Sparkle (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
myownface) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fandom_radio2012-12-25 10:06 am
myownface) wrote in fandom_radio2012-12-25 10:06 am
Entry tags:
Fandom Radio, Tuesday, December 25th
T'was the morning of Christmas, and here on the island...
There was, like, nobody around. Jeez, guys, did you hear the sleighbells and high-tail it? Did all of you develop a spontaneous allergy to cinnamon that maybe I should be concerned about? Or is it the snow? I bet it's the snow, right? Only Canadians and squirrels are equipped to deal with it, and that's scientific fact. The snowpocalypse clearly hit us with like a good ten centimetre dump this morning, and everyone left on the island but me - I'm Sparkle - and a bunch of hairy little reporters is in their room huddled next to the fireplace either trying to like thaw out, or else maybe they're hoping the fire will lower the cinnamon ratio in the air or something.
Oh, and I have notes, because the guy who usually does this thing is off, I dunno, celebrating some holiday or something. Whatever.
Here, I'll start with this stack here, since it's been paperweighted down with a fruitcake and I'm planning on taking that back to my room with me for lunch. First off, on Sunday, Cade was in his room with one of those creepy freaking elf dolls staring him down, while Hanna was in hers, packing for the holiday exodus. The end is near, all ye Fandomites, heralded by ugly little elves sitting on shelves. Repent. Repent and flee. You can leave your presents in front of room 209 in the dorms and I'm sure someone living in there will be able to do something about them. In town, Allie and Max were both justly freaked out by the moving elf things at the Perk, and Carl had the right idea by staying in the house to avoid being the next victim of the elfpocalypse. Oh, and feeding the elves to his dog.
Oh God, I'm picturing their little plastic elf screams. And now all of you are, too. Merry Christmas!
Alright. Now I'm going to crack my knuckles and move on to this stack, which I'm going to tell you has been paperweighted down with a mug of rum-spiced eggnog, because the Squirrels are freaking awesome. Remind me to get them like a bag of peanuts or something? I didn't get anyone gifts for Christmas, because, hi, I'm a cheap ass with a part-time job selling fancy purses and crap for a bubblegum pink demon, but these guys are giving me booze so I'll make an exception.
Let's see... Yesterday in town, Coulson got a call while he sat in his apartment with his tiny tree. Probably, like, a telemarketer or something. I'm pretty sure they don't get time off for the holidays. What better time to call at the worst possible time, right? Kitty was in her apartment, trying to fend off one of those psychotic fruitcakes - they were delicious, by the way, once they stopped trying to forcibly cram themselves down your throat - And, down at the Arms, Mary was taking advantage of the fact that there was fruitcake freaking everywhere by trying to make a buck by selling it.
... See, I just tried to make mine do tricks. We got as far as 'jump up and try to make me eat you,' and then I gave up.
Anyhow, I think that's everything. If there's anyone left out there, you have a joyful whatever, huh? I'm gonna stick around here at the station for a while longer. The squirrels have plans to drink more eggnog and maybe do some carolling, and that's probably the most festive thing I've ever done on a Christmas morning in like oh-my-god ever, so I'm not planning on missing it.
There was, like, nobody around. Jeez, guys, did you hear the sleighbells and high-tail it? Did all of you develop a spontaneous allergy to cinnamon that maybe I should be concerned about? Or is it the snow? I bet it's the snow, right? Only Canadians and squirrels are equipped to deal with it, and that's scientific fact. The snowpocalypse clearly hit us with like a good ten centimetre dump this morning, and everyone left on the island but me - I'm Sparkle - and a bunch of hairy little reporters is in their room huddled next to the fireplace either trying to like thaw out, or else maybe they're hoping the fire will lower the cinnamon ratio in the air or something.
Oh, and I have notes, because the guy who usually does this thing is off, I dunno, celebrating some holiday or something. Whatever.
Here, I'll start with this stack here, since it's been paperweighted down with a fruitcake and I'm planning on taking that back to my room with me for lunch. First off, on Sunday, Cade was in his room with one of those creepy freaking elf dolls staring him down, while Hanna was in hers, packing for the holiday exodus. The end is near, all ye Fandomites, heralded by ugly little elves sitting on shelves. Repent. Repent and flee. You can leave your presents in front of room 209 in the dorms and I'm sure someone living in there will be able to do something about them. In town, Allie and Max were both justly freaked out by the moving elf things at the Perk, and Carl had the right idea by staying in the house to avoid being the next victim of the elfpocalypse. Oh, and feeding the elves to his dog.
Oh God, I'm picturing their little plastic elf screams. And now all of you are, too. Merry Christmas!
Alright. Now I'm going to crack my knuckles and move on to this stack, which I'm going to tell you has been paperweighted down with a mug of rum-spiced eggnog, because the Squirrels are freaking awesome. Remind me to get them like a bag of peanuts or something? I didn't get anyone gifts for Christmas, because, hi, I'm a cheap ass with a part-time job selling fancy purses and crap for a bubblegum pink demon, but these guys are giving me booze so I'll make an exception.
Let's see... Yesterday in town, Coulson got a call while he sat in his apartment with his tiny tree. Probably, like, a telemarketer or something. I'm pretty sure they don't get time off for the holidays. What better time to call at the worst possible time, right? Kitty was in her apartment, trying to fend off one of those psychotic fruitcakes - they were delicious, by the way, once they stopped trying to forcibly cram themselves down your throat - And, down at the Arms, Mary was taking advantage of the fact that there was fruitcake freaking everywhere by trying to make a buck by selling it.
... See, I just tried to make mine do tricks. We got as far as 'jump up and try to make me eat you,' and then I gave up.
Anyhow, I think that's everything. If there's anyone left out there, you have a joyful whatever, huh? I'm gonna stick around here at the station for a while longer. The squirrels have plans to drink more eggnog and maybe do some carolling, and that's probably the most festive thing I've ever done on a Christmas morning in like oh-my-god ever, so I'm not planning on missing it.