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Then in the 90s we got a bunch of food names: Smashing Pumpkins, Red Hot Chilli Peppers, Phish, Korn, Cake, Pearl Jam, Mudhoney, Lemonheads, Blind Melon, Fionna Apple, Ice T, Ice Cube, Limp Bizkit, Eminem. Which is what happens when you smoke the ganja. You get the munchies and end up naming your band after whatever you scarf down. "Man, these pumpkin pies are smashing!"
(T; Notes from the Resistence)
Sam tries to talk to Harrison, who gives her the "I’m kind of busy" line and follows it up with a "get the hell out of here, I’m about to score with Josh" look.
(Popular recap; TWoP)
Day 3: Clients have very ambitious plans to increase current catacombs from one level to sixteen. Will need to get planning permission. Asked why they thought they needed sixteen underground vaults, each the size of a football field. Was told they needed to house the Unholy Legions of the Damned. They must have teenagers.
(Rob Lomax; a.r.k)
This work here isn't going to procrastinate itself.
(Terry Austin; r.a.s-f.w)
[Bush] spoke at the German Parliament. The clip was shown on our news five or six times, each time the same clip with Bush saying in an ominous voice: "the terrorists have maps of Europe, too!" Oooh, I'm scared.
(Kajikit; r.p.c.a)
Speaking of "flying by the seat of your pants" -- a friend of mine who has a pilot's licence told me someone did a study once, where they anesthetized the buttocks of experienced pilots and had them fly. They found it much more difficult to keep the plane going where they wanted it, than when their buttocks were not numbed.
Now, my friends being who they are, I'd take this story with a large grain of salt -- but I really, really want to believe that it's true; just because that means that someone, somewhere, found himself saying to a group of pilots, "I want to anesthetize your buttocks. For science."
(John Robinson; r.a.s-f.w)
- But then, I have slashy thoughts about actual IRA members, so. Um. Yeah. My descend into hell might come faster than I
think.
- Right. I mean, granted, I spend a lot of my time lusting after a 14 year old and his siblings, but um. Man, they're
supposed to be lusted after.
- But arhg! Michael McGuinnes and Gerry Adams are so fucking SLASHY! And also, Mr McGuinness used to be v. cute. And
he was 22 when he was leading the IRA in Derry, and argh!
- Ooh. Puts a lot of pressure on a young man.
- *hides face* And let's not even get into the whole blanket protest thing. (NAKEDNESS!)
- *raises eyebrows* Oh my.
- I hate my brain.
- Okay, here, Martin McGuinness is the one on the far left.
- Hmm. Not bad. He's no Carter *snerk* but not bad.
- *giggle* Pretty Sparkly Dancing Terrorists?
- *laughs* Yes! There's your slogan. People will come flocking.
- <= HELLBOUND!
God. I may actually write this, you know. The Martin McG/Gerry A thing. Not the PSDT thing. I'm not that crazy.
(Me, Beth; AIM)
- I love Eminem. Love him. So much. I amaze myself with the massive amount of love I hold for this would-be-offensive (but really just lovable, cuddle-able, and lick-able) young man.
- Auto response from femgeek: It is my firm belief that Europeans just don't need to sleep. (Ang, IRC)
In bed. Message?
- I blame you.
I would blame, you know. Like, uh... 'NSyncgrrl, because she inspired my first twinges of love.
But you. I dont' know. I'm not sure why. But I do, I blame you entirely. I'm sure there's some logic to it. But I'm not sure. There might not be.
You may, in fact, have become my default scapegoat. This doesn't bother me, or course.
It won't bother you, either. Because you're a contrary bitch like that!
Of course, maybe it shouldn't bother you. Because, you know, you could translate "blame" into "thank." But. I'd rather blame. Yes yes.
Makes my life so much easier.
Blame Canada? Why, no. I blame 'Melle.
*sings* Blame 'Me-e-e-ellleeeee!!!!!!!!!
Um, right. I think bed now.
And it occurs to me that, technically, I just sang that. And this. Because I never indicated a cease-sing. So. *stops singing* Bed now.
Yes.
(Beth; AIM)
- God. I'm so obsessed with the Justin!goat now. It's your fault, too, for encouraging the madness.
- Ahahahahahaha!
- *laughs*
- I AM THE HIGH PRIESTESS OF JUSTIN, THE GOAT GOD! BOW BEFORE ME!
- AHAHAHAHAHAHA!!
Dude, you did NOT.
- Didn't what?
- I don't know. Say that. It was just. Reallyreally funny. And. I don't know.
- BOW, MORTAL! BOW BEFORE YOUR GOA- er, GOD!
- HAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!! *bows down*
- Bless you, child.
- Oh! I've been blessed by the Goat-God! I feel truly, truly honored. And, now. Now, I will go out and do great things! Raise GOATS! On a farm. With many different varieties of goat. Long-horned, mountain, and even milk! There will be goat cheese made from my blessed goats' milk! And. Oh. Greatness. My goat farm will acheive greatness!
(Beth, me; AIM)
When the Glorious Revolution comes, it shall be fueled by pasta.
(Me; AIM)
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Um, right, see. That shouldn't have been so funny to me.
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