(no subject)

[apocalypsos]

Dominic Monaghan is staring at me from the wall above my computer.

Huh. He's very serious and smoldering in this picture. I can't tell if he's thinking, "Write, damn you, or suffer under my blistering, accusatory glare!" or "Man, could I go for a bran muffin. And possibly a Tums."

Then again, if he's thinking like my character, I may have to duck flying battle axes. I can't decide what bugs me more -- the flying battle axe option, the indigestion option, or the crushing guilt option.

Come to think of it, somewhere between being raised Catholic and by my mother, I'm used to the crushing guilt and the flying battle axes.

You thought I was going to say I was going to say my mother gave me indigestion, didn't you?

Actually, she gave me guilt. And we had a really weird priest at our church. He used to juggle in the circus. Not to mention that time he got fired from that lumberjack job. Ergo, flying battle axes.

I should probably be writing, huh?

Oh, shut up, Dom.

Comments

[randomfrog.livejournal.com]

my mother gave me indigestion, didn't you?

Cannibal. =P

[apocalypsos.livejournal.com]

I would never eat my mother, and I am thoroughly appalled that you would even suggest such a thing.

My brother, however, is nearly fat-free and it's entirely possible that he would taste good liberally basted in BBQ sauce and grilled over an open flame.

[randomfrog.livejournal.com]

I think the Olsen twins once sang something about that:

"Peanut, peanut butter and jelly for sale, with a brother."

Or something like that.