Bad News:
Terry Pratchett has developed early-onset Alzheimer's. I adore the man's mind, and this made me terribly sad today.

Weird News:
South Korean scientists clone glow-in-the-dark cats. I'm not kidding. See?

In less traumatic news, Pete Wentz is still beautiful even when he's dancing on broken limbs, not getting enough sleep, and taking pain killers. Here's a sample of him in this state:

I have part of maybe two, maybe six stories written. I'm not sure, exactly, I just know that I can't put it all together yet. There's the story that explains why Patrick is a slob compared to, for instance, Bob, but a neat freak compared to half of his band. And there's the story about Patrick thinking, after reading the Advocate article, that maybe Pete's constant provocations aren't flirting after all but actually mean Pete hates him. Then there's the one where Patrick decides that, now Pete is apparently heterosexual, he can join in the fun stage gay without it being a big deal. Then there's the one about how Frank and Patrick have this intense sexual affair but really can't get along in any other way. That last is just in the planning stage, though, and since I can't make them end up together in my mind will have to involve Pete and Gerard plotting evilly (and successfully) to break them up. (Which, okay, I love the idea of. Kassie, was it you who said Gerard is all sarcasm? I love that way of seeing him, it makes good story.) I just want to hide in a cave with my laptop and write, and have Patrick-shaped elves bring me hot chocolate and rub my feet until I have made all of these ideas conform to my needs.


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