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Today was much better than yesterday. Roomie and I were going to see a movie but decided none was worth $19. So, we puttered around the mall, where I ate chicken teriyaki(my new gastronomic crack, by the by) and bought white chocolate from the grossly overpriced Bourbon Street Candy Company. I also bought a stuffed walrus, whom I have named Bucky in honor of one of my favorite animal macros(I has a bucket).
If that weren't enough to brighten the day, Eddie Cahill is once again blogging in support of his beloved Rangers during the run for the Stanley Cup, and his ebullient squee is contagious and uplifting. It's hard to be grumpy when you're picturing mancake like Cahill sitting on the couch with a giant foam finger, a Rangers teddy bear, and a combination ballcap and beer bong on his head. When he gets his squee on, he sounds like Charlie Eppes waxing orgasmic about String Theory. So cute.
Speaking of Numb3rs, why do I suspect![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rainbowstevie is throwing a parade after last night and the return of a certain someone?
Sheldonbun continues to grow. It never fails. I choose a bun I think will be a svelte racing bun, 3-5,000 words, quick and dirty like backstreet sex, and when I'm not looking, a villain who resembles Bowler Hat Guy from Meet the Robinsons slips him a carrot hot-dosed with enough steroids to make John Holmes' legendary dong implode with the speed of its shrinkage; from grapefruits to Raisinets at the speed of light.
When I started, Sheldonbun was lean and mean, Orlando Bloom in Blackhawk Down. Now that he's threatening to hit 10,000+ words, he looks more like Ralphie May. Why must they all go from little squirt to hyperthyroidism gone wrong? If they have to go to the dark side, why can't they morph from Orlando Bloom to Danny Bonaduce after a three-county pub crawl, absolutely trashed and reeking of things you dare not guess or name, but still manageable? Little shits.
But I love them anyway. If I didn't, I wouldn't be letting Haldir!Bun gather strength in the lettuce patch.
If that weren't enough to brighten the day, Eddie Cahill is once again blogging in support of his beloved Rangers during the run for the Stanley Cup, and his ebullient squee is contagious and uplifting. It's hard to be grumpy when you're picturing mancake like Cahill sitting on the couch with a giant foam finger, a Rangers teddy bear, and a combination ballcap and beer bong on his head. When he gets his squee on, he sounds like Charlie Eppes waxing orgasmic about String Theory. So cute.
Speaking of Numb3rs, why do I suspect
rainbowstevie is throwing a parade after last night and the return of a certain someone?Sheldonbun continues to grow. It never fails. I choose a bun I think will be a svelte racing bun, 3-5,000 words, quick and dirty like backstreet sex, and when I'm not looking, a villain who resembles Bowler Hat Guy from Meet the Robinsons slips him a carrot hot-dosed with enough steroids to make John Holmes' legendary dong implode with the speed of its shrinkage; from grapefruits to Raisinets at the speed of light.
When I started, Sheldonbun was lean and mean, Orlando Bloom in Blackhawk Down. Now that he's threatening to hit 10,000+ words, he looks more like Ralphie May. Why must they all go from little squirt to hyperthyroidism gone wrong? If they have to go to the dark side, why can't they morph from Orlando Bloom to Danny Bonaduce after a three-county pub crawl, absolutely trashed and reeking of things you dare not guess or name, but still manageable? Little shits.
But I love them anyway. If I didn't, I wouldn't be letting Haldir!Bun gather strength in the lettuce patch.
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