ack, wrong thread

Supernatural would go super literal. The big bad would be some kind of clock-maker named Ben who died because he got his fingers caught in the gears at 12 to midnight on December 12, 18fifty-twleve, and the only way to finally get rid of his ghost DNA is for Dean to scale the tower and burn it while Sam waits at the…

lalala, I can’t hear you.

Ugh, those are the same assholes who are like “There’s a 30 minute wait? THAT’S WAY TOO LONG. Let’s spend 20+ minutes deciding on, driving to, and finding parking at a place none of us really wanted to go to anyway because there might only be a 10-minute wait!” STABBY STAB STAB. YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND HOW TIME WORKS.

I had a neighbor who did that. I’m pretty sure he was a serial killer.

She’s wearing one of those button skirts, but at least it’s not denim or a culotte? Or worse, a denim culotte button-down skort.

Might, schmight. Light Bright, Rogue Kite. You are DEFINITELY a wizard. And a poet (did you even know it?)

Sometimes I feel bad that I just do not give a fuck about Sam. Except for when he didn’t have a soul - he was kind of interesting then. Destiel4eva, though I was also kind of into BenneDean (is that a thing? I’m not very into fandom, so I just made it up, and it kind of sounds like a cream for arthritis, but you know…

All I can think is “How much semen did this guy sniff?”

Back when people bought CDs in stores, my dad pre-listened TLC’s CrazySexyCool on one of those goofy headphone stations, and not only decided it was Very Inappropriate for me, but also convinced another kid’s mom not to buy it for her. I AM SO SORRY, OTHER CHILD.

If I’m going to pay through the nose for an over-priced plastic wrist-band, you can be damn sure I’m going to wear it. I’m pretty sure that saving it in a display case isn’t going to fund my retirement. So I’ll have fun with it. Most collector edition stuff is just cheap plastic/paper bullshit, and will never be worth…

It’s like people think “Oh, the movie is over, so this is TRASH now, and it’s not my job to pick up trash”, even while slurping the last melted ice out of the bottom of the cup before placing it back in the cupholder. Just do that on your way to the trash can, you fucking idiot, and place it in there.

Here’s some toast for the editers of tomarrow. I hope there yearbook staff is grately rewarded in life.

Maybe his 14-year-old daughter and her generation don’t have the best understanding of sexism or racism yet, but it’s pretty clear that he and his generation don’t get it either (if he’s going to generalize, so will I). It’s easy for a successful white guy to say he has no interest in gender or race. He doesn’t know…

Ronald Reagan and his fucking jelly beans.

But what good is brownie “batter” if it’s not all gooey and batter-y? Now, if there was brownie batter in those dunkaroo cups...

Maybe “Give ‘em the old Clydesdale dick-kick”? I think there’s some poetry to that.

You’re hired, but you should know that some items are non-negotiable, like the 2” wide green glass pendant set in silver cat ears, and my hand-painted peacock bangle.

My inner gothy teenager is sneering at you right now - she used to wear 20 bracelets (on each arm!), 12 rings, six necklaces, and she LIKED IT, dammit.

If I ever find myself playing golf in Florida, I *hope* something will eat me.