Jess PMoon:

This reminds me of my mother's pet theory that the ancient Hebrews all had severe OCD. All the handwashing, the paranoia about foods touching, the whole fabric mixing thing...

Aimée:

Judaism as we know it could have been completely different if Prozac had been around before Jesus.

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Better without context, I think. Kristen in Natter:

I haven't been this disappointed in a home improvement related show casting change since Bob Vila left This Old House.

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victor infante: I have a love/hate relationship with IKEA. It annoys me for about an hour, and then there are meatballs.

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Bitches are funny. We knew that.

connie:

For Fay when next we see her. Amy and I have been founding a cult in her honor. We feel she needs minions and acolytes and people who's sole job is to worship her. Shrines and pilgrimages and reports of holy visitations would, of course, be de rigeur.

"There I was in Waterloo Station . . . . The Blessed One appeared and laid her hand on my--no, you can't cut it off for an icon, I'm using it!"

"She invoked the Good Tequila Fairies, and there was Snark." (to be followed by chants of "snark snark snark") "And the drunks were abashed, and the waitstaff prompt and helpful, and the pretentious were laid not at all."

From the First Book of The Transcendent Lucious One, Fay, Most Bumptious Bountiful Blonde Babe.

Beverly:

Connie, I humbly request to be admitted to the Cult of Fay. I will learn all the calls and responses and follow the pilgramages of the Beautious Bumptious One --um, semireligiously.

connie:

Beverly, only you can judge the worthiness of your vocation. When you have studied your heart and come to the truth, you may initiate yourself into the holy cult in whatever words reflect your feelings. (We hear that "My god, she's hot!" is a popular wording.)

At this point, you are free to visit all shrines and holy places, and perhaps the Blessed One will visit you with visions and manifestations. Or maybe just email.

Beverly:

Kewl! Er, "I'm not worthy!"

...

Also, this...

Beverly:

Huh. Musical groups sing Abba songs. Groups evidently put together just to sing Abba songs. And Culture Club. I wonder if this is a regular thing.

deborah:

Beverly, I'd say it's a regular sign of the Four Horsemen, is what it is.

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In BBaBB:

Jon B. - And Rio wins the prize. We were wondering who would be the first to ask :)

Rio - Ooh, what do I win?

Jon B. - You get to make out with me.

Sean K - What better prize could there possibly be?

Jon B. - Get in line, Sean.

Sean K - Okay, but Rio better not use up all the good Jon mackin'

DXMachina - Hey, I'm the one who actually posed the question!

Sean K - I'm sorry. I'll make out with you, DX. Oh, wait... You probably wanted to mack on Rio.

SA - Wait! Doesn't that mean DXM gets the Jon-macking?

Rio - It means everyone has gets to make out with me! wh00t wh00t

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Angus G. in Natter:

Hearty congratulations to the Burrells!

(And are you aware that due to recent changes in legislation Frances may have her slayer powers already?)

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Madrigal in Natter:

A couple days ago I had a dream that there was a huge squabble amongst the Buffistae over whether Miss Buffistina could have her own log-in name already, and some thought she should because she already had a name, Lucy Charlotte, while others protested that posting should be limited to those in direct contact of a computer. Then someone brought up adverbials and everything went to hell.

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And more Madrigal in Natter:

Yes, but using a flamethrower on University property pretty much automatically kills any hope of getting a scholarship or grant.

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Lovely lovely JZ in Natter:

The other major pleasure of the weekend was yesterday afternoon, when two women who'd been housebound with new babies for a few months met up and introduced their now 7-month-old babies to one another. It turns out that if you are small and fat and bald and helpless and surrounded by supercompetent omnipotent giants all day long, there is nothing on the face of the earth that will crack your shit up like coming face to face with another small fat bald helpless person. The babies spent almost an hour staring each other in the face and screaming with delight: one focused entirely on the other and almost bursting out of his skin with joy, and the other, even more entertainingly, every now and then cutting his eyes over to his mom's face with a look of thunderstruck glee, as if to say, "Do you see this? Do you see it? This shit is crazy! It's another fuckin' baby, I shit you not!"

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I've received backup for COMMing this, and anyway, damnit, it needs COMMing.

Cindy in, I believe, Natter; the context speaks for itself.

I try to cut down on # of posts, and the dingoes ate my meara.

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