kalischild

Well.

(SUMMARY, or "What I did over the weekend, in vague prose")

One war over. And we're counting the dead. One casualty, one friend put to the test, one unanswered question.

I really should stay single for the rest of my life.

Then again, with pickup lines like "I promise not to touch you where you pee," I suppose I might not have that much choice.

The Jager. It speaks THROUGH me, but not with my voice.

Nah. Actually that sort of thing is ENTIRELY in character.

I just need an old priest, a young priest, and a fifth of the Jag. Linda Blair was a poser.

I have also learned not to throw cocktail parties in flu season. Whoa. I'm like some Typhoid Carrie from 'Sex and The City': Frou-frou drinks and communicable diseases.

And still, as ever, I seek those that flirt without fear.

Another weekend down, another dead soldier, and I smoke now only in my dreams. Back to the vague grey land of the cubicular hell.

To those still standing, the sick, the tired, and the dead?

Morituri te salutant .

or:

See you at Death Guild.

Heh.