Xander ,'Beneath You'
This thread is for Buffista quotage. Posts that are profound, witty, or otherwise deserving of immortality go here. This is also Shrift's source for the BRQG, so be aware that if your words end up here, they'll also end up there. Finally, please note which thread spawned the quotage and please white-out anything that might be spoilery to Un-Americans.
Because it might be prophecy...
Matt the Bruins Fan:
So Red Sox fans, what happens if the team wins the whole shebang during a total lunar eclipse in this next game and breaks the curse? Does Babe Ruth come shambling out of The Gates of Heaven Cemetery in Kensico New York, hungry for the brains of Sox star players and a bottle of Sam Adams?
Hec:
On top of all that, I should point out this is the 100th World Series. So, yeah, maybe an ascension could occur. My money's on Bud Selig.
shrift in Natter:
Every time a fan goes off her rails, a kerfuffle gets its wings.
In Natter, a nice little convergence:
Betsy:
A Reuters headline that is a warning to us all:
Day from Hell May Have Killed Off Dinosaurs
I've had days like that.
Sean
We're getting HAILED on down here in Hollywood.
Lovely juxtaposition of posts.
The erikaj & SeanK show, Natter
Secret Service: Yes, I want to speak to God, AKA The Creator, AKA The Supreme Being, AKA...well, there are a lot of aliases.
"So, Jehovah, huh? What kind of name is that? You Arabic?
This is like the fourteenth time I've COMMed ita.
In Natter, on Ashlee Simpson's acid reflux:
She should become the acid reflux spokesperson, like Halle is for diabetes and T-Boz for sickle cell anæmia.
Wait, maybe you have to be black to be a diseased spokesmodel.
deborah grabian in Bitches:
Mono is about as much fun as having sex in an Iron Maiden.
Juliana in F2F (context be damned):
I'm going as Desire, which should help cut down the packing.
Dweebs on Parade
Rick V.: One year in graduate school I bought balloons in the standard colors used to illustrate carbon, hydrogen, etc. and attached them to my body in a particular pattern, going to the party as a serotonin molecule. At one point a group of neuroscientists posing as enzymes came over and popped particular balloons with pins, metabolizing me into 5-hydroxy-indoleacetic acid. For the rest of the night when people asked what I was supposed to be, I had to say "Uh, I came as an obscure metabolite of serotonin."
The next year I got an empty bicycle box, painted it, cut a hole at one end for my head, and went as Rorschach Card # III. I got less trouble from the neuroscientists that year, but I had to put up with behaviorists ridiculing my validity all night.
Polter-Cow: Oh my God. That is the best story ever.
Damnit, Trudy!
t stomps away in a huff