.
So, the dream. I will abbreviate. I know where it takes place -- a civic building, somewhere below the level of the streets. I'm in a niche in the wall, pinned there, a board across so that I cannot see, or rather, so they do not have to see me. Only my legs hang out and they too are pinned. Pinned while they are beaten and burned and tortured in various ways, until they are broken, until they are so mangled that there is no hope of standing on them. I know it's been three days since I've been put there, starved, naked, bleeding from previous means of persuasion. The dried blood makes me stick to the wall. My hair is matted, filthy, afixed to my face from the dried blood. Sometimes it alters; sometimes I am standing with my hand forced in fire, looking at the niche which I know is my next destination. But whatever it is, I know what comes only gets worse...
I hear their voices, shouting at me, demanding I condemn myself. I hear them... all the time.
I abhor thinking about my past, talking about it, pulling it apart like some object to be dissected and studied for the purpose of understanding. No. No, it should just be taken and accepted and tossed away. I do not want it. I do not care if I understand my past or not. Whatever else it is, it's gone. And there is nothing I can do. Yet, try as I might to move on and discard it (yes, unlike so many others, I do not cling), from Rome to the colonies, to Dark Europe, from Taberleigh to Alaska and from Alaska to New Orleans and back to Alaska, it has haunted me. I try for a new start. With Astrid, I hoped for a new start. And each time, I am disappointed again by the memories that masquerade as nightmares.
I think I am worrying Astrid. I get up so often, leave for good, end up pacing the halls all the rest of the night. She has not said anything to me yet. She knows what goes on in my head. If I was her, I am not sure I would want to know what the problem is. I'm sure she'll ask me soon. I don't know what I'll say to her.
Look, I don't want any shit for this entry. Got it?
Yeah, I'm sure you senseless creatins out there would like to point a finger at this and call it an "oh woe is me" moment, but this is my journal and you are just the fortunate spectators who have no right to say anything. So, feel free to grab the popcorn, sit back, read, appreciate and then appropriately comment, slink away, or die.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Still Too Lazy to Think of a Title
I was told that I had to write an entry soon -- and no, I'm not one to take orders (anymore) but, I had to agree, the last thread was getting pretty ridiculous with the friggin comments being bunched up and no longer easily read. I'm going to have to write an email to the LJ team and rip them a new asshole about it. You'd think someone would be bright enough to figure out that no one wants to be bothered looking at comments like that. Stupid bastards.
Well, I finally came back home. Finally. Crawled into bed with Astrid tonight and then woke up -- which is why I'm on here -- due to a (bad ~Surprise!~) dream. I wish the skoti came a little more. Yeah, they screw shit up, but at least I feel a little less burdened when I wake up. They can steal fury whenever they goddamn please. Calling all skoti: buffet of emotion -- take as much as you can and leave before you go as crazy as I am.
While I was gone: I cut my hair -- Astrid's going to be pissed. And I grew my goatee back --- doubly pissed? Who knows. All I can say is that I needed a change again. You know, living forever, things sort of get monotonous. And my face felt naked.
Also: Ash still hasn't acknowledged that I exist. His Supremely Exalted Majesty needs to get his nose out of the air and get his ass in gear. No, it wouldn't be the friggin end of the world if he takes his sweet ass time about it, which he's been taking, but gods, I'm not in exile anymore. So just get over your goddamn pride, and suck it up, Ash. Look, it's better than Savitar comandeering your LJ. See? I followed the rules for once, and I'm still being ignored. Lots of encouragement there to continue on in the same fashion, eh, Fearless Leader?
Really, it's time to sleep. Just looking at what I wrote, gods, I get soft when I'm tired. I'm surprised I didn't say Valerius was a tolerable son of a bitch -- because, for the record, he isn't. He's a whimpering simpering little shit if ever I saw one, "Oh my immortal life is a mess, whaaaaa whaaaaaa. I killed people. I'm a terrible terrible person." You know what, General? Get the fuck over it. We all killed people. We kill Daimons every night. And I'm damned proud about slaughtering my worthless sperm-donour. Hear that? I'm GLAD. And if I had to do it all over again? I'd have cut off his hands and feet and tongue and let him live. And you know what else? Pick up the pieces, and throw them away. I don't give a crap for your imaginary suffering. You succeeded in your pathetic lifetime, and then you were torn off your pedestal. Ooo, I have so much sympathy. Maybe if you had bothered looking a goddamn inch further than your ugly Roman nose, you would realise that life isn't all rainbows and unicorns, you git. Get your head out of your ass and behave like a functioning member of society. I'm sick and tired of your complaining. Take it like a man. Oops, my mistake. You'd need balls to be a man.
My warmest regards to all
~Z
Well, I finally came back home. Finally. Crawled into bed with Astrid tonight and then woke up -- which is why I'm on here -- due to a (bad ~Surprise!~) dream. I wish the skoti came a little more. Yeah, they screw shit up, but at least I feel a little less burdened when I wake up. They can steal fury whenever they goddamn please. Calling all skoti: buffet of emotion -- take as much as you can and leave before you go as crazy as I am.
While I was gone: I cut my hair -- Astrid's going to be pissed. And I grew my goatee back --- doubly pissed? Who knows. All I can say is that I needed a change again. You know, living forever, things sort of get monotonous. And my face felt naked.
Also: Ash still hasn't acknowledged that I exist. His Supremely Exalted Majesty needs to get his nose out of the air and get his ass in gear. No, it wouldn't be the friggin end of the world if he takes his sweet ass time about it, which he's been taking, but gods, I'm not in exile anymore. So just get over your goddamn pride, and suck it up, Ash. Look, it's better than Savitar comandeering your LJ. See? I followed the rules for once, and I'm still being ignored. Lots of encouragement there to continue on in the same fashion, eh, Fearless Leader?
Really, it's time to sleep. Just looking at what I wrote, gods, I get soft when I'm tired. I'm surprised I didn't say Valerius was a tolerable son of a bitch -- because, for the record, he isn't. He's a whimpering simpering little shit if ever I saw one, "Oh my immortal life is a mess, whaaaaa whaaaaaa. I killed people. I'm a terrible terrible person." You know what, General? Get the fuck over it. We all killed people. We kill Daimons every night. And I'm damned proud about slaughtering my worthless sperm-donour. Hear that? I'm GLAD. And if I had to do it all over again? I'd have cut off his hands and feet and tongue and let him live. And you know what else? Pick up the pieces, and throw them away. I don't give a crap for your imaginary suffering. You succeeded in your pathetic lifetime, and then you were torn off your pedestal. Ooo, I have so much sympathy. Maybe if you had bothered looking a goddamn inch further than your ugly Roman nose, you would realise that life isn't all rainbows and unicorns, you git. Get your head out of your ass and behave like a functioning member of society. I'm sick and tired of your complaining. Take it like a man. Oops, my mistake. You'd need balls to be a man.
My warmest regards to all
~Z
Monday, September 4, 2006
Can't Say
So, I can't talk about it, not yet. You'd think that once I found out I was a faux-dark-hunter -- you know, not the real-deal, more than, exempt from, etc etc etc -- I'd be relieved of my obligations to Ash or his dominating huntress. But no, of course not. It's worse than being tied to a post. At least you know what's coming, even if it is a lash from a whip. So, I have officially been separated from Astrid for.... forever. It feels like it. And there's no middle-of-the-night comfort for me. I can't breathe her in. I can't hold her to me. I can't tell myself that everything isn't just a dream. It feels like I've never left the dark-hunter life. Bora Bora was a dream. Astrid in Alaska was a dream. Dark-hunter business never stopped, only suddenly I wasn't alone in frozen wasteland anymore. But I feel alone, now more than ever. Because then, then I had no one, and I knew I had no one, and I didn't think about it. I just survived. But now, I know what it's like to have someone there for me -- a strange frightening relationship that still baffles me -- and being without it makes me feel.... empty, incomplete, worse than having no one. Gods, you , Hephaestus, God of Cripples, help me, heal me. I am so broken.
Saturday, August 19, 2006
Too Lazy to Think of a Title
Tried to go to sleep and couldn't. Those goddamn dreams just won't go away. Even when I'm awake, I keep seeing them again -- over and over in my head. You'd think after thousands of years with them, I'd have learned how to push them away. No such luck. Weird thing is, I still sometimes dream of Taberleigh, the destruction, the faces, the cries -- and I feel guilty. I feel guilty even when, now I know, it was not my fault. Pain just doesn't go away, does it? Or maybe it just doesn't go away with me. Always an option. I've never been the general rule to anything. Why start now?
I was relieved to see Astrid next to me when I started from my sleep. One, because she's comforting -- in her "Mr. Big-Bad-Wolf ain't so bad" way. Two, because, honestly? Honestly it couldn't mean I was anywhere near where the dream was taking place. I love Astrid. I love her more since she's good solid proof that I am far removed from the things I dream about. Talk about marriage of convenience -- as if it could have been any more inconvenient.
Everyone is still thoroughly pissed off from it. The longer the better.
Don't let the Daimons bite...
I was relieved to see Astrid next to me when I started from my sleep. One, because she's comforting -- in her "Mr. Big-Bad-Wolf ain't so bad" way. Two, because, honestly? Honestly it couldn't mean I was anywhere near where the dream was taking place. I love Astrid. I love her more since she's good solid proof that I am far removed from the things I dream about. Talk about marriage of convenience -- as if it could have been any more inconvenient.
Everyone is still thoroughly pissed off from it. The longer the better.
Don't let the Daimons bite...
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Better Than Alaska
I didn't think I'd get internet service on Olympus, but what do I know when I've spent the past 900 years freezing my goddamn ass off in no-man's-land? Modern miracles. Astrid doesn't have much use for these things. Last time I hooked it up, she watched me over my shoulder and said she'd sooner use the microwave -- fewer buttons. But hell, I love this thing. I lived alone up there so long, anything to while away a few minutes was a god(dess)-send. Astrid has her family -- her dear, fearsome sisters. I have my laptop.
I didn't hear from Jess while at Bora, Bora. Hell, I don't even know where the blasted place is. But I got an email from him letting me know he got back to Reno -- stupid pilot was an asshole -- with an attitude that I would be proud of.
Had a marvellous time trying to set this damned thing up. Registering is easy. It's the formatting that bites -- yeah, and I can't bite back, no fangs. Figured I'd post and see if I should just delete the whole shi-bang. Maybe I'll keep it, until those stupid Squires start with me for something.
Arsenic and vomit to all,
Prince Charming
I didn't hear from Jess while at Bora, Bora. Hell, I don't even know where the blasted place is. But I got an email from him letting me know he got back to Reno -- stupid pilot was an asshole -- with an attitude that I would be proud of.
Had a marvellous time trying to set this damned thing up. Registering is easy. It's the formatting that bites -- yeah, and I can't bite back, no fangs. Figured I'd post and see if I should just delete the whole shi-bang. Maybe I'll keep it, until those stupid Squires start with me for something.
Arsenic and vomit to all,
Prince Charming
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)