091. Diagnosis

[vicodincrutch]

Again? Don't you people have something better to do? Check your myspace? Talk to your mother? That cat at your feet, one of four, that's got to be something. There is nothing at all that requires your attention?

Liars. All of you.

Comments

[vicodincrutch.livejournal.com]

Oh, I didn't get the memo that overly extended metaphors were back. Tre chic.

[lagerfeldbuilt.livejournal.com]

His caustic manner demands credit, few have an appreciation for the classic elegance of a properly tailored riposte. However his execution bears traces of working class mediocrity. I hate mediocrity.

But there is potential here; he has my pity.

Perhaps if he should attain a uniform color to his beard. Hm.

1/2

[vicodincrutch.livejournal.com]

[vicodincrutch.livejournal.com]

Talking to yourself is never en vogue, even in a penguin suit while wearing sunglasses.

[lagerfeldbuilt.livejournal.com]

The plebeian rogue notices me. I will grant him the small mercy of saying nothing for the dream of acquainting one such as myself is far sweeter when unmet in reality. He will have rich dreams to come and from those perhaps he'll find his muse to rise above monotony.

[vicodincrutch.livejournal.com]

Jinkies. Now I know where all of the cocaine in the City went. Mystery solved.

[lagerfeldbuilt.livejournal.com]

Does he associate with dearest Kate? No. Her hands are tied fitting into my latest collection. Perhaps he mistakes her for another. Note to K.L.: have assistant call Amy in the morning.

[vicodincrutch.livejournal.com]

And no caviar on the pizza. Don't forget that.