Her Ladyship Is Exhausted @lilithsaintcrow@raggedfeathers.com

A little lunchtime reading.

LOOK UPON MY WORKS, YE MIGHTY, AND SALIVATE.

Horace de Brassiere, espresso machine and man about town, bids you a blessed Sunday morn.

I like big…LOAVES and I cannot lie…

This is the face of a dog who does not know what his eldritch horror of an owner will do next, but wouldn’t say no to a good ear-rub.

Okay, we can all relax. The raccoons did not trash the Asshole Crow Condo overnight.

And I’ve seen Carl. Unfortunately Jerry is still MIA.

…we left the Asshole Crow Condo out.

Despite my daughter (PRINCESS) anxiously inquiring whether or not a raccoon might move on in.

Attached please find Jerry’s proof of life, taken before dusk but after the CORPSE-FENCE INCIDENT. (Jerry could reach the top of the table but was unable to properly fly.)

So here I am on a Thursday, writing more SquirrelTerror.

It’s… kind of good to be back?

LOOK WHAT MY DAUGHTER BROUGHT HOME FOR ME.

I am on my last nerve and a lot of coffee this morning, so fair warning: Don’t fucking test me on this one.

(This warning brought to you by Not All Men But Definitely That Fucking Guy.)

The post-sluice romp has begun. House reeks of even more wet dog. Towels are everywhere.

Which reminds me of my very favorite LJ icon ever.

In which I talk about my best books, being disposable, and how maybe it isn’t all hopeless bullshit.

I mean, just LOOK at this fuzzy, wonderful jerk.

Also, I’ve a story in this new anthology!

Someone loves me. I don’t have a Keurig machine, but I’ll make do.

Okay, Dracula.