Willow ,'Empty Places'
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, helping new parents deal with sleeping issues the way only buffistas can:
Amy: have a martini
amych: To be safe, have a shot of clear liquor, possibly with some sort of vermouth in some proportion, possibly with a garnish. Unless definitional discussions help you get through the sleepless nights, in which case have a martini.
Aims in Bitches, in response to askye's "THE GOVERNMENT IS TOO BIG":
Yes, but it's small enough to fit in my cooch, apparently.
Not funny, really, and yet.
Steph L. in Natter:
Yeah, when I think about it, I'm not exactly beaming with pride that my mother tongue can claim "ginormous."
Gudanov, in Bitches, on how to deal with noisy neighbors:
Nothing is more intimidating than a live performance of the 1812 Overture, though the direction in which the canons are pointing is an important variable.
erika on AZ's anti-cloning law:
AZ; Suddenly, that cloning law makes more sense...they know what can happen. They already made a governor out of a horse's ass.
Modern dating, as explained in Natter:
-t: Dude, your phone is totally trying to cockblock you. That ain't right.
tommyrot: Suddenly I understand why they call it "Virgin Mobile."
Come the zombie apocalypse? I'm sticking with Zenkitty. From Natter:
I'm holing up, not fighting back.
This is why I have post-zombie-apocalypse dibs on the local Super Wal-Mart. All your post-apocalyptic survival needs in one place! Plastic-wrapped water and food that will never rot? Check. Guns, ammo, and large knives? Check. Medicine? Got it. Fire pits for burning the remains of the unfortunate dead? Got 'em. The ingredients for crude homemade bombs? Right here! Condoms? Got 'em. (The movies have taught us that, post-apocalypse, there will be at least one sexy horny motherfucker walking around half-naked looking for something, which I'll have because I'm in Wal-Mart.) And at some point, probably very soon and for the rest of our short brutal lives, we'll need alcohol, and we'll have it! Because being as this is the South, alcohol and guns are both sold in your friendly local Super Wal-Mart! Zombies? Bring it. Clean-up on Aisle Three, motherfucker!
Mmm. I don't have a flamethrower either.
Or licensed guns.
Windsparrow is QUICK:
billytea: It's Mother's Day here now. Ryan celebrated by throwing up his morning milk feed all over his face, hair and outfit. While having a stinky nappy changed. Wallybee is off having a thoroughly deserved foot massage, and I'm on Ralph Watch.
WindSparrow: Happy Mother's Day wishes to Wallybee. Listen, Ryan, I don't want to be harsh or anything, but I think we need to work on your ideas for homemade gifts.
Erika in Bitches, on dealing with idiot publishers:
In West Baltimore, I think you could have your crew beat the shit out of them, though. (It's surprising how often I console myself with that same thought...I think the mystery of why the greeting card company never got back to me is solved, however.)