I was really happy about the way things were progressing in the last book of the Harry Potter series, right up until the very end. I feel like a very good ending has been stolen from me and a cheap replacement has somehow taken it’s place.

Does that make me a sadist or a realist?

Only a pessimist would describe deep dark stuff as “real.”

I was very nearly desperately low on books a few days ago, now I am desperate. I should consider buying used books from the web. I spend most of my time developing systems to sell stuff via the web anyway.

When machines don’t understand me, or rather when I don’t understand machines, it’s very frustrating. My mind has turned to mush thanks to all the loopy logic which sometimes eludes me. Burying my nose in a book which tries to make sense of a world filled with magic doesn’t help, I’m sure.

I haven’t bathed in two days. I can smell mango and musk emanating from my armpits.

To the very few ladies who have buried their noses in my smelly pits, inhaled deep, and massaged the ego of this smelly hippy, I will bless you with my worshipful thoughts shortly… after I’ve prepared for bed.

~Virgohippy