Damn, but I thought I was on the way to being Rue’s Arch Rival and everything! Now I find out about all these other nemesii, and I feel betrayed. I mean, we had witty banter and I was growing a handlebar mustache and everything.
Guess that’s what I get for vanishing for awhile…missed my chance at an Arch Rival.
Yeah, that’s right Jester. A good Arch Rival doesn’t just poof off without a backwards glance. They keep in touch now and again.
Dear Arch Rival,
I got to college OK. All is well. Classes are hard, but that’s what you’d expect. I heard rumors of Loose Wimmens. This sounds dangerous to me. I should check it out and if I find any tighten them back up. For safety reasons.
Thinking of you,
Nemesis.
See? Was that so hard? Just a little note now and again so we know you’re all right. That’s all I ask.
Attention Newbies! Bumbazine thinks you’re a big stupid. Every one of you! You should tell him what you think of him. Right now. Don’t be shy. Stand up for yourself. You have nothing to lose but your socks! (Or something…)
Carving half-rotten punkins is ew-y.
Thank you.
-Rue. (just trying to help is all)
I got behind again.
Nobody’s dead now right? Except maybe Shibb?
Jester got promoted from “baby” to “Arch Rival,” but then got demoted for not nemesising properly? Where do “nemesis” and “arch rival” fit on the enemy scale? Which one’s worse than the other?
About the only things I’m sure of in this thread are that Bumb hates newbies, welby ain’t going to Jacksonville, and I don’t care to participate in another platypus hijack.
Ballistic or otherwise.
What kinds of “stuff” do Manly-Man Pals [sup]TM[/sup] get to do? Should I get my mind out of the gutter?
Rue why are you carving half-rotten punkins? I mean, there seem to be just-ripe-enough-for-carving punkins all over the place right now. Couldn’t ya find one of those?
-swampbear (who’s never carved a punkin and doesn’t want to)
I don’t have a punkin this year, ew-y or otherwise. However, this weekend, my husband is going to a Punkin Chunkin’ somewhere in Delaware. It sounds like a lot of fun - wish I could go…
I won’t be chunkin’ punkins, either, but I occasionally toss old veggies into the woods behind our house - I figger the critters out there might enjoy something different. Of course, I could be feeding a growing species of critters that won’t wait for me to toss the stuff, and instead, they’ll come right into the kitchen and open the fridge, and then where will I me??
I’ll tell you where - I’ll be getting my broom out of the garage to sweep them out. And I’ll be scolding the dog for letting critters into the house.
Sheesh. Some species just don’t know their place in the world.
Shibb may or may not be dead Ex. It’s hard to tell with coyotes. Until he shows up not-dead, well, I’m a little sad. Inside, where it’s safe. Not inside a safe though. It’s hard to breathe in there. Which makes safe sex really short, or you wake up all headachey. But if you really want to have sex with a safe, you have bigger problems than a headache.
Scout might be dead too. Burned up in the big fire. I heard about the fire and haven’t heard from Scout. She could just be making a bunch of s’mores and doesn’t have time for us. I can’t say. Actually I could say, but how would I know if I was right or not? I could flip a coin and just assume that the coin would know. But that’s a lot of power to invest in a simple nickel.
A nickle is a type of bird. Or an English name for a bird. I’m not sure, but I could check. I could check, but I won’t. You could check on the nickle bird and get back to us. If you wanted.
You know who else is missing? Dwyr. Haven’t heard from her in a while. I hope she’s OK.
Manly-Man Pals™ can do whatever they want to do Swampy. As long as they ask first and wash their hands after. Although just from your question you must be some sicko-perv so whatever you’re gonna ask, the answer is “No”. Unless you’re buying the drinks. Then it’s “Maybe”.
And our punkins were good when we bought them. When the Little Woman bought them, I had nothing to do with it. (I just fry up the seeds. That’s my job.) They (the punkins) looked real nice when we got them. But that was in May. Go fig.
-Rue. (knowing my place)
This just might become my new sig line.
What if I buy the drinks and throw in a set of lit up pink flamingos? Would the maybe become yes?
BTW punkin seeds are the only thing about punkins I like. The rest is just Ick.
You don’t like punkin pie? What are you, some kinda commie?!? :eek:
Rue, ask and you shall receive. The Nickle (from dictionary.com):
The European woodpecker, or yaffle.
Interestingly enough, it’s also called the nicker pecker, which I can’t even type without smirking. Who’s the “sicko-perv” now? Huh? That’s what I thought!
This just in:
I don’t like pumpkin pie either.
It’s official! Sicko-pervs don’t like punkin pie. No film at 11 since I’m not taking pictures of sicko-pervs. You just never know WHAT they’ll do on camera.
All I’m sayin’ is sweet tater pie is vastly superior to punkin pie. Punkin pie tastes just too punkiny while steet tater pie is chock full of sweet tater goodness.
So have you been inside, like, all night? 'Cause I was walking by your house a while ago and saw someone on your front porch and I thought it was you, especially considering the way he ran off quickly when he saw me … hey, what’s that hanging from your front door knob?
Oh my god … IT’S A BLOODY HOOK!!!
No it’s not a hook. Sheesh, on my front door I have one of those cool lever latches. Way better than a doorknob. See, it’s… OH MY GOD IT’S A BLOODY HOOK!
What, you mean you didn’t get all of my “Dear Nemesis” letters? I’m confused. I certainly sent enough your way; roughly one a week. I wrote you more often than my dear Grammy, Rue, and that’s saying a lot because I love my Grammy.
So why didn’t the letters get there? Did you change Fortresses of Solitude/Secret Lair locations? (Which one it is depends on if you’re the good rival or the evil rival; have we settled on that one yet? If not, I call Good Guy. And shotgun. Just in case we drive somewhere soon.) Maybe the mailman just didn’t deliver them. Maybe the mailman was Shibb, and now he’s on the lamb (that poor lamb) for Arch Nemesis Mail Fraud. Sure, that might be far fetched, but I don’t see him popping up or defending himself or anything…
I’m just sayin’.
That noise you hear is coming from INSIDE the house!!! :eek:
… and late at night, if you listen really closely, you can hear the wailings of the woman whose dismembered body was found in the garden, stuffed into hollowed out pumpkins. :eek:
I’m alive.
I’M ALIVE!!!
Can we go back to the sprained ass for a bit? 'Cause I didn’t get to throw in my rimshot line yet. When you have sprained your ass, there is a perfect way to take care of it: GET YOUR ASS IN A SLING!
Haw haw.
[sub]I’ll just back out of here slowly, lest the tomatoes start flying…[/sub]
Good one, scout - wish I’d said that! 
There was this one time when I was a kid in the Boy Scouts, and we went camping. This wasn’t the regular Scout Camp with the pre-built tent plaforms and lean-tos and a dining hall and stuff, this was real striking-off-into-the-Adirondacks-on-state-land-where-people-paid-good-money-for-the-right-to-put-up-tree-stands-during-deer-season-but-there-ain’t-jack-in-the-summer-for-thirty-miles CAMPING. My dad said, “don’t drop that hatchet somewhere’s boy, or we’re screwed.” That’s what kind of camping we were doing. We were just like those French weirdos back in the 1600’s who wanted to find out where Lake Champlain went. The Dutch got to the good parts much earlier.
Anyway, the grownups found a good spot to pitch camp, because that’s what they were there for. Us kids never gave half a crap about where we were going to sleep for the night because we were too busy chasing the wildlife through the bush to care about crap like drainage and safe fire clearance. Did you know that there are rattlesnakes in upstate New York? I didn’t when I was a kid, and neither did my best friend. He spent two days in the hospital. It may comfort you to know that the New York State Police have helicopters. I thought that was really cool.
So we pitched the puptents, rallied around the campfire, made s’mores and told ghost stories. Not lame stories, like the guy with hook for a hand, or the guy who got caught in his cabin when it caught fire, but really scary ones. Dang if we weren’t all really charged up with sugar and adrenaline when it got to be time to go to sleep.
Somebody noticed that Mr. Henderson was missing, and my dad went to look for him. Dad didn’t come back that night.
Jimmy Edwards snuck out of his tent to pee and didn’t come back.
Mr. Kershaw went to look for my Dad and Mr. Henderson, but he didn’t come back either.
By this time, we were all wide awake around the campfire, listening to the forest. We had quit yelling for Jimmy and the grownups, because we got no answers. The fire blazed up from time to time when one or another of us would throw another log on, and the shadows danced and the trees extended denuded branches like skeletal fingers and laughed without making a sound.
And then it happened.
I’ll finish this later. I owe FairyChatMom an e-mail.
Well, this is anticlimactic I know but…
I’ve been remembered! Rue just improved my day incalculably. How nice of him.
Explanation is that I’m in the midst of some mid-life-crisis-meltdown apparently.
But I lurk around the fringes when I can, watching the merriment.
So please do carry on.