N & I (meaning H) went to M and...

What, you think I'm kidding ?

I'm not fucking kidding. Send more letters, we're running out.

Meanwhile my writing was interrupted by the girls emerging from the other apartment (apartmently they weren't late, but since I was taking a napⁱ they had retired discreetly & on tiptoes). I had no idea they were even on the grounds!

Anyway, so the steak of game that had been slowcooking since morning being thereby served (since I was up), the other H (that made it) bust out a mindmelting dollop of very fine Gorgonzola. She offered me a taste pre-deploymentⁱⁱ, and... well... what could I do. The events & circumstances compelled me, so I forcibly French-kissed N with it, who a) isn't really allowed cheeses and b) truly fucking hates Gorgonzola. Quoth the thus used,
"Oh, what a great kiss, to be ruined so by that disgusting thing. It tastes like someone forgot Parmesan in a plastic bag for two years."

Which, come to think of it, isn't nearly that far off. Anyway, a nominative convention was ad-hoc reunited to come up with a name for a practice. "Ruined French kiss" failed because there's nothing French about it, "Italian kiss" failed because self-obviously Italian kissing is when you talk while doing it, I guess... I suppose more research is needed.

But yes, by and large this is the enchanted lala-land I spend my days in. Earlier some letter was begging to be beaten, but I never before beat up post-op sluts (seriously, she got her belly knifed and her ass injected, what am I gonna do, start punching her face ?!) and I don't intend to start, except... well... I do have that excellent doggy toy, you know, the blue one that leaves loving painkisses on everywhere ? And she... well, she's got her soles still, yes ?

I beat that girl's feet until my deltoid gave way, yay me. Their greatest regret is that I don't assrape them often enough, it's just... how shall I put this, the stories haven't been written yet for you to envy me, for there's no such thing as envy immediate of the gods. Only through the mediation of myth, snowballed from generation to generation, mouth to mouth just like they do, only then is it possible for mere humans to start forming their stereotypical cognitions. Until then...

Until then you eat v-Gina chips and call it good, what can you do.

It's glute-free, you know ? I know you know, I've seen inside your doggy bags, tyvm.

Anyways, tomorrow we're going to the beach, today we're... I dunno, I guess I'm gonna line them all up on a large bed where we'll watch together some old film, see how much trouble we can get into (and by we I very much don't mean me). Mayhaps Il gatto, why not. What's the worst that could come of it ?ⁱⁱⁱ

1. 

   Fie domnu' cit de mic, dupa masa doarme-umpic.

   [↩]
2. That's the sort of thing they mean by specialty cold cuts ; and then, it being technically a new item (in the sense of a new source) it has to be approved, yes ? Or how do you run your own household ? [↩]
3. I know what you're thinking, but those are your own problems, not mine. In my house the sluts don't whine about wanting more babies ; I bitch and moan about wanting more babes.

   It's... different, what can be said. Very, very different. [↩]