An open letter to my tum

[spookyevilone]

Dear Tum:
Quitcher bitchin'. Yes, they were grilling steaks at lunch. I did not attack the grill guy and fall upon the barely cooked cow corpse like a ravening zombie in search of fresh, juicy brains - even though I very much wanted to. I had rabbit food, so no bad yet tasty meat proteins have sullied the pristine dome of your oh so picky palace. I have it on very good authority that I cannot have caught meat poisoning from being exposed to the smell of steak.

So fuck off. Quit hurting. You'd better do what I say, because really, if you're going to punish me anyway, there's absolutely no reason for me to not go sink my teeth into the tender bloody morsels that formerly made up the flanks of a steer.

No love,
me

Side note: My fetish for geeky yet lethal men is rearing its head again. Jamie H from Mythbusters.. kinda hot. Or possibly it's secondary lust from the massive, massive explosions.

Dear That Guy:
Serves you right for being on a climbing trip. Though I have a sneaking suspicion that you find Jamie H. attractive as well and that takes just a bit of fun out of it for me. Because you are a jerk, sir.
Love and kisses,
me

Comments

[abiku.livejournal.com]

Hmm... Upset tum probably means you're not in the mood for dessert and/or drinks, then. In that case, you can ignore the voicemail I left you a half hour or so ago. I'll have to find something else to do with my bored/munchy self.

[spookyevilone.livejournal.com]

Actually booze and chocolate sounds good. Now that I've shoved some fake meat in my stomach, it's shut up.

[mekle.livejournal.com]

Ok. I have to ask. Which is it, the Mustache or Beret?

[spookyevilone.livejournal.com]

The freakishly huge biceps. But if I had to choose, the beret. Facial hair is fug.

[hypomanic-poet.livejournal.com]

I sympathise. I get migraines often and my stomach randomly decides that it doesn't like me eating certain foods for no reason so it punishes me by making me nauseous.