Because, every now and again, admitting you're Twitarded could result in the spectacle that greeted me this morning upon my return to work:
My boss is a mastermind of cubicle defilement. It is well known that when you leave on vacation it is of your own risk and I knew I was asking for trouble when I sent her this picture last Thursday:
What can I say? I guess I really like to tempt fate.
Welcome to my new cubicle! I hope the mail guys won't have trouble finding me, since my nameplate has been... 'updated'.
And here's a picture of 'Edward' and I when we vacationed in Washington state (oh, the irony) a few years ago.
And who the fuck needs a Batphone when you have the Cullenphone? 'Oh help me, Robward! I'm in need of some... 'assistance', preferably the kind where you remove our clothing and do naughty things to my vagina.'
Umm, I said do terrible things to my vagina, not my package of Melba Toast!! (For reals, doesn't it look like he's choking his chicken in this picture?)
Of course, now I'm so distracted because everywhere I look I see Robward's yummy face (minus that one scary pic) that I can't seem to concentrate on my work. Sometimes it's just not easy being out of the Twilight closet...