possibly annoying WIP-to-be musings, plus, StonerGate! (Maple Syrup, team, humor, stonergate)

[applecameron]

You know how you're in the mood, and not in the mood, at the same time? To write, I mean?

Yeah, that. That's a mood of its own, you know. Probably the French have a name for it. Shit, they have ennui, and we only get 'bored'. Though, some argue ennui is just 'bored' with a frilly white sauce and some thinly sliced shallots.

Whatever. I've got that too-little-sleep mini-headache, but I'm just not ready to tear myself away from the computer and, y'know...rest.

So, as a distraction, let us ponder the great questions of Life: should I write a Western featuring the cast of SG-1? And if I do, should Maybourne, aka 'Black Bart', redeem himself, more or less (or at least, you know, give someone a compliment), before dying tragically? And further, should it be a spaghetti western, or something more glossy like Sharon Stone in The Quick and The Dead? Decisions, decisions. Or should I just do the Gunfight at the OK Corral? And if so, which version, Burt Lancaster or "Tombstone" with Kurt Russell?

Or, hell, should I go work on any of a host of legitimate WIPs? Where legitimate, admittedly, is defined as "a line of dialogue exists already"?

Hmmm.

See? I'm flipping channels in my head with a little remote control connected to...something. I don't actually want to write anything, or even angst about writing. I just want to be funny without actually working at it. *Yawn*.

Good to know.

Well in that case,



"I already told you", he explained patiently, with a finger wag, even: "maple syrup. Has to be pure."

In an extremely dramatic voice for someone nearly supine on a sofa, Daniel said "Jack. There. Is. No. Maple. Syrup." He signed horror by placing the back of his hand against his forehead, then ruined the effect by sticking out his tongue.

Sam plucked the joint from his other hand with a muttered "gimme."

"Carter, why is there no maple syrup in my house?"

She looked at Teal'C, who looked at Daniel, who took the roach back, inhaled and held it, then said, "because we ate it all with pancakes while you were gone."

"What!"

Jack was up and then on his knees on the couch, straddling Daniel. "You know, a Certain Pert Doctor and his Even More Pert Backside are asking for it."

"For what?" Came the faux-innocent response. "Maple syrup?"

Sam watched them kiss. "How come he can get away with saying things like that and I can't?"

Teal'C gave it a ponder. "It may be a unique quality of DanielJackson's kissing."

Sam put a hand to her chest. "Teal'C! How could you say that?"

He shrugged. The Jaffa reached over, deftly extricated the roach clip from a set of fingers that were no longer paying attention to it, and toked deep, then handed it over for a a final hit.

Sam breathed blue smoke. Jack and Daniel were into the serious kissage by now. They'd either be in the bedroom in another 10 minutes, or dying for something sweet. Possibly both.

She slapped Teal'C's jeans-clad thigh. "C'mon, let's go try and make creme brulee. My blowtorch is in the car."



Why are the Joy of Sex and the Joy of Cooking two separate books, again?

Comments

[applecameron.livejournal.com]

*waves abstractedly* No, no, that would be too easy.

There must be some deeper meaning at work, here.