Posted 18 March 2009 - 05:39 PM
I was going to head back from town after meeting my friend for moral support in an job centre appointment when she asks, "Oh, Illy, do you mind being the offical photographer for the belly dancing class I'm holding today? The ladies that are going to show up can best be described as buxom, or alternatively awesomely enboobed."
She must have thought I was looking unsure instead of totally convinced because she then offered me free alcohol, which in a delicious jiggling situation is a KFC frosting on top of a delicious KFC cake.
So yeah, I've had a good evening and night and morning and afternoon.
Hello, soldiers, look at your mage, now back to me, now back at your mage, now back to me. Sadly, he isn’t me, but if he stopped being an unascended mortal and switched to Sole Spice, he could smell like he’s me. Look down, back up, where are you? You’re in a warren with the High Mage your cadre mage could smell like. What’s in your hand, back at me. I have it, it’s an acorn with two gates to that realm you love. Look again, the acorn is now otataral. Anything is possible when your mage smells like Sole Spice and not a Bole brother. I’m on a quorl.