Stream of unconsciousness

I think that I just watched some retro 50s erotica, and there was some chick named Mrs. Rumperdoodle. She was very frustrated that her photographs were not turning out quite right, and boy did she throw a tantrum. There was also a condom robot and foreign people making racecar sound effects. Oh yeah, and the X-men comandeered the Golden Gate Bridge. Lindsey and I decided that once we mutate, one of our first purchases (although I proposed the argument that with super powers we need not bother with actually paying for any more items) will be Magneto's cape and helmet. Or we might just buy Ian Mckellan if he's up for bidding. We would also like some wings, bitches. Good movie. There were too fucking many of us...we eventually had to split up in twos to find places, and even then we were in the front row. I had to actually move my entire head to look around and see what was happening over on the other side of the screen. Chris and Jennie got drunk from Nalgenes they smuggled in, and I almost vomited buttery popcorn on Lindsey's forehead. (Do not ever get a medium. Ever. It's the size of Rotta's ass. And nobody can eat a Rotta ass full of popcorn. Just nobody.) For some reason we saved the green sweaters for after the movie, but that turned out pleasant enough. I've still barely begun packing or cleaning, after a week of complete lack of responsibility. Tomorrow we ride to the Gorge for the music. Then switch houses, and spwink off to Montana. And then the Midwest. Prepare me my kingdom...and by prepare me my kingdom I mean, you know, pop in a frozen pizza and set up the projector, or something like that.