laurelin_kit

Arr, so, this be talk like a pirate day, and we all be glad that it's a Sunday so we're not sitting on our arses in class havin' to listen to the goddamned yammerin' of Kali Rainwater. As it's pirate day, she'd be about singing today. Proud to be a buccaneer, me arse. Walk the plank, bitch.

Now here be the problem. With me senior project (every time I type in 'me' instead of 'my' I feel a little bit more like Angelus, and check my hair for progressive change into a wombat wig), I'll be havin' to write a...a...nooooovel. Now, this novel used to be on the end of the wooooorld, if ya know what I mean. But one day, by the powers, the muses stopped speakin' to me, an' all my thought be lost. So now I be writing this medieval novel about some young lass who runs around in some odd little forest, 'ere.

And all the furniture be up from the floor as we be carpet-cleanin' like the very devil. I've got no inklin' at what might 'a been in that carpet, but we've killed it good, now. On the bad side, I can't get at me room. So, I be here, sittin' like a lunkhead in the dining room surrounded by a whole sea of furniture.

And as bored as a sea bass.