But I went off topic and nobody followed! What’s the point of going off topic if nobody follows?
I’m not a hijacker, I’m a detour!
Not even the detour, I’m what you detour around. I’m roadwork. Boring roadwork.
Kallessa (who’s finding it unsatisfactory to sulk on the computer, and wants a hug.)
Okay okay, I have excellent stories about sliding glass doors and lawn mowers. Well, excellent might be a bit much. And they’re not really stories. None-the-less, gleefully I proceed.
First, Rue, you must be very very careful around lawn mowers. My grandfather managed to cut up his hand one day. Plain forgot to turn the machine off and reached underneath to free something or other. But that’s not all! A few years after that, when I was just adorable grandchild number three (out of an eventual 15), he was mowing the lawn, had a heart attack and died. Not even an hour after coming into contact with a lawn mower, dear Grampie was a gonner. So really, watch those things.
Then there’s sliding glass doors. I have to throw this in ‘cause I got nothin’ on screen doors. My sister and her friend Becky were over at Becky’s one evening. They’d been told to be inside and in bed by whatever hour, so of course they were not. Not asleep, not in bed, not even in the house. Sitting out on the porch, being terribly defiant young teen girls, they spied what they thought was Becky’s mom pulling into the drive. Up they jump and run into the house. Becky got there first and in her excitement didn’t notice the sliding glass door was closed. She cut herself up terrible bad-- I was there once the ambulance had been called and urp! It ain’t right being able to see a person’s skull or leg bones or knee cap. Also, people fat is yellow. And Becky never did grow back the fingernail that somehow got detached.
As if that isn’t gross enough, my dad used to eat Spam all the time. He also ate Velveeta and Wonderbread sammiches with Miracle Whip. Just thinking about that makes my teeth gum together like I’ve been eating caramels.
So what kind of whack job are you dbygawdcapn?
Well, gee Abby, it’s not like I’m going to paw you repeatedly. Just a quick kiss on the mouth. So I figure our respect(ive) spouses would be getting a drink of water or something. Unless you want to be pawed repeatedly. Then I’ll have to think of something. (Uh… Abby wanted to see this thing I left on the car. It’s in the back seat so there’s just room enough for the two of us… No one else has to come along…)
Are “Potted Meats” like those little cans of “Deviled Ham” deb? I’ve had a little can of Deviled Ham before. SPAM (I don’t think it’s actually an acronym, but it is (more of that italicization, huh) all caps on the label, so will go with your way) (at least until I forget) is better.
{{{Kallie}}}
There. Does that make you feel better? Or would you like to see what I have in the back seat of my car?
Just calm down, it was a nice attempt. But that’s the way things go around here. You throw out a perfectly good topic and just no one nibbles. It happens. Now perk up and go out to play.
-Rue. (apparently flirty - go fig)
No thank you on the pawing and back seat thing.
Abb (Who really didn’t mean to flirt inappropriately, well not much anyway)
Hey, Rue, since Abby turned you down (and as long as FairyChatMom’s not around), can I take you up on that offer of pawing and back seat fumbling? I mean, if you are just handing that sort of thing out, I definitely want in line.
This always sound dirty when I say it, somehow, but I love 9-year old boys, Kallessa. (I’m going to trust the members of the MMP Clique to not take that the wrong way.) When I worked as an au pair, that was my favorite age group and gender. I just think they are so funny, and the testosterone hasn’t kicked in yet, so they are still sweet. I got to work for a couple families that had boys, and they were so much fun, and a great excuse for going to see movies like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
Oh, btw, SPAM isn’t an acronym, it’s a contraction. It stands for spiced ham
All right, I am wasting time here and I actually have work to do, but I took a minute to find this, from the pen of God Himself (aka, Cecil):
He mentions how they came up with the name in the fifth paragraph.
See? This makes me sure that your lust for me was a weak, tissue thin lust. You haven’t even had a proper greiving period and you’re already looking to jump into the nearest back seat.
I can also see how you’ll miss the mole, since I wanted nothing to do with small furry animals during our trysts. I don’t know if the rest of the MMP crowd thinks that moles are inappropriate for the bedroom, but if that makes me vanilla then vanilla is what I am.
Did I say vanilla? I’m sorry. I meant to say…um…oh, yeah. ::most sincerely:: You were the best I ever had. No one has ever made me feel like that. Truly, my lust for you still knows no bounds, even though you threw me over so abruptly and arbitrarily. (But I’m not bitter.)
So if, in my grief and despair at the thought of losing you, I sought some small solace, some brief comfort in the arms of another man, can you honestly fault me for that?
Not that mole, silly. The one on your…upper thigh.
[QUOTE]
*Originally posted by Rue DeDay *
**So what kind of whack job are you dbygawdcapn?
I’m the canned type. 
Thanks, I do feel better–but I’d still like to see what you have in the back seat of your car. Then maybe I’d feel gooooood. 
Sorry, Wintermute, Rue asked me first, so you’ll have to get your pawing and fumbling someplace else.
Kallessa (when she’s bad, she’s very, very good)
It’s OK to be vanilla welby. Heck I’m about as vanilla as you can get. But I have rainbow sprinkles, and the chicks dig me. So there’s that.
-Rue. (sprinkled)
Spam was the single dinner food that my brother and I did not have to eat growing up. I owe this to the fact that each attempt by my mom to serve it resulted in either my brother or I vomiting what little we could get down right back up onto the plate. Truely, there has never existed a “meat” so foul as to compete with the likes of Spam.
I’d like to know where our dear Kn*ckers has been lately. Did one of you big mean, meat-eating men run her off?
Yoo-hoo, Kn*ckers? Are you out there?
-Ellen. (searching)
I think “Potted Meats” it is the cheaper version of Deviled Ham and, of course me with my memory or lack thereof, don’t remember who makes it, but it is of unknown meat origins, thus probably why dad called it “Rats Tails” and I figure dad was probably closer than I like to think. More like a Pate’ cause it is creamy. Not that I know what a Pate’ really looks like or the texture of said since I am not hoity toity and Pate’ rates right up there with Cavier.
Interesting story about the only Cavier I ever bought. My cat – HUGH white cat named Julian who has since passed on, but a lap junkie, he was 16lbs and not over weight – was ill and I was trying to find something to tempt his palate [sub](now there is an interesting word to try to find the spelling for, I have initially tried to spell it like a “board that painter hold”, “a straw filled tick or mattress”, nope not trying to interest the ticks he had not that he was allowed to have ticks or even fleas[/sub] so I bought some of the most expensive Cavier that the supermarket had. He smelled it and just walked away. Ended up giving him some tuna juice until he got better and ready to eat solids again. The Cavier was eaten by the brother, which has to have some object lesson but I can’t find it.
Speaking of fleas, we lived by the ocean at the time and anyone who has lived there can tell you fleas are a problem year round. I had a dog (Bennu) that was allergic to fleas (one flea would make him lose all of his hair) and Julian who was allergic to fleas powders. So what we would do was rub Eucalyptus oil onto a bandanna and tie it around all of the pets necks. We had one dapper looking group there. I always had issues with Julian’s gender though, his 1st name was Julie, but like most kittens, he suddenly changed sex from a girl to a boy (I had a kitten when I was a teenage that my dad swore was a boy and poohoo’d when I said “I think Charlie is pregnant” but dad changed his tune when he went to cut “him” and found out he had changed sex and was preggers, Charleen had 2 kittens in that litter). Back to Julian, his bandanna was pink and he looked very sharp with his pink bandanna on his pure white coat.
Me, too! I was thinking about her just last week. Has anyone seen her around? Does she e-mail anyone privately? I’m assuming she’s on vacation and nothing terrible has happened to her, but I can’t remember the last time I saw her here.
Dang. I’m gone for one day and you people run way ahead of me.
This is late, but just for Kallessa, 'cause I love her to itty-witty bits:
I will not yield
To kiss the ground before young welby’s feet
and to be baited by Rue’s curse of boob-hood.
Though Angel Pants be returned from some undifferentiated southern state that’s much like the next one, yet I will try the last.
Before my body I throw my illustrious posting history.
Lay on lightingtool, and damned be him who first cries…
Hmm. I seem to have lost the meter. How about this:
That way the noise is. Moderators, show thy faces.
If thou b’est banned, through no e-mail of mine,
my many screw-ups will haunt me still.
I cannot post to such as welby, whose posts are pitiful and unworthy.
Either thou, Rue, or else my keyboard shall be disconnected unblooded.
There thou shouldst be; by this pointless chatter
one of great note seems fruited.
Let me find him, Fortune, and more I beg not.
Yeah, I know, I’m no poet. But frankly, Macbeth was cool even though he was a p*ssy-whipped jerk, and Hamlet was a dithering pansy.
Plus, I’m tired.
Oh darlin’, I just love being loved to itty-witty pieces!
Small and witty, yep, that’s me. 
Hey, wait a minute. Who’s laying on me? And why are they crying?
-tool (un-poetic-like)
I can’t help but wonder: Am I the person Ex alludes to as the one of great note who seems fruited? Cause I am as y’all know.