Cindy, in Natter:

Proposal: I move we discard the current reality and all live in Dana's head reality.

Ballot, Item 1:

This reality sucks, we should all live in Dana's world.

Yes: A yes vote means you can read

No: A no vote means you suck

Please send your votes to: I_can't_fucking_stand_this@Buffistas.org

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.

Aww.

Damn.

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.

In Natter:

Jesse: Hello, pot? This is the kettle. YOU"RE BLACK.

ita: It's not black. It's Houseware-American.

From Angel (non-spoilery), Hayden speaks for the y-chromosomed portion of the board membership:

lyra Jane - I mean, you can't die instantly from a punctured testicle, can you?

Hayden - A guy would never ask this question.

Trudy - Did you know a penis can get broken?

Hayden - I'm sorry. I can't read the screen with my hands over my eyes like this.

(Ed. note: I know there was more, but I'd rather not think about it)

Hil R.:

OK, somewhat amused, but not really surprised, at the map leaving off Australia. I'll probably be ranty about it later, but I've ranted a lot to people today and I'm kind of off the rantyness for now.

Madrigal's suggested ending for Buffy:

Really, instead of staking, I'd like it if the ending mirrored "Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back" by having Spike track down everyone who's posted online and either slapping them around or shagging them or both.

Nutty, in Natter, trying to elucidate a series of puns about Poles:

For the record, "a ten-foot pole" is punny because "Pole" is an old-fashioned way of saying person-from-Poland. And there's this whole part where "pole" or "tent-pole" is a euphemism for penis, so a ten foot pole can be construed as a gigantically priapic Polish guy. And then there's this other part where "I wouldn't touch him with a 10-foot pole" is replied to with "How about a 6-foot Swiss?" and then it gets very silly and/or into cheese jokes, and then the conversation devolves into giggling.

And you know what? Jokes are less funny when you are explaining them.

Gus in Natter - read previous COMM for context.

Getting through the workday today was an act of Will. Around noon, the hangover became such a real, physical presence in my life that I named it George.