Baby, baby, baby, he's screaming the truth

I love Henry Rollins. That is all. I cannot waste time describing how much I love Henry, because I must now go do everything, very quickly, while listening to Slayer.

(But he said "fyah"! He said "fyah"!!! EleventyOne!)

PSA

Even though you've heard this from twenty other LJs by now.

Americans, have you registered to vote? Today may be your last day to do so. Hank wants you to vote. He's pretty serious about it. You don't want to disappoint Hank, do you?

"He's branded."

Watch out, it's spam weather today.

This article makes me happy, as it involves word origins and spunky Texans telling off McCain. Also, Terrellita was my husband's landlady back in the day.

Also, it's lovely and cloudy out, I'm full of panang curry, and I think it's time to make coffee and edit a short story for lobbing.

Girl vs. wall: Go!

Not only is Henry Rollins made of weaponized awesome, but being in the same room with him for two and a half hours will vector some iota of his awesomeness onto you. Tonight I sent a V0 that had been giving me the fear for weeks, on my first try. And then sent another new one, and then made progress on a third that I couldn't even start last week. I'm also making slooow progress on a new V1.

So thank you, Mr. Rollins, for being a vector of awesome. We who are about to do shit salute you.