John H. rips a COMMable quote into the alley:

Hmm, can anyone name another narrative where the sexy brooding romantic hero isn't acceptable to the heroine until he's been symbolically castrated? Only this one was full of symbolic-castration gags?

MR ROCHESTER: I don't understand. This sort of thing's never happened to me before. (He's sitting on JANE EYRE's bed.)

JANE EYRE: Maybe you were nervous.

MR ROCHESTER: I felt all right when I started. Let's try again. (He tries to lock her in the attic and draws back immediately. He tries again and the same thing happens.) Ow! Oh! Ow! Damn it! (He gets up and kicks the dresser. He starts to pace around the room.)

JANE EYRE: Maybe you're trying too hard. Doesn't this happen to every romantic-novel hero?

MR ROCHESTER: Not to me, it doesn't!

JANE EYRE: It's me, isn't it?

MR ROCHESTER: What are you talking about?

JANE EYRE: I--I... You didn't want to lock me in your attic. I just happened to be around.

MR ROCHESTER: Piffle!

JANE EYRE: I know I'm not the kind of girl romantic-novel heroes like to lock in their attics. It's always like, "ooh, you're like a sister to me," or, "oh, you're such a good friend."

MR ROCHESTER: Don't be ridiculous. I'd lock you up in my attic in a heartbeat.

JANE EYRE: Really?

Madrigal in Natter:

Yeah, but cold's got that whole bleakness of entropy and death thing about it. I mean, one of the main necessities for life is heat, and evolution considered the ability to generate it to be a vital achievement. Cold is all about the fear - the dark basement, the vampire, the zombie - heat is about comfort and security - the hug, the fireplace, the coffee. It's why Jack London wrote "To Build a Fire" and not "To Build an Air-Conditioner or its 19th Century Equivalent."

Madrigal in Natter:

Last night, after watching Hobbits slash themselves (somewhere in a fic Merry and Pippin are waxing each other's chests), I got to spend some quality time on the bathroom floor, trying to get the ear medicine in to at least slightly open my "dysfunctional" eustachian tube, all the while listening to the Super Mario Bros. soundtrack, reading a prof's comments on my paper proposal about Skamania Legionella species which accidentally included an essay I wrote for another class on how the films of Dolly Parton could represent a microcosm of American regionalism, with a focus on "The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas" all the while wondering if there was a way to tell a hairdresser I wanted Faith's haircut in Season 3 of Buffy:the Vampire Slayer without seeming too fangirly. And then there was this sinking feeling that I am just entirely over-geeking this whole geek thing.

Emily, in Natter:

I've got an uncle lives in Texas...

But that's more of a country song than a hitman recommendation.

Cashmere:

The reason I like Winter better than Summer: When it's cold, you can always put on more clothes, wrap up in a cozy quilt, throw another log on the fire. In the Summer, when it's hot and humid as hell, you can only get so naked.

JessPMoon:

Hazelnuts are yucky. All you hazelnut-loving freaks are wrong wrong wrong, wronger than a Parker/Riley sandwich with hazelnuts in it.

Miracleman in natter:

I just keep wanting them to go further and further until it ends up with "Who Wants To Marry A Real Live Messiah?" and then they "pull the rug from under" the lucky finalist by having the "Messiah" punch them in the mouth repeatedly with brass knuckles. Yuks galore!! A sure-fire ratings winner! Fun for the whole family!

In natter:

lori:

"Donuts of the Carribbean"
I could watch that all day.

Aimée

It breaks my heart when they throw out the disfigured Krispy Kremes. Not like they're all gross. They are just like regular donuts, just a little special.

Oh, and Clovis says: "zombies fine, but must be on leashes! and housetrained! shambling army of the undead part of the plan."

And then MM replies:

Clovis, you may want to re-think that. When I had my Army of the Undead, the biggest bitch of it was cleaning up all the damn parts that fell off.

And the arguments. "That's my spleen give it back." "Oh? It has your name on it? I don't see a name on it!" "Brrrraaaaaainnnnnssss".

Really not worth the hassle.

I've built a robotic Army of the Undead. Really it's just a refurbished Robotic Army, but I did some stuff with paint and liquid latex to make them look undead. Just as effective and less stinky.

Miracleman:

Oh, yeah. Honey, that reminds me; when are you going by Michael's again? Oh, and I gotta stop at Radio Shack.

See, I got this idea for one of those under-earth machines, the ones with the giant drill on the front, and I wanna make it look like a giant mole.

Sort of a surprise Xmas present for the Mole King and his Underworld Kingdom.

Aimée

NO.

Miracleman:

It's not for us. I'm not gonna keep it. It's for the Mole King. You remember him, he brought that nice casserole to St. Patrick's day a few years ago?

Aimée

NO.

Miracleman:

But honey...he gave me that plutonium last year for the Death Ray. Not his fault that it backfired and burned the carpet. I feel we owe him a tunneling machine.

Aimée

Then give him the dog.