... I want to learn how to Tango. And Samba. And every other dance that implies frisk.
I think Gucci just unplugged the blender. 0_o She smells horrible. Febreeze won't touch it. I'm sick of chasing her around the house with the bottle anyway. I'm tempted to dump her in the tub, but I know she will be h-o-w-l-i-n-g. Seriously, I need to dogproof this apartment. She can open up the cupboards, and has gotten into the trash a couple of times. That needs to not happen. At least she's not a zombie... no more info on that though. I really want to see if a reputable news source actually picks that story up and takes it somewhere. I find it interesting that the Aussi's were the first to report on a breakthrough that evidently happened in the gullet of America. Still... fuckin' dog-zombies, man. Wee undead beasties. No thanks. *frisk of disapproval*
Jorge is finally on his way to go under the knife/wrench. I wrote a threatening message to any technician that tries to fuck with the hard drive. Heads will roll if anything happens to that thing, especially my novels and my music. I'm not even joking. Doom. Doom and blood.
... I am a ball of FRISK.
Sorry, it can't be helped.