Thursday, September 15, 2016

Curse of the Feather Bed, that is not a cheap-yet-entertaining 60s ghost story or an episode of Courage the Cowardly Dog. That is my life right now. KILL ME.

Yeah, I had to house-sit for a few days. It was nice. Quiet. Y'know, a little bit boring. BUT (first world problems ahoy) my bed was a feather bed. Which sounds, in theory, to be quite nice.

Yeah. In theory, it is. In reality, I have a knee that my dog did something to (he rammed it at high speed, it didn't really...recover that well), and that kind of no-support bed...makes it sad.

So now I am at home, knee aching, thinking that I have never felt so sorry for Gotham's Oswald Cobblepot in my LIFE. Seriously. I know he's fairly psychotic and is responsible for an amazing amount of deaths, but GEEZE. I'm getting all caught up for season three and I'm just going, 'do you have painkillers? can you sit down? DON'T BUY A SQUISHY BED, YOU'LL REGRET IT!' and generally feeling really, really bad for him.

Which is why I wouldn't last five minutes in Gotham anyway. I can just see myself meeting the Scarecrow: 'are you eating anything? you can't live on coffee and screams, y'know!'


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