Gratuitous greasy food porn above; and below, the tragic results of the equation; T-W=SM+SPOTS (where T is tempura, W is willpower, SM is stretch marks, and SPOTS is silly photo op in tight shirt.)
Oh yeah, remember the neverending sock that Erin was Knitting in a previous entry? Well she hit the wall with that beeotch, and said "$*&# top-down socks!”. Here we see the dismembered remains being resurrected into a proper toe-up sock. Can I get an AMEN! The roving blog eye also seems to have caught a dangerous snarky look from the Lukester in the background. A request has been made for ‘Hunks in flannel boxers’; that is the look of a game sailor ready for a voyage into dangerous waters.
Nancy diligently crafted the night through, Paul helped cook and chatted, Emily brought in a heavy graphic novel ‘In the shadow of no towers’ and tossed out smoothly snide rejoinders, Luke cooked and chatted and pondered flannel drawers, CeCe claimed to have a cold and stayed home-but I think she caught a nasty virus at her wild naked housewarming orgy last weekend, and Casey…
Well Casey had been sniffing glue all day so when he tried to knit it looked like this: Yeah, it scared the hell out of us, too. When he comes down he will be competing in the U.S National Snowshoe Races at Mt. Hood this coming weekend. Y’all hum into your crystals and visualize him making the U.S. Snowshoe Team; we all are, for shure. He better hope they don’t drug test for performance enhancing Tempura.
Here is a blurry photo of the paper doormat Andrew lovingly crafted last week. Why is it so blurry? Was the photographer drunk? Are all you viewers drunk? Is it really a doormat?
No, no, none of the above. Andrew is dead to us. DEAD, DEAD, DEAD! He toys with us, he promises the chance to bask in his glow, then he snatches hope away and hangs out with cooler kids than us. Well buddy, in the immortal words of that one song; ‘I’m gonna harden my heart.’ Damn skippy! So from now on when he does casually drop in and play up the dilettante crafter shtick, the photos of his work will be tainted with blur, or be too dark, or…OAHAAHAA!!
DISCLAIMER: Much of the foregoing is purely fictional, and any resemblance to actual people made of meat and their activities is purely ‘1,000,000 monkeys floating in space randomly typing the collected works of Shakespeare’ kind of coincidental. Really.
If this is bad, it’s kelly’s bad.