peppermint century

It has been a gentle day. No work, no stress. No real news around here. Genna has changed her name to Jinglepop by unanimous consent with her sister. They are both as mad as a cut snake - eight o'clock at night is about the threshold for that. Taff has decided against using an egg-white based icing mix with her frosting set: raw eggs from this part of the world are less than trustworthy. Lach has skipped WoW for most of the week, and churned his way through Warlords Battlecry instead. Isobel had a brief adventure when Jennie locked her out on the back balcony accidently for ten minutes before dinner tonight: she objected to the notion that lighting a campfire and roasting a possum would have made the time past faster.


The madness and greed that is the stock market, can I play with madness?. Every one of them scrabbling for every cent, a quest for fire like unto the children of the damned, the price of failure, the artificial bursting bubble of global hardship. The hatred of the financial system is the root of all goodness, the wasted years of the evil that men do. What we need is a revolution. Or not. Whatever happens, the killers are in control. Blood brothers, it's two minutes to midnight. Power corrupts, and absolute power is just bad. Just run to the hills, it is the only sanctuary for our still life. Judas be my guide, we will see that face: the ghost of the navigator.