Natterers.
'Conviction (1)'
Coffee On My Monitor
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.
Then we'll get stuck in an infinite loop and the Stompies won't be able to create new COMM threads fast enough.
We'd need to engineer a new super-breed of COMMpies.
Strega, commenting on an English-only sign in a restaurant:
This is America: WHEN ORDERING 'PLEASE SPEAK ENGLISH'
This is English: When writing instructions, please don't use inverted commas for emphasis.
Betcha Jon B could.
Oh, SNAP!
Good times, good times.
The postmodern, it kills me (in Premium):
P-C: DAMN YOU, WIKIPEDIA.
Frank: Welcome to Deadwood, cocksucker.
Erin: I do not want a lawnmower. I want to paint my wall turquoise and buy more bookshelves. That's it.
Enough funny to bring rupture blood vessels in my brain - in Bitches, on Mike Rowe's career before hosting "Dirty Jobs":
erikaj:
Foamy dude, Mr. Rowe. Funny. Nice teeth.(I have a thing about that.) Manly, in a good way. The opera singer thing is a nice bonus, though. As are things like "daggone it," and being willing to look dumb on TV....Laga:
wait, Mike Rowe is an opera singer?
SuziQ:
Yep. He also used to sell stuff on QVC. He got in trouble for having a nun doll upside down in his lap.
Laga:
wow. My eh for Mike Rowe just turned into a hmm.
Nora Deirdre: Three is totally the fit throwing age. Do your friends have kids or know many people with kids?
Miracleman: Actually, they have a child, but that's a whole 'nother Oprah.
Aimée: 3 year olds are raw manic depression. I'm convinced.
beth b: I think that might be truer than I want it to be
Aimée: It's definitely truer than that I want it to be.
****
Aimée: As a parent, I was totally torturing Em yesterday. She was pretending that Joe and I were sick and was bringing us stuff.
Em: "Here's your juice, baby."
Me: "I DON'T LIKE THAT JUICE! I WANT WATER!"
Em: Ok - here's your water.
Me: "I DON'T LIKE WATER I SAID I PROMISE!"
She just looked at me askance and kissed me on my forehead and said, "You need your nap, baby."
Joe fell out of his chair laughing.
Early morning stealth posting attempt yields:
Aimee in Bitches:
my bobbes were uncle discussing my gauchos. I'm not kidding. It's tripoli crazy because I haven't work any in YONKS.