The full-on Charmitage offensive (who coined that? I owe you one) barrelled through Berlin today and, dude, please stop with the being fabulous. Okay, not really, but my whole I'm-not-twitterpated-not-me-nosiree schtick is ready to topple over. In short, YOU'RE KILLING ME, SMALLS!
Did you see that? Not even a decent dwarf pun after two lame tries. And it's not like I haven't tried to resist. I mostly shut up last year even though there were plenty of openings. There was one photo from the Japanese press conference that I can't &%#@ing link but you were listening to someone talk about you and it looked to me like you were mentally calling someone from your past who'd doubted you and telling that person to fuck off. I fully realize that that's what *I* would do in that situation and, well, you're probably a nicer person than I am. Actually, I might not stop at the mentally.
Oh, and speaking of mental things, for the love of all things holy please stop shopping in the fetish section of my brain. The boots, the jackets...you know what you're doing and it's a pleasure to watch a really well-dressed man work it (why, hello, Mr. Cumberbatch, how did you get in here?) but I can't look.
Anyway, I'll be over here thinking about anything else till I go see the movie. Penguins, baseball...wait, didn't you wear a varsity jacket last year? I am so screwed.