(no subject)

"Anyway, you so clever, he gave paper to me?"
"Hah! Can you read it, then? Can you?"
"No, I tell you to read it. That called del-eg-ay-shun."
"Hah! Can't read! Can't count! Stupid troll!"
"Not stupid!"
"Hah! Yes? Everyone knows trolls can't even count up to four!"*
"Eater of rats"
"How many fingers am I holding up? You tell me, Mr Clever Rocks in the Head."
"Many," Detritus hazarded.

*In fact, trolls traditionaly count like this: one, two, three... many, and people assume this means that can have no grasp of higher numbers. They don't realize that many can be a number. As in: one, two, three, many, many-one, many-two, many-three, many many, many-many-one, many-many-two, many-many-three, many many many, many-many-many-one, many-many-many-two, many-many-many-three, LOTS.

And this is why I love Terry Pratchett.
One of the many reasons. Long time obsession. Anyway, out of boredom, when I was lying in Iain's hammock, I had a skizzy at his bookshelf and thought, "I haven't read Men at Arms in a long, long time." That was maybe five or six at night. Three hours later I'm almost halfway through it. I read waaaay too much.
Who'm I kidding? I don't read enough.
I think I'm also over using italics, but oh well. It's all those many's. Gotta love trolls. Gotta hate elves. *grins*
My dad's friend keeps telling me I have a model's figure, and I should model, and is always admiring the pretty pictures of me, or saying it's a pleasant surprise to see a pretty girl young lady around the house. It's rather amusing. I wouldn't model. Not my thing. And of course if Dad hears he just beams because omg his baby is a looker. Mind you, say anything in which I am complimented, he is complinted, or in any way suggests we are alike, and he gets all happy.
I am very lazy and need to really have a look at getting a job.

Fin.