Explain to me...

[beanside]

Why I'm sitting here at midnight, writing. Jess is upstairs, taking a shower (I may want to murder them at times, but my family's been great about the whole dyke/girlfriend thing) and I'm here arguing with a redheaded muse.

No, not that redhead. This is the other one. No, not the one who's related to Satan, the one who I'm not supposed to fucking have!

Damn Metclub, and their fucking RealAudio interview with Cliff. I hate them all.

Oh, and I've got a pissy ghost muse. For sale. Cheap.

70 pages, maximum, do you hear me, you little shit?

(Jess says her bet is on 200, possibly 300. I say no fucking way.)

70, firm.

*sticks fingers in ears* Lalalalalalalala....

Comments

*tosses......

[frala.livejournal.com]

in my vote for at least 200*

Um... yeah, bad muses

[arami.livejournal.com]

Yeah, those redhead muses are bad. I should say anything further, cuz you know, that might be bad. Teeheee.... how 'bout 250 pgs :))

*see the Cliff muse, feel the Cliff muse, write the Cliff muse*

:)))

Hey!

[caarirose.livejournal.com]

I worked hard on that muse last night!

Gave him nice little ideas, lots of petting and bunny food!

Somehow I even offered to write a side step...still not sure how, but...

15 years of Met? In 70 pages?

*giggles*

*watches pigs fly*

Jess and I have money on the same number, too! *grin*