Pancakes?
Motherfuckgoddamning pancakes?

Who does that? Who does that? Who does that?

It was all so tediously domestic I could have hurled, but for having to blame it on the hangover turning my skull into a kettledrum.
I'm not saying I'm complaining. But the very last fucking thing I needed that morning in my life was playing goddamn house with a ( Read more... )

It's a party, motherfuckers!

I'm the fucking Emperor, and this my goddamn empire. Bring the liquor, barbarians and boys. The only ones I got right now are rented.

To me. Here. Now.

For I have not yet begun to drink. (That's a lie.)

Appearance: A middling-tall, lanky creature, Evelyn Waugh made up of what seems sometimes to be a great deal of legs and arms. Prone to a perpetual smirk, he has very intense brown eyes and short, somewhat spiky dirty-blonde hair. He is most often to be found leaning against a wall, cigarette dangling like his participles. He used to be Goth in ( Read more... )

I fucking refuse to go back to DC for Christmas ever a-god-damn-gain. Someone kindly bash my head in with a brick if I ever threaten to, please. It would be a kindness to a mad dog. If I have to listen one more time to Mom and Michael asking me about girls, grades or sports so help me I will not be responsible for my actions. Just fair warning.

( Read more... )