In Natter --
Erin: I mean, if you're cursing someone, you don't want their eyen to be ok.
Betsy: Or their crag.
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.
In Natter --
Erin: I mean, if you're cursing someone, you don't want their eyen to be ok.
Betsy: Or their crag.
Allyson lays down the law:
Are you talking about the Passover Seder? Please tell her we did not survive the following forty years in the desert on a roasted egg and some parsley.
Usually, dinner is a roast of some sort with the usually fixings, though you wouldn't include any dairy if keeping kosher.
The symbolic foods like the lamb bone and the egg are part of the prayer "Why is this night different from all other nights?"
Answer: Because the Angel of Death passed over our houses and laid a cap in the pharoah's people's first borns asses because payback is a BITCH. (I will mail her 50 bucks if she says this).
Sean K. and DavidS discuss the Best Director award in Movies:
Sean K:
So, does yesterday's Oscars mean we'll soon get to see Marty Scorsese have Joe Pesci pistol whip half the Academy?
Because I want tickets.
DavidS:
I don't want to see Scorsese win a Smell of a Woman type honorary Oscar for a work that's sub-standard in his catalog. I want him to win for a Scorsese movie.
Sean K:
So he films Pesci pistol whipping half the Academy, turns it into his next Goodfellas, and wins next year?
DavidS:
No[w] you're talking. Bring in Deniro with a baseball bat and you've got my vote.
Thanks for the edit, Kathy!
I have also just now realized that I totally edited out Monday.
A useful trick.
SeanK in Bureaucracy:
Okay, I'm now quite amused at the thought of misdemeanor/felony grades of spoilage.
In hard-time lockup, all the Spoiler Hos would form a whole prison gang, and make the poor Spoiler Fishies into their Bitches, and plot against the screws that walk the tier.
Matt TBF, in Movies:
Apparently I can only stomach watching stockbroker types if there's a good chance that Christian Bale is going to dismember them later on.
Cindy gets in touch with her inner ita, in Natter.
I'm the cast-iron skillet's bitch. It's a pan. And a weapon. You really can't ask more from a kitchen utensil.
In Bitches, Lilty Cash mourns the (possible) falling of a great survivor:
Well, he's looking DAMN dead. I haven't flushed him yet, though. I noticed this morning his color was not good, but I thought it was just his usual bi-weekly death throes.