Oh I see now. YOU know how to swim. YOU are the greatest, most wonderful all knowing person ever. Did it ever occur to you for one second that I used to be a COMPETITIVE SWIMMER? DID IT? And that perhaps my career as a dynamite freestyler was cut short due to not being able to get to the official timing meet in time and missing my slot? Do you ever consider people’s feelings before saying anything?
You have all the sense of a Golden Marmoset.
Oh, a MARMOSET, eh? Well, la-di-freakin-da! Ooh, look at me, I’m jarbabyj, and I use words like “Golden Marmoset.” Do you think that you’re better than me just because you know what in the Fucking Blue Blazes a Marmoset is. Huh? Do you? Well it doesn’t. I can see what kind of person you are now: huddled in a corner of your dark stinking hole, rejected from the rest of society. Alone with your dictionary all day, you look to find words that will “impress” our peers. “Marmoset,” you hiss. “Yes, now they’ll have no CHOICE but to love me!” Do me a favor and impale yourself on the nearest piece of flaming debris.
I never really understood the point of soap operas.
What, the Golden Marmoset that crawled up your ass and DIED? That has to be the absolute, most stupid piece of invective I’ve ever seen. They say that when you hear a bell ring, an angel is getting its wings. When you heard the click of your mouse upon hitting submit, that was the sound of an angel getting an anvil dropped on its head. Not that I believe in religion anyway, just like Jesse Ventura, my personal hero.
What, just because Minnesota’s governor has a name that reminds you of the America hit “Ventura Highway,” you’ve gotta idolize the guy? Buy a fucking clue, Manservant Hecubus: It’s not the 70s anymore, nor the 80s or the 90s. The Horse With No Name has been shot and “America” is a minor continent in pop music now. Trade in your cumstained bell-bottoms and say hello to the year 2001.
I like to get free syringes from a city-funded needle exchange program, then throw them like darts at a photograph of Mother Teresa.
Give me an F-in’ break, man. I’ve seen you throw darts and YOU SUCK!!!
You couldn’t hit a picture of Mother Theresa painted on the side of a barn with an elephant hypodermic. Your aim’s about as good as my blind grandpa’s, and he blows the needles OUT HIS ASS!!!
Dipwad.
OTOH, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to blow up a balloon.
Oh, “blowing up balloons” is it? My aren’t we grand in our design? “Pardon me, Mater, I’m orff to blow up my balloon.” Honestly, I’m suprised you know what a balloon is… I’d expect Mater thought them a bit common, except on the bleeding croquet lawn.
And where in hell do YOU get off speculating about the mating habits of rocket scientists? Trust me, Sparky, yer about as far from a rocket scientist as RuPaul is from a rodeo clown.
In fact, I’d wager you’ve not got enough grey matter to successfully blow your nose.
orff? orff? Is this some new wondrous word you’ve developed to floor us all with your total obscure Dennis Miller Quotient vocabulary? Or are you referring to the composer of Carmina Burana?
Orff…remind me to submit that to the OED. :rolleyes: :rolleyes: :rolleyes:
Oh, and I bet you would, too, you snobby, egotistical, bitchy, holier-than-thou, never make a mistake because your shit smells like lilac, Germanic-favoring windbag.
Say, I’m out of Post-it notes.
Sure, go buy some more Post-It notes, thinksnow! Or rather: steal them from work, like you always do, you thieving, steaming asshole! It’s people like you who are the reason I keep a bike lock on my stapler. Dicksatchel.
The All-Star game is tonight.
Is it now? IS IT REALLY. I guess you think girls don’t know these things. You must think that we just sit around doing god damn needlepoint sipping chai tea and talking about your inability to find a clitoris. Yes, the all star game is tonight. So is your ass kicking
Post its!? You have felching post its and you’re complaining? Re-use the old ones you smelly piece of tripe! Why here in the ‘real world’ we don’t get Post it note. Noooooooo, we have to use hammersucking regular notes and monkeyeating paperclips, so shut up you big cry baby
Jarbabyj’s reply to Orff made me laugh out loud, reafirming my co-worker’s belief in my insanity
All-Star game, huh? So, you SUPPORT whiny immature wifebeating drunk steroid-abusing “athletes” getting paid $250 million for ten years to run around and hit or kick a ball while you get piss-drunk on cheap “beer” so you can forget the drudgery of your life?!?
If you had ANY taste whatsoever, you’d pay attention to local, minor league ball - these guys have families and other careers, and they play for the LOVE OF THE GAME, not because they just want to milk idiots like you for all the cash they can before they blow it on cocaine, hookers, flashy jewelry, and White Castle hamburgers.
Sheesh. I need an anger management seminar.
Is this some kind of veiled personal attack Paul?! Are you denigrating my job as an Inflatables Specialist?! Do you have any idea what kind of training goes into this job?! Do you think you can inflate a trapezoidal mylar shape to the correct PSI without causing injury?!
Maybe you should try thinking first before you start spouting off with your filthy jobism!
When the revolution comes, you’ll be the first up against the helium tank!
As I SIT HERE LNO, I am composing a letter to my congressman asking why in the name of Christ prostitution isn’t legal in this country. Perhaps you are one of these hoity toity, my life is perfect and my sex life is ‘fulfilling on every level’ bible thumpers who thinks the rest of us should sit around trying to hump our newelposts to get off, but I for one SALUTE the prostitutes in this country and abroad, and your TONE indicates that you think they should all be brutally murdered, and to lump prostitutes in with FLASHY JEWELRY is beyond the pale LNO, even for the most thickheaded of posters.
Go eat a cactus
A cactus? is that the best you can do? It probably is because your thumb is blacker than your heart, you evil Rammstein loving, goat-felcher! You kill everything you touch - you can’t even keep plastic plants alive. You’re pathetic.
I have to answer a letter.
So what are you saying?!?!? That I’m illiterate!? That I’m not SMART enough for you!? You think you’re some hoity toity “literary” type!? Well I’ve got news for you, you letter writer. I hope you get a paper cut on your filthy stinking tongue when you seal the damn blasted envelope!!!
I had Baked Lays for lunch.
It’s spelt like that in the goddam SCRIPT, Miss Obviously-Having-Trouble-Finding-HER-Clitoris! Read the sea-cucumber-squicking BOOK, or if you haven’t fully deciphered this mystical process known as “reading” just WATCH the toad-feltching program, that is if you can take a break from smearing your own yeast infection discharge across your face.
And I wouldn’t eat that cactus, because it’s obvious what YOU’ve been doing with it.
Any chance you’ll be gracing the groundlings with the NAME of the tome, you American hating big mouth Wind In the Willows fan club card carrying git? Or are we just supposed to sit back with our fucking handful of crystals and read your kipper soaked mind? I know I know, I just went to a lowly State University and I only majored in fucking theatre, which lead me to read an comprehend oodles of things…and yet, strangely enough…orff was not one of them.
I wouldn’t eat that cactus either, since it’s obviously been up your ass since the great revolution.
yours in christ,
jarbaby
Baked Lays, huh? BAKED? not fried? So what are you saying, that you’re HEALTHIER than me? That you eat better? That I’m a big flat slob who doesn;t know how to take care of her weight? Is that it? Huh? Huh? Well guess what, boyscout, you ain’t better than me! I have Grapes!!
You’re kidding right? Like we share some holy bond because you blindly follow some mythical creation purported to give you the keys to Heaven and eternal life? Allah, Budha and Bob laugh at your silly line of closure, moron.
Well maybe if you’d eat some real food, you wouldn’t have to try munching on that crap. Eat a salad or a nice ham & cheese bagel you twit.
My contacts are getting dry and itchy.