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The Toybox

people for the conservation of limited amounts of indignation


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nine o'clock blues
bored
seperis
I'm amusing myself with the fact I woke up at *eight thirty* this morning after running, running from AIM and Yahoo last night at four--oh God, *four*--and I am so not sleepy. I feel like, I don't know, building a second rabbit fortress or something.

No, I'm not! I'm just saying.

Pointless Desert Porn (with added fruit!) is being stared at by adannu who, poor girl, possibly put a contract out on me when I said, "No, please, nitpick more!" and asking her to suggest things. It's all very sad. I mean, for her. For me, I get a fixed story out of it. What's not to love?

I'm staring blankly at The Forest People again. I have stared sadly at it since freaking *January*. The really sad, sad, sad part of this is that all I really wanted to write was feral porn. I mean, there was no great theme or meaning, just people fucking in a forest. And I do not see why it had to start going places where the question 'why' has to be answered. That's cheating. I do not see why I cannot make a thriving industry from writing happy porn.

*sighs* I need my flist to update now, 'k? I need *stimulation*. No, the mental kind. And stop thinking this entire John of Arabia thing that adannu planted in my head. It's--just don't ask.


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Oh my GOD I HATE YOU.

HE SO COULD BE!

You know you wanna write it. *g*

*points to icon*

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