rleete

Careful there Hortlund. That looks like sig file material to me.

A Rose by any other name... ...should be encouraged to whump Boo upside the head as often as possible. [ June 10, 2004, 09:50 PM: Message edited by: rleete ]

Wife really liked that one. Making her laugh is really a "crap shoot" these days...

For that, I might just send you a sample of the first crop my son produces. Open the mail carefully old man. edit: me know spell two gude. Damn liberal teachers. [ June 10, 2004, 09:29 PM: Message edited by: rleete ]

Even the Frenchies are taking pot-shots. How's it feel to be a target, Boo?

She married you. Doesn't say much for the I.Q. Maybe you've got a big life insurance policy?

Stop insulting the silverfish.

You want a setup? Okay, here goes: A priest, a nun and a sea lion walk into a bar. Take that, and see what you can do.

"Radley Skull". Now that's thick!

And exactly why should I go to the trouble to do this?

OOOH, I know! A BLAGGARD, right? This is so easy! *blushes* Aww, gee thanks. Just a wild guess. Pure luck that it turned out to be the answer on everyone's mind.

Oh, for the love of...er, ...Berli?. You are supposed to be the damn Just-a-car. At least you keep saying it over and over ad nauseum. Lots of added nauseum, one might say. Do we have to spell it out for you? Well, considering it's Shaw, I suppose I do. how about this then: Make a farking decision already! Use that single neuron to crank out a decree. Post it (quickly, before you forget it) on this here forum so the rest of us can scof uh, share your "wisdom". Hopefully, you will do the right thing and banish him forever, but we aren't expecting much from you, as usual.

Young? Only compared to you, Mister older-than-dirt. As to status, I believe Seanachai made some pronouncement, but we all know how much weight that carries. Treat him like the bug he is, and maybe he'll just go away.

Whatsamatta Boggs? Too many words overload your memory buffer?

That's a pommie round, isn't it? Probably glance off that ultra-thick cranium. Try using manly ammo, like .30-06.

No, no, no. It's ODDS OF 60 TO 1 that the top 40 hippy will come up with a decent title. Thick as a newbie. Oh, and Seanachai? I see you singled me out twice in the last thread. Re-read it, and you will notice Mr. Hippy piling on. In the best spirit of the cesspool, I suggest you impale him on his own "rake 'o doom". It's probably just a soiled mustache comb that he saw on one of his bad trips, but humor the drug-addled boy. He means well, mostly.

Will you two crones stop it? The damn shoes will be on sale again next week.

You know, when I mentioned this to the wife she asked, "how big a bottle, and how fast do you drink it?" so there is hope for me yet. I think this one's a keeper.

It wouldn't let me attack, so I spread nasty rumours about you. How's that for a start?

Ah, yes. Warms the heart to see an original and proper taunt. Almost makes me want to send a setup. Almost.

Well, at least you got this part right. Except nitro is about a dozen times as stable as an 8 month pregnant woman. Who knew farting at the breakfast table was such a horrible crime, and would involve tears and flowers? Oh, but a big fat zero here. Girls may be all well and good for grandfathers, or even greatgrandfathers. Not that you will ever be confused with greatness. But fatherhood? Never. Think proms, first dates, monobrow boyfriends and cars. (Why do dalem and Boo keep coming to mind?) No, I like my cardiac rhythm just the way it is, thankyouverymuch.

Oh, yeah. Since I seem to be here entertaining the wall and keeping the carpet awake, I thought I'd continue to ramble. A special mention goes out to our very own esteemed girly-man extraordinare. That's right, the honorable Sturmsebber himself. After a comment deemed inappropriate by a certain stuffy member of our twisted congregation (and you know who you are), I retracted said comment. In true cesspool fashion, Sturmy rejected the retraction, and demanded satisfaction. On the field of battle, you degenerate, gutter-minded simpletons. Extra points for having more backbone than most of you pre-invertabrates could ever even imagine. Alas, he has dropped the ball. When I begged out of the aforementioned game, he relented! What a sap. I mean, you could fool Boggs with an excuse like that (he clearly doesn't have a clue), but the old "wife is preggers, I don't have CM:AK" excuse is so lame only a SSN would fall for it. Loss of down and 15 yard penalty. Which puts you on par with the average day in the life of Boo. Bad form, old chap.

You know Seanachai? I post, and I get 3 or 4 replies in a row. Livens things up a bit. Stuff every man can relate to. You post, and people just...well...ignore the old fool drooling in the corner, and pretend he isn't really here pissing himself. Sort of makes you wonder why you bother getting out of bed at all, doesn't it? (Come on. I've given you at least a couple of pretty harsh shots in each of the past couple of threads, and you haven't replied at all, or just barely. Chicken?)

Oh, hush, you. It's story time. So, the time is nigh when little Leete junior (no, I did not name him after me, I am not that cruel) is to be born. In honor of this festive occasion, the wife has determined that "birthing classes" would be a good idea. Never a good thing when the wife oh-so casually adds, "it'll be fun". Now, for them that don't know me, I shall categorically state that I am one of those old school types. Damn near fossilized. One of the ones that believe a man's place in all this birth stuff is to pace endlessly in the lobby, and to pass out big honking cigars to all his buddies when it is announced that the deal is clinched, and you have a son (or daughter, if you've been cursed). No, I do not want to cut the cord you twit; that is why I pay good money to be in this hospital type place. You are supposed to be a professional, stop passing the buck. To those of you that have managed to avoid this fount of higher education, I pass along some tidbits of errudition. {translation for Joe Shaw(and other yokels): ya'll listen up, pard-ner. I gots some learning fer ya.} First, you get to learn to breath. Yes, you read that right. Breathing. The very thing we all do (except for some of those aussie mutants) right out of the womb. Not even some special 'ninja power breath' or kung-fu 'wind of life' thing. Just normal deep breaths. "Cleansing breaths", they call them. Like all the other freaking air I take into my lungs is somehow tainted, and can be automatically purged by this magical cleansing breath. Hell, I guess I can go back to smoking all the cuban cigars I want, now. Just a couple of deep "cleansing breaths", and I'm clean as a whistle, and ready to run marathons. You want to know that part that really makes me want to cry? The fact that I paid for the right to listen to this silly-assed crone for 2 hours each week. Next week we get to revel in the joys of "comfort positions". Strange positions are one of the reasons I have to take this damn class in the first place, you bozos. I did read the kama sutra, after all. And for the love of all that is good and right with this world, if they try to make me watch another "miracle of birth" films, I am going to test the limits of their cleaning crews. I do not need to see that.

You've got to be kidding. That guy is one of the most self-absorbed dweebs out there. Only marginally better than that hippy dalem. I even hear tell he plays that other game. Oh, the horror.