Ya hear me shout when no one's about,
You find me where I can't be seen.
I feel the air flowing for life's in full swing,
So tell me why I cannot breathe.

And here I am falling,
Oh why am I falling.
Take me to where I belong.
I'm standing here falling,
Before you falling.
If it weren't for your wings I'd be gone.

Kate Rusby

Little one when you play
Don't you mind what they say
Let those eyes sparkle and shine
Never a tear, baby of mine
If they knew sweet little you
They'd end up loving you too
All those same people who scold you
What they'd give just for
The right to hold you

Dumbo

I'm somewhere between these things, and also Hey Mickey. And a little "you spin me right round baby, right round, like a record baby, right round round round."

I've been compared to Mother Theresa and to Bettie Page, but it's really more flattering if I don't mention I have the sexual appeal of one and the giving heart of the other - or at least I don't tell you which is which.

I'm not wearing underpants. I'm wearing overpants.

I make it a policy to never turn down an offer of coffee in a public place, unless it's from someone who has previously tried to stab me in a coffee shop. Yes, that includes you, Mom.

Running from scary people. Being scary so other people will run. Checking egg crackers for efficiency. Quality testing box springs. Running a person ranch.

I have vast, implacable plans and my essence is contained in several phylacteries, so obviously I cannot be killed by mortal means. Unfortunately I can be bribed with chocolate, and chocolate is cheap.
Because of this I was once held prisoner in an old gas can for several centuries. Now I avoid any gas cans with signs on the outside indicating there is chocolate within, because the chances are high that I am being misled.
It only takes me a couple times of being captured by promises of chocolate to learn.

If captured, I am compelled to give you my pot of kobolds. Knowing this in advance, I have no idea why anyone keeps trying to capture me.

Calibrating gubbled skurpers. Evaluating the spread of great tits in nontraditional habitats. Cooking frozen pizza.

I'm good at starting kitchen fires with only tonight's meal as fuel. I am exceptional at finding the best way to break a machine. I'm fucking awesome at destroying cars by driving them, and in ways that you wouldn't expect.
Cars don't need four wheels, do they? Well, you'd better hope not.

I am invisible, and I like to pinch heinies.

I have a big, strong boyfriend who likes to punch people who message me looking for sex.

(He's from another town, you don't know him.)

I have hobbit feet.
I keep them in my waistcoat pocket, and I'm not allowed to vacation in the Shire anymore.

Things That Make You Want To Punch Someone's Mama, by Igotta Lotta Troubles.

Snuff film parodies.

The sound my bird makes when you play some Daft Punk backwards for her at high speed.
The sound Daft Punk makes when you fling my bird backwards at them at high speed.

Chalk. Ants. Babies, but not toddlers, because toddlers are gamy.

Netflix. Electricity. Dilled Scuppernongs. Flip-flops. Chattanooga. Comestibles. Mathematic athleticism.

If the cat's alive in this box, and why the box keeps hissing.

Why my big strong boyfriend likes to punch people who message me looking for sex, and why he is punching himself.

Why people message me for sex when they know my boyfriend's just going to punch them.

How awesome it is having boobs.

Cabbages and kings.

What I should do about this fire in my hair, and whether or not the pain is severe enough to seek attention.

Adjusting my rocket pack to achieve ultraolfactory speeds.
Dealing it, and blaming other people.

Regenerating in the zero room.

Playing backgammon with long dead historical figures.

Saving nuns from rabid orphans.

Dancing to the music the moon plays.

Frothing at the mouth.

It really was me that did that thing that night.
I am the Gatekeeper.

I'm using this formerly completely empty account to try and stay out of the journals for at least a couple weeks. I am failing miserably.
(See witchzenka.)

You are the Keymaster.

You know how to wear a colander as underpants.

You've ever xeroxed your cat.

You have chocolate but are not trying to capture me.

You need a pot of kobolds.

You know a good recipe for chalk and babies.

You have access to a hot springs and are willing to let me use it.

You're not just sitting in a wading pool and farting and calling it a hot springs, because fool me twice...