I make a pest of myself to Mr. Prechtl here, stammeringly re-asking the same questions - "Uhhhh, you guys auditionin' drummers yet? Uhhhhh, there's still a Battleship, right?" I hate to risk engrumpening him, longing for his approval as I do, but how can I squelch my whines when the world risks losing this action?
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Lil' Copenhagen's skin's so luminous & buttermilky I half expect daffodils to issue from it come spring. This plus the obscene 3-tone Blue Razzberry irises he's got, plus the bolts of rosy apricot blushery whenever he's chilly or even halfway excited about something, plus the artificially black hair, equals a boy of almost lurid coloration, and it makes everyone else look like gruel of no particular shade. It's ironic, given his loathing of the tropics, what a supersaturated bird-of-paradise thing he is, and I've not even attempted to describe the pink of his mouth (decency stops me). And do you know what this asshole applies to his cuts 'n' puncture wounds, for its natural antiseptic and healing powers? Motherfucking honey! Rubs it in. To an overactive imagination like mine, this means that his very blood is literally sugared, his sweat! I don't know which I want to be more, his toothbrush or his toothpaste. To slip between his teeth, or to slide, as a liquid, over his tongue?
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Anyone considering cohabitating with Lil' Copenhagen should know that Bragg's Liquid Aminos must be on hand at all times, both in original undiluted strength and diluted 4:1 with water in a spray bottle. Failure to maintain adequate stocks of Bragg's - for example, should the fluid level in the dilution spray bottle fall below 75% - makes Lil' Copenhagen bummed, and when he's bummed, you're not going to get to see to him with his hood up & tucked behind his ears, pushing them forward at juussst the right angle for max elfinness. And let me tell you, when he does that shit . . . what happens is, it so upsets the Adorable Beauty balance in the natural world that sweetly babbling brooks cease to flow, spotted fawns vaporize in mid-nuzzle, songbirds' warbling turns to grit in their throats. Because he's draining the world's beauty reserves, see, taxing it unmanageably with his motherfucking dazzle. And once . . . I'm almost afraid to mention it, it so angered the gods - once he did it when his hair was in braids and the cosmos began to pull apart, the night sky tore apart like cheap pantyhose, and he knew never to do it again, or risk all the universe.