Dolly's twelfth and a half entry; or, I can barely type this right now but I swear I'm not inebriated.

Just a quick update that I'm too delirious to give.
So, here's the Duchess with a synopsis, copied from her DA account. Deviant Art, not Dumbledore's Army. She wouldn't be caught dead in Dumbledore's Army, I'd say.




I should never be allowed to update a journal while in this state of mind. The things that have spewed forth from my mouth in the last two hours have been both nonsensical and frightening. I think it says enough that Facebook refuses to load my current status - which is a collection of the craziest comments known to man.

For example:
I am the Duchess of Dingle-Twang and my roommate is Princess Waffles, the High Sovereign of Delerity. We have declared war, determined the outcome, and decided that our two great nations will come together and unite - breeding very sticky children. They shall be depressed by the might of the Great Waffle Iron and be forced to inhale Prozac.

What a happy, overly-carbohydrated world we shall build.

For those who are unaware of what a Dingle-Twang is, please see the Wikipedia entry on St. Brigid's Day, however, I should hope at this stage in life the concept of a waffle needs no explanation.

Sincerely,
The Duchess




I'm going to add to this when I feel less like. . . this. Bahaha.