( AN OPEN POST #2 )

[charmlessness]

 
 
 

you know the drill. pick your poison (not entirely limited to those listed). reply with a prompt in the form of a post, photo, song, text, voicemail, whatever your heart desires & receive a response. simple, right? right.

 
 
 

Comments

[ramblin]

[ Guacamole.

All this? Is because of a forgotten bowl of fucking guacamole. His shit-stain of a little brother had a craving, and what did Seth do? He played the role of the doting elderly sibling and went back for the goddamn thing.

Now, here they are caught in today's telenovela with Deputy Debbie and her rootin' tootin' cronies. Fantastic. Just great. Richie couldn't control himself. Couldn't let well enough alone. So, he got blood all over Miami's carpet and now they were on their tails faster than cilantro in the green sauce now splattered over the countertops.

He dabs at a spare bit that'd fallen on his shirt. Richie's back at the hotel room, safe as goddamn houses. Meanwhile, he's stuck here between a rock and the lady cop's itchy trigger finger. He takes his own gun up again. The manager's office was empty, but that window across the way's looking a little more tempting with every passing second.

She'll have it covered, of course. Something tells him this isn't her first rodeo. ]

Hate to be the bearer of bad news here, Eastwood, but that's not gonna happen.

[ Richie. You son of a bitch. ]

As compelling as that argument of yours is, you gotta ask yourself: you really know what it is you're dealin' with here?