You guys voted for this star-crossed lovers business, and honour compels me to deliver on my promises in the fullest way possible. Which means—you guessed it—the Langurds are about to enter that shadowy, foreboding territory we call PLOT.
Don’t worry—Siesta’s generation will be played and written as much by the seat of my pants as the others have been. It’s just that after playing detective so many times in Gen. 6, I felt it would be helpful to put all of my “COINCIDENCE? I THINK NOT” moments in one place.
So please humour me as I don my Halloween-store trench coat and cap, and attempt to mash together disjointed happenings into a wad that can conceivably be called “evidence.”
Without further ado, let us open the case!
And we’re off! Welcome to the first leg of a seven-day spirit journey. I hope you’re ready to feel closer to the Langurds than ever before (hey you in the back, I saw you swallow your vomit just now). Regrets? Absolutely not. Maybe a couple. Or twelve. Who am I kidding, guys? I’m in way over my head.
Our last instalment featured a disastrous bachelor party, a lacklustre wedding, and the birth of a Gen. 7 burrito, but not at all in that order. Don’t get me wrong—Cal and Quinn are totally traditional people who follow all the proper steps toward a conventional marriage.
Case in point—a timeless wedding ritual.
Cal: Is the cake good?
Quinn: WE MUST KNOW IF THE CAKE IS GOOD.
Skydancer: If I say no, does that doom you guys to infertility or something?
Fact: Canada as a nation turns 150 this July.
Fact: Eleven days later, this blog will turn 5.
Fact: I have been writing this blog for more than 3% of Canada’s existence.
Fact?: One day, I will compose an intro that isn’t a rehashed version of “legacy take long time, Gryffindork slow.”
Let’s get down to business
to defeat the Huns. After far too much trolling, Quinn Flanagan has finally succumbed to Calamity’s good looks and agreed to date her… all while she’s been under an ugly spell. Figures.
Calamity: Face it, I’d be the most low maintenance girlfriend ever.
Quinn: You’re not wrong.
Meanwhile, Omen’s chess opponents keep getting glued to the upholstery after beating him.
Maeve: Gee, I’m getting sleepy.
Happy October 13th! Today (which is likely long before I will actually post this) marks three important occasions:
1) The 22nd birthday of my K-Pop bias, but let’s not get into that
2) The end of a year-long slap bet of which I am commissioner (meaning four of my guy friends are now free to get haircuts, thank god)
3) The awkward moment when we learn that, even with a fire up her butt, Gryffindork is an incorrigibly lazy S.O.B.
Well, guess what? Now it’s the last day of October, and I think it’s safe to say SimNaWriMo has me beat. To a pulp. But we will press on, and turn that pulp into paper!
*excuses self to vomit at own pun*
Now, where were we? Ah yes, in the pits of despair after Pokey’s silent passing.
Axorn: MY SOUL IS COLD AND EMPTY LIKE THE NIGHT
Gumby: What’s got him so upset?
…Did no one tell Gumby yet?! Well fuck, I’m certainly not doing it.
Want to know what it takes for me to be productive these days? I am finally penning the first words of a post I’ve had prepped for three months, and only because…
a) Boolprop is running a marathon updating event where I get a shiny medal if I publish 3-10 of these bitches in October (spoiler: it won’t be 10)
b) My bedroom no longer gets a wi-fi signal thanks to the mythical router upstairs, which I am beginning to suspect is just a pair of rabbit ears stuck in a potato. This has cut me off from my #1 hobby of watching related YouTube videos until I can’t remember where I started or why I exist.
c) Yesterday’s quidditch tournament has rendered my every muscle completely useless, so I literally couldn’t do anything else even if I wanted to.
Why am I like this? D:
Anyhow, the stars have finally aligned—so here I am, making a start on GENERATION SIX!
We mark this milestone with a big “fuck you” to Isla Paradiso as we ship off to the Valley of Dragons.
DV greets us with an equivalent “fuck you” in the form of rain.