"Ok, you think you got a pretty face."
--Fox on the Run, Deadsy

So today, Justin went with his best friend and another friend to Cassiopia to get holes punched in us. Best friend now has a pierced belly button, and I now have another hole in my ear. In 6-8 weeks, the hoop currently in place will be replaced with one that looks like what I have now, and repeat. You know what this means? For the foreseeable future, no aural sex for Justin.

Thanks to the incredible deductive powers of Justin, PI the six cycles mystery has been solved. And by deductive powers I mean that she told me because she saw my post. Damn. Either way, I now know her age, her name, and the fact that she has at least one pair of clean white socks. Go me. Apparently, she got the link to my page a while ago from a friend who told her to check it out, and the night of the chess lesson she was just really bored and found it in her Favorites and wondered whether I could teach her. Odd, yes no? I still have no idea who said friend might be - I prolly don't know them either. And what I said she said was mostly paraphrasing. So there.

My roommate, Chris, continues to amuse despite his not being my roommate at the moment. Here is a portion of a letter he was writing while he was extremely sans sobriety:
"Let's think of me as some random confused tourist just begging to be given terrible directions leading to Costco, or something as equally degrading. I've talked to Wing, and don't worry, she loves dogs a lot. Just make the fridge stocked 39th emperor, so whatever. Too many mis-writes in this letter: Promocommercials: Ugh I am such grammar. Whatever that means, I'm off to pass out. I'll say [[if you think you ve slistening away alive]]"

Sheer bloody poetry. And it gets better. While discussing ways to make sure messages were not lost, we hit upon a real gem. The gist is contained in one sentence of mine:

If I were emperor, I'd send dinner invitations tattooed on the backs of attractive slaves.

We went all sorts of places from there. You could RSVP on a slave of your own and send it back. Or your acceptance could be noted by your having sex with the slave and sending it back, with amount of bruises showing your general opinion of the affair. Formal or casual wear could be denoted by the way that the slave was dressed when it arrived. All sorts of political statements and digs could be made by Chris and I (as Emperors) by sending people slaves of the wrong sex.

When school starts up again, we're going to try this with Kate and a Sharpie, sending her back and forth across the room with messages written on her arms. We're trusting to the fact that she understands how important this form of communication is to us. Otherwise we're going to end up with Sharpies lodged in our eyes the first time I explain that the message I need to send Chris is really long and she's going to have to take off her shirt for me to have enough writing space.

And then there was a riot.

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