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Puncherson_64LadyBrain_64

No spoilers, except of Mrs. McP’s cleaning secrets and Feminina’s long-term life goals

Butch:

Oh, why do I even try? So tired. Can we just skip to the wine parts?

I got started cooking today. Granted, most of it is stuff you don’t eat (All three of my stuffings have meat). Hey, my brother brought a vegetarian for many years. I’m making up for lost time. But I’ll have at least one pie by the afternoon. And Brussels Sprouts! Lots of those!

Games? HA! What’re those? Oh, right, the things I use to shut my kids up so I can make SPROUTS!

Now THAT’S salt in the wound.

Feminina:

I didn’t play either. Not because I was doing anything useful: it was just that Mr. O’ was using the console.

I do love me some brussels sprouts, though. So, you know, I salute your sacrifices in the service of a noble cause. The sprouts cause.

Butch:

I also, in everyday life, said a T SHIRT that is appropriate for both carnivores and weirdos like you alike:

Booze solves what bacon can’t.

That’s what it’s come to this week, Femmy. That’s what it’s come to.

Though in about 10 minutes I will have a quite nice looking chocolate kaluha pecan pie.

Feminina:

I propose an adjustment to the hierarchy:

Pie solves what bacon can’t. Booze solves what pie can’t.

Pie with booze solves everything.

Because pie…pie…

Butch:

This is a good lookin’ pie.

With coffee whipped cream, no less.

A nice, subtle end to a nice subtle meal. That and the other two pies I’m making…..

Feminina:

Sounds tastefully humble and understated. Just as Thanksgiving should be.

Butch:

It’s like a candy bar baked into a pie crust. Ooo! Done. Hold on…..

Yup. That’s a fine looking pie.

Apple next.

Granny smith/maple.

Feminina:

Officially overcome by candybar pie lust.

Butch:

Smells great.

Though Mrs. McP is cleaning, and the smell of Mr. Clean is kinda harshing the experience.

Feminina:

Ew…Mr. Clean, come on man!

Although that is cleaning you won’t have to do, so…fair trade off.

Butch:

Dude, she’s washing the walls. The WALLS!

I wasn’t going to do that cleaning anyway.

Feminina:

Well…I suppose I expect no less of a woman who’s sorry when work is closed and she can’t go there.

I think I washed a wall once. When a kid wrote on it with marker. Good times.

Butch:

And she’s all “Isn’t this SO much better?” And I have to say “Uh…yeah! Great! Thank you! So much!”

I’d rather smell pie.

Feminina:

“Yes! It looks…so much more…wall!”

[Retreating into the basement with the pie]

Butch:

You should add something about your packing adventures to this.

We can tag the post “stress.” Or “Misery.”

We’re probably gonna need “Misery” when we play TLOU2 anyway. Might as well start.

Feminina:

I was thinking more ‘soul-crushing depression,’ but ‘misery’ is nice and simple.

Butch:

T SHIRT!!!

We’re too tired to describe our misery with so many words.

T SHIRT!!!

At least I have pie.

T SHIRT!!!

Feminina:

“See, it’s more complicated than misery, there’s a certain exhaustion and resignation to the whole thing, like our souls have been crushed so thoroughly that we no longer think to expect anything different, and yet we still know we’re going to keep going back anyway…aw, screw it, ‘misery’ is close enough.”

Butch:

Misery.

You’re gonna love it.

T SHIRT!!!!!

OK, took a break and totally played!

Whoa, sorry. I’m so tired I hallucinated there. I didn’t play at all.

Gotta go make more pie.

I’m almost at the cackling insanely phase, which will be followed by the staring into space phase.

Feminina:

Tell Mrs. McP to lay off the Mr. Clean! The fumes can’t be helping.

Even though the walls look AMAZING. They’re so clean, I can perceive them from here.

Butch:

Best walls in town.

How goes the packing?

Feminina:

Terribly. I’ve too busy fighting dudes to look at it. But this weekend! Starting Friday! We both know it has to happen, so that’s pretty much all we’re going to do this weekend.

I mean, that and eat leftover pie.

Butch:

Hey man! You said you’d take a break! Dude!

Feminina:

I did. I will. This weekend. And next week until the movers show up.

It’s gonna be great.

Butch:

Nonsense! They will work around you, until all that is left in your bare apartment is you, the PS4 and leftover pie.

Feminina:

Mmm…that sounds nice. Peaceful. Until the new tenants show up, anyway.

Butch:

They won’t even notice you’re there. Until you start swearing at the screen. But they probably won’t care.

Feminina:

I like that assumption.

How could anyone object to a foul-mouthed, pie-eating stranger who sits in their living room playing video games forever? I’d be like their mascot. Or the resident house elf, only not a useful house elf who mends your shoes or anything, just a giant weird one who hangs out playing games and eating your pie.

Butch:

That really is a great role for you You’re made for it!

Feminina:

I’ve found my calling.

It’s gonna be great.

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