About

Okay, so....I'm probably two Courtney Loves short of a Rasputin sort of crazy...so that's MY excuse, but why the HELL would anyone in their RIGHT mind come here? Everything is so...little....and cute. I'd venture to say it's adorable, which, as anyone who KNOWS me knows, is a word I reserve for VERY special occasions, the majority of which have to do with myself.

Which leads me to my next point.

I am adorable. At least I am on this site thingie here. I mean....LOOK at me! Holy s**t, I can hardly believe I'm real! Oh crap... song break:

I feel pretty! Oh so pretty!
I feel pretty and witty and BRIIIIGHT
And I pity any girl who is not meee toniiiiight!

See what you made me do!? SEE!? See how all this god-awful cuteness is infiltrating my brain!? I'm starting to sound like my daughter. Who is the cutest girl in the entire nine worlds-no-you-may-not-date-her, but bless her if she's not a liiiiittle too much into her my little ponies. I mean, I BOUGHT her like SEVEN for her birthday and there's more on the list this year. Normally I wouldn't be worried, but she TALKS to the bloody things. And she'd upwards of six thousand years old... I mean, she's got at least another six to go before I could justify her talking to plastic ponies. Then again, I never tried living in the barren waste of the land of the dead...so maybe the pony thing is more understandable than I think.

What was I talking about? - hey, YOU swallow snake venom for fifty some-odd centuries and you see how YOUR memory holds up!- OH YEAH! Me. And if we weren't talking about me, then shut up because we are now.

I'm living with my... "FAMILY" (notice the quotes) at the moment in their....really pretty shitty establishment, but fair enough, at least they let me in this time....it doesn't always happen. I'm just mildly put off that what they let me in TO is a room that is now labeled "storage/goats/Loki" on the resident roster. Whatever. I have my sights on the blonde twit's room now. God, I hate her. Nevertheless. I'm here now, much to everyone's surprise and terror I guess. APPARENTLY while I was....."away"......Heimdal formulated some prediction that I'd come back and end the world as they know it. Which, as you've probably noticed, I most certainly have not. Don't get me wrong, the thought crossed my mind many, many times, but what I love more than the thought of grinding the guy up under spiked chariot wheels is the thought of proving Mr. I-Can-See-the-Future-Cuz-I'm-so-Damn-Smart DEAD WRONG!

So here I be. Non-world endy and pretty bored, but completely satisfied whenever I see a painful look of staggering self-doubt cross Heimdal's face. Now in the interest of time, I'll now simply give you a handy list to refer to during your quest to not piss me off. I might not be raining fire and blood upon the earth, but I am creative and I am persistent. Ask Baldur. You've been warned.

I love my kids, but not yours or you.

Childbirth, ipods, ABBA and lip-stitching are generally sensitive topics.
If you ever see my name on a ballot, do not be alarmed, just vote for me.

Save the damn baby seals, assholes.

If you wanna be part of some like....'cult following' or whatever, fine, I'm not stopping you, but be a USEFUL cult member and buy me beer.

I had to LEARN your damn native language, now do me the favor of typing correctly in it.

Congratulations, boys, I swing.

Fire GIANT, thank you....not fire GOD...thanks, but I'll pass.

I have come to the conclusion that a single goat is one goat too many.