Matt, I gotta have the whole "cubicle smells like death" exchange:
Tom Scola:
A coworker just walked by and complained that it smells like death near my cube.
ita:
Death, or decay? If death, black? He needs to be specific.
Gudanov:
Why is Dick Cheney next to your cube?
Frankenbuddha:
Right, like does it smell a little like death or a lot like death. If a lot, what's his basis for comparison.
Lee:
See, I would have just wanted to tell him. "Yes, it is death. Better flee while you can, and not come back."
There's a slight chance I'm anti-social, isn't there?
Frankenbuddha:
Nah, but then again I'd have said somehthing along the lines of "Thanks, I'll make sure to hide the next body somewhere else" and given a Wednesday Addams smile.
Strega:
I'd go with, "Oh sorry, that's probably my soul."
(edited, because Teppy was faster)
Nattering on a new show...
Cindy:
It has potential, Plei.
Plei:
SO DID KENNEDY!
One more addition to the "cubicle of death" series, from ita:
If I managed to escape my curse of specificity-requiring, I'd probably want to say "Oops!" and make sure my big file drawer was closed properly.
Depending on the commenter, I just might do it.
The incomparable Ms. Bug, in Bitches:
Aimee, I hate to have to tell you this, but I think gauchos make the baby Jesus cry. See, some fundamentalist Christians believe that girls shouldn't wear pants, because they are too form-fitting. So, they make their girls wear gauchos and skirts. Baby Jesus knows this is a misinterpretation of his words, and it makes him cry and cry and cry. The fact that they are back in style at all is proof that the terrorists have won. So, in conclusion, we MUST take back our country from the fundamentalists and terrorists. BURN your gauchos. Do it for your country! And for baby Jesus's tear ducts.
Hee, beat me to it! That's what I get for actually trying to work at work.
Sparky1:
Last night I had dinner with a friend and her 3 year old, who is a week out of diapers. He was doing the potty dance, and after much discussion, agreed to use the unfamiliar restroom. When they got back to the table he asks, "when will it stop?" We question, "what stop?" He says, "the peeing!" Apparently, because we adults do not announce our bathroom intentions to the world, and because Mom and Dad do not discuss with each other whether or not they have to go, he thought adults did not have to use the bathroom and the pesky chore that interrupts his playtime and dinner would eventually go away.
I nearly peed myself laughing.
....The poor kid was just destroyed. From the look on his face you would have thought we'd told him Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny hated him and would never come again.
And I found it hilarious.
The lovely Fay in Bitches, context bedamned:
...'course, I'd probably just start a coup d'etat, and you probably don't really want that on your wedding day.
