In response to the thread "Show Us Where You Work" and the thread "Show Us What's In Your Junk Drawer" I present ye with this. A tour of my home office, all 100"x100" of it. Cramped yes. But does it cramp my style? No. Well actually it does sometimes. Bastard office, get yer own life.
Click to Play The Very Very Very Lazy Lazy Ladybug as read by His Spriteness. One busy morning as I am rushing about the house deep in my morning ritual of putting on my cornflakes and pouring nice cold milk over a bowl of underwear, I heard a voice. It was talking, conversing, telling a story. I easily recognised the voice as that of my own child (now THAT'S parenting for ya) but it was different somehow. It wasn't whining, pleading for some sticky sugary food item he is not allowed. It wasn't crying because the house next door was painted the wrong color. It wasn't screaming, shrieking at the top of his lungs, just to see if it's true that Daddies eyeballs start to bleed from sound over 21,000hz frequency and 120db of amplitude. No, this sound was quite, peaceful, conversational. I stopped to listen for a moment, half expecting to hear a secret conversation with a new found imaginary friend, or worse. For him to be speaking in Aramai...
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