guestbook

Nick delivered my birthday gift an hour or so ago -- a stuffed cabbit (a cat-rabbit hybrid from Tenchi Muyo! that has the ability to transform into a space ship) and a package of popcorn (inspired by an essay assigned in English regarding temptations that I completed after three days of relentlessly toiling). A note scrawled upon a sheet of loose-leaf was tossed atop the cabbit, and the said message caused my stomach to churn in disgust. Three Xs were signed above Nick's signature, which, according to my mental encyclopedia of references, is either symbolic of porn or kisses. Regardless of which was intended, that's turf I never intend to so much as hesitantly poke when Nick is involved.

The moral of the story? Sign my newly-installed guestbook and you'll successfully escape the chains that bind you to my wrath of merciless poking.

Oh yeah, and don't forget to read the entry I posted earlier this afternoon, dink.