Mace Posted March 11, 2006 Share Posted March 11, 2006 Originally posted by Nidan1: Isn't that sulfuric acid? Shhhhhhhhhhh! High Molar too! 0 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Michael Emrys Posted March 11, 2006 Share Posted March 11, 2006 Originally posted by Nidan1: </font><blockquote>quote:</font><hr />Originally posted by Boo Radley: </font><blockquote>quote:</font><hr />Originally posted by Joe Shaw: </font><blockquote>quote:</font><hr />Originally posted by MrPeng: Here's to wives and girlfriends. May they never meet. If I skip the steak can I get a BJ from my wife AND my girlfriend? Get serious ... at BEST your wife will give you a PBJ. Joe </font> 0 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Boo Radley Posted March 12, 2006 Share Posted March 12, 2006 Originally posted by Michael Emrys: </font><blockquote>quote:</font><hr />Originally posted by Nidan1: </font><blockquote>quote:</font><hr />Originally posted by Boo Radley: </font><blockquote>quote:</font><hr />Originally posted by Joe Shaw: </font><blockquote>quote:</font><hr />Originally posted by MrPeng: Here's to wives and girlfriends. May they never meet. If I skip the steak can I get a BJ from my wife AND my girlfriend? Get serious ... at BEST your wife will give you a PBJ. Joe </font> 0 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
MrPeng Posted March 12, 2006 Share Posted March 12, 2006 Originally posted by Boo Radley: I hate Peng. I hate that he constantly shoots through woods to knock out my armor. Woods through which I never have LOS, he treats like they're transparent. I hate him so very, very much ... girlish blousey whining and rantrum on the floor kicking his wittle furry wegs and making kitteny mewling ... I hate him. So happy to help out Boo! me boy. 0 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Boo Radley Posted March 12, 2006 Share Posted March 12, 2006 Originally posted by MrPeng: So happy to help out Boo! me boy. Shut up and send me a turn, you ukelele playing, Irish tenor wannabe! 0 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
MrPeng Posted March 12, 2006 Share Posted March 12, 2006 Check yer mail you puddle of cat sick. 0 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Boo Radley Posted March 12, 2006 Share Posted March 12, 2006 Originally posted by MrPeng: Check yer mail you puddle of cat sick. I did and I found that putrid piece of roadkill also known as your E-mail. I loaded the turn, made some scathingly brilliant tactical moves sure to confound, confuse and constipate you... and then I returned the file. So now why don't YOU look in YOUR in box and just learn to deal with it! 0 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
MrPeng Posted March 12, 2006 Share Posted March 12, 2006 This could get ugly. No. You check Your inbox. Feckstick. 0 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Boo Radley Posted March 12, 2006 Share Posted March 12, 2006 Originally posted by MrPeng: This could get ugly.Uglier than you? I doubt it. No. You check Your inbox. Feckstick. Maybe I will, Stymie! And in other news... "It gets in your blood," said Wells, 73. "If you're doing it for the money, you're going to go into the hole. We do it more for the sport." Could this be the real reason Joe is in Texas? I think so. 0 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Michael Emrys Posted March 12, 2006 Share Posted March 12, 2006 Originally posted by MrPeng: ...you puddle of cat sick. I like that. Brief and to the point. Nicely rounded. A full five stars. Michael 0 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Michael Emrys Posted March 12, 2006 Share Posted March 12, 2006 Originally posted by Boo Radley: He used to be my Squire. I acquired him through an outreach program. Yes, you are known throughout the Hemisphere for your charitable works. Particularly notable was the selfless way you threw your home open to wayward girls. Must get crowded though. Michael 0 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Boo Radley Posted March 12, 2006 Share Posted March 12, 2006 Some men seek wayward girls, other have wayward girls thrust upon them. I try for both options. 0 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Bugged Posted March 12, 2006 Share Posted March 12, 2006 Originally posted by Boo Radley: ... other have wayward girls thrust upon them... Interesting choice of words. 0 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Boo Radley Posted March 13, 2006 Share Posted March 13, 2006 Originally posted by Bugged: </font><blockquote>quote:</font><hr />Originally posted by Boo Radley: ... others have wayward girls thrust upon them... Interesting choice of words. </font> 0 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Noba Posted March 13, 2006 Share Posted March 13, 2006 Originally posted by Bugged: </font><blockquote>quote:</font><hr />Originally posted by Boo Radley: ... other have wayward girls thrust upon them... Interesting choice of words. </font> 0 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Mace Posted March 13, 2006 Share Posted March 13, 2006 Originally posted by Noba: </font><blockquote>quote:</font><hr />Originally posted by Bugged: </font><blockquote>quote:</font><hr />Originally posted by Boo Radley: ... other have wayward girls thrust upon them... Interesting choice of words. </font> 0 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Seanachai Posted March 13, 2006 Share Posted March 13, 2006 Okay, right now, I'm a little...unsettled...about the fact that every time I flush my toilet, I hear this weird, ghostly lizard gurgling noise coming out of the basement under my feet in our 4-plex. I mean, I've been down there twice, and there's no ****e floating about in a glorious Ethel Merman synchronized cascade over the basement floor. Unlike you lot of puddled dog vomit. I dunno. Maybe I should have married your mothers? But I ask myself, would that have been enough? There's times when...well, I wished I'd never paddled a kayak into a peaceful, sheltered bay in Lake of the Woods and looked on pines that hadn't been seen by a whiteman since the last boat-load of drunken Illinois and/or Missouri fisherman had been by there asking themselves 'Heya, do you think there's, like, any bass here' on a bay in a Lake fabled for walleye. One day, I'm going to head up there, and kill every M**********r who talks too South. Martin Luther King had a dream, and I have mine. Spring is coming. I will go North. I will go to a Lake bigger than the muddiest dreams of the muddiest of you, the Dreamers. I will put my music on the stereo in our cabin. I will have a drink, or perhaps two. Of whatever. I will turn the music WAY UP. And then, as the horizon darkens, I will push the kayak off the rocky shore, and take up the paddle. I will paddle out onto the darkened lake of beauty. I will paddle out, languidly. I will find myself in the dark, adrift. Alone. Breathing. Wondering. You will all be there. You are always there. You are my problem children. Those who I want to see experience...bliss. I could die out there. And it's nothing like some sort of pure moment. But it is. It's dark as hell. The clouds are rolling in. The wind is kicking up, and the waves are starting to roll. And you hit your stride, and get to that island off the west end of the island, stroking hard. And you scare up some pelicans. Hah! The bastards never heard you coming! And you round the point, and head home, and the horizon is...dark. Everything is dark. It's fecking 11 PM. But now you're facing East. And peaceful. You're the banner of the wind. It's behind you, and you're a bit drunk, but even that doesn't free you from the fear of death. And you wonder about what made you paddle out here, in the dark. You're a leaf on the wind. Was it the desire to have a last, good paddle on a Lake that you've been coming to since you were 8 years old? Is that what life is all about? And the storm is coming in behind you. You've never smelled air so fresh, or felt like such an aging, over-weight fecker out on the water late at night, with only one port to run to. So you paddle like a son-of-a-bitch. And the exhilaration is tempered with the usual mundanity. You're thinking: I should have told someone I was going out here, out on the water. Out, paddling into the darkness, with a storm coming on. Been drinking too much. I should have told... Who? You're there alone. Oh, family friends are on the far end of the Island. 60 years old. Out of reach. Asleep. It's late. Paddle like hell, and get back. See what's on Satellite TV. Maybe some weird, soft-core porn. Or maybe there's Dr. Who on that BBC channel? Or maybe there's a satellite station with a Clint Eastwood marathon going on? Pretty good waves, but they're all from behind. Easy to paddle with the waves and the wind behind you. A storm is coming. I am driving the kayak on towards home. It's all poetry, when you think it. But the reality is, you're in a plastic shell, riding two feet over the water. And you're dipping the paddle, and wondering about what's waiting for you on the other side, if this time you've fecked up. But you'll never forget the sound those pelicans made when you came clipping over the water like a freaking ghost, when it was still all darkness and there was yet a sliver of light on the horizon, as you came paddling out of the dark like a bastard. And how they lifted off the water in a panic. And all the dark drive of the paddle home. Waves have come up. Rum has all burned off, and now it's just trying to get back home. In the dark. Focus on the cabin light, burning like a torch. That's where the rum is. That's where there's music. That's' where all this will just be another stupid thing you did, when you were...well, no longer young. And above you...above you there would normally be...a glory of stars. Stars that would make you feel young again. The Milky Way, like you'll never see in town. Shooting stars. Every constellation picked out in diamond. But tonight, there's only roiling cloud. And there's no poetry, in the darkness, pulling and worrying about the fact that the waves are becoming contrary. And then...you reach the island. And you've made it. **** it all. You don't pull in to your cabin's end. You do a grand sweep down the South side, and round the East end, and you drive, into the waves, up the West side before you beach the kayak. And you go in, and you have another rum & other. And you put on some more music. And you hope that someday, before you die, you can bring everyone you love, or like, or even hope to redeem, to this place. And that they can find themselves out on that water, in that darkness. But on a clear night. A calm night. With nothing but stars between them and the fact that everyone dies. And then, we'll all drink some rum, and we'll go for a paddle. And when we come back, and light a bonfire on the shore, we'll do some music. And that's my question to you all tonight, as I sit here longing for the North. What music would you want to hear, there, on the granite shore of a dark lake, pines all around, and the wind kicking up? [ March 13, 2006, 12:09 AM: Message edited by: Seanachai ] 0 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Bugged Posted March 13, 2006 Share Posted March 13, 2006 Originally posted by Seanachai: And you hope that someday, before you die, you can bring everyone you love, or like, or even hope to redeem, to this place. Mmm-hmm. And what about those for whom you feel hatred or mere indifference? What music would you want to hear, there, on the granite shore of a dark lake, pines all around, and the wind kicking up? Totally sounds like a Pink Floyd night to me. 0 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Seanachai Posted March 13, 2006 Share Posted March 13, 2006 Originally posted by Bugged: Mmm-hmm. And what about those for whom you feel hatred or mere indifference? Knowing my indifference is a gray world worse than being caught between life and death. Everyone should seek to either glory in my hatred, or bask in my love. Or at least matter enough to have a Labatt's blue with me in the dark on a lakeside in Canada. Totally sounds like a Pink Floyd night to me. Hmm...hmm. Lady Bugged, what if it was 2 AM? 0 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Mace Posted March 13, 2006 Share Posted March 13, 2006 Originally posted by Seanachai: what if it was 2 AM? Umm Motorhead turned up really loud? How about this one: Knew I had to bite you baby when I first laid eyes on you, That moment turned me on, I can't believe it's true, And I like to watch your body sway, I got no choice, I'm gonna twist your tail. Love Me Like A Reptile, Love Me Like A Reptile, Love Me Like A Reptile That fits the natural surrounds you find yourself in? 0 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Bugged Posted March 13, 2006 Share Posted March 13, 2006 Originally posted by Seanachai: Hmm...hmm. Lady Bugged, what if it was 2 AM? Still Pink Floyd. The Wall. With repeat performances of Comfortably Numb and Hey You. 0 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Seanachai Posted March 13, 2006 Share Posted March 13, 2006 Originally posted by Mace: </font><blockquote>quote:</font><hr />Originally posted by Seanachai: what if it was 2 AM? Umm Motorhead turned up really loud? </font> 0 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Seanachai Posted March 13, 2006 Share Posted March 13, 2006 Originally posted by Bugged: </font><blockquote>quote:</font><hr />Originally posted by Seanachai: Hmm...hmm. Lady Bugged, what if it was 2 AM? Still Pink Floyd. The Wall. With repeat performances of Comfortably Numb and Hey You. </font> 0 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Michael Dorosh Posted March 13, 2006 Share Posted March 13, 2006 Just stay the hell away from Calgary you bastard, that's all we ask... :mad: 0 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Bugged Posted March 13, 2006 Share Posted March 13, 2006 Originally posted by Seanachai: Goddamn Canadians. They've a whole world of utterly beautiful music, and they piss about with other people's angst. Well, unlike you, I'm winding down from my day at 2am so I want to hear something soothing to lull me to sleep. It's Pink Floyd for me. 0 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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