For some reason, I kind of like the last one.

Mysterious.

And yet you don't write or call or anything d:

(Granted, I don't write or call or anything; either)

you should email me your number in montreal - i'll be there next week.

aloisjones at hotmail dot com.

I, uh, haven't gotten around to changing it yet, so it's still the same.

{:

Long-distance as a killing machine?

The way the world dysfunctions, I can change my phone number to be local using The Internets. But doing so causes my current credit balance to vanish.

Therefore: Consuming the last of my credit before I switch numbers.

(I think I'm getting close, mind you.)

ew gross. kissing.

Says the pregnant woman, as if she'd never deign to do kissyface.

you don't need to kiss to make a baby.

FTW. Nice.

It's lucky that I'm not coming to your party tonight. Who knows what incriminating photos would end up on the intertubes d;

I love the one of you trapped behind the glass.

I am pro face-pulling for photos.

You're still in town? I though you'd high-tailed it to the land of poutine already. Yay!

Unless, of course, this comment actually implies that you are, in fact, gone. Upon closer inspection. I really need to install a "take two minutes before you respond to any outside stimulus" filter.

Yarp. Vanisheded. Poutineland has me now.

p.s. you totally got the best hug.

You're magnificent. Thank you. It was awesome.

(:

CONTROL PANTIES WILL DESTROY YOU. CONTROL PANTIES WILL INFECT THE HUMANS INTO THE HIVEMIND.

UNDER THE SINGING STONES OF KREE-LAK, THE CONTROL PANTIES WAIT FOR YOUR GIRLMEATS.

So I guess, based on the signage that the $1 panties are *out* of control?

Either way, I want no part of it.

*very belated birthday snorgle*