opera142: (bleach)
Urg. Car got smashed during an over-night hit and run. Walked out to it one morning. Insurance, fix, whatever. except that the repairs are taking forever, and I've largely been using Moe's car, and all this togetherness is burning away at my stand-others reserve.

Grr. Then last night, I was dropped off at my writings meeting, and I could see them sitting at our table, and I was like, I need a people break. So I went a couple of shops down and had me-time/dinner. And as I was leaving the shop, members of the group were roaming the strip mall looking for me. I should appreciate their concern, "We saw you arrive, but you didn't make it in..." but urg. Alone time please.
opera142: (crayons)
According to Subway, it is "Subtember". In celebration, write me some dirty, dirty fic.
opera142: (this shit is bananas)
First, a confession. I am a liar. YesD and I were discussing WIPs and inspiration and future projects. This led to me snarky about the amount of Cody!fic in wrestlefic. Cody Rhoades, ugh. I do not give two shits about Cody.

Or rather, didn't until this weekend when I found a stale-dated Smackdown hidden in a TiVo folder. Cody threatened to make Teddy wear a bag on his head if Teddy didn't win his next match. omguguys.

So now, my head has this big, awful Edwardian AU starring Teddy as a poor lad up from the village, at his first footman post, and Cody is the son of The Manor owner, and he's such a total shit. A weasley little turd, so deplorable nobody can stand him so he forces his company upon those who can't tell him to go away. I gave you the premise, go write the story. doit doit doit.

Anyway, Raw.

An ill, butterscotchy wind blew through San Jose last night. It howled with a semi-turgid fury. OTPCHATFICLOL!! OTPCHATFICLOL it seemed to screech, and low, beneath the wind, my bestie HHH could be heard to say, "All right, geez. All right."

As the gale subsided, HHH, careful to avoid eye contact with me, trudged out to the ring, bringing with him Super Dave Osbourne. First, he announces there's gonna be a new ref at Summerslam.

Me: Shawn Michaels in tiny reffing panties?

HHH: shhhhhh.

Me: Omg, Jericho in tiny reffing panties?

HHH: Op, shhhhh.

Me: omg, the Precious in tiny reffing panties, and you've made him stop drinking and tazing.

HHH: No. Me.

Me: Geez.

HHH: And now, I've decided totally on my own, without any badgering from anyone who wears a size twe--, to make two matches. Cena and Punk have to fight other people even though all they want to do be in the ring together.

Me: How come you switched out Morrison with Super Dave Osbourne?

HHH: Watch it, or next week I'll have to re-sign Edge.

Me: I'm gonna go eat a popsicle.

HHH: Look, Op. Raw is going proceed most Stephilly for the rest of the night. Mark Henry recap. Alex Riley still employeed. The awesomeness that is Vickie totally downplayed. Oh, I snuck in a few treats for ya: Ricardo, the ever-skulking butler, recap of remember that time R Truth slithered all over John Morrison, surprise!Christian. And trust me, the main even is going to seem a total OTPCHATFICLOL contract signing-- nothing but 25 minutes of Punk and Cena, Cena and Punk, Punk and Cena, but stick with it. It'll be awesome.

Me: Okay, bestie. For you.

How can Punk be so awesome with everything he says, and Cena be so after-school special preachy in everything he says, and it's the same conversation?
opera142: (Default)
Oh Wade Barrett. You've got Gabriel, Jericho, Dibiase, Punk and Morrison, yet you choose to pester Cena? Also, why has there been a total absence of tea, kinky/shaming costumes, and ever-dissatisfied fussiness? I DEMAND FUSSINESS.
opera142: (crayons)
This month's WWE mag has everyone in Revolutionary Timez rags. Sadly, it's only drawings, not actual hotties in actual costumes. But whatever. Porn is porn.


opera142: (Default)

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