August 5th, 2012

misc | default 2


(NOTE: written on Thursday night, but then we collapses from FEELS so had to come back & format for posting over the past couple days. We are super great like that.)

Before we start, this will probably require alcohol on your part. So here, have Bess’s complimentary Bartending School Dropout™ recipe for Sex On The Beach:

  1. Fill mixing glass with ice.
  2. Add one (1) shot each of vodka & peach schnapps.
  3. Fill glass halfway with orange juice, and the rest of the way with cranberry juice.
  4. Add a dash of grenadine.
  5. Pour into shaker & shake. OR, if you’re classy bitches like we are (and let’s face it, if you’re reading this, YOU ARE), you can improvise with a wide-mouthed Avengers cup placed over a drinking glass.
  6. Strain into hiball glass, and garnish with an orange wedge if you’re feeling fancy. And have an orange.



So once upon a time I did not give a shit about swimming, thought Michael Phelps was a douche, and hardly knew who Ryan Lochte was.

That time was 72 hours ago. And then I incepted myself with/dubconned myself into feels? We’re...not really sure how that happened. It started with ironically hate!shipping them and then there was a dark spiral that we’re all just trying to block out of our collective memories. ([personal profile] pennyplainknits described it as “like seeing a tiny bb animal brought down by wolves”.) Whoops.

BUT I’M BRINGING YOU ALL DOWN WITH ME. *coughpaperclipbitchcough*

So allow [profile] war_kitten & I to introduce you to The Douchebros.

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Crossposted to Dreamwidth here. There are comment count unavailable comments over there.