Saturday, 7 July 2007
The Catto crawls sleepily from bed and deposits self atop Modernist Lit homework.
The Catto yowls annoyedly.
The Catto blogs.
We need lunch, my darling reightards! To send belbel off
here I will refrain from making cracks/puns simply because the percentage of activated braincells are not yet sufficient for that sort of thing to the faraway land of Cambridge with people in whose
pleasurable company she shall pass fourteen long days with, pining for the rest of Reightards. Catto sniggers appreciatively
at her own joke, sadfacePW is ded. *stabs violently*. Lit saiganging is fun but very ded too *stabs less violently* The Catto would like to humbly apologise for pulling the Disappearing Act midway through msn mass convos.
The Catto wonders why she is talking in third-person, omniscient narrative.
Much love, Catto whose brain now enjoys 100% reightardation per second.
Anonymous was reightarded