How you arrived at the dirt matters not. A dirt nap is a dirt nap, whether it was via failed-parachute or hot lead in the belly or arsenic.

Chandler would have it that a dirt nap is a little more dignified than being rolled into the sea with a cinder block tied to your ankle, but only just.

Completely wholesome.

I resent the implication that I'm wholesome!

I thought it was explicitly a climbing term.

I've always heard it in the context of hard-boiled, Chandler-esque use, a la The Big Sleep.

Huh. Learn something new every day.

"Luca Brazzi sleeps with the ponies."

Why can't Luca Brazzi sleep in his own room like the rest of us?

Why can't Luca Brazzi sleep in his own room like the rest of us?

Because given the condition of his hand, he'd bleed all over the place.

Because given the condition of his hand, he'd bleed all over the place.

That's no excuse to throw him out! He can pay for the dry-cleaning bill like the rest of us.

Sorry, I'm not here much. Not a climbing term I'm familiar with.

That's okay; I was just being wrong.

So, on the way home from picking up supplies to make Tim a bday present (because I am cheap) I saw a small sportscar completely engulfed in flame, and not a firetruck or cop in sight. It was throwing off so much heat I could feel it two lanes over on the freeway.

But then, I decided I would like some fresh bread to go with my chicken soup for supper, so stopped at the grocery store. While trying to remember if I needed milk, I overhead a very angry young man having an argument: "...Joss Whedon didn't want it to be that way. Tudyk was allowed to play it like that because Tim Minear said he could."

I have no idea what the fuck he was talking about, but it was so fucking surreal that someone was arguing about Tim next to the dairy case at the Albertsons.