Fuck yes, Yankees! Philadelphia can kindly go suck it, preferably somewhere that *doesn't* have 27 wins, thank you very much.

Can it get any better than this? I don't think so, unless you throw in a victory blow job. Oh, well, there's this small detail that my bookie's been gone since the zombies showed up, but that's not really my problem. He'll show up in Malaysia by next weekend, I bet 50 bucks on it, right here, right now.

So, in conclusion: Yankees rule, Phillies suck, and if anyone needs me, I'll be at the bar until they kick us out. Stinson out!

((OOC: All baseball related opinions are Barney's, not mine! Please assume that, ICly, all the tags are sometime tomorrow/really, really early in the morning. Peace out!))

Who wants to join the 'please stop Kuroba's roommate from being depressed' brigade?

[It clicks on to Chuck and a very hot supermodel getting it on in the elevator to his hotel suite. Her leg is around his waist, his hand on her ass riding up her skirt to grab it. Mouth on her neck, making his way up before he moans: ]

Blair...

[It all stops. She pushes him off of her and slaps him across the face:]

My name is Bridget.

[Oh, fuck his life.]

Anybody mind checking on Naoto-kun every once in a while for the next couple of nights?  's important.

[You can see the top of Fuu's head (her hair's only the slightest bit messy) and her shoulders, her head laying on her arms as she rests on the keyboard of her laptop.  Papers are scattered and school books are piled next to her left elbow.

She's sleeping.  Quite deeply.

For fifteen minutes and six seconds.]

I apologize most sincerely for my lack of response to those gracious enough to offer aide in my last entry. Or is post the more appropriate term? In any case, events rather precipitously arranged themselves to conspire against my free time, and only of late have things quieted down. I shan't bore you with the political particulars, but if any of you would be so kind as to indulge me a second time, I vow I shall give you due consideration.

In short: What is your most and least favorite aspect of the year you reside in? That which, should you be transported elsewhere, you would not leave behind and that which you would make sure you did.

[oh hi, everyone, it's 9 again. this time, daylight can be seen behind him; he's outside somewhere, the remains of an old-fashioned car (a very, very 1930's one for those of you who would know) behind him. he smiles a little at the camera as per usual in his more recent posts.]

Hi, ducks. I've seen a lot of people talking about what time they're from lately, and I guess I never really found out-- how do you know what century it is? There isn't... really much left here that might say it, and I'm curious.





((In celebration of the fact that I FINALLY FIGURED OUT WHAT DECADE 9 TAKES PLACE IN, YESSS.))

You have no idea how hard it is to live in my equivalent of a supermarket (and don't ask me to explain that, because I won't bother). But since I'm a guest, I'm trying to be on my best behavior.

So I tried out a little experiment. Why not trade one addictive habit for another? Every time I thought about killing someone in the last few days, I'd smoke a cigarette. Today I realized I was up to three packs a day, and that it was probably time to quit.

Maybe I should try talking to her.