I’m not interested in your brother-in-law, Mika. Quit e-mailing me, too.
Wait. I see that Malacandra wrote a hidden message. “I… must… suck… a crack whore… and … her pimp.”
Oh, Malacandra. We just put you in that woman’s abuse shelter. Don’t go back!
:mad: He’s a Sanitation Engineer, I’ll have you know…and he’s *very * interested in you.
Care to put on that skirt you had on in the other thread? Oh, and he says he *really * liked last time.
So Askia is having trouble remembering whose brother-in-law is a plumber, and what my sex is. Or something. It’s difficult to tell once his rambling incoherence sets in. We must have overloaded his poor brain cell.
I’ll put this in recent movie terms: My Hustle and Flow is Sky High but he’s a 40 Year Old Virgin.
The skirt was a fraternity prank. Last time? Last time he slipped in bed with you and his wife. I thought that was very “Springer.”
I know what your sex is. Nonexistent. No one will have you!
Yeah, I remember you watching, off in the corner…unable to perform.
Pretty good, isn’t it? Soon we’ll bring him up to the level of “I know you are but what am I?”.
Look who I had to work with. Can you blame me?
Not when you stoop to 15 year old “Pee-Wee Herman” references, you won’t.
I knew I was setting myself up. 
Anyway, from what I hear from my BIL, that’s a usual thing for you. Don’t worry though! I hear a cure is coming quickly.
It was like a gift, Mika. Thank you.
You realize your BIL’s nickname is “Spurts” for a reason, right?
There you go again with your American insularism, taking it for granted that anyone from the land of Shakespeare, Milton, Keats, Wordsworth and Kipling has the first idea who Pee-Wee Herman might be. :rolleyes: I suppose that counts as culture in your book.
Yes, sweetheart. He likes the nicknames you give him…all of them.
And you’re welcome.
TIME OUT. I’m on the phone!
Well, clearly you all have misunderstood me and are merely bitter and twisted and have severe anger issues, so I’m going to bow out of this thread. And maybe even leave the SDMB.
Yeah, I’m leaving…bastards.
O la la, there she walks past again!
I’m back.
I’m back. Damn. Three phone calls back to back.
Dead Poets Society is a movie, not a culture.
Just like we knew you would be. The potshots, the lame threat to take your ball and go home and then the return so you can do it all again.
It’s a beautiful day outside and I have a 3-day weekend coming!
Dead Poe… ah, never mind. It’s sweet when you think of it. I mean, it’s not much, but compared to how Askia used to just sit in the corner intermittently soiling himself and cackling inanely, it’s Oscar Wilde on the best day he ever had.
Still trying to get round the idea of three people wanting to phone him for any reason at all, though. Perhaps they trod on a duck.
pats Malacandra on the head consolingly There, there, I’m sure someone will call you one day. Just sit anxiously by the phone a little longer. Hey - wait! Wasn’t there a wrong number last year?
Do you mind? I just washed this head. And talking of wrong numbers, there seems to be one hassling me right now, here in this thread. Don’t you have any ironing to do, or something?