bug stuff, in multiple sense of the term
There's some alternate universe where humans have bred and domesticated giant Cymothoa exigua.
There, people like me have replaced their tongues with friendly little trained parasitic isopods. They function normally for the purposes of eating and speech, but can be gently coaxed out and put in a glass in times like this, when it would really be for the best if I were incapable of speech.
Then we'd just need tarantula-mittens to prevent me from typing.
bug stuff, in multiple sense of the term
'Cause man, having four days to sit here and ponder everything has not exactly done wonders for my sense of peace and quiet acceptance towards the greater world, nor the one I'm returning to.
I'm sure it will improve upon returning to cooler, hipper climes. And you know I will put the best effect my divoted brain will allow into treating everybody fairly and gently. But, man, there's some uncharitable shit going through the back of my brain today.
bug stuff, in multiple sense of the term
It's not anger. It's not hate. There's no aggression behind it. It's a very *cat* sort of feeling, just a sense of being very jaded and difficult to impress right now. Even the people I love most would be at about a -10 to Charm rolls right now, but the worst I really want to do is flick my tailtip in people's faces and make it very clear I am not feeling real pettable, nor am I much interested at the moment in being a good kitty by anyone else's standard.
