second hand smoke on my t-shirt makes me wince and choke. those souless corporate gods of the tabacco and gun companies glorify their silk-lined Armani pockets and their sprawling mansions, while i glorify in the usefulness of my laundry machine and the fresh floral scent of anthrax blossoms that reach my nose. then i suffocate and accidently slip into my spin-dry machine. not even my cat can stand the stench. when he's crapping, he only partially starts covering it in litter, then suddenly flees in utter disgust, leaving the unpleasant and unsightly job all up to me! -- battlestar galactica reruns impress me and now i'm scifi-obsessed<3