*kicks things*

[fahye]

Due to overwhelming demand we regret to advise that the Tori Amos concert at Canberra Theatre Centre has been moved to the Sydney Opera House on Saturday 14 May at 8pm.

NOT IMPRESSED, WORLD. NOT IMPRESSED AT ALL.

I slept for 12 hours last night. My body knows it is holidays. Je gagne à la vie, except for that part where I was meant to mark many many papers today and I didn't.

Also: writing Thom's part of the Millific when dead of brain produces some interesting things. Feverdreams = crack, though sadly sans l'ananas as yet:

(“Are you breaking up with me?” he asks. Incredulous. Nobody breaks up with him! He’s perfect.

“I’m sorry,” Anthy says sadly. “You only love me for my pants.”

Thom feels that this would be a bad time to point out that she isn’t wearing pants.

Especially because she is.)

ETA: PLZ HELP I AM TRAPPED INNA CRACKTHREAD. A CRACKTHREAD OF LOVE. WHAT HAVE WE DONE. I WEEP FOR MY POOR JOURNAL.

*loves on schiarire, shati and villainny*

*goes away to die of lobstrosities random*

Comments

[fahye.livejournal.com]

"It's all right," Anthy added helpfully. "I can take them off. Would that help?"

"It might...." Thom was dubious.

"But I need them," Anthy said. Woe filled her nonexistant bosom, and it heaved. "To keep my sword in."

A giant innuendo entered, stage left, and hit Thom with a fish.

[shati.livejournal.com]

Anthy is a Pisces. So it was SYMBOLIC.

"I don't care about your sword," Thom whined. "I only care about my sword. And my sister's."

Anthy picked up her bosom and tucked it into bed. "Good night, dear."

"I hate babies," said Thom. "They are terrible for my figure. Oh baby, baby."

[schiarire.livejournal.com]

The bosom cried. Would no one kiss it good-night?

"Ugh," said Papa.

But Uncle said, "I'm on my way."

[fahye.livejournal.com]

The bosom kept wailing.

"Do you know anything about milk?" Anthy asked Uncle Innuendo. He shrugged, and emitted a few paradoxes.

"That's disgusting," said Thom. He began to sulk.

Uncle Innuendo looked ashamed and volunteered to bosomsit for Anthy. Thom hit him with the fish, which had been abandoned on the floor.

[shati.livejournal.com]

Uncle Innuendo had just come in from riding his car, so he was still very aroused. He took the bosom and rocked it gently. "How does one nurse a bosom?" he inquired.

"Nettles," said Thom, wisely.

Anthy quietly feasted on fish in the corner.

[schiarire.livejournal.com]

"Oh no," said Uncle Innuendo. "I've made the red water come out."

Thom shrugged. "I think it likes that."

"No," said the bosom, wrinkling its wee face, "it tastes like soot and poo."

"No, dear," said Anthy. "It is your shining thing."

"Oh."

[fahye.livejournal.com]

"Does it sing?" asked Thom.

"No." Anthy made tea. "But only on Tuesdays."

It was Tuesday! The bosom was trapped in a cage of paradoxes. It cried louder and louder until Thom's ears turned into cake. Teacake. Anthy was pleased.