I thought he died … at the box office!
bwa-hah-hah-ha.
I prefer to think of myself as … Death, with Attitude.
Oh, that’s a bit harsh. I just need to pick up some of the shrouds.
My head is full of charnel knowledge.
Cuh – cuh – cuh – come … seven!
Is Jack Chick right? Why, has he ever said anything you find questionable?
As for the end of days, all I can say is, armageddon tired of that question. You expect Coca-Cola or Kentucky Fried Chicken to give you their secrets? When Judgment Day comes, I will have the best seats. Yours and everyone’s.
I was here first. You know how the Christians always appropriated the original sources and incorporated them into their holidays. Copycats.
(Slurp.)
What song?
“Near Sator Square,” hmmm? Noted.
That’ll teach him to bad-mouth Oppenheimer.
Also, where’s your sting? **
[/QUOTE]
Damn. Did I misplace my sting again? Seems like I spend half my life looking for something I’ve misplaced. Where’s my sting? Maybe at the Police reunion?
Okay, so maybe I fudged the resume a little. So I’m not Master of the Pit. I’m more like the doorman.
Another reason you should tip me.
[chun]
Remo, is that you?
[/chun]
Come on, Johnny Cash and John Ritter in the same day? What’s the matter with you?
Mike Nelson?
I just knew you posted here.
What do you expect? I’m Evil. Eeeee-vil.
Plus, someone had to stop them from making any more episodes of “Eight Simple Rules for Dating My Teenage Daughter.”
I’ve heard that death takes a holiday. Where does he go?
What if someone’s not really dead; they’re just sleeping? Or pining for the fjords? Can you tell the difference before it’s too late?
What is it with you and real estate?
It seems like you owned a decent amount, an entire valley anyway, in the Crimea where the Six Hundred rode but then the Bible gives you short shrift with a valley purported to be only as big as your shadow.
What gives?
Why do you lurk so often in the bathrooms and bedrooms? Don’t you like the foyers and mudrooms?
Okay, everybody, all together:
*Pining for the fjords? What kind of talk is that? He’s not pinin’! He’s passed on! This parrot is no more! He has ceased to be! He’s expired and gone to meet his maker! He’s a stiff! Bereft of life. He rests in peace! Pushing up the daisies! His metabolic processes are now history! He’s off the twig! He’s kicked the bucket, he’s shuffled off his mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin’ choir invisible! *
Now give me that parrot. I’m going to see “Pirates of the Caribbean” this weekend.
I’m going to see “Pirates of the Caribbean” – with a dead parrot on me shoulder.
Arrrrrrr. He’s not dead. He’s a-pinin’ for the feee-ooorrrrrds, matey.
Now, don’t believe everthing you read. Some folks would have you believe that they “walk” through the Valley of the Shadow of Me. Frankly, everyone I’ve seen was trying to flat-out haul ass.
You’re still sore about the way I got Elvis – cutting his last hit.