my friends constructed a machine to shoot flour at people today. They wheedled a hole in a leaf blower and dissected a water bottle to use as a magazine - but couldn't find any flour, so they used powdered sugar instead. In minutes there was sugary goodness everywhere - in our hair, mouths, underwear.
was this a part of high school that I missed out on while i was practicing the bassoon and reading books?
At the moment I'm living in the slave quarters of an old plantation house, I love the place - with its hobbit doors and chest high shower heads. there's a hole under our little abode, and down there you'll find a room with two benches cut out of the rock that emits bad mojo.
The landlords describe their home as "not as demanding as our house in Maryland." which, apparently, they had to redecorate numerous times, until the house was "content"
I hope I'll have the opportunity to live in homes with this much character in the future. It's worth the mold and the bizarre temperature changes.