Metaquotes

So over in stupid_free, cumaeansibyl has some words regarding who's more embarrassed about the pregnancy test:

"A guy buying condoms could be getting them for gay sex, straight sex, use with sex toys, or even just for mess-free masturbation. A guy buying a pregnancy test is 99.99% certain to be buying it for the woman he's sleeping with. I sort of doubt that your average straight man would be horribly ashamed of making a purchase that announces "I AM HAVING SEX WITH A WOMAN. VIRILE, POTENT, MANLY SEX."

context is full of virile, manly spermz. Community post.

felisdemens is people watching at the club:

We were perched in the Aerie at I-bar, vulturing the dance floor below. A tiny bald man I dubbed Pocket Fester had attached himself to his date's back like copulating toads, his wee arms wrapped around her and his shiny little pate pressed to her mid-back. He then stayed there FOR ALL ETERNITY in parasitic splendor.

After a song or two this sultry couple met and bonded with Bubba Gump (in his sideways beer hat) and his paramour Pull Toy, who he yanked around gallantly by one wrist. Ah, the splendors of young love.

Having discovered their many common interests, the jolly foursome formed a sandwich configuration, mashing Pull Toy and Tube Top together face first like commuters in a Tokyo subway while Bubba and Fester gyrated and pretended not to be experiencing homoerotic glee. Sexy!

Tiring of this game, the daring sensualists pulled slightly apart so that Tube Top could alluringly jam three fingers down Pull Toy's throat as far as they would go, causing Pull Toy's eyes to bug out fetchingly as she tried not to projectile yark into Tube Top's hair.

J, Huggy C and I were watching this erotic tableau, riveted by the smoldering hottness of it all. I held out my hands and framed the scene, then said "The LOLCat caption for this is UR GIRLFREND TASTE LIEK HERPES."

Huggy C lost his usual composure and laughed until he wheezed.

Pocket Fester, inflamed, spun Tube Top around by her hair, dropped to his knees and began to grind his face into her groin while Bubba Gump repeatedly hump-slammed Pull Toy into her back.

"Auugh, look!" I managed, pointing.

Huggy C stared down. "I'm not seeing it... wait... OH. Eurgh!"

A couple were dancing nearby. They turned to see this display, visibly cringed, and fled.

Eventually, their tender moment over, Bubba and Toy gyrated away. Fester and Tube were left sticky, broke and confused in the corner among discarded beer bottles and the horrified stares of other patrons. Ah, like two - or rather four - ships passing in the night, how fleeting is love.

QWP, Context should stick to line dancing.

chaosvisier on naming:

Remus Lupin? Why not just call him Wolfy McLycanthrope-Barkendogger?

Context thinks it's being very subtle. QWP for some reason.

Who would have guessed the writers' strike was affecting the CIA?
Now they are running repeats as well.

duksey, regarding today's incident in the Gulf of Tonkin Strait of Hormuz: Context.

midnightvoyager has some issues with soda containers:

I hate the baby soda bottles, too. They're the size of a can, but... a bottle. And they keep stocking them instead of the proper, adult-size cans. At total random.

I have a hard enough time without one more thing to forget every morning and I need two of those damn tiny bottles to survive the morning, damnit!

I feel like Gulliver in the land of the Lilliputians. Except I'm trying to drink the Lilliputians, and their teeny little shrunkenness isn't as cute when you're trying to suck caffeine out of the little bastards.

...that metaphor went awry somewhere, I can tell.


QWP

dendraphile has been leading a busy life:

After all, if everything I ever attempted had worked out, I would have an Associates degree, three BAs, two BFAs, one Master's degree, my J.P. and a Ph. D., be living in New York and acting on Broadway while directing movies in Baltimore while still succeeding as a civil servant, preparing to run for public office, marrying Mike in Chicago although already married to somebody in Michigan for six years, running costume design and interior decorating businesses, and occasionally moonlighting at the Civic Opera as the star enjenue while winning slam poetry competitions in between my wildly successful gallery openings and book signings. And I would weigh about forty pounds less, and my hair would always look fantastic. I would soon be nominated for a Nobel Prize for my work on perpetual motion, and would have mastered four foreign languages. I would be a champion dancer and figure skater. I would be making tens of millions of dollars a year, donating generously to charity and living modestly in a downtown Penthouse at the top of a landmark building in one of the cities of my residence, and I would still be living on less than $1200/mo, having perfected the art of making thousands of delicious and nutritious dishes out of only cabbage and potatoes. My cookbook would be a best-seller, and I would challenge Rachael Ray to a Celebrity Deathmatch, which I would of course win.




After all, who has the time?

QWP.

This is posted in it's entirety with permission from gillen here: http://gillen.livejournal.com/526451.html

A good morning is driving into work in the pitch darkness listening to Glenn Beck crying on the radio about having nightmare visions of dogs gnawing the faces off children.

Surreal, yes, but completely entertaining. For a moment I fancied myself a Prince of Hell catching up on the morning lamentations of the damned.

I have a similar reaction every time there is an election in the U.S. and everyone on my friends list is asking me, "Did you vote today?" I ask them: "Vote in what?" "The election!" I ask: "What election?" Then they ask me if I've been living under a rock for the past year or so. I reply, "No, I've been living in Canada."

---rainbow_goddess in this post in mock_the_stupid.