"I said start sharing, you sonofabitch."
One of my favoritest things in the whole entire wide expansive colossal gigantic world of continental drift that will eventually crash and reform into a brand new über-landmass of Cyclopean proportion long after we've managed to eradicate ourselves via nuclear or biological weaponry or mass Darwinism is being tagged by someone with a meme because it keeps me from having to put any thought into the next post, thereby saving precious joules of brain power for my stupendously horrid offline writing. So, thanks, La Belette Rouge, despite the strangeness of the tag itself. Pastries? I don't think anyone has ever asked me that. Oh, and having the tag accompanied by a wink was completely unnecessary as I already got one from my BFF Sarah last week. Nyah nyah nyah!
Okay, eleven things you may or may not know about yours truly:
1. Clothes shop: *laughs uncontrollably until head bursts* Anyone have any Krazy Glue? Contrary to popular fact, I actually do own a few shirts that aren't T and also a suit -- not pictured -- for that one time every 7 or 8 years when my wife and I can go somewhere in public without the goddamn offspring that isn't a heavy metal concert. Almost makes me glad they aren't big fans of dad's old man music.
2. Furniture shop: *puzzled* I don't remember where we got our stuff. They're nothing fancy, I can tell you that much. I'll buy something swanky when the kids are out of the house unless we're living in a cardboard box by then or have been eradicated via nuclear or biological weaponry.
No Darwinism for me!
3. Sweet: Yes I am, merci beaucoup ! Oh, you meant a confectionery type item. Well, I am sweet, you fuckers. Watch.
How do I love thee, let me count the ways.
I only need one hand, for these endless days
give me nothing but a head full of greys.
Wife, you're nuts. Kids, you're insane
and all three break synapses, my brain --
I can't think of a rhyme -- shit -- Spanish main.
Honestly, I love the maple candy you can get at the Chardon Maple Festival. Sure, the hokey, countrified atmosphere is about 180° from my personality, and generally makes me want to go all Ass-Kickin' Levi Fuckin' Redneck on 'em after about five minutes, which is all the time you need to buy the stuff and get the hell out, but dammit, I could eat boxes of that stuff until my stomach exploded and you needed hydrochloric acid to get the stains of splattered entrails off the wall. It's that good.
4. City: Why, Cleveland, of course! [this is asking me where I am and not where I want to be, right?]
5. Drink: If I don't say le vin, then the ghosts of a million failed French writers will transcend the boundary between here and the afterlife, materializing in our four dimensions to collectively kick my soon-to-be ectoplasmic ass.
6. Music: I can headbang with the best of them, but if we're talking desert island, there's really only one possible answer.
No, I'm not crying, I've got something in my eye. Fuck off.
7. TV series: Oh, there are so many to choose from --
"This is what'll happen if you don't pick us!"
8. Film: Oh, there are so many to choose from --
What, no Darth Vader or Satan or Crown Prince or Sauron or Michael Myers or Raymond Burr or terrible quirk of fate to threaten me with violence?
Saw me flexing, huh. Cowards.
9. Workout: Channel surfing certainly does goddamn count. Thumbs of steel. Oh, I walk to and from the bus stop not five, but six, days a week.
Near my house and downtown.
"You're gonna crap crap, Graves!"
10. Pastries: Picking just one is nigh impossible, but I suppose a danish with some kind of fruit: blueberry, apricot, raspberry. And don't ever forget to serve it with a steaming hot cup of --
11. Coffee: Given the fact that the cups of specialty beans sold where I work cost 42 billion in adjusted dollars -- what is that, a few dozen Euros? -- we brew and since we have to deal with jokers for hour after hour of living hell, quantity is the order of the day, so whatever vaguely tasty, reasonably strong yet affordable junk we can find, we have. Hey, it's either a few pots of that or I come to work angry and plastered. Take your pick, administration.
Oh shit, almost forgot the next batch of victims: the boss, the Pope of Beer, Donuts and Irrational Hockey Hatred, DCup, Non, je ne regrette rien, Utah Savage.