It sounds like something you'd say in a spaghetti western
just before
EVERY
motherfucker dies.
I mean, seriously, who walks into a bar
says that line
and doesn't immediately hear revolver hammers click?
It is cold.
In my oven insulated house (bad for summer, great for winter)
it is 62.
Its october 4th and 62 degrees in my house.
Weird.
Guess I should dig up my grey hoody and wash it since I'll be living in it soon.
Now why is it...
*wonders where all of his 3/4th and long sleaved shirts are*
that ever since
THIS GUY
challenged me to finish my kit
I've been gun-shy?
I mean... I am ready to color about half of my kit.
So...
why?
Because I have to disassemble two hands?
Buy bluetack and some popsickle sticks?
Color some of the smallest pieces I've ever handled?
...
nah I don't think that's it.
I think my hold up right now is the fact that he wants pictures.
Oh yeah...
I should seperate my foot parts.
how short on alligator clips am I right now?
(Here's the before shot of the "Freedom Gundam" see what he did there?)