Revoke my intelligent feminist membership.
Talk sensible to me.
For fuck's sake, invoke an intervention.
Boys carbonate me.
The Boy confuses me.
Oh... look at the time. I gotta leave you with better than that.
This is Shane (and Carna/Karna -- see, I didn't ask the spelling... bad blogdork, bad! -- not that CKarna's an afterthought, just that I've known Shane longer. KCarna? TOTALLY cool.). I've known him my whole life. He's the best-looking guy I know that wasn't drawn by Marvel Comics. Totally objective there.‡
Eye. Fucking. Candy. Both of 'em.†
Click for big. Seriously, if you don't click for big, there's something wrong with our relationship. Trust me. You WANT to click for big.
That should make you feel better.
And if I can't feel better, the next best thing is that y'all should feel better.
I know, I'm a train wreck. Don't worry about me. Weakness shines through some days. While it ain't pretty, it's nothing to worry about.
[SUMMARY: Look at the fucking time. Does it look like a good time for coherent thought?]
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): In my next life, I want to be this photogenic.
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed -- oh, the irony): I'd jump The Boy in any public place in a heartbeat. I'd gladly bake Shane cookies. See the objectivity?