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Leeo

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Everything posted by Leeo

  1. Hell, if'n I gots to put up with "smugger than thou" and "goat-ropin' truck fondling," then you arseholes can put up with my existentialist over-weening tripe.
  2. I used to play Combat Mission. I used to weigh less. I used to drink less. I used to... Appleolololologies to Boo and Nidan1. I used to post more. I used to exercise more. I used to... more. Maybe I'll again. Maybe I'ldn't. Feck. Its Friday, Sunny outside, and I'm going to have cocktails this afternoon with a very good friend. Hell, if you lot were here, I'd buy you a drink as well. However, it's a pretty damn safe promise, what? I may just ramble further. Or, perhaps, I'll insert more commas before quietly slipping into a coma. Carry on. (You frikken wayward sons(not meaning to exclude the wayward daughters)). And. I'm. Spent.
  3. Anybody want to come feral kitten hunting? However, I do have a $2700 dog.
  4. I have Vista 64 and can run CMAK. Not that I do run it lately, as Boo and Nidan1 can attest. No dual boot. Runs a bit clunky, but it does run. I think perchance I won't send Boo or Nidan1 a turn again tomorrow.
  5. Hell, I gots an extra bedroom with Joe's name on it. I also happens to bee steeped in poison oak and yellow-jacket pheromones. Please come stay (for a very limited while) with us. Pretty please? I promise to start taking your proclamations slightly less seriouserly. See how accomodating I (we, because my better-half would be drawn kicking-and-screaming into any unholy meeting) can be? So. I know I owe BRadley a turn, as well as Needing-one. Under normal circumstances I'd apple-ologize to each one, but really, that impinges on my schedule a wee bit. So. It Goes.
  6. I was perusing some of the olde names, and when I saw Iskander, for some reason all I could think of was squishy fruit.
  7. I am recalcitrant, and full of remorse. I am multitudes, yet have difficulty producing a coherent turd. I am now, and as such have already passed. I am wallowing in loss, but can still bite. I am buying the gloss, and can't contemplate white. I am. And so soon, others who am, aren't. Sometimes aren't is attractive. Like glittering wings of abstraction, I rise and settle again into the wells of reduction. I glow, and once and awhile alight others. But mostly, I succumb to somnumbulent musings. And by so, abide.
  8. I once took a bota-bag of 190 into a collegiate football game during my brief stint in "Fraternityville." It made a wax skim at the top of the barker's cup-o-sodas. So long as you used a straw, one was able to avoid most of the paraffin. Did you know that a '67 Dodge Polara's fender dents only slightly when striking a boxcar?
  9. There's plenty of time to shuffle off this moral coil soon enough. However, I once again DEMAND my drunken Seanachai, so that shuffling-off thing will just have to be delayed until I get satisfaction. I ain't no Mick Jagger, you understand. I also see that for some reason, Boo-hoo-hoo is all stuck-up in the numbers. He needs a few lessons from Elvis.
  10. I had my car door freeze shut last night. Freezing rain. I couldn't get it open this morning on the driver's side, so I prised the passenger portal open and kicked the driver's side out to submission from the in side. Mostly sun, otherwise. In other news, Boo is cowardladiddle-dee-lyingly throwing smoke at my tiger on a hill. Really, aren't we all just tigers on our separate hills? Don't we all yearn for blastification upon our enemies-of-the-moment? Ah, 'tis glorius to be a 'merkin.
  11. Don't you mean spent? I've whizzed many a lead shot in Elvi's general direction myself, though that was truly many moons ago. I've brutalized Berli (please don't tell him I said that) and sullied Seanachai, but I've yet to pounce upon (Go straight to hell you gaylord wannabes) said Peng. Thank God!
  12. I'm part Irish, and Damned proud of it. However, I'm also a bit lazy about sending turns. Is that the Irish in me, or is it me in my cups? Is it the liquor in me, or me in the liquor? Do lambs taste like sheep? Do leprachauns have leprosy? So many questions, so many Irish who don't give a feck. On another related, but somewhat discordant note, I had coned beef and soda bread for dinner last night, and tea and scones for breakfast this morning. I'd love to get blottoed in honor of this fine day, but the doctor thinks otherwise. In any event, it'll be reuben sandwiches for dinner tonight. And maybe a Guinness. Don't tell the Doc.
  13. I believe it's similar to no-touch sex, with which I'm sure Noba is quite conversant.
  14. I have discovered that Gout likes hard-licker better than beer; something to do with the yeast in beer creates more purines in the blood, which leads to sharper crystals in the joints. Really, it's too bad the lot of you weren't a bit sharper in the crystal department. Any-Who, I'm finding (again) that though I like beer berry, berry much, VODKA brings a better buzz, without that whole "Messy-and-red-swollen-joints(don't you just love the sixties?)-saturated-with-uric-acid downer. Really, other than the eventual demise of my liver, I'm quite happy without beer. Yes, that's it, I'm happier without beer. I'm happier without beer. I'm happier without beer. I've said it three times, so it must be true. I just wish I could stomp on Peng's toe, poke Berli in the eye, and put a hole in Seanachai's watercraft. I wouldn't ming shoving my thumb into Elvis's carotid artery, either. You know, once upon a time, around 8 years ago, I bought Elvis and Hiram a Stella Artois over the internets. I'd pay twice as much to have the bartender give them a wedgie. However, I digress.
  15. I'm feeling pissy. I'm going to have a drink. I'm going to drink, and go for a walk. I may fall down. I may merely stumble. But, a-walking and a-drinking (not necessarily in that order), I will go.
  16. I understand some of it was written into the script, and part of it was ad-libbed by Rutger. Apparently, none of it came from the book as I first thought. Or second thought. Or, er, what's a thought? More than you ever wanted to know about dying androids.
  17. The uric acid crystals will make that the sweetest long-pork you've ever seen, Sweet-Gnomey-Cheeks. Then again, just freeze dry the dregs and snort some purines up your poofter. However, quality is quite sporadic, ranging from yer malt lickers to yer expensive to-kill-yas (though more likely mid range, and of course pure rubbing alcohol for the SSNs). So, Mr. Paddle Me Gnomish, I think were you to imbibe of my essential fluids, you'd find an aggravated, painful and swollen digit with which to vex away your snowbound hours. However, I'd gladly buy you some licker were you to knock on my door, and then there's very few people who wander through the local forest often enough to notice a little fressshhh terned earth, if-ya-know-what-I-mean (and I ain't talkin' averages). So, good naught to you, Sweet Prints, and may the day come that finds us together beneath the story tree, cursing an empty bottle and the swollen red pain crystals that make us laugh instead of cry. But on the other hand, I couldn't really be bothered.
  18. After some research into the matter at hand, I discovered Mr. Emrys is absolutely wrong. Ah, yeah, you're absolutely incorrect. ...Michael's assessment is quite off base.
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