December 29th, 2004

Anxious, Klaus Baudelaire

Vagina Dentata~

From childfree here. In short, the OP was telling about a sex discussion with some rather stupid teenagers. The comments are delightful.

elanivalae: Seriously. It's not like most women's crotches are shouting "Feed me, Seymour!" while brandishing their four-inch fangs. This guy needs to grow up. -_-;
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    amused amused
redlady, spherissa

(no subject)

(My first metaquote... there goes yet another virginity of mine)

It's really not a funny situation but, ryttu3k on the Media Coverage of the Toll


This feels like an auction.
An utterly macarbe auction where newspapers vie to report the biggest death toll.
"Do I hear sixteen thousand? Sixteen thou- is that seventeen thousand five hundred? Nineteen thousand! Nineteen thousand going once - twenty-THREE thousand! Do I hear twenty-five thousand? Do I hear twenty-six thousand? Thirty thousand to the incompetent paper over there! Thirty th- Do I hear thirty-six thousand from Reuters? Thirty-six thousand, nine hundred and twenty-four from Reuters itself! Ah! Do I hear just under forty thousand? And Reuters itself HAS forty-thousand! Sold! Forty thousand deaths SOLD to Reuters, with a view to rise!"



from: http://www.livejournal.com/users/ryttu3k/91923.html

Last night I had the strangest dream....

berreh had a Nyquil-induced dream about being in a band with Dominic Monaghan last night:

The conversation went something like this:

Me: Oh Dom! You must come back and finish the show!
Dom: I cannot! For I am angsty and want to be alone. *looks off into distance*
Me: Woe and angst! I will put my hand on your shoulder to console you with the power of my loff!
Dom: I am unable to communicate, because in this dream I am a mix of Angel and Jordan Catalano, only hotter.
Me: Alright, power of my loff is no good, how about the power of my breasts?
Dom: ....OK.
*grope, slurp, make out*



Entire post is HERE; go read.

Edited to fix link. *facepalm*
YJ: Greta

(no subject)

wishfulaces waxes philosophic (or something close to it) on her cats.

Little Rascal, who on occasion and somewhat inexplicably impersonates a prairie dog, *does* like to eat on the floor. But then, he's a lower-class rough. Unlike Marmalade, who was in fact a mafia thug, complete with beat-up nose. I miss Marmalade, because while he was a thug, he also had some very interesting philosophical viewpoints he liked to pontificate upon while taking a walk with me down the street.

Taken with permission from this post.
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    The Dark Crystal - Finale/End Credits
aladdin - pretty jasmine

(no subject)

Over in columbus, some chick posts a huge picture of herself.

One response recommends acne treatment and foundation for her zits.

00solstice adds:

I agree, you should buy all of those products.

If for no other reason than because they'll come in a shopping bag you can pull over your head.
Default

Never enough time. Ever.

OK, now I hear on the news that this Indonesian earthquake was so major that it actually affected the Earth's rotation. Our day will now be two millionths of a second shorter.

Doesn't that just figure. I never have enough time in a day to get everything done as it is. Now this happens.
-animal_co, here
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swole bunny man

(no subject)

I think we’ve all been in derryderrydown’s position more than once…

I'm in the difficult position where everything I want to do involves getting out of bed. (Or getting somebody else into bed, but that would involve, at the very least, going downstairs to let them in, so I guess my original point stands.)

Macho Macho Man

notuslethe, in response to a surprising analysis of masculinity and bravado:


Well, when we all stood in line for God-Given Gifts (or TripleG for short), Nelly did not stand in the correct line. He, mistakenly, thought the "I'm-Handsome-In-An-Almost-Pretty-Way-But-Still-Manly" line was the "If-You-Want-To-Be-A-Rapper-Here's-The-Sekkrit-Tricks-You-Need-To-Prevent-Being-Beaten-Into-A-Pulp-(Warning:-May-Include-Fucked-Up-Childhood)." When he'd realized his mistake, he was next, after Eric Bana, and he saw that Chingy (who had slept in and hadn't gotten to "Slight-Talent-Needed-For-Rap-Stardom" after the first three had sold out) was in back of the line. Might as well stay here, he thought.

Thus, Nelly had to buy the tricks second hand off Tupac, who made Nelly promise to get his posthumous CDs on the top of the Billboard.
put your records on.

(no subject)

In a locked post at my journal, I posed the question about children - namely how many (if any), what gender etc...teawithbears responded with a nice long comment, but at the end included this little tidbit, which I love.

I really haven't thought about it that much. And I'll probably screw everything up and have a baby giraffe instead.

oh, I feel like that too :D
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