age: 36 (Jan 31, 1976)
MEMBER SINCE: April 2006
occupation: Toy Soldier/World's biggest Martika fan
i lost my virginity: Qu'est-ce que c'est que le "sex"?
stats: A very masculine A-cup; healthy hips, and a fucking -sexy- waist. Beautiful toes, too.
sign: Language
heroes: Zooey Deschanel
into: My heroes.
gets me hot: Scalding (boiling!) water thrown my way by an ex-lover, trickling down my chest after scarring my face and neck, as she yells "That's the third degree of love, asshole!" And I cry. I cry so intensely...it's quite hot. It's only then that I get hard for the first time.
fantasy: I'm wrapped in tinfoil...Reynolds Wrap, to be precise. I insist that you immerse yourself in a pool of moistened baking soda, and I say gently, "We're relationship chefs, you and I, and our only ingredients are support for one another...and mutual love." And you go and ruin this tender moment by exclaiming that I taste like cinnamon.
body mods: White belts: drawers upon drawers full of them, and no less than three strapped about my torso at any given time. Danger!
JEAN-PAUL ENTERS, STAGE LEFT.
HE TOSSES ASIDE A BUSHEL OF FLOWERS HE HAS BEEN CARRYING. HE LOOKS BEDRAGGLED AND WORN OUT. COLDPLAY'S "YELLOW" IS PIPED FROM THE SOUNDSYSTEM.
JEAN-PAUL: Turn that off! I hate Chris Martin!
VOICE OF GOD: You hate apples.
JEAN-PAUL: No, I have a bushel of flowers right here. I'm totally a salt of the earth type of guy, and nearly vegan. I love apples!
SMELL OF GOD: Is your nose picking that up? That's me, freshly baked apple pie.
JEAN-PAUL: I'm diabetic. is it sugar-free?
TASTE OF GOD: I am cinnamon. I enhance anything and everything. I am omnipotent.
JEAN-PAUL: OK, I'm lost here.
SIGHT OF GOD: Then follow me, and I shall save you.
JEAN-PAUL: You're so soft.
TOUCH OF GOD: I know. You like that, don't you? Mmmm, right there, yes. Mmmm...
NIETSCZHE ENTERS, STAGE RIGHT, AND EXTERMINATES THE ENTIRE CAST. WE ARE DEAD, THOUGH OUR SENSES LIVE ON.
?
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MissKittenbot