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Lord Pistachio

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It's Been Too Long: [17 Aug 2005|02:54am]
OH, my lovies, my darlings,
Lord Pistachio is sorry to have abandoned you for so long.
I was exiled, in a hail of gunfire and yarn, to a small island in the Mediterranean for nigh on two years. It was those darn cats from the cat chamber, you see, they stormed the beautiful biscuit bastille, riled the people up, and made me out to be a mad dog. The liars.
But, Lord Pistachio cannot be trampled. I have lived through forty-nine divided by seven civil wars, two foreign invasions, and three relatively nasty cases of worms.
Lord Pistachio would have been back to you all sooner, but as you the populace know cats are almost impossible to kill, posessing a staggering nine lives a piece. I'll declaw them all, personally, and then have them made into tiny and luxurious coats and boot sets. Lord Pistachio will have them dyed the most fanciful of colors, stuck with feathers and sprinkled with the appropriate amount of royal glitter.
I'll do the same with any of you threatening the tiniest slip of waver in loyalty. If you thought Lord Pistachio was an out of control partymonarch with a bloodlust and a power trip before, just wait until this new reign kicks off.
Cheers mates!
Kisses and Fluffiness,
Your Beloved Lord Pistachio
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Let the Good Times roll [29 Apr 2003|05:19pm]
[ mood | artistic ]

Lord Pistachio apologizes for having not updated recently. Lord Pistachio has been very busy because somebody had been stealing the royal chewtoy. Lord Pistachio was very pissed...achio. Now I am better. Lord Pistachio caught the son of a vondruke who was stealing it and now that bitch (literally) is going to be sentenced to the Cat Room. This is the ultimate in torture chambers. I, Lord Pistachio, shove the criminal into an iron-walled room and padlock the door. Five doors are then opened, one on each wall and an especially large one on the ceiling. From these pours a screaming, hissing, clawing stream of cats. The criminal is left in this room for two days with naught but cat food shoved through the window in the main door. If they survive, they are spayed/neutered and released into the prison workdog colony over on Sandwich Isle. Such is the way it is on my island. Nobody fucks with the Lord Pistachio.
So that is what has happened recently. Also, Lord Pistachio has sired two litters thanks to the dulcet tones of Barry White. Lord Pistachio is on the way to finding an heir!
So goodnight, fair people. It is dogbed time in Lord Pistachio's time zone.

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[18 Apr 2003|02:37pm]
[ mood | dirty ]

Lord Pistachio has discovered a new jester. It is livejournal user gurlfriend. Highly, Lord Pistachio must say.

Lord Pistachio is very busy right now, so Lord Pistachio must go. Lord Pistachio is watching Teen Girl Squad.
Lord Pistachio will relate Lord Pistachio's day later.

Hugs and Kisses
Lord Pistachio

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[17 Apr 2003|03:41pm]
[ mood | bitchy ]

Note: I reefer to myself in the third person.
Lord Pistachio smoked a huge doggie bowl today. Chronic. It was intense. As ruler of Christmas Isle Lord Pistachio should have know better than to get toasted and try and play chess with the court jester. Lord Pistachio got pissed achio and had the jester killed. Now we're looking for a new jester.
Lord Pistachio then got my daily royal grooming, followed by a sensual lapdog dance. Then Lord Pistachio got into the royal pantry, and consumed stick after stick of solidified dairy. Lord Pistachio then proceeded to get very ill all over the royal foyer, sparing none, including the walls.
Now Lord Pistachio must go, for I, Lord Pistachio, have to crap in the royal hard.
A'do.

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Day One. [16 Apr 2003|05:17pm]
[ mood | shanky ]

Greetings, subjects.
I have decided to have my palace scribes type this for me, as I have no opposable thumbs.
Things on my agenda for today:
Burn KFCville.
Pillage Margaritaville and kill Jimmy Buffet.
Change the flavour of the eau de toilet.
Shank your mother.

Those of you would would like to speak with I, Lord Pistachio, contact Axl Rose, my pageboy. He'll wobble on down to make an appointment that I will never keep.
And thus, with a shank, I leave.
Hugs and Kisses,
Lord Pistachio.

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