Anne’s slayed vagina…

Dear Diary,

“OK, these pants have to come off because they’re slaying my vagina.”

It was that comment that almost ended my life today. 😅

It was just the way Anne said it; you had to have been there. Maybe I should explain just a bit. See, Anne has this habit of running around naked when its just us girls, but I had some business paperwork to sign so I had it delivered to my place. Which meant she had to get dressed.

And she was not happy about it.

And apparently, her pants were slaying her vagina the entire time.

It only took a few minutes, but the second he left she plopped down on the bed and started wiggling out of her pants like they were full of ants. After about three seconds she glared at me and went “OK, these pants have to come off because they’re slaying my vagina. Can you please help me get these off?!” like it was the most severe, crucial thing ever.

I almost died right there. It was beautiful.

Little things like that just make my day.

Writing-wise, I killed it, completely finishing and compiling Voyeur: Season 1, Episode 5 (it’s scheduled to be released August 1^st unless you’re a member of my Patreon, in which case you’ll be getting it free next month), getting about halfway through Knocking Up The MILF’s yellow revision, and laying the groundwork for some top-secret author stuff I’ll be announcing soon.

I’ll just say this for now: your girl is branching out!

My personal life, however, was nowhere near as impressive. I made plans to hang with the bestie Sunday, but other than that…boring. Well, with the small exception of Anne’s pants slaying her vagina. I’m not really complaining though. Dull days are nice sometimes. Especially for me, considering how crazy my life usually is.

I’m thinking about getting drunk tonight, I dunno. Drunk Skyrim sounds really appealing. And reading.

Until tomorrow, lov—

 

Liver: Wait a minute, wench. You promised no more drinking for the rest of the month.

Me: Prove it, motherfucker.

Liver: Fine. Let me check my texts… aaannnddd all my texts from you are gone.

[smiling smugly]

Liver: You deleted them when I was sleeping, didn’t you? Because you knew you were getting plastered tonight.

[smiling smugly]

Liver: I know you did. That’s fucked up. Does honesty mean nothing to you?

[smiling smugly]

 

Sucka.

 

Enjoy your weekend, loves.

I know I will.

#Alexa

 

💡 The More You Know 💡

The French national anthem, “La Marseillaise,” derived its title from the enthusiasm of the men of Marseilles, France, who sang it when they marched into Paris at the outset of the French Revolution. Rouget de Lisle, its composer, was an artillery officer. According to his account, he fell asleep at a harpsichord and dreamt the words and the music. Upon waking, he remembered the entire piece from his dream and immediately wrote it down.