connie neil, in Bitches:

Elves are too froofy, they look like they'd bitch about dirt on their tunics. Yeah, sure, they'll slog through teh mud and muck and gore for the job, but you know they're hating it. "Oh, all right, Glorfindel, I'll take on the Hordes of Orthanc, but you're paying for the damned dry cleaning."

edit: Aragorn, now ... gets pleasantly scruffy and cleans up nice too.

I got here first:

FayJay:

This morning, as I mentioned, we had maths. There's only one lad in our group, and he's a sweet boy & v. keen on wargames/TLoTR etc, which is all good.

We were doing a thing about Probability which involved tossing a coin & recording whether it came down heads or tails, and I grinned and said: "See, you can do this with coins, but dwarves - not so much," at which point we both chorused in gravelly cod-Welsh accents "Nobody tosses a dwarf!" and he added: "Except Mrs Dwarf," and we both giggled madly.

A few moments later one of my coin tosses went dramatically awry and landed in his lap. I cracked up. He looked at me and said "I think I'd better recover that, Fay," and I agreed, between giggles, that it was probably for the best.

"I'm not going to ask whether I just gave you heads," I added, and then the maths-doing got derailed for a while for more giggling. 'Cause it turns out we're both actually twelve years old, max.

Fay again:

Wrod. A whole ocean of Wrod, carrying a boatload of Wrod, from which Wroddy Doyle and Wrod Stewart are cheerfully fishing with mighty fishing Wrods, when suddenly a Great White Wrod of awe-inspiring size surges from the waters and prompts them to dash off in search of a bigger boat.

giggles

ita - Hec, make him do his own reading. Kids today with the needs needs needs, parents parents parents thing they have going on.

Man, when I was a kid, there were no parents. We just stumbled up from our cabbage patches and read to our damned selves.

thessaly in Natter:

We took a moment to ponder the majesty of Anthony Bourdain, otherwise known as 'what would happen if Lou Reed had become a 4-star chef'.

Meanwhile, over in Bitches, the conversations meanders over to Hobbit-Oost - the Love That Dare Not Speak Its Name.

Mz Liz:

Hobbits have sweet hobbity love, and hot sweaty sex.

(rereads past sentence) It's just sunk in. I'm really going to hell.

Am Chau Yarkona:

Yes, but you'll be coming to Special Hobbit Fancying Hell.

In hell, you tend to know a lot of the people: in Special Hell, they tend to be your friends.

Smallville:

Jen: Can [Tom Welling] not stand the sight of people not pretty enough to be WB actors or something? I'm trying to figure out why this rule would be established.

Victor: TW: He is so plain! The sight of him makes me despair. Bring me Michael Rosenbaum. His visage will lift my spirits, before I swoon.

Am-Chau:

Wrod to your wrod, Fay, and wrod also to erikaj.

And now I'm thinking about wrods, and all the porny things you could do with them...

erikaj:

Wrods! Wrods in new places!

shrift, in Natter:

I have intimacy issues. If by "intimacy issues" you mean "unwilling to put up with someone else's neurotic crap unless I really, really like that someone else a whole hell of a lot."

Trudy: Attention:

If my SO is lurking here I ask him to reveal himself to me because I'm well on my way to dying an old maid.

Thank you.