Although the contents of this journal would certainly seem to indicate that I have no shame, I have to admit that I've been feeling a little bad for my Hawaiian Shirt Angel action figure ever since I posted that photo shoot a couple of months ago. He's appropriated Spike's flask and has been sulking brooding and leaving his arm in odd places for weeks now; if I don't intervene soon, I may well wake one day to find a little pile of plastic dust in a sunny windowsill.  I should probably be cleaning the bathroom or conquering Mt. Laundry today, but instead, I offer an epilogue that will, I hope, be something of a corrective to my previous harsh and sizeist treatment of Angel. May Casa del Ubu's loss be his gain!

[Note: I can't really blame drugs for the doll photography this time, so I'm just going to blame [personal profile] philips . She's a corrupter.]

My first move was to separate Angel from Spike and try to find him some more suitable friends. . . friends who might help him realize that small can be beautiful, too.



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