My mother is typing this me; I am still consternated at the lack of evolution of my not-so-finger-like extremities. She has promised to type verbatim. Concurrent with this telepathic dictation I sit and wonder how I can use the ceiling fan as a death device. (The blasted thing keeps hypnotizing me so I haven't progressed much. It's a challenge I am working to surpass.)
Luckily, there is my Godmother - who is hot. My mother managed to not fuck that one up. She visits, and I get to sit in her lap and purr. I think it is good for both of us.
Everyone else I am not so concerned with, or can't remember.
I edited my profile with Thomas' Myspace Editor V4.4
