Viagra? 
G. Nome, have I got a message board for you. Pravda needs more cranks, they are trying to corner the market. Ramble a lot, bump your own topics, and irrationally criticize Americans - they love it.
Anyway, I have no idea what you are talking about, and I read the other thread in its entirety.
Hmmm… Gotta get me some of THAT!
(This is not a flirt.)
**
Nah. We can be far more offensive than we have been. Stick around.
[sub]This is like bj0rn off his meds or something.[/sub]
Wibble! Wibble! CIA! Hatstand!
Good God Milo, don’t say the name, even in [sub]sub[/sub]text! Do you want him to return? :>
G.Nome, I’d like to apologize to you on behalf of all humans, Grey Aliens, Sasquatch, and the Elder Beings who leave coded messages in the patterns of jet contrails. We’ll even deactivate your cranial implant. Good luck.
[Foul Ole Ron]Buggrem, buggrem, I tole 'em, I tole 'em, millennium hand and shrimp. Buggrit.[/Foul Ole Ron]
He’s blowing this whole thing out of proportion. As the half uncle to Nigerian royalty, I offered him a chance at 50% of ten million dollars, if he could provide a safe bank account for us to transfer the money. All he had to do was give us $6000 to cover some piddling transport fees for the sacks of gold. Now, three weeks later, he’s acting like he’s never gonna see his share.
G. Nome, the money is on the way! Just calm down!
G.Nome–
I’m worried. Is that actually you? Or somebody else logging on to your account?
E-mail me. :eek: 
G.Nome–
I’m worried. Is that actually you? Or somebody else logging on to your account?
E-mail me. :eek:
Sorry for the double post
gobear: 
At least that explains the smell when I logged on. My eyes are still watering, and I’m gonna have to throw this shirt away.
I can’t believe that it took him 100 posts and 2 1/2 years to figure out that the Dopers are a bunch of asses. I figured it out by about 10 posts or so.
But your my asses. [sub]or something like that[/sub]
Abe Babe (proud ass since, well, I forgot, but it’s been a long time)
**G. Nome ** is female.
Proverbial cheerful paths and admonishment for gluteus-portal-striking-avoidance caution upon egress.
I have composed this story fragment and I dedicate it to you-
ÁBrainsƒ
Carl knows almost immediately after he wakes up that something
was wrong with his brains. It feels almost like he is dreaming. He
waves his hand in front of his eyes. It leaves tiny, black
streamers in the air behind it, almost like it has ripped the air.
Carl blinks a few times and shakes his head. This never works but
people do it all the time in movies. He walks into the bathroom and wipes some of the dust off the mirror. Something is wrong with his reflection. Like thieves came into his house last night while he slept, stole his reflection and replaced it with this cunning
fraud. Carl turns away from the mirror, slowly and casually.
Quickly he turns back, hoping to catch the false reflection off
guard. But the face in the mirror is still there, following his
every move. It is a very good copy. Later he will call the police
and report his reflection stolen. Probably the thieves have filed
the serial number off and sold it already, but maybe the police
would find it.
His cousin Aldo had his reflection stolen outside a bar in
Tiajuana. Every one talked about behind his back at family
reunions. The Mexican police had never found it and Aldo had to buy a replacement. It was a pretty good reflection, but you could tell it wasn’t his original. The hair had blonde roots, the eyes didn’t quite match the face, and it never quite did what Aldo did. Carl sighs and turns away from the mirror. He wonders what else the thieves took. Everything seems to be there but you can never tell.
Carl drops his pajamas on the floor and goes back into the
bathroom. He turns on the water in the shower and starts singing to himself. While he is running shampoo through his hair he realizes someone else is singing along. Carl stands very still and listens. The voice is coming from the drain. There is a hint of Canadian in it. Great, thinks Carl, first thieves steal his reflection and now there are singing Canadians in the plumbing. He was a fool for signing that three year lease. The landlord will hear about this. Oh well what can you do? Carl sings along with the voice for a while, mostly Motown. He does the low parts and the voice does the high parts. After a while the voice stops singing and Carl hears a strange crackling noise. Through the coconut lather, he can smell bacon and eggs. The little Canadian in the pipes can afford bacon and he can’t. That just isn’t right. “Go back where you came fro you stinking Canuck!” Carl yells into the drain. There is no response. He realizes he is moving slowly and wonders why. Usually the shower wakes him up. But today it makes his eyes foggy and his body sluggish, like the water has deposited a thin plastic film all over his body. Carl turns off the water and steps out of the shower. He dries off, but something is in his eyes and his ears. He sticks his fingers deep in his ears and rubs his eyes hard, but it won’t come out.
He sees by the clock that he is late and dresses hurriedly.
The clothes feel like they were cut for someone else and for a mnute he thinks the thieves have replaced them too, but he looks
at them and knows they are his. Something is wrong with his brains. He stops and wonders where they are. There is a moment of panic when he thinks they might have been stolen too, but there they are under the bed like always. He picks up the glass jar and looks at his brains. There is a big green spot that wasn’t there before. He will have to take his brains to be repaired. Carl goes into the kitchen and turns on the TV. It is obvious after a moment that the cartoon map of America is real and the weatherman is only a model. Carl wonders if he is the only one who notices these things. The anchorman comes on and talks briefly about some war in Europe being fought over walnuts. Carl takes his coffee out of the microwave, holds it his hands and inhales deeply. The scent is almost overpowering. The mug is warm against his hands. The coffee is realer than anything else this morning. Carl sips it slowly and munches a donut. The caffeine calms him and for a minute he thinks maybe everything will be ok.
He is relieved to see that his car is still in the driveway.
On the drive to work he discovers that someone has reset all the
radio stations and stuffed the glove compartment and ashtrays with gummy bears. A jerk in a Volvo cuts him off on the expressway. Carl gives him the finger and the jerk pulls out a shotgun. But Carl is faster and strafes the passenger compartment with his Uzi. By the time he pulls into his parking space at work he has shot five more drivers and is feeling much better.
NOTE- The views expressed above do not necessarilly reflect those of DocCathode. But, then again, they might. Glazed apathetic leash. Chaikovsky, the other white meat. Candy everybody wants. Fnord.
Hey, I’m my own ass! If my ass were a political system, it would be an autonomous butt cheek collective…unfortunately, it’s main exports aren’t very valuable.
Sarcastic multi-syllabic synonymical* statements make me SO HOT!
*That’s not even a word, is it.