Shrift, skilfully context-pruned to avoid libel:
thus there was no lizardy fun of the cherry-popping kind, and if anyone tells me there was, I shall run away from you shrieking only to return momentarily with my eardrums pierced and prepared to kill you with a very large gun.
So much funnier out of context...
Scrappy in Natter:
In that case I choose Ashcroft and do my best to fuck him to death...for the good of my country.
M. Costello:
I think I'm going to screw the dress code this year and finally wear the purple velvet pants. I mean, yeah, they'll consider it an abomination, but this year I'm still the one who doesn't have any arrests nor has been named in any restraining orders.
Betsy Hanes Perry in Natter:
It is not that I object to other people's having babies at 47. It is that, having had babies at 30 and 33, and being 43 myself, the thought of another pregnancy in four years fills me with a horror I can extinguish only by contemplating the greater horrors of sex with superannuated right-wing Republicans.
It's sort of the diamond-cuts-diamond theory of nightmares.
Oh, good, someone got that.
Miracleman, in Buffy
(non-spoilery)
Everybody is Jesus' type.
See, now I got this whole "The Son of God is just a great big skanky ho" thing happenin'.
Like Peter and Luke are talking at a rockin' party in heaven as they jealously give Jesus and his latest angelic conquest the stink-eye. "Damn, he gets all the chicks. Must be the family connections."
Yup. The Holy Trinity is worse than the Kennedys.