scylla

So it's been determined by a council of rockin' elders that my tactic, when it comes to hilarity, is to take a horse (a pony, if you may). Beat it to a sexy, bloody death. And then procede to completely deconstruct it.

An example? Pursue a line of humor for a while (perhaps purusing this line as swiftly as I may pursue one's mother, f'rinstance). Gently prod out any humor which may be knocked loose by just my grubby hands (once again, an allusion aptly applied to one's mother). Around this time, when I've lost interest (mcuh as I may interest in a certain woman, after I've been sated), I'll start approaching that humor-germ with agressiveness, explicitly stating my original innuendo in increasingly graphic, loud tones.

YOUR MOTHER IS A FUCKING SLUT, DUDE. I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU DON'T REALIZE IT. SERIOUSLY. SHE SPREADS HER LEGS FOR POTATOES AND GIN.

I'm Damien fuckin' Hirst yo

In other news, I hate waiting to see if I got this job. And i hate waiting for certain phone calls. I'll just be issuing a blanket 'fie' upon the general vicinity for the next... oh, four hours or so?