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Kohloo

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When was the last time you bought something? What was it?

About 30min ago. My prescription from the pharmacy. Ah sweet pain relief

What would you do if Hannibal Lecter showed up at your door?

Don't answer it

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So, we've settled that your favorite color is purple (I APPROVE).

 

But, like, what are your favorite purple things?!

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Do you have a favorite fantasy creature? If so, then what is it? If not, then can you make up one that you'd like? :o

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Marry me. I mean. Join my marriage. I mean, I don't know. f**** yeah, Lamia.

You know, I feel myself drawn to Lamia as well. :o

Sooooo

Does this mean we've got a bit of a ménage a trois thing going on now? Cuz I'd be okay with that

xD

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What would you name your ship if you had one? Also, what would it look like? Would you want a motor yacht, a sailboat, or perhaps a dinghy?

Name: Party Foul

Looks: Flaking red paint

Type: Dinghy

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Tell me a story? I so love your stories.

Well you better sit back and buckle your seat belt, because it's story time!

How does a tale of fate, soulmates, and magical romance sound to you? Good? Tough shit, because that's not the story I'm gonna tell you! Nah, this story is about wine. I'm talkin' the most delicious wine I have ever had in my nearly 26 years of existence on this Earth.

 

Let's start with a bit of backstory:

You may or may not know this, but the man that raised me is a logger and has been a logger since before I was born. I mean your typical manly man of a logger (who also happens to have a heart of gold, enjoys herbal teas, and spoils his little dog, Maggie, rotten. She deserves it though, she had a hard life before coming to our family and is like super cute). Anyway, what he actually does is work on the dry land sort. That's where the logging trucks bring the logs where they will but sorted and cut and whatever else before being sent off to...who the heck knows where. One of the lovely perks of working there is FREE FIREWOOD. That's right, there's a reject pile. And the workers are allowed to take from the reject pile, the only catch is that it's first come first serve and you need to cut it yourself. So as you can imagine, I've had a quite a privileged life of free firewood (we like our fires, okay??). Not just us, he also gets enough wood for my uncle (he uses a wood stove instead of a furnace in the winter) and will always supply any camping family members with wood if they're in town visiting. How many times have I said wood? Is it enough wood for you yet? How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?

 

Here's a fun fact before we get to the actual story: Every time I've typed wood so far, I've actually typed it as woof and had to change it (my backspace is giving me a death glare, send help!)

 

Now at this point you're probably wondering, "What does logging and firewood have to do with WINE??" And that's where our story begins:

In case you haven't noticed, my stepdad likes helping people when it comes to firewood. There have been the occasional time where he has helped people that are nothing more than acquaintances. Enter, Old Italian Guy! None of us remember the name of the Old Italian Guy, and we have no idea if he's still even alive. However, one day he came to the sort to get some firewood. If I remember correctly, Old Italian Guy knew someone that worked there (maybe his son???) and that person was supposed to meet him there. They never showed up though, who knows why. At this point, my stepdad (with his heart of gold) notices this old guy struggling with the reject pile (some of the pieces are huge, okay??). Stepdad goes over and offers to help. He ends up cutting the wood for him (he's got a chainsaw anyway, it's kiiiiinda his job working with big ass chainsaws) and loading up the guys truck (like, super duper loading it up because the Old Italian Guy was nice, and old. Stepdad has a soft spot in his heart for old people). Old Italian Guy is very appreciative and goes on his way. Stepdad thinks nothing of it and goes back to whatever he was doing.

 

Alright, now fast forward a week. Stepdad is working away and one of the other workers comes to his area to let him know there's some old guy there to see him. Annoyed at being interrupted while working, he heads over there to see what ass-hat is stopping him from doing his job. Bam, it's the Old Italian Guy. So my stepdad reigns in the fury a bit (remember, soft spot for old people). Old Italian Guy hands stepdad a bottle of wine as thanks for helping him the week before. Turns out, this little shit makes homemade wine, and he wanted my stepdad to have the first bottle from that particular batch. Stepdad is super thankful for it, totally wasn't expecting it.

Here's the thing though, it was red wine. You see, my parents don't drink red wine. They used to drink champagne, and now my mum drinks this bubbly pink stuff. They don't like red wine, they never have. Lucky for me, I do. I had just started summer vacation, I did well in school that year, so the parent's decide, "alright, we're gonna give the kid the wine."

 

Aaaaaaand let me tell you, that homemade Old Italian Guy wine is the single.most.delicious.thing.I.have.ever.had.

And oh yeah, I drank that whole bottle in one night.

And oh yeah, it was strong.

I was so drunk that I was practically walking horizontally. At least I was still walking, giving my mum a heart attack in the process, but I was walking. I should probably also mention that we were having a fire that night and I kept walking around with my hotdog stick. Anytime I had to navigate the stairs to and from the bathroom, I would actually sit down and bum my way up and down the stairs. Once, at my stepdad's suggestion, I threatened to slide down the stairs just so we could see my mum's reaction. I didn't actually slide down them, probably would have broken something, but the reaction was still worth it. Also, even though it was clear that night, it had rained the night before. So there were slugs out and about. A huge black slug crawled onto my shoe at one point and I kicked it off all freaked out and grossed out and yuuuuuuck. Mum was gagging, I was trying not to gag (while also laughing at my mum for gagging). Like an hour later, sitting around the fire doing fire things, and the same fricken slug crawls back onto my shoe! Of course this time it's more of a freakout and yuuuuuuck it's on my shoe it's the same slug from before get it off!! Stepdad used a stick to flick it off into oblivion. A couple hours later, as we're heading in for the night, I turn to my mum and say, "Did a slug seriously crawl onto my shoe twice or am I so drunk that I imagined it???" and she was all like, "No, eeewwwww, it actually happened and it was so gross!" so I go, "omg, what if it comes in the house??" like it's some sort of goddamn dragon or something. Mum assured me it wouldn't come in the house and sent me to bed (as in she followed me to make sure I got in bed without killing myself because she was paranoid, my stepdad just laughed at her and gave me this bit of wisdom that I now impart on you: If the room is spinning, put your foot on the floor to make it stop).

 

But yeah, it was the most magical wine I've ever had and I've never had anything as good as that wine ever since. I am saddened that I have not had a wine that is as good as that one. And at the same time I feel absolutely blessed by the heavens that I got to have a taste of paradise~

Also, that slug....I'll never forget that slug. There's another slug I won't forget, but that's a story for another time.

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I can't top that story. I won't even try. Simple question it is.

 

What are you wearing today, and is it purple?

shorts and t-shirt!

my shorts are boring (booo)

My socks are black and purple (yaaaaay)

and my shirt is black with a fabulous pink galaxy thing on it (yaaaay)

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