...at the record store; wept openly, walked away empty-handed. I curse being broke. Perhaps I should sell my cat for this disc and two John Doe tickets (throw in a pair of X tix and you get a recently-recarpeted scratching post too). My cat is very lovely.
What am I doing in a record store when I have no money? It's an S/M thing.
No, wait; I'll keep my cat, but give you an old Captain America/Submariner/Human Torch team-up comic (these are the original character incarnations, before the Stan Lee/Jack Kirby etc. silver age revisions), slightly-to-heavily worn but muchly loved.
No, wait; you can just gimme the tix and like doing it. And throw in a copy of the disc for extra points. I AM SNOOKER! BOW BEFORE ME!
I had a weird dream last night, about riding around in this trapeze thingy with Skeptical. It wasn't naughty. Just weird. I rarely dream of people I know.
And never dream of naughty stuff
