On a road trip they are all 67 Impalas. Your Impala just gets better gas mileage.
Ha! Love that!
[NAFDA] Spike-centric discussion. Lusty, lewd (only occasionally crude), risqué (and frisqué), bawdy (Oh, lawdy!), flirty ('cuz we're purty), raunchy talk inside. Caveat lector.
On a road trip they are all 67 Impalas. Your Impala just gets better gas mileage.
Ha! Love that!
to break the nervousness of blind date:
Not nervous. Just cautious.
This [link] might help you navigate. Damn, if nothing else, it's kinda fun to go through their links. I'm not sure I bring anything else to the table but OKC is only 2 1/2 hours from me.Ha, great minds link a like. 2.5 hours, huh? maybe another f2f? I'm starting to like this idea more and more. If I want to stay true to the route, a navigator would help. Too bad my cheap-o GPS can't download GPS tracks. Eh, what do you want for a cheap Woot special?
If I want to stay true to the route, a navigator would help.
That would make *me* the Sam. I am thinking I do better conversation than the average GPS. At least better than my Tom-Tom. "Turn. right. ahead".
ha,my GPS just goes ding ding, no speaking.
meara's ex-gal and smonster's ex-bloke need to get together and compare breakup notes, then get a frackin clue together. And stop bothering our lovelies with their obnoxious communiques.
meara's ex-gal and smonster's ex-bloke need to get together and compare breakup notes, then get a frackin clue together. And stop bothering our lovelies with their obnoxious communiques.
Can we trap them in an elevator together? Maybe 16 or 17 hours? Not long enough that one dies and the other turns to cannibalism, but you know, a good long time.
Can we trap them in an elevator together?
I vote for sending them both to a time loop. If they think that it's what's best for others, they should try it themselves.
"Message received. Communication ends."
Ooo. I am so keeping that in my back pocket for future use.
meara's ex-gal and smonster's ex-bloke need to get together and compare breakup notes, then get a frackin clue together. And stop bothering our lovelies with their obnoxious communiques.
I was just thinking that!
So omnis picks the music and Theresa shuts her cakehole?
Now I'm imagining Worf in an apron, cooking dinner in my tiny kitchen.
All I thought of was "Sir! I am not a merry man!"