Captain Morgan is a bastard. And a sociopath. And I'm pretty sure he's trying to kill me. Right, now that that's off my chest...
Between rum and a host of other alcoholic beverages, I somehow manage to turn terrible ideas into mostly legible strings of words that I'm naive enough to call "stories". One day, I came home from work to find a few of my drinks hanging out. Not as discarded beer cans my sexy bachelor ass was too lazy to toss into the trash, either. As people. Or people-shaped avatars of their alcoholic beverage equivalents. Anthropomorphic booze? Personified ethanol?
Look, I have no idea how they popped up. I just know they're pretty pissed that I've been drinking their swill and procrastinating on the next chapter of the story I'm actually trying to write. And so they offered to help me, whether I wanted it or not...
Updates will occur when I have tiny aneurysms that slowly deprive me of a bit more of my sanity, bit by bit, until I'm changing the names in Twilight fanfics around and becoming a NY Times bestseller. (By that point, I will be in a persistent vegetative state and will be incapable of feeling guilt over my actions. But I'll be rich, yay!)