Timelies,
Ack to the various insomniacs. I didn't get as much sleep as I would have liked, but better than you guys did. I realized this morning that around the time the vents finally stop woofing someone will undoubtably move in upstairs and if the pattern holds will be loud and obnoxious. (I seem to alternate between quiet and noisy upstairs neighbors. The last one was quiet, but only there for a month, so maybe I'll get a reprieve.)
I've almost got my apartment cleaned and ready for company on Saturday. Just have the bathroom and my bedroom left. I could get away with just closing the door to my bedroom, but it's overdue for a good cleaning.
I vote we pick one and rename all the others Bob.
Nah, gotta go with William, not Bob.
Though I hear he likes carrots.
Okay, between this thread, Bitches, and Minearverse, there are TOO MANY TIMS! I vote we pick one and rename all the others Bob.
But then, there's be too many Bobs! We'd be all, what, Saget? No, MY Bob!
Linked on the page that Scola linked:
Hot on the heels of the tremendous news that beer can help fight cancer, we are delighted to report that a Slovak man trapped in his car by an avalanche urinated his way to freedom after working his way through 60 half-litre bottles of beer.
[link]
Best. News. Ever
When I found out regular soda had more calories than beer, I switched to diet. I've never enjoyed a sugar rush as much as a good beer buzz.
mmmm....cookies.
Nice suit, msbelle. I like that whole collection.
Best. Use of. Technology. Ever: [link]
This is Flo. Her job is testing our image recognition algorithms, although she might not be aware of this. She goes in and out of the house through a cat door.
She also has a habit of catching various animals, dragging them inside through the cat door, and letting them loose so they can be chased for hours. Very cruel. To put an end to this we have built a computer-controlled device that visually determines if Flo is carrying anything in her mouth when she enters, and if she does, it simply does not let her in.
Timmay and Connor (Angel). Eating Mexican food and playing "My father (figure) is more fucked up than yours."
Lest they desire to die horribly and spend eternity in the arms of baby Jesus, I advise all fictional characters to Run Away! Run Away! from me until after I've consumed beer and good Mexican food.
There were more than a dozen kinds of cookies, in every texture (from rock-hard to so soft and airy they're like sweetness alone in your mouth), size (from fingernail to a fist size), degree of sweetness and color I could think of (no food coloring, of course, only natural stuff).
I just wanted to read that again. I shall now make rumbly noises like the Cookie Monster.
