QOTDs:
Me: I have tiny flowers on the wrist of my gloves.
Thomas: Apparently so. I have... dead cow on mine.
Mark: Where'd you learn to tango?
Joanne: With the French Ambassador's daughter in her dorm
room at Miss Porter's. And you?
Mark: With Nanette Himmelfarb, the Rabbi's daughter, at the
Scarsdale Jewish Community Center.
"No entry found for reality check. Did you mean salt shaker?"
Me: I have tiny flowers on the wrist of my gloves.
Thomas: Apparently so. I have... dead cow on mine.
Mark: Where'd you learn to tango?
Joanne: With the French Ambassador's daughter in her dorm
room at Miss Porter's. And you?
Mark: With Nanette Himmelfarb, the Rabbi's daughter, at the
Scarsdale Jewish Community Center.
"No entry found for reality check. Did you mean salt shaker?"
posted by EEK at 1:53:00 PM
5 Comments:
wow....I missed something.
that aragorn thing is freakin' hilarious
once again I find I have ground you guys. POST DAMN IT!! or you will have to be punished in very naughty ways. :-)
To post, or not to post: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.-- Soft you now!
The fair Emilia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd.
Although I am intrigued by Becca's "naughty punishment", I do have one question: will it involve putting the metaphorical "lotion" in the metaphorical "basket"?
since i really dont know what you mean by lotion and basket...my answer is sure why not. anyway EMIILY POST GOD DAMN YOU.
*angry face*
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