Daniel C. Jensen does some expert playing:
From the Random Alanis Generator, it's all about what you put in the fields, folks:
"Why"
Emails, Viagra, Mortgages
Why God, Why?
Viagra, Nigerians, Spammers
Why God, Why?
What have I done to deserve this blue horror?
Surrounded on all sides with the Hell of Spammers
Like a Keats character, I'm wordy and alone
Why God, Why?
Softwares, emails, nekkid teens
Why God, Why?
Spammers, nekkid teens, Mortgages
Why God, Why?
What have I done to deserve this blue disaster that is my life?
Surrounded on all sides with the Hell of Spammers
Like a Keats character, I'm wordy and alone
Why God, Why?
What have I done to deserve this blue misery?
Surrounded on all sides with the Hell of Spammers
Like a Keats character, I'm wordy and alone
Why God, Why?
Why God, Why?
Why God, Why?
Why God, Why?
Why God, Why?
- Random alanis Generator
[edited to make formatting prettier]
Oh, the lightbulb jokes! My tagline over on WX is still "Halogen Bulbs -- Brilliant AND Hot!"
The inimitable
Elena
Chez
Bitches:
I'm here. Let the rejoicing begin.
Put down the Orb of Osiris - I didn't say re-Joyce-ing.
In Bitches:
Deena,
on her youngest son:
He's also officially outgrown his first outfit. The scramble to keep him decently covered until he's 18, gainfully employed, or becomes a nudist has begun.
Daniel C. Jensen, about his Freedom Fries song which is rapidly expanding in popularity:
Holy Frell. I created a monster, and it is rampaging through the village. Beth's DH apparently added a torch or two and now it is lumbering down the path.
Elena, in Bitches
And I like silk and gold thread and diamonds and cashmere plucked from goats in the Alps woven into a gossamer webs by pretty boys dressed only in glitter.
[Ed. note. And really, who doesn't?]
Not funny, just too touching to lose.
Deb
in Bitchy Fic
When Joanna (24 in June) was small, she had one of the great portmanteau words ever: Yesternight.
There was no such thing as a timeline, you see, not in her four-year-old head. Everything that had ever happened was done, past, together in a vast moving ballroom of mythos, human tragedy, divine comedy, sex, war, love, death, all of it. It all happened yesternight. The Titanic hit an iceberg and went down. When? Yesternight. Mom, I finished my cereal and gave Gadabout the rest of the milk to lick. When? Yesternight. The first ancestors of man crawled out of the primordial ooze and lay in warm sunlight. When? You got it, babe. Yesternight.
I adored the gestalt of that, the Zen behind it, and I still do. Today, this morning, it's almost unbearably poignant. Yesternight, I had no multiple sclerosis. Yesternight, this country was a democracy and the rest of the world, while occasionally pissy, was something we were a part of. So many things, so many so many so many, all gone and changed and ruined.
Yesternight. I'd like it back.
Gus, late night Sunday in Natter 9:
Uh,oh. Inebriated poster with a wireless laptop. I am in a bar
right now
and it is fucking
fabulous.
(Y Fabulous MV. Radically.)
Have been reading COFF aloud to fellow sots. It’s a hit. I’m a hit. I could get
laid.
Yay, Buffistas!
Later:
For the record: Six slurring sots have just sung (bellowed) Daniel's Freedom Fries song in a crowded bar. And it was fucking
great.
Uh, it sounded like The Philosopher's Song of Monty Python fame. Sorta. Mostly. One of the lady sots can actually sing. Lady sots did the alternate lines. Like this ...
Bellowing male sots: OH, I went to buy some freedom toast Actually singing lady sots: and when I got there they had none,
...so on.
still later:
... some nonsense about the bar closing. Fascists. Signing off. Keep your virtual fingers crossed on the outcome, Buffistas... {smoochies}
and, the morning after:
A large colony of muskrats have nested in my mouth during the night. Somewhere, someone is abusing a symphonic tympani.
Learn by my example, Buffistas. Alcohol is not your friend.
