Jayne ,'Out Of Gas'
[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.
Completely Shallow: I'm watching the episode of Frasier in which Niles and Frasier try to write a book together, they start brawling, and they end up with Niles being pinned to the bed and they're screaming
Nile: I remember! You jumping into my crib and trying to choke me
Frasier: YOU STOLE MY MOMMYYYYYYYYY!
t keeps nuggling cass
{{{Cass}}}
Cancer is stoopid. Way too many cool people die from it. Instead of getting cancer, they should get a pony.
MG, I don't even know what to say about your work situation. I'm glad you got a good raise, but I guess it's just the nature of human endeavors to make things as difficult as possible.
Pony is SO much better than cancer!
lets click this: www.cuteoverload.com
why is that not making a damn linky?
Cancer. that's why
I am sorry for the cancer and debt that is dogging the buffistas. I am acquainted with both and neither association has embiggened me.
Yesterday I got some instant karma. The lady whose tire I fixed left me a bottle of wine. A tasty Zin.
I'm not working tomorrow and I'm not working Monday. I scoff at the very notion of work. Scoff scoff! I say.
You need to include the http:// to complete the link.
I'm still envious of the hummingbird picture that was posted there earlier today.
Instead of getting cancer, they should get a pony.
Here she comes now, and she wants her pony.
They thought she had cancer but that was phony
"They gave me drugs and I feel all right now"
She saddles it up, and she'll ride all night now
"Cause I feel all right, "
She says "Yeah" (Yeah) "Yeah" (Yeah) "Yeah" (Yeah) "Yeah" (Yeah) "Yeah"
(Ooh, I want my Po-po-popo pony) Oh you do?
(Ooh, I want my Po-po-popo pony) Is that true?
(Ooh, I want my Po-po-popo pony) Or you'll sue?
(Ooh, I want my Po-po-popo pony)
She says "Yeah" (Yeah) "Yeah" (Yeah) "Yeah" (Yeah) "Yeah" (Yeah) "Yeah"
It's getting not to be funny when something unexpectedly tragic happens to somebody and my brother says "And they told her she had a 95% cure rate from a little tumor, too." And I'm dark and all, but shit, you know. A few times we all laughed, but basta already. Just, you know, sharing the J. cancer response.
Wrod, erika.
I would rather die from hummingbird-induced cuteness than from cancer.
But since pretty much everybody who served in Romania in the decade we did has died of cancer around age 50, I figure my chances of dying by cuteness are slim.