And I don't want any coffee homeground
Damn you,
shirei_shibolim. In the same three days, you have managed to addict me to two new webcomics. Now it's Sh'koyach, which chronicles the perennial halakhic misadventures of the orthodox Jewish Dave and his obnoxious roommate Shrimp. I think this is my current favorite:

I'm now forced to wonder whether, based on their mutual love for sweaters and semi-inadvertent capacities for destruction, Shrimp from Sh'koyach and Cat from Cat and Girl ever hang out together. I suspect not; but Dave and Girl might commiserate.
Myself, I'm feeling a little similarly toward BPAL at the moment . . .
(Cut for The Unicorn, because I thought it was a good idea at the time.)
Description
A misty, almost luminous perfume: wispy linden blossoms, white flowers, and a touch of sweet herbs.
Vial
At least this one is supposed to smell floral, if paler and fruit-sweeter than the previous two scents, and almost recognizable—lilies of the valley? I wouldn't know linden blossoms if I were standing underneath the tree. Am Brunnen vor dem Tore da steht ein Lindenbaum . . .
Wet
Er. Not only has the scent almost entirely disappeared on contact with my skin, what's left smells a little like fruit and more like suntan oil. This is not useful.
Drydown
The flowers are tentatively beginning to re-emerge, and a slight pungent sweetness that might be the herbs, but there remains an insistent flavor of sun-lotion. I don't believe it's coconut; is there some musk that might produce this effect?
Later
Well, it was an intense battle, but the flowers finally threw in the towel. There are some faint sweet odors floating around my wrist, but mostly I smell like suntan oil—after its unfortunate abandonment for an entire summer in the backseat of the car. Worse, if I breathe in deeply, I get that same stinging bitter-as-ash that occasionally underlaid Yggdrasil, only more so. What gives? The Lion and the Unicorn were fighting for the crown, not surfing U.S.A. I think I'll chalk this one up to skin chemistry and see if I can fob it off on . . . er, swap it with someone else.
Not That Much Later
Goodbye, the last ghostly traces of white flowers. Hello, nose-choking bitterness. Gah. Where's the yellow soap?

I'm now forced to wonder whether, based on their mutual love for sweaters and semi-inadvertent capacities for destruction, Shrimp from Sh'koyach and Cat from Cat and Girl ever hang out together. I suspect not; but Dave and Girl might commiserate.
Myself, I'm feeling a little similarly toward BPAL at the moment . . .
(Cut for The Unicorn, because I thought it was a good idea at the time.)
Description
A misty, almost luminous perfume: wispy linden blossoms, white flowers, and a touch of sweet herbs.
Vial
At least this one is supposed to smell floral, if paler and fruit-sweeter than the previous two scents, and almost recognizable—lilies of the valley? I wouldn't know linden blossoms if I were standing underneath the tree. Am Brunnen vor dem Tore da steht ein Lindenbaum . . .
Wet
Er. Not only has the scent almost entirely disappeared on contact with my skin, what's left smells a little like fruit and more like suntan oil. This is not useful.
Drydown
The flowers are tentatively beginning to re-emerge, and a slight pungent sweetness that might be the herbs, but there remains an insistent flavor of sun-lotion. I don't believe it's coconut; is there some musk that might produce this effect?
Later
Well, it was an intense battle, but the flowers finally threw in the towel. There are some faint sweet odors floating around my wrist, but mostly I smell like suntan oil—after its unfortunate abandonment for an entire summer in the backseat of the car. Worse, if I breathe in deeply, I get that same stinging bitter-as-ash that occasionally underlaid Yggdrasil, only more so. What gives? The Lion and the Unicorn were fighting for the crown, not surfing U.S.A. I think I'll chalk this one up to skin chemistry and see if I can fob it off on . . . er, swap it with someone else.
Not That Much Later
Goodbye, the last ghostly traces of white flowers. Hello, nose-choking bitterness. Gah. Where's the yellow soap?

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You could mail it to me. I have never even SEEN a BPAL thinger, and I am most curious.
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I'd rather send you a scent I actually liked, although there's always the chance that on your skin it won't transmute to Eau de Beach Bum . . .
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Frankly, I think some of the random dialogue is just hilarious on its own:
"What's more convenient than warm socks that pop out when they're done?"
"Not putting out fires on the ceiling, for one . . ."
This is one of my other favorites.
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