You’re terrible. Maybe.

Make America Great Britain Again!

I had just attended my great aunt’s funeral and picked up some sort of flu-bug. Luckily, my mum and I were flying home the same day. We went to the airport in North Bay and I ate two bites of a plain hotdog (my first food in 36 hours), then we boarded. It’s only an hour or so flight from there to Toronto, where we had…

Well, as an oozing, walking infection, he would be the world’s foremost knowledge on the subject.

No. That space is reserved for Billy Dee Williams.

I’ve played World of Warcraft since launch and I’ve had my fair share of creepers and weirdos over the years. Once I transferred my characters to an actual RP realm, it got worse - the first guild I joined invited a guy shortly after me who latched onto my main toon and got overly possessive with her, while at the…

That gif of her makes it look like she’s a rabbit having a panic attack.

Wonder Woman! My dad painted the handle shiny gold for me.

Here you go!

I’m not sure, but I think somewhere in the depths of the show, someone mentions that the flowers are fake. I can’t remember if this is a thing, or if that’s the explanation I gave myself in order to continue to suspend my disbelief.

I’m Canadian, currently dating an American (our border crossing makes it so we live roughly ten minutes apart - aside from the guards, the drive is peanuts). Over the past year I’ve been considering and looking into the process of moving to the (supposed) land of the free. I’m no longer doing this for three reasons:

Fremdschäm!

Entire body becomes covered in thick scales at midnight on the woman’s twenty-eighth birthday. Am twenty-eight, can confirm. Hard to type as my hands are turning into lizard hands.

I was thinking it could be the premise for a Stephen King short story. Yours works too, though. :)

We’ve got more than two parties in Canada and we do alright, for the most part (now that Harper’s a fart in the wind). And our election season is usually under 90 days. Anything approaching 90 is extreme, though... Then it’s back to whatever the fuck it is we do up in this endless wasteland of frozen tundra.

This brings memories flooding back of Habbo Hotel (“pool’s closed”) and some guy who found me in an MSN chatroom who tried to convince me he was John 5 (the guitarist from Marilyn Manson). I successfully (maybe? I was fourteen) created a persona called ‘Val’ who was Irish by quoting things I’d heard on reruns of…

All the stars for my 8th grade jam.

Drooled coffee reading that. All the stars.

Yeah, but...dude butts.