Tag Archives: the princesses are back and they've got rum

hair of the dog 

welcome to wildling bog, where we are full of beansand chase our november (s)word hangovers with applesauce,daisy chain crowns and trees.  we wily wenches climb no stairs (of hair or otherwise) we spin no gold we bear no bling  (the corsets were too tight). we swim no … Continue reading

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