Red Hot Retro Girl
Curse you, wee Hec! You knew I was going to click on that thinking it was the Powers character, didn't you?
'Sleeper'
[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.
Red Hot Retro Girl
Curse you, wee Hec! You knew I was going to click on that thinking it was the Powers character, didn't you?
Many people are squicked by breastmilk who are not squicked by cow milk, which, let's face it, is breastmilk from a cow, except cows have udders instead of breasts, but you know, same diff. Just like some people like to think that chicken comes in boneless skinless pieces from the chicken tree. (Not that there's anything wrong with that! I find it charming! Especially when you're aware that you just can't deal with reality. It's okay. Reality is really hard. I can't deal with lots of it myself, but breastmilk I can handle. Not that I make cheese out of it. Can I go home now?)
Can I go home now?
Heavens, yes.
That crazy, hmmm? I go.
No, not crazy -- just long week, Friday afternoon, and are they really making your dept watch the glorified computer labs in the new building??!?!?
Red Hot Retro Girl
Oooh! I need to know how to do that (modified) to my hair for Halloween! (I'm going as a 50s housewife. Cherry dress, pearls, white gloves, apron, fishnets, pumps, redredred lipstick and nails....and maybe I should have waited until after Halloween to get my Alfalfa haircut. Hrm.)
You knew I was going to click on that thinking it was the Powers character, didn't you?
Bwahahahaha! Uh, actually, no I forgot about that.
And yet, I was diabolical anyway!
flea, you just expressed my daughter's attitude towards meat perfectly! She won't eat anything on the bone or that "had a face," as she puts it. Honestly, if she could pick her meat off a tree, she would.
And yet, I was diabolical anyway!
This is the highest and most enlightened level of diabolism, grasshopper.
All this Halloween talk had me checking the calendar. Another week. None of the kids have costumes, though I'm only worried about the 9 year old finding something he likes. The teens can fend for themselves.