Somewhere in my childhood self, an effusive diarist lurked.
I’m certain of it.
Had I mastery enough of my little hands to wield skinny sticks with lead or ink inside, my early years would be in paperback by now.
No, I’m sure I’d have been no Anne Frank, but she had that whole Holocaust thing going for her.
Um. That may have been in incredibly poor taste. Handbasket to hell? One ticket, please.
April 19, 2004
Sandbox Lamentations: Introduction
FOUNDING MEMBERS DO NOT NEED TICKETS.
A ROLLING STONE GATHERS NO MOSS.
LET HE WHO IS WITHOUT SIN GET DOWN AND DIRTY TONIGHT.
i get the twitchy feeling i’m being mocked. kate, defend my honor.
*brandishes sword*
i mean, er, polka dot baseball bat.
Shouldn’t that read PINK polka dot bat?
Should’t that be pink polka dot bikini …
one doesn’t brandish a bikini. one flaunts it.
Don’t let me stop any flaunting.
Oh god, I feel some fishnets coming on.
Not personally, you understand, just the sight of them.
Surely you cant be meaning me?
“I feel some fishnets coming on.” sounds like you’re trapped in a drive-by Tranny make-over.
“Quick, get the lipstick on him and give him a close shave! Hurry, before the rozzers show up!”
It’s a tough neighbourhood here – drive-by trannie makeovers occur so often that it doesn’t make the papers any more.
..and to make it worse I’m not sure I can lay my hands on a polka dot bat. Pink or blue are this season’s colours I’m afraid.