Homicide Boy vs Suicide Boy

Dear hearts,

The process of rehearsing A Midsummer Night's Dream has begun. And boy are my tender tootsies fucking broken to shards from dancing about in womens' high-heeled shoes (I play Flute/Thisby). I have a newfound respect for formal ladies everywhere, you poor boobs.

There is a place called Goblintowne, of less than adequate reknown.

I've been feeling a bit downcast and off-balance of late. It's like a reverse autumnal-depression thing. As the springtime nears us, my vampiric blood revolts and cries out for pizza and boozedrink.

HOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE ONE OF THE BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE!!!???? run a dah duh duh, run a dah duh duh, run a dah duh duh.

Muh.

Quackson. So there's like some English People in my cast. I find them fascinating. Somehow within my inferior American blood there lies a deep-seated understanding that the Anglos are my superiors. The funny thing about your Englishman is that his manner of speech has an inherent novelty and refinement to it, and yet he is intrinsically unhip. He can be cool, like a Jude Law type, but he is not allowed to quote Method Man or dance in a hip-hop club.

Strange indeed.

I'd just like to give a shout out to my friend Kian in Goblintowne. I appreciate his lack of malignant disease and hope that he thrives for a great long time. Until long after the day that I have faded away into dust, in fact. For that matter, I hope that everyone I care about outlives me. That way I don't have to deal with the pain of losing my near n' dear. Hmm.. Morbid subject to spread out into the cyber-scape. Sorry net-heads. And now................................................................................................
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BUNNIES!!

* hop *

Lorve,

Markre del Sol