Beverly: The hired bartender was reported to have spent what time he wasn't pouring drinks or gawping in amazement on his cell phone, reporting the experience in all its surreality. He seemed impressed by all the boobage on display, as well as the peacock resplendence of the men. But apparently his HSQ level rose several notches when Jon B. reappeared in his silver suit and began to play the theremin.
Jessica: I'm fully expecting next year's bestselling quasi-fictional book to be Boobs, Pleather, Candy! A Day in the Life of a Hotel Bartender.
From Tommyrot, in The Minearverse:
We're like squirrels, ferreting out fandom factoids and stashing them away for retreival years later.
Or we're like ferrets, finding fandom factoids and squirlling them away...
We're like ferret-squirrels, weaseling factoids out of their eggs....
billytea on archaeologists v. archeologists:
Of course, it doesn't matter what they call themselves, their careers are still in ruins.
No-o-o-obody knows, the rubble I've seen...
On the similarities between Jewish and Indian mothers:
Polter-Cow: My mom told me to talk to my grandfather and tell him I wanted him to take care of himself so he could see me get married.
Amych: I bow before Mrs. Cow. That is the finest example I've ever seen of the extremely difficult double-barrelled simultaneous guilt trip, aimed with deadly accuracy at both father and son at once.
(Are you sure she's not Jewish?)
Trudy Booth: Looks like that Lost Tribe made it's way to the subcontinent, huh?
Hil R: My mother once called me to let me know that she and my father had bought grave plots in the cemetary where her whole family is buried. They also bought four extra plots, for me and my sister and our husbands. (At that time, we were 19 and 22, and neither of us was even dating anyone.) Then she reminded me that non-Jewish people can't be buried in Jewish cemetaries.
Polter-cow: Hey, Hil, wanna get married?
Hil R: Well, you'd have to find your own gravesite.
Oh, I just came here to COMM that -- you *have* to include the final comment, which made me cackle madly:
Polter-Cow:
Indians are cremated.
It's a big COMM day for P-C...
Polter-Cow
on a ~ma map:
And every morning, Gus would deliver the Buffista weather:
"And it looks like we've got an exam-ma front heading west toward L.A. Must be finals. Denver should expect heavy showers all week due to the concentrated ~ma coming from the other direction. And finally, everyone on the east coast, watch out! Cause there's some strong Green Lantern anti-ma shuttling across the continent."
t natter
Oh my. I am so taking notes from both Polter-Cow's mother, and Hil's, too. I suddenly find myself wondering about the emoticon for a standing ovation.
Ginger in Natter:
Okay, I have a chicken-fucking story.
[The story is not even needed, frankly. Just that sentence made me spit COMM.]
ita
finds le mot juste in Bureaucracy:
As currently implemented, the code hits a MySQL bug which means we eat CPU cycles like Buffista F2Fers on a candy necklace.
