rleete

Oh, and somebody mentioned that I was hitting on someone else. Really? I do that sometimes. Like whenever I drink. Tell me what I said! Crap, wrong damn button.

Yeah, you utterly contemptable bastard, I'm here. Unlike some of the most prolific id-jits, I prefer to remain in the shadows. You had me *this close* to smoking again. If there had been a stubbed out butt available, I would have re-lit it. Fortunately for me, I anticipated this weakness, and disposed of all temptations. So, I swore at both of us that night. But I'm still smoke free. Neener, neener, neener!

From Hippy to Redneck at 60 MPH! YeeHaw!

Romantic, maybe. But, next thing you know he's gonna be all over your case about the bank balances, and then you'll get all defensive, and he'll have to apologise, and then it'll be tears all around and... Whew. Trust me, better pass on this one.

Wow. What a cool story. Almost like something out of a hollywood script. Thanks for sharing that with us, and let us know more as it happens.

Damn. As I was reading the last line, my hopes soared that those two little words would be "mercy killing".

Fiefdom is a text based strategy game. Settings are mostly for your own preference. Like your advisor can be a general, a priest, etc. Makes no difference. You can play for a while, then set everything to defend, and logout. Try it, it's pretty addictive. When you do get there, send a message to Draco du Montfalcon (NOT Draco), which is Berli's name there. Ask to be let into the alliance (he controls it, and you have to be invited to join). Then check the local news (under "home") to find out who the latest target is.

You take that back! Seanachai is so a leper! Not just any leper, but one of biblical proportions! I mean...er, well, that is to say... Oh, bugger. Nevermind.

For the very same reason you don't go to the playground and beat up 4 year olds. Why? What would be the point? Kind of like picking on MrSpkr. It's just too easy. [edited to bold the Lady]

dalem showing some testosterone? This begs several questions: T) Just who's testosterone is it? R) Do they know dalem has it? E) How did he get it? K) What the hell is he going to do with it? I) What kind of container is it in? E) is this in some warped way related to the Lars fox pee incident? Inquiring minds want to know.

Boo, are you trying to steal dalem's official cesspool standing as the Ultimate Trek Geek? Shame on you.

Yeah, but did you bring the tailgunners? Without them, you're nothing.

Yeah, but do your magazines have pictures of nekid wimin?

Boy, you really are an idiot. All this time I thought it was an act. Anytime the females "take over" an area, it is a simple matter to make them abandon it, and just walk in and reclaim it. First, get stinking drunk. Not that this is really a first step for most of you, or even a rare occurance. It just helps to have wild abandon on your side for the crucial step. and it's usually more fun that way besides. The important step is to make it uninhabitable for the fairer sex. For most of you, just being in the room for a few minutes is enough. But noxious gasses are just the start. We're talking trash, various soiled undergarments, stacks of magazines (guns, nekkid wimmin, cars, nekkid wimmin, fishing, nekkid wimmin, etc.), bits of obsolete computers, beer cans and liquor bottles (caps off, we want it to smell nice), engine parts (the greasier the better, so she won't attempt to move anything), half eaten food (moldy is good, unrecognisable and/or petrified is best), the works. You know, how you used to live before she made you clean it up. Make it your DEN. As in hibenating bears. As in "leave now, without disturbing anything, and you might not catch any serious dieases". Of course, it might be a bit more difficult with the Ladies of the 'pool, because they've seen it before. We'll just have to keep the Grue from sweeping up.

And the problem with this would be?

Damn. Out of beer and the night is still young. Have to nag the wife's bottle of Irish cream. Stevie, I got Pratchett's "Mort" from my sister yesterday. Haven't started it yet. Tomorrow, to sooth the hangover.

Just finished watching The Princess Bride, received as a gift on DVD this lovely holiday season. While a few (dozen) slightly chilled Guinness draughts make for a fine viewing experience, it makes for a hell of a long time typing. To paraphrase the gov of Californicate, "You should not drink and post".

Judging from the trailer, you're going to be sorely disappointed. Then again, knowing you, enjoy.

But you can't deny you are still an oaf. And a thuggish one at that.

Cats have nationality? It has always been my understanding that cats are a nation unto themselves, each one their own. It is also a given that the cat is the supreme, undisputed ruler for life of said nation, and expect to be treated as such. At least that's what mine have led me to believe.

Judge grog.

Ouch. That's going to leave a mark.

What the hell is it with pregnant women? Do their brains automatically disengage, on the chance they might realize the horrendous mistake they're making? I'm beginning to fear for my life. Why, you say? Well, how about an all too recent example: Last night, my lovely wife decided that the science experiment in the 'fridge was acually some leftover spinach. She declared that it had gone bad (a rash judgement, IMO), and tossed it down the garbage disposal! A whole fecking box of the stuff. Now there are those of you who still see modern plumbing as a unnecessary luxury, so I shall explain. Fibrous materials do not play well with disposals in general, and drains in particular. Since it was being oh, so finicky, and not going down easily, she simply added some bacon grease "to help it slide down". This is the logic of a future mother? Lord save us all. This same drain is connected to the washing machine, and the clog was discovered by the overflowing laundry tub. It was actually discovered by the cat, who found the flooded litter box not quite up to the standards her delicate constitution demands. Evidently, licking one's own hindquarters does not preclude having to have a spotless box to crap in. And, ad campaigns notwithstanding, the overpriced clay does not "clump" upon being doused with several gallons of dirty water. After vigorous use of the plumber's helper, several green bits appeared. Nothing to do but get out the snake, and fish the offending bits out. Oh, how simple it sounds, now. My luck held true to form, and it was not the simple plumbing job I had anticipated. Mucking out the cess would be easy in comparison. I swear, she does this stuff on purpose.

Congratulations, Nidan1. You have attained the lofty heights only dreamed of by some. I applaud you. Winning does not mean squat, and you have once again proved your worth in the eyes of fellow 'poolers. I laud your gaminess and true MBT spirit. All hail one who has seen the light.

Yeah, but what do you think of the names?