Buckle ur seatbelts kiddos for u r about to read the most half-assed Langurd chapter ever written. I am so over Generation Five.
What’s that? Hold on a sec…
What do you mean this is my 100th post?! You mean I actually have to TRY? I’m not ready for this, dammit! I’m drinking mocha with Bailey’s and watching Project Runway out of my left eye!
Maybe that’s fitting, given that multitasking is the theme of this generation. And it’s been a successful theme if I may say so myself—all of the kids are (oxy)moronic in their own ways, but no one emblemizes the Age of Contradictions quite like Crash does. Athletic and a Genius, non-verbal and a total loose cannon… Oh, and his teen look may be based on this shit disturber:
Well, I just finished a six-month temp contract at an office, wrapped up my first quidditch season as a coach, and filed my tax return. That’s enough adulting for a while, thanks.
Nobody illustrates my feelings quite like Skydancer.
Sky: I’m not even adulting. I’m literally living in this library, reading books on how to talk to people and never actually talking to people.
Welcome to the formal education system!
Sky: I don’t want it.
Yes, this one is still working on her Charisma. Quite frankly, after witnessing Galadriel Evans the Skilling Machine, I’m embarrassed for her. She’s supposed to be a Genius.
It was a dark and stormy night. Detective Guy Mansfield had just returned from a hard day of investigating. It had been a tricky case today, but Mansfield was the best there was, and the man was locked away for good. He wouldn’t be stealing another pack of gum anytime soon.
Guy’s trusty canine, Sparky Dogfield, stood guard at the stern as the detective put down his umbrella.
“Our work here is done,” said Guy. “Tomorrow we sail for Bridgeport.”
“Ruff,” said Sparky.
Who is Luke, and why is he warm? Why isn’t it Michaelwarm or Garywarm? Why does Luke get all the glory? Why am I writing these words and how do I stop?
Previously, Gumby took a leap of faith stupidity and invested in a crappy resort called the Fool’s Goldmine. Several days into its operations, I decided we’d better check in on the place to ensure that leap doesn’t end in a deadly fall.
Receptionist: Oh boy, here we go again. *sigh* Hi, welcome to the Fool’s Goldmine. Can I interest you in a stale breakfast or a cold shower?
Gumby: Miss, I own this place.
Receptionist: I’m sorry. Can I interest you in a FREE stale breakfast or cold shower?
…is when I’ll learn to update this sodding legacy.
Until then, we’ll all just have to deal with my natural blogging patterns, which—let’s be real—can be mostly summarized as: “When real life sucks, turn to Sims.”
And so, in a state of post-Christmas, cat-hates-me, roommate-got-a-boyfriend and it’s-cold-outside disenchantment, here we are.
It’s good to be back.
Omen: Just wanted to let you fools know I’m getting emancipated. You’re no longer my parents and I’m going into Sith training on Korriban.