FCM if he tries I’ll threaten him with a Big Mac and brussels sprouts AKA fart blossoms. That oughta be enough to keep anybody away.
Bookkeeper why do your cats have such evil eyes? :eek:
When I saw the title, I figured that it was just a typo and someone was being harrassed for not mowing their wabe.
Ice Cream Truuuuuuuck!!
I can hear it outside, playing a cheesy version of Turkey in the Straw - first time I’ve heard it this summer. Considering how hot it’s been, that’s pretty surprising.
When was the last time you bought something from an ice cream truck? I can’t remember how long it’s been - I’m thinking 6 or 7 years ago when a truck used to come by work 2 or 3 times a week.
But no ice cream for me tonight. It’s bed time. I’m about to log off and hit the sheets. (I’d say “Hit the rack” but that gives Rue giggles for some reason…) Perhaps I shall dream of ice cream trucks, driven by scantily clad, well-oiled young studs who live only to pleasure my palate and cool my hot brow… mmmmmm, pass me that popsicle, young lad! :eek:
That’s just their inner demon showing through - ask any cat servant.
Actually, it’s the reflective layer at the back of their eyes reflecting the flash.
Ooooh! A Mod shows up in the MMP!
Swampy, maybe you can compare jackboots with him (or is it her?)
Bring the goats! We got us a live 'un!
We have our own goats, thank you, in two small barns about 200’ behind the house.
Serious question: do you have fainting goats? Those are cool, but I’d think they’d be easy pickings in the ol’ food chain…
Do your goat headbutt garden gnomes?
Fainting goats? That’s a big whoosh, guys.
I feel so sorry for ACUG, as wednesday will mark a week that we haven’t really spoken. There’s been the occasional message left on Yahoo, but neither of us is home when the other is.
Also: Why is EllaBean banned? There’s no ATMB or Pit thread about it. 
She violated the no repeat guests rule, then publicly bragged about it.
Of course not, hon. They have Gnomads.
—strolls away, cackling, spreading fistfuls of curry to favor FCM
I don’t have a Gnome in my garden. I do, however, have a huge sculpture rendered in hollow concrete and fiberglas by a casting guy in Pittsburgh. It’s a piece the FIL did a few years ago. It’s rather colorful and beautiful and if I could figure out how to get into my own damned online gallery, why I’d regale each and every one of yas with a photo of it!!!
Swampy you won’t have to travel aaaaalllll the way to SteamyHotLanta to get The Chandelier Of The Gods. Just meet me half way, pardner. Meet me at the Waffle House just off the exit on the Interstate. You know. Waffle House? I’ll be the troll-like leviathan, crammed into a corner booth about to tuck into Double Scattered Smothered and Covered with a ham and cheese omlette and grits. I love ordering grits, cause it makes the waitress look hard and say, " Ya’ll know what grits ARE?? " I do love my grits. 
We can sit and have some Waffle House and talk about FCM’s meat loaf and mashed taters ( which were darned splendid, by the by ). I can then relate the amusing story of the family painting that FCM’s Perfect Child ™ did that is on their fridge. It’s ever so adorable.
Even if nobody in it has forearms or hands. At all. I swear. :eek: :eek: :eek:
Still, it’s adorable.
Heh.
Then I been whooshed.
I meant that I’d been whooshed.
Another weird society.
Back in the salad days of the Pullman company the porters on the cars were frequently called “George.” That practice led to the formation of** The Society For The Prevention Of Calling Sleeping Car Porters George.** A quote from this site on Pullman Car porters tells why.
“And so it was that the polished passengers who rode the plush velvet-appointed night coaches over the first half-century of Pullman Palace Car service summoned him with a simple “porter.” The less polite hailed him with “boy” or, more often, “George.” The latter appellation was born in the practice of slaves being named after slavemasters, or in this case porters being seen as servants of George Pullman. It stuck because it was repeated almost instinctively by successive generations of passengers, especially those below the Mason-Dixon line, and by journalists. The only ones who protested, at least at first, were other men named George. They were sufficiently upset with the perceived slight that they founded the Society for the Prevention of Calling Sleeping Car Porters George, or SPCSCPG, which eventually claimed 31,000 members including King George V, George Herman “Babe” Ruth, and France’s Georges Clemenceau.”
No Gnomen in our garden either. The only concretia we have is a fountain of Down’s Syndrome Girl pouring water out of a basket. She’s supposed to look like a Japanese maiden, but the original sculptor apparently got confused.
We went to the beach Saturday night and just got back this evening. It was beautiful over there. Saw a bunch of Pelicans on the beach. Not a big deal for you East Coasters, but kinda rare around here. We ate a lot, read a lot, watched some movies. None of it worth reporting on in detail.
Let’s see, EllaBean got banned for being a repeat guest alrighty. Tho I didn’t think she was braggin about it so much as she didn’t think it was any big deal. I have nothing more to say about that at this time.
Ice cream trucks: I used to lurve me some ice cream truck ice cream when I was a kid, but those things that come around now with their cheesy electronic music skeeve me out for some reason. The drivers don’t wear white uniforms anymore either. Maybe that’s it. The ones around here look like old hippie vans, complete with a stoner driving. Sheesh!
Oh, one more thing: Yay Beckwall!!!
It’s very inclusive of you to have a Little Down’s Syndrome Girl sculpture, Bumba.
You know what was my favorite part of Rue’s MMP OP? The pushing down really hard with the crayon part. That made me snort so hard one of my nostrils got stuck turned inside for a second. The left one.
I would give anything to hear an ice cream truck play Turkey in the Straw, FCM. Well not an ice cream truck exactly, just that roach coach guy who parks in front of the school at lunch time and plays Happy Birthday and Feliz Navidad during the entire lunch period. He does alternate between the two songs, but starting about mid october it really starts to work a nerve no matter how he mixes them up. And why those two songs?
I’ve never had particularily strong feelings toward gnomes. The gnowomen in that book by Martha Stewart’s starter husband kinda creeped me out though. You see, he drew the men with their bits covered, which was also how he did the women. Except that gnowomen have bits above the equator that need covering, too. But he didn’t cover them, and you could tell just by looking at 'em they were embarrassed to be half nekkid for all the world to see.
Which is not nice and so that’s what I always think of when I see a statue of a gnowoman now. I mentally undress her with my eyes and that’s just wrong on so many levels. Drinking only helps during the daylight hours. But the gnomen are okay, especially now that I know they are the enemy of the evil smurf. If you told me they also smothered those creepy cabbage patch babies, I’d nominate them for a Nobel Peace Prize.
Oh! Oh! **I have actual news to report ** and I almost forgot! Okay, you know those ‘falling rock’ signs you’ll see every once in a while? Comedians were always going on about how it should be ‘fallen rock’ until Cecil answered it and well, when the master speaks… So anyway, I’m chugging up the hill to San Diego (I waved scout but I think you were looking out the other window) and there’s a white sedan a good few yards ahead of me in the right lane, I’m in the left. Chuggity, we’re going along, when I see something to the right, sort of white, come flying off the cliffy kind of canyon that had been cut through the hill. Whizz bang! The white thing smacks right into the front right side of the hood and then bounces up and bangs into the left side of the hood right in front of the driver and then boing! it goes and lands thud! right in the road. It was a small boulder the size of a really fat toddler that came loose and smacked their car! Of course, their car goes careening about and there’s smaller rocks and hefty chunks and a lot of gravel and puffs of dust everywhere. By that time I was right in the middle of it, only pushed way off to the side on all three inches of verge, trying not to get smacked by anything. Thank goodness it hadn’t happened up ahead, where the left side of the road is open with a drop of about eleventy bajillion miles. The driver of the other car got it under control amazingly quickly and pulled over and so did I and a couple three other cars and trucks. Everybody had cell phones and we weren’t far from a couple of businesses, so help was on it’s way and the Highway Patrol guy said I didn’t have to stay since there were other witnesses and I had an appointment. I’m telling you, there’s nothing like having a chunk of a hill nearly smoosh everybody to wake you up. No caffeine needed, bub.
I was also almost hit by a police car, had three construction workers walk in on me when I was wearing no more than a rather brief pair of undies, had my car slightly vandalized by a hit and run yo-yo, had my toilet paper questioned by a Border Patrol agent, was held hostage in the Trader Joe’s parking lot by a blind trucker, managed to get a used condom stuck to the bottom of my sandal in a parking garage, and nearly eaten by what appeared to be a rabid bull moose in a german shepard costume, but all that was later in the day.
Oh! And D’Lush was out of boba for my mango pearl iced tea! Those bastards! Them not having boba is like getting a really great deal at Saks. It just doesn’t happen, people. I was only somewhat placated with gratis cinnamon-sugar donut holes and two extra stamps on my member card. Three more and I get a free drink you know.
Maybe he thinks you taste real good. But then… thinking about some of the things I’ve caught my dogs eating, maybe you just need a bath.
That’s the worst part of doing laundry, the folding. It was especially bad when the boys were wee bairns. Then they had a lot of clothes in the basket come laundry time. It took forever to fold all those little Muppet clothes.
(Hey Skip, if you’re reading this: Over the weekend the “wee little puppet man” episode of Angel was on. Thought of you man!)
Now their clothes are getting bigger so there’s less in each batch of laundry. So that means less folding. But it also means more loads per week since fewer ensembles fit in each load. It’s a two-edged sword.
That is not possible. Not with gams like yours bay-bee!
Aaaaaaaand… Border Terrier!
Ashes[sup]2[/sup] I feel like I need to go lie down after reading about your day. :eek:
Fainting Goats. BAND NAME!
’toons there are approximately eighty-three jillion bazillion Waffle Houses [sup]TM[/sup] between here in Etlanner. That averages about seventeen grillion per interstate exit, I think. So, we’d need to narrow it down a bit.
Hee! Goats headbuttin’ gnomes. My mother has a cat named Groucho, cause he has a Groucho Marx moustache. He likes to crawl up in folkses laps and headbutt em while being petted. I once saw Groucho run a German Shepherd off my folks property. He fancies himself to be a guard cat.
Ashes[sup]2[/sup], just where do you live that you can be assaulted by moose, condoms, falling rocks, blind truckers, and the like? I’m just askin’, so’s I can stay far away from that place.
Is the work rant thread in the Pit still open? I got something to add, or else I’m gonna yell at our Billing woman.
That’s what happens when get your Spam mixed up with your bar of soap. Next time, remember, Spam goes in the kitchen and soap goes in the bathroom.
Shibby, the snake charming story is priceless! Are you going to write all of this up and put it in a book so you can embarass The Boy when he’s a teenager? Good blackmail material, there.
Ashes[sup]2[/sup], our ice cream truck plays Turkey in the Straw (kind of)–believe me, it’s really Not a Good Thing. I don’t think they actually sell any ice cream, they just drive around all afternoon so they can torture us with annoying music. I thought roach coaches were supposed to play La Cucaracha. It seems out of place for them to play Feliz Navidad. I’m glad you didn’t get hit by falling rocks. Your world seems a little bit dangerous. I never have to worry about runaway yoyos or condoms.
I don’t have any gnomen or gnowomen. I have a teeny little concrete bunny and a metal flying pig. I don’t have a garden, so the gnomen wouldn’t have anyplace to live.
Rue, I saw puppet Angel! I missed it the first time, so I watched it twice this weekend (except the first one I only saw half, but it comes on another channel later, so I watched the whole thing again, so really I watched it one and a half times). What do puppets eat for breakfast?