February 6th, 2004

spn - brother times

(no subject)

From casira:

Open letter to my upstairs neighbors.

Loud, athletic, thumping-all-over-several-rooms sex that shakes my condo so badly MY floor rattles, for three nights running, is a bit much.

Glad you're enjoying yourselves, but could you try doing it with... um... fewer collisions? And moving of furniture? And slamming into supporing walls? And, ideally, could you change that before my downstairs neighbors complain, thinking it's me? Because trust me, it's going alllll the way down.

No puns intended, of course, because if that's what you were doing, it might be a little quieter.

Thank you.
teddyborg, geeky

Gamers crack me up.

From pennyarcaderss here, regarding this comic (for when the RSS post dies):
afterimages: "Funny, the evolution of the playstation

grey unappealing box to stylish black box to an even cooler future design for the PS3.

And now the PS5 is a box of spoons...

and then there was that commerical for the PS2 where the PS9 was a pill
(skittle...or qualude...you be the judge)

zerotime: "I don't know about you, but my PS5 is rocking the hell out on this icecream game."

afterimages: "Ooooo...is that the one with 32 hidden flavors????

I didn't know they released that yet..I'm still playing

Pudding Thief 2: Championship Edition"
  • Current Mood
    geeky
dancing indigo

Pain Hurts Less?

I'm being terribly gauche and quoting myself:

There's this article, posted in som_pos that says pain hurts less if it's inflicted by women.


They just didn't use PMSing women with recordings in their ears of:

Gee, your butt looks big in that.
PMS is all in your head.
What do you mean no sex, it's that time of the month?!
I'm leaving you for someone cuter.


I guarantee you, there'd have been pain. And it would've not hurt less.
  • Current Music
    I know many women who can cause truly painful pain!
Singe by angstslashhope

A Valentine's Day story!

From europanya's journal...

My husband used to keep a laminated article on his refrigerator. It was a story from the local paper with a picture of an old man sitting with a little fluffy yellow chick on his shoulder. My husband would wait for people to just walk up and read it.

The story went like this: A grade school class had adopted a baby chicken for easter. They fed it and loved it and when it got so it could walk on its own, they took it outside on the playground to play with it.

One day, as the entire fourth grade class watched, a hawk swooped down from nowhere and took "Mr. Peeps" away from them. the hawk lit upon a nearby telephone pole and proceeded to rip the living guts out of the poor thing and devour it. All 20 children watching.

The teacher was quoted as saying: "There was no time to shield the children. They learned about the food chain today. Poor, Mr. Peeps, he never knew another chicken."

My husband would wait then for the reaction. If the person reading it went "Oh, that is *so* sad..." he smiled and went about his business. If the person reading it looked back at him with a similar smile, he made them his friends.

I read it on the first eve I ever visited his apartment. I laughed so hard I farted and gave myself a coughing fit.

He married me.
domino--by chuchan

Winter Classic

From ket_makura, here:

It is "warm" out today. I use warm in quotation marks because, in reality, it is about 30 degrees out.

I was hoping it would be warm enough to help melt the inch-thick layer of ice covering the sidewalk. No dice. I still had to go outside and break it up with a steel shovel until I could shovel a clear path.

Why was I doing this? Well, I got a little note from the mail lady saying that until I cleared my sidewalk of ice, she would hold my mail from me. Bitch. Yes, I know it is dangerous for her to walk on the ice, but bitch nonetheless.

You know, I walk on the ice all the time, and I never get to leave notes like that! Next time, I will!

Dear Sir or Madame,

It has come to my attention that the sidewalk in front of your house is icy as hell. Walking on it earlier, I slipped and fell, bruising, if not outright breaking, my left buttcheek.

Until you clear the sidewalk of this problem, I have my cat. I mean, I have your cat. I have your cat, not my cat.

Sincerely,
Ket Makura