I have camel beads from New Orleans.
Spike's Bitches 26: Damn right I'm impure!
[NAFDA] Spike-centric discussion. Lusty, lewd (only occasionally crude), risque (and frisque), bawdy (Oh, lawdy!), flirty ('cuz we're purty), raunchy talk inside. Caveat lector.
I love that picture of Nick and Deb. I should try to bring him to the next F2F. He could meet Nic and Beth's DH too.
It's after 7. Cash is taunting us.
ION, I made chicken tortilla soup for dinner. I should have gotten my recipe back from vw, though. I don't think it came out as good this time. Proof will be in the eating, I guess, which will happen momentarily.
edit: You can't take the bombast from me.
Yeah. I love the fact that Jim Steinman's idea of a touching ballad is The Anvil Chorus. ("I! [clang] WOULD! [clang] DO! [clang] ANYTHING! [clang] FOR! [clang] LOOOOOOOVE!!!!!! [rain of metal]") I may be enjoying it ironically, but I cannot promise this.
I will also sing along with We Built This City, and when they sing "Marconi plays the mamba", I will wonder to myself whether they mean black or green. I also love Jessica Simpson's I Want To Love You Forever, but I'm pretty sure that I'm getting something different out of it than what Ms Simpson thinks she put in. Incidentally, I would support Mya changing "My Love Is Like Wo" to "My Love Is, Like, Whatever".
You know what also works? Speed.
I hear death makes those unsightly pounds just melt away.
And are we including holiday songs? Because, if so, then the award of worst song of all time (holiday and non-holiday, inclusive) goes to Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer. Even the dogs barking Jingle Bells is better than that. Hell, even that song from Titanic is better than that.
I would mention "800 Pound Jesus", but any song that has me rolling around on the floor in convulsions by the end of the video clip has something going for it.
The worst of country can be fun though, where some songs are just bad and boring. I did refrain from posting anything by Billy Ray Cyrus. I think someone should order a nice funeral arrangement for me, based on that, alone.
Ah yes. "But don't you tell my liver, it never would forgive her. It might blow up and circumcise this man."
Or "Having my baby."
AGE OF CONSENT! AGE OF CONSENT!!
Cindy, surely someone has done a cover of "Ben"? You could dig that up.
I have an acoustic cover of "Ben" performed by Jon Stevens. Halfway through he just turns to someone and asks, "Was this about a rat?"
Octopus Woman Please Let Me Go
I love that he's so well-mannered about it. Of course, you have to with octopus women.
victory dance in celebration of my swiftness
Henceforth shall Teppy be known as Octopus Woman.
Dude. Nobody mentioned "You're The Reason The Kids Are Ugly"
As one who has never heard this song, I'm so glad that you were willing to step up.
I will wonder to myself whether they mean black or green.Black mambas, of course. Now I want to go visit the Reptile House.
I hear death makes those unsightly pounds just melt away.Also made every bit of niceness my sister had melt away. I prefer her now -- unaddicted, heavier, but with a slightly less of the nails-on-blackboard personality.
Though death = black, and black is supposed to be slimming.
billytea, I can't remember -- are you in Canberra? Because if you are, you need to attend the Earthly Delights historical dance group's Pirates of the Caribbean Costume Ball (scroll down that page a wee bit), to celebrate International Talk Like a Pirate Day.
Hee. It sounds like fun, but I live in Melbourne now. I'm originally from Canberra, though.
I love the fact that Jim Steinman's idea of a touching ballad is The Anvil Chorus
Well, there's strings-and-crooning touching, then there's heavy metal touching.
Well, there's strings-and-crooning touching, then there's heavy metal touching.
And then there's pounding on someone's chest and shouting, "LIVE, YOU BASTARD, LIVE!!!" For a broken fingernail.
Cash is a taunty pants. So are the Bitches. I came home to 260 posts and I figured everyone was squeeing over the buffistalet. Only to find out you're still mocking Jim Steinman. Wow, when we're on a roll, we're on a roll.
anything in the metro Seattle area that was mailed by Saturday should be here now.
You'd be surprised. I sent two separate checks in August to New York -- neither one got there.
Only to find out you're still mocking Jim Steinman.
I come not to praise the Steinman, but to bury him. In a gigantic crypt with its own smoke machine, decorated with statues and reliefs of guitar-playing werewolves and a choir of scantily-clad women wrenching power chords from the very fabric that is so conspicuously absent from their own apparel.