| ROUND THREE. |
[30 Jan 2008|12:23pm] |
I WOULD LIKE TO ANNOUNCE THAT THE 'DEAR SIRIUS' ADVICE COLUMN IS RE-OPENED FOR BUISNESS.
As some of you are all shiney and slimey and new and what, and haven't the foggiest what I'm in fact on about, I direct your attention to this post, in which you can learn how you TOO can acquire the most stunning advice known to man. I am here for you, my poor little muggling creatures. I will be the shoulder you can cry on, so long as you wipe it up after, because, well, thats actually a bit gross, some people blow bogeys all over the place when they're sobbing like great big girls.
IN ANY CASE. The last two times I did it, everything went rather swimmingly.
..Reading back, I don't know why on earth I put myself through this, honestly.
Oh well. I've always been fond of Bad Life Decisions.
ALL COMMENTS ARE SCREENED FOR YOUR UTMOST PRIVACY IN THESE MATTERS. You may also Anon it, if you do not wish for myself to know your identity!
READY... STEADY... POST!!
You may call me Saint Sirius
Or Grand Poobah Black,
If you wish,
The Honorable
S. Black
|
|
|
[30 Jan 2008|08:19am] |
| [ |
music |
| |
"She Knows I Won't Floo The Morning After" - The Hobgoblins |
] |
HALLO THERE EEHNTARWEBS. It really has been a while, hasn't it? An awful lot has happened this month, which I of course will tell you absolutely none of. I simply haven't the time to be catering to your every whim however much I would so like to, being the friendly, harmless, and generous chap I am.
My first impression on the gullible new people is air tight. They'll never know what hit them. Well, untrue. It is hard not to distinguish a flaming bag of dungbombs after the fact.
Remus is gone to Switzerland, staying temporarily at the top magical medical care centre, where he's off and signed himself up for lycanthropic related tests and whosits. We're very good with long distance relationships however [Azkaban hones these skills like no other place on earth], so ladies and gents, I'm afraid you'll have to continue to restrain yourselves. I know it is difficult, but I do believe in you.
NEVERTHELESS!! The point, the point, the ever-elusive POINT I am getting at my dear adoring public, is that in his last missive to me [not sealed with a kiss, because Lupin kisses are very drooly and miserable of course and I cannot abide soggy letters] he asked me to send him some photos and whatnot to put up in his room. I of course obliged, as I am quite used to people fawning over my not-quite-frozen image, and one little Moony added to the pile won't hurt now will it?
In my searching for only the best photos to send to my Cuppycake Werewolf Soulmate, I stumbled across two I thought I might share with you lot, from the halcyon days of my youth [not that I am not still, of course, youthful].
Accio your attention, please.
Ta-da! Aren't we precious. I really do wish I could get the photos to move like they do in real life, its so frustrating to know that four seconds later Remus loses his footing, falls, and rips his trouers on the fencepost, and none of you can see it. It's bloody hilarious. SHOULD'VE GOTTEN A FIRMER GRIP, REMUS, THAT IS WHAT YOU GET FOR FLAILING YOUR HANDS ALL WILLY NILLY IN THE AIR AND LET THIS BE A LESSON TO ALL YOU FOOLISH, FOOLISH CHILDREN.
As a side note, although this photo bolsters my entirely true assertion that I personally started the ripped jeans-trend of the seventies, the scarf I'm wearing is dreadful.
It is obviously Prongs'.
This one is hilarious without the movement. I'm the head of black hair swimming at the jetty, obviously in search of treasure and busty sirens which I no doubt found. My brother, ever the total stick-in-de-mud, is the one failing at playing ocean. Good job, Reg.
Thank you for that description on the bottom, Mother, however false where Reggiekins is concerned. We would have never understood, otherwise.
Off to Sort Through Boxes and
Boxes and Boxes and Boxes
the Odd Doggy Biscuits Tin
And More Bloody Godric Damned Boxes,
The Honorable
S. Black
|
|
|
[19 Dec 2007|03:49pm] |
| [ |
music |
| |
"Headbanging" - The Dead Pets |
] |
I knew having that many zebra in one place could only lead to tragedy.
Still, good on Greed to be so goddricdamned heroic!!
Fascinated By,
The Secret Spandex-Filled Lives
Of Friends and Homunculi Alike,
The Honorable
S. Black
Edit: NEW PEOPLE HAHAHA. I am Sirius Black, God of the Eentarweb and Buxom Women. I welcome you!
|
|
|
[03 Dec 2007|10:48am] |
S. Black: HALLO LADIES AND GARGOYLES! Now, Christmas holidays are right around the corner. There are fewer groups of people in the world who love Christmas as much as the Marauders [TM]. We fucking love it all. The pudding, the gifts, the anatomically correct gingerbread men, the gifts, the snow, did I mention the gifts? Christmas is a time of giving, my dear eehtarwebly friends. And because the Marauders [TM] love Christmas so very much, my esteemed beantlered comrade and I have decided to give to YOU. James?
J. Potter: In the Spirit of the Season, Padfoot and I figured there were several ways we could spread our own special brand of Christmas Cheer, and today we do so through the majesty of song. But all those traditional Christmas carols are a bit boring, don't you think? Lyrics such as "Fa la la la la la la la la" just don't cut it, so we've taken matters into our own hands.
S. Black: "Fa la la la la la la la" is a bit ridiculous. Its simply trying too hard to be deep and thoughtful.
J. Potter: That's the song with the "gay apparel" too, you know.
S. Black: Is it? Well bugger me. Thats slightly hilarious, but you know what is more hilarious, my darling Prongsy pie?
J. Potter: What is that, Pads?
S. Black: Us. We are deeply hilarious. Worlds applaud our cheeky, endearing antics, and give us lots of bellyrubs in appreciation.
J. Potter: But of course we are. And not only are we hilarious, we are ridiculously good-looking. And clever. And you get bellyrubs. You've got a Bellyrub Monopoly, you know. But that's not the point. The point is our ever-impressive wit. Yes?
S. Black: Yes! You read into the depths of my very soul. Kiss me, you fool.
J. Potter: Maybe later. Right now I'm a bit busy talking to the interwebly people. I'm fairly certain there was a point to all this blather.
S. Black: Oh right! My mistake. The POINT, my little pollywogs, the ever elusive point, is that James and I have applied our cleverness and aforementioned ever-impressive wit to a time honoured classic christmas song. Just for YOU! You lucky little sods!
J. Potter: And we picked a long one, with tons of lyrics, for maximum enjoyment. Unfortunately, that much hilarity and amusement at once might leave you with a stitch in your side that could leave you incapacitated for several days on end. We're understanding, benevolent Marauders, though, so we'll dole out the goods in small doses, so that even the faintest of heart can enjoy, free and clear.
S. Black: We're so noble and majestic I could just cry. Or save a bunch of orphans from a burning building. Not the slytherin ones, though.
J. Potter: Most Slytherins have large, inbred, pureblood families, though, (no hump meant, Padfoot) so there aren't many Slytherin orphans, I should think. You'd only be saving non-Slytherins anyway. But! I digress! And so do you! We've gotten a bit sidetracked, methinks.
S. Black: With brains as large and full of information as ours are, Prongs, we cannot help but get sidetracked by things. The meaning of life, the true meaning of happiness- these things distract us.
Nevertheless, to further ensure your safety as per literally laughing your guts out [and what a lovely mental image, am I right?], we have decided to put the first half of our lovely song on my eehtarwebly journal thing, and the second on Prongs'. Thats ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) slobberymongrel and prongsykins, for the slower ones in the audience. You are jealous. They are formidable journal names.
J. Potter: ...Yes. Formidable. Especially mine. Anyway, the point is, that if I were you I would keep an eye out, because this isn't the sort of entertainment that comes along just any old day. You'll want to pass this along to your grandchildren (and technically I'm passing it on to mine, as a few have journals on this thing. Isn't that fecking weird?).
S. Black: Stop playing the proud if somewhat unexpected Grandpappy, James.
J. Potter: But they're my GRANDSONS, Padfoot. They've got impossibly messy hair, and are ridiculously good-looking and probably have a weakness for redheads. I approve of all of those things.
S. Black: Your progeny's oepdipus complexes aside, I think we should start the Christmas Joy and Merriment! Now, Ive been told my singing voice is akin to a manticore mating call, so I shall leave the singing to my best mate in all things, James Harold Potter. James, if you would.
J. Potter: Why thank you, Sirius. So! Without further ado, here is the first verse of our very special version of the Twelve Days of Christmas, Marauders style. Ahem.
ON THE FIRST DAY OF CHRISTMAS, MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME,
AN ANIMAGUS PISSING ON A TREE.
|
|
|
[26 Nov 2007|06:53pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 considerably irate |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
"I Dont Love Anyone" - Belle and Sebastian |
] |
I had to sacrifice sixteen black lambs and three lime-green parakeets just to acquire this famous portrait painter's name alone.
Obtaining both it and dark stains on my trousers that'll be a complete bitch to wash out, I was referred to a wait-list. Said wait-list is written on a piece of parchment that traverses across Europe, the tail of which was last seen in Edinburgh.
After obtaining an exact copy of said wait-list, I made my way through it, bribing any wizard or witch who was suceptible to that kind of thing.
I then went back through the list, and with great deliberation, hexed the sodding hell out of any high-society wanker who didnt cough up his or her spot.
After months, tedious and frustrating months, of throwing galleons and jinxes every which way, I finally got the portrait painter into my sitting room.
This is what happened.
I need someone to blame. And then possibly hit.
Repeatedly.
Im Sure its Only a Mattter of Time,
Before Witch Weekly is Condemning Me,
For Rodent-Rutting,
The Honorable
S. Black
|
|
|
[12 Nov 2007|07:45pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 prepatory |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
"All the Wine" - The National |
] |
WANTED: BODYGUARD
[bald head not neccessarily required]
Hours: Whenever I want.
Payment: Money is no object.
Note: Must like dogs.
Do leave a comment if you're interested, send an owl, smoke signals, whatever it is you people do.
Werebear Lupin, it seems I cant convince Mr. Pheonix Wright [that muggley lawyer chap with the showgirl] to take our case, so you're probably going to prison. You know, I never thought I'd have any progeny to hand down my convict clothes to. Good thing stripes never go out of wizarding fashion.
Oh, and perhaps we should have a talk about, erm, forward fellow inmates, however. There's something about mishandling soap you should probably know.
Off to Change
the Mate's Woodchips,
The Honorable
S. Black
|
|
|
[05 Nov 2007|10:30am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 inspired |
] |
A nursery rhyme for my sweet ickle baby brother Regulus.
I hate him and he hates me
We're a pureblood family
Learned to hex when we were three,
[and that incestual's the way to be]
I hate him and he hates me
We're a pureblood family
The prettiest lot you'll ever see
[chasing muggles up a tree]
I hate him and he hates me
We're a pureblood family
Chattering politely, eating brie
[after poisoning eachother's tea]
I hate him and he hates me
We're a pureblood family
Never filled with more glee
[than when tossing halfbloods in the sea]
I hate him and he hates me
We're a pureblood family
The one thing upon we can agree
is that I hate him and he hates me
We're a pureblood family!
FIN!!
Not to Be Sung to Toddlers
Who Arent Evil Little Bastards,
The Honorable,
S. Black
|
|
| A very long update. |
[01 Nov 2007|09:18pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 creatively aspiring |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
"Wolf Like Me" - TV on the Radio |
] |
It's been brought to my attention that there's some sort of ridiculous wide-spread novel-writing disease called "Nannyreenoo." Does it work like b-rated muggle horror film zombies, then? If you kill the Nanny that started it, will the mystery-novel writting, cardigan knitting elderly converts all die off?
Lock up your doileys, this hag means buisness.
In any case, although I havent been struck down by this awful plague of Nannyreenoo, I have to admit the thought of writing a novel intrigues me. What kind of novel would I write? Who would buy it? How many babies would I have to sign at the book release party? How much free firewhisky would I recieve?
I assume all answers will come in time, if we shall ever know. However, I can say with some confidence, that I am already quite clear on what my book shall be about.
Me, of course. Is there any subject better?
Now, I figure, Im a very busy, very handsome man. I cant be wasting my time locked up in some attic, scribbling away at parchment, Suffering for My Art and all that nonsense. Im rich enough to have minions doing that kind of thing for me. I'll simply write a guideline, and hire lots of little drones to have at the in-between bits.
( Progress to Nirvana: Population Me. )
I will of course be happy to sign copies once they are finished and if I feel like it at the time. I care about you, my adoring public. I really do.
Get the
Fuck Out of the Way Dickens,
Here Comes
The Honorable
S. Black
Edit: Oh, yes. Remus is still inexplicably a hedgehog.
Bad form indeed! Someone isnt getting any alfafa tonight.
|
|
|
[31 Oct 2007|11:24pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
mildly curious |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Frantic squeaking. |
] |
Its terribly odd to come home to a significant other who's gotten a new haircut, or lost some weight, or had a sudden urge to see how they looked in galoshes.
Nevertheless, coming home to a small, shivering, chesnut-coloured hedgehog, with an oddly familiar sardonic glare- its just a wee bit more than Terribly Odd.
He's still wearing a tiny argyle sweatervest. I mean its a bit too ridiculous, isnt it?
The sweater'll just end up ruined, for one, and who has knitting needles that small for repair? I'll get positively laughed out of Madame Malkin's. I cant deal with that kind of stress, you know. Im a very gentle soul.
So.
....Whats all this then mates?
Wondering If,
I Should Be Calling Him Prickles,
Rather Than Moony,
The Honorable
S. Black
Edit: GODRIC'S PURPLE BONG, WITCHES AND PUMPKINS??!!WHAT IS THIS UTTER MADNESS?? HAVE YOU PEOPLE NO COMMON DECENCY??
Aaahahaha, fuck off you silly tossers.
|
|
|
[18 Oct 2007|07:27pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 pregnant wifeless |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
"Camera Shy" - The Lucksmiths |
] |
Ladies and gentlefuckers, I come to you with a solemn request; an earnest and sincere plea.
All Im asking is that you show a little care!
A little selflessness!
A little compassion!
A little love for your fellow man!
EXTEND A HELPING HAND AND
FREE POTTER!!
Held, chained, at the beck and call of The Red Beast, James H. Potter lies rotting, and waiting to be saved from his perilous fate.
Please send all pity money, morale boosting cake products, and get well soon balloons to:
Sirius O. Black
Next To The Giant Cockroach
The Back Bedroom, The Flat
New Cross Area
Muggle London
Any contributions would be helpful.
Back to Not Helping
Lupin II Unpack
In The Slightest,
The Honorable
S. Black
|
|
|
[13 Oct 2007|08:13pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
giddy |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
THE FUCKING HOBS!! |
] |
That Evans, she's alright. And by alright I do rather mean I wish I had shagged her before Prongs did and made lots of wildly attractive little Black-Evans babies, with the minds of evil geniuses and glares like daggers made of lava.
We stood in line all morning and afternoon to be the first to buy the new Hobgoblins album, "Rock'n'Gnoll." Stubby Boardman himfuckingself was signing CDs, and it simply didnt matter that Lily is seven thousand years pregnant and that Im a man bred for paying people to queue for me, WE HAD TO FUCKING GO. We managed to remember to bring snacks, cigarettes, the latest issues of Magical People magazine, a container of cooled pumpkin juice, and cards, but forgot to bring sodding chairs.
Piggybacking an extremely pregnant women for five hours is an experience quite unlike any other. Unless, of course, one piggybacks a very irate hippopotamus.
Still, all sacrificed lower discs aside, it was fucking worth it! WE WERE BLOODY FIRST, AND WE ONLY HAD TO PUNCH OUT THREE HOUSE WIVES!! Boardman kissed Lily on her lovely cheek. She almost fainted. He shook my hand and said he liked my hair. I did faint. [IT WAS AN EMOTIONAL GODDAMNED MOMENT, OKAY?]
In that vein, Evans tells me carrying an unconcious Sirius Black is an experience quite unlike any other. WE LIVE AND WE LEARN, BOYS AND GIRLS, WE LIVE AND WE LEARN.
Spent the rest of the evening listening to said new- SIGNED!!- record at the Hollow with the venerable Mrs Potter. I especially like track seven, "Vampires Suck It Better", and track nine, "I Puked in Your Cauldron." Lily likes track two, "Baby, I Just Lost Your Floo Address."
FUCKING BRILLIANT!!!
Speaking of fucking brilliant [how is that for a transition, my little pollywogs?] its been brought to my attention that HALLOWEEN is indeed approaching. Ive decided to make things interesting for you ridiculous tossers.
WHOEVER COMPLETES THE FOLLOWING IN A WAY THAT AMUSES MOST CAN PICK MY HALLOWEEN COSTUME.
( Verb my nouns, you know you want to. )
Awaiting to be Wow'ed,
and Head-Banging to
"Zombie Quidditch Remix",
The Honorable
S. Black
|
|
|
[05 Oct 2007|09:05pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
nonchalant |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
"Henrietta" - The Fratellis |
] |
Fuck me, but I love indoor plumbing.
Today I moved the backroom swamp into the pantry. I moved the pantry into the spare office. I moved the spare office into the third down dresser drawer. I moved the third down dresser drawer into the bottom-left-most kitchen cabinet. I moved the bottom-left-most kitchen cabinet into the kitchen of the flat below us, the tenants of which will be rather surprised when I find myself in need for a strainer, or perhaps a frying pan.
I painted the room where the backroom swamp used to be chartreuse yellow. Im thinking about putting a bed in there or something.
Maybe a wardrobe.
Said Wardrobe May Contain
Lions and Snow,
Perhaps Even Harpy Ice Queens,
Peddling Truffle,
The Honorable
S. Black
|
|
|
[04 Oct 2007|08:51pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
pyro-inclined |
] |
WE'RE FINALLY LEAVING!!
Burn baby burn.
Roast a Marshmallow On That,
You Fucking Arsehole Campers,
The Honorable
S. Black
Edit: If a park ranger or a bear in a hat asks any of you any questions, you saw fucking NOTHING.
|
|
| Day #9856904856946. |
[30 Sep 2007|07:34pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 lacking common ammenities |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Teddy stepping in more badger poo |
] |
The "camping" continues without let up or mercy.
Am thinking about smothering Remus in his sleep more often than usual.
S'mores are more difficult than one would expect.
Teddy turning out to be evil and deft with pinecones.
Suspect the Fresh Air is getting to me.
Still no shampoo.
SOS, SOS, SOS,
Send a Search Party,
and Some Conditioner,
The Honorable
S. Black
|
|
| Hm. |
[28 Sep 2007|10:04am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
aggravated |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
the bloody chirping of BIRDS |
] |
First Impressions of "Camping":
+ There was a famine affecting every bug and small irritant in the forest, only rectified by our coming.
+ Pup tents are rather amusingly named, but are nothing at all like quidditch tents in the way that they a) Need to actually be constructed with POLES and LEVERAGE and things and b) have no indoor plumbing.
+ Further in that vein, no matter WHERE you lay down in your Pup Tent, there will be at least fourty-three [43] sticks and small rocks trapped between the tent floor and the ground.
+ People who often Rough It [ihuall] must be hairy, smelly barbarians who never wash. Where is the fucking shower?? WHERE ARE THE TOILETS??
+ Everything in the forest has a diet chock full of fibre. In less than two hours you will step in nine [9] different kinds of defecation.
+ Trout are incredibly hard to catch barehanded. Further in that vein, there are no cafes or restaurants, or even small questionable Italian places possibly connected with The Mafia.
+ Plant life is, contrary to the hippie tree hugger rubbish we learned in Herbology, openly hostile. What isnt poisonous will give you rashes. What doesnt give you rashes will prick you. What doesnt prick you is poisonous.
+ We are all going to die.
( Furthermore, with a few visual aids.. )
I have to go set up more wards against BEARS and WILD BOARS. When does the LIFE AFFIRMING MALE BONDING start and why cant we do it somewhere hygiene friendly??
My Kingdom,
For a Bottle of Shampoo,
The Honorable
S. Black
|
|
| A paintdoodle. |
[24 Sep 2007|10:10am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
rather alright with the world |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
"Red Right Ankle" - The Decemberists |
] |
Spent the morning at Reg's. Not bad. Surprising lack of Black black eyes exchanged.
Dont understand how he drinks that fucking coffee piss like its liqued gold, though.
Liqued gold is probably hard to digest, anyway. Other familial ties arent going so well, but I cant really be arsed to care too much.
Speaking of families, Prongs and I spent a long time yesterday fighting over which Quidditch position Prongs III is going to play. Eventually we decided we'd let him decide. Evans was not best pleased getting poked in the mountainous stomach with various Quidditch paraphenalia, but sacrifices for KNOWLEDGE must be made.
[Though, for the record, he distinctly kicked back when I was prodding her with the beater's bat. Just saying.]
Full moon's coming up in two days, but I have a good feeling about this one.
Best be off to work before Moody sends out the search selkies. Those bitches are after scratching awfully tender places.
Not the Face,
For the Love of Magic,
Not the Face,
The Honorable
S. Black
|
|
| Never again. |
[19 Sep 2007|08:51am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
tender in certain places |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Axel blathering away |
] |
Owwww.
Good morning, ladies and grindylows. Last night was certifiably fucking mental. Let me give you a rundown of the important events.
1. Coereced Envy into taking a ride on the bike with me. He wanted to beat up old people and steal their affects. Didnt want to ask what he wants so many pairs of dentures for.
2. Picked Envy up at his swanky castle in France. Carefully didnt ask if his bedroom activities included other people's chompers. Said hallo to the unicorn I gave him as a wedding gift. Verified that unicorns are still sparkly and amazing.
3. Sticking charmed Envy's rear end to the motorbike seat, because he was afraid he'd "fall off." 400 years is apparntly not long enough to get over a fear of fast moving objects and/or chrome.
4. Took off.
5. Quickly realized that Envy hadnt been previously aware that what makes my motorbike different from other motorbikes is that it fucking flies.
6. Lost hearing for 10 minutes due to the screeching.
7. Lost control of the bike, due to being bitten on the shoulder by an angry, hysterical homunculus.
8. Swore.
9. Crashed into a tree house. Sustained splinters in curious places.
10. Swore.
11. Quickly realised the tree house was indeed host to a number of small muggle children. Contained panic and asked if anyone was hurt.
12. Got kicked in the shins.
13. Dropped to the floor when one of the little goddamned blighters pulls out a firearm. Was later informed it was not a firearm, but a "mobile tellularfun." Despair the fucking technological advancement of today's youth.
14. The cops show up.
15. Envy eats the cops. Am told I am next if I dont end the charm sticking him to the bike seat fucking immediately.
16. Finite Incantium faster than I ever have in my life.
17. Envy attempts to eat the horrible little bastard children. My Gryffindor starts acting up and I defuse the situation.
18. Get kneed in the bollocks for my troubles and thrown from the tree house by the little bastards. Break a tail bone.
19. Envy eats the microscopic wankers. Am mollified.
20. After executing a showy flip move out of the tree house and landing all lightly like a prat, the homunculus inquired as to whether my arse hurt.
21. Replied "Farting fiddler bubbles. Fuck your buttons," and passed out.
Im not quite sure what happened after that, as I'd lost control of my higher function of conciousness. I woke up in a sweet fucking guest bedroom at Envy's posh Chateau Francais and owled Remus, who thought it would be best if I stayed where I was and sent a healing potion to put in a very private place.
And I dont mean the bank.
Im gonna raid Envy's fridge.
And Unicorns Remain,
Sparkly and Amazing,
The Honorable
S. Black
|
|
| Hmmm. |
[18 Sep 2007|10:31am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
mildly inquisitive |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
"Evil Hearted You" - The Pixies |
] |
I find myself being surrounded by unsavoury types lately. Dark haired people in specs, mostly, who throw punches with all the strength of a bloody flobberworm. And Im not talking about that lumpy bag of Potter stink, either.
In any case, I rather think I'd like to meet some new people. Do say hallo. However, I know some of you are shy or have crippling personality disorders, so I'll make it easy on us both with a MAYMAY. Im just magnanimous like that, godric damn it all.
+Comment here and I'll pick one of your LJ interests and draw a picture using the mighty and holy MS Paint.
+You have no say in what I draw for you, or in how much it will suck!
Nothing I draw will suck, though, keep in mind. Especially if you have "scantily clad transfiguration professors" as one of your interests.
Bow chika bow bow.
Take off the Tartan,
Take it All Off,
The Honorable
S. Black
|
|
| navigation |
| [ |
viewing |
| |
most recent entries |
] |
| [ |
go |
| |
earlier |
] |
|
|
|
|
somewhat conflicted