mthor

🍻🎂🍻

You mean you're not going to stomp off and start your own better site with blackjack and hookers?

Damned if I know - that's just what I remember my brothers doing when they were in little league.

I wish that peanut butter and mayo still came in glass jars.

Neets foot oil, baseball in the mitt, rubber bands?

Well, at least we got to build the pyramids...

General Ulysses S. Grant. Not the civil war general, but my sister's cat. He is a small ginger tabby with a perpetually worried expression that hides a bad attitude.

Sorry, recycling picked up this am, so I've just got the one, but I'll save you tomorrow's.

I think you will, sir. I'm rolling up the newspaper as we speak.😡

To get back on topic, I still get those, and I got rid of the car 4 years ago.

Ooh, please! I lived in Florida for about 15 years, and both of my girls were born there, so key lime is like the national fruit of our family.

Made lemon bars this morning before it got ugly out. I'd rather have key lime, but DeeDee hates lime. (Kids these days! How can you hate anything key lime?)

It's melted ice cream. $8.

"Specialization is for insects." (Robert Heinlein, The Notebooks of Lazarus Long)

As long as you hate it but don't discuss it...

I'm sorry, but this thread is not intended for light general discussion. It is intended for terse statements of absolute rage. If I find anything in here resembling light general discussion, there will be hell to pay.

See, boys and girls? This is why we should always credit our sources.

Trust no one.

It is poor form not to credit an author one is quoting, no matter what the time or location.

Thank you

Credit your sources.

No, it's just that about the 97th time you hear it....

There were a lot of worsts, which was why I liked it.

I don't know. I used to pop into IB occasionally, and I always found it more hostile than Rants. Sounds counter intuitive, maybe, but in Rants, we were assholes, we knew we were assholes, and anybody who wanted to be an asshole with us was welcome. There were cliques; there are always cliques, but there was plenty of room for free-range assholes, too. In IB, I always felt like there was a secret password that I didn't know, and getting said password would be more of a hassle than my welcome-to-rants curbstomping was.