Or, if you prefer, podcast 4.
( .wav version available here; text version, here. So that you can read along and see where I stumbled.)
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Recent Comments
- In The Mailbox: 02.28.23 (Afternoon Edition) : The Other McCain on Hey, longtime pw readers…
- In The Mailbox: 12.23.22 : The Other McCain on Patrick J. Carroll truly IS a sad, embittered psychopath
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because my finger still hurts and hurts.
Soul shrapnel… that sounds lacerating. This looks like something different today. I might could listen to this when I bring back lunch. I’m getting a turkey meatloaf sammich except it’s called a ciabatta, but I don’t know how to say that. NG and OG are getting the ahi tuna one.
Hey how do you click your mouse? That would be annoying. Did they do that thing where they put a little metal cage on your finger and wrap bandagey stuff around it?
Just lots of gauze and tape.
That’s, um… are you OK, Jeff?
Given the subject matter of your little reading, that is.
That was fabulous, Jeff. Deeply moving.
If I’m not back soon, tell my family that I love them and it isn’t their fault. That fucking bitch, on the other hand…
Not to be picky or anything…
Ok, fine. This is to be picky….
Shouldn’t that be the third Mrs. Whistle? The first one having died of lupus and such.
“It’s never lupus.” — Dr. Gregory House, MD
I didn’t know you could read…
OK, lemme see if I get it:
Ironic juxtaposition between the guy with his soul ripped out and the idle prattle of the fam-damn-ly. Told in snippets because that’s how the guy is perceiving it and all.
ciabatta = CHA-bottah
Weird. I thought you’d said “white hot dogs”
The little girl twirled around and around until she fell on the gravel and skinned her knee. “I told you not to spin,†the first little boy said flatly. The girl looked up at him, bewildered, and tried to fight back her tears. “I can’t help it,†she said.
That’s a nice little vignette that resonates in the larger context of the story.
thanks urthshu! really good sammich too. I bet Baracky’s brother would like a bite of this sammich. Ha. No can has, Baracky’s brother. Nobody loves you is why.
Hey, Jeff – have you looked into any speech to text software? The typos might be funny, I guess.
hf – no problem. Use it in all kinds of sentences. ;^)
Q: “What’s ciabatta?”
A: “I dunno, what’s ciabatta with you?”
OK, lemme see if I get it:
Ironic juxtaposition between the guy with his soul ripped out and the idle prattle of the fam-damn-ly. Told in snippets because that’s how the guy is perceiving it and all.
I think there might be more to it than that. I’m not so sure that the author is criticising the “fam-damn-lyâ€Â. I think it is even more depressing than that. Note that many of the other characters have their own little stories going on, but they are all different vices. We’ve got the “proud Mom†basking in the son’s success but not actually caring about his actual feelings at all. There’s jealousy from one of his friends, a little gold-digging, some gluttony, a few other minor flaws being flashed about. Not one of the other characters actually cares about Darby, but all for different reasons. They are all caught up in their own concerns. I think it’s actually more than an indictment of this particular family. I think it is an indictment of everyone. Basically, when you boil it down, everyone is only concerned with themselves.
Even more depressing than the first time I read it. In a way, to me, it sides with Darby’s final choice.
That’s the way I’m reading it at the moment. I can be convinced otherwise, because, frankly, my literary chops are not…they’re not…they’re not good.
I’m mostly with you, Enrak, though it seems that the father is showing some respect and concern for him, impotent as he may be.
That’s okay Pablo. I’m only mostly with myself.
Consider this: Is the father really showing respect for Darby, or is he just fed up with the second Mrs. Entwhistle? (Who is, in fact, the second Mrs. Entwhistle for this Mr. Entwhistle)
I read it. I loved that. Darby feels things very deeply. I think he’s probably better off without Angie. He needs to put a little more space between himself and his family I think before starting a family of his own. Some people are so needy though. Maybe Darby is one of those.
I will listen to the outloud version when I’m at home.
I’m thinking it must be the first time Darby’s ever been dumped. Soul ripped out? If that’s what happens, then by the time I was his age I’d discovered that my soul regenerates like the paper towels out of one of those dispensers in a public restroom.
Not that the analogy means anything more than that. It’s not as if my soul were ever torn off, used to wipe some heartless bitch’s hands, wadded up and thrown into a stinking trash can. Time and time again.
It’s not as if they only rinsed their hands and didn’t even use soap. Even though that’s pretty much the way it went.
If anyone needs me I’ll be in the basement.
Darby is definitely immature. Poor kid. He’s really part of the problem and he doesn’t even know it. I don’t really feel sorry for him. I think a lot of this he probably should have seen coming. Angie probably dumped him cause he’s an apple that didn’t fall very far is all. Also she doesn’t like penis all that much, turns out.
hf: I think Darby’s not really any different from anyone else in the story (and therefore anyone else anywhere, the way I’m reading this). Yes, we empathize with Darby, but he is just as unconcerned with everyone else’s feelings as everyone else is with his. That’s why I disagreed with Dicentra. Not about the juxtaposition, just about the irony.
…oops. Timing is indeed everything. Looks like hf beat me to my point.
No shame there I suppose.
But for real I think this might have been the first time in his life his family didn’t represent comfort to him. That right there demonstrates a lack of critical thinking skills I think.
I think what Darby needs is an epiphany.
I think that’s because of the contrast. The others come off as so shallow, while he seems deeper and more substantial because he’s reacting to his feelings on an existential scale. That plays into the bias everyone has toward their own problems versus everyone else’s, that our problems are more important because we know how deeply they run. Nobody else does, and we don’t know how deeply anyone else’s run.
We’re not really being introduced to anything deeper going on with anyone else, except maybe Jane but we only see the outward manifestations of her reaction to Fireball’s death, whereas we’re admitted to the inside of Darby’s head.
It might have been interesting to see inside, say, Angie’s head. Or, really, anyone else’s. But that would have skewed the perspective that Jeff was trying to create, and made it an entirely different story.
Well, yes, the family is definitely not seeing or caring about the kid. Like the chickens ignoring the dead one.
But to off yourself just because you bin jilted by someone gay? Hey, that happened to me when I was a freshman in college, and even with my undiagnosed depression, I didn’t get all suicidy. Because I could, you know.
Also, Jeff, you got family like that? All rurally and stuff, I mean. Because I do, and they’re just that clueless but worse. If I’d wandered into their tender clutches in a soul-ripped-out-state, and they knew it, they’d do all they could to throw salt in the wound. For their own amusement, that is. Not a teaspoonful of empathy among them.
Enrak, re #19
Both.
Are we supposed to be deconstructing this or something? Because I forgot how.
Dicentra, that may be because they know you wouldn’t get all suicidy. That which doesn’t kill you, and all that.
Besides, if you survived growing up with them, some silly lesbian’s betrayal doesn’t stand a chance.
Um, #31 was to #28, not #30.
And I want to excuse my #27 by noting that I’ve been taking advantage of my blog hiatus this month by resuming the writing of what has turned out to be too long for a short story; Chapter 2 is in progress.
I think that’s a really good point McGehee. I was thinking we were empathizing with Darby b/c we’ve all sorta ‘been there, done that’. But you are correct (IMO), Darby just appears deeper than his family because we see inside a little. It could be the case that Darby is even more shallow than everyone else.
Darby could be a less subtle Mrs. Havisham really. (and by ‘less subtle’ I mean that he takes a more direct approach to his perceived problem than Mrs. Havisham took with hers)
I denounce myself for being male-centric. Sorry, dicentra.
To Dicentra: That’s kind of the central question for me. Is Darby killing himself b/c he been jilted? Or is he realizing for the first time that all people really do suck? (His family obviously sucked and he probably knew that, so maybe he had all of his hope for humanity wrapped up in Angie. Not really fair to Angie, but there you go. This would make Darby much less shallow IMO, and kind of changes my original point.)
Hmmm. “Feet of clay.”
Darby should’ve been raised a Catholic; that way it wouldn’t have been such a shock to him because he would’ve known it before he started kindergarten.
Pablo, if you are right then Darby really is just an immature guy caught up a little o’ermuch in a college crush. Angie probably only accepted ’cause she thought it would be fun.
In which case, I would be back to the all-people suck interpretation. Which means, of course, that I have to denounce all of you!
37 –
Thats kind of the problem, most people do suck b/c of that “feet of clay” thing.
One can get past that, though. There are, from psych lit, identifiable moral stages and whats interesting to me is that Darby may represent a higher one than the exemplars around him but he isn’t at the highest possible stage. He is, in fact, still quite self-involved.
I wouldn’t actually be surprised to find out that Jeff didn’t particularly like any of these characters, but likes the story despite them. Could be wrong, but thats my guess.
Hmm…what’s “feet of clay”?
“feet of clay†= inherent unreliably of stoopid fukwit people, even those whom you’d think you can count on. B/c they’re people, basically.
oh. Darby I think didn’t kill himself he just got nekkid and probably kind of weepy. He wanted to do something like kill himself but that didn’t work out so instead he took his clothes off. I think he locked the door to the basement when he went down. This is probably where they keep stuff they canned and preserved. I remember seeing this one basement where they have shelving all along the stairs down into the basement, filled with canned stuff like jalapeno jelly and dill pickles and such. But the shelves go all along that wall, but the stairs go down and keep going down, so I couldn’t figure how they got the jars all the way across like that. It looked like a really precarious sort of thing, and there was no place to put like a ladder except at the landing of the stairs. I guess you think about these sort of things when you live in Los Angeles but not in Iowa so much. Cause of earthquakes I mean.
@HF: That interpretation would contradict the imagery of the chicken and the story of the grandfather. Not sure I would sign up for it.
Here’s another thing that’s troubling me. The author does everything he can to make us look down on the family. They aren’t just depicted as hicks, but generally poor people. There is no disdain shown for the chickens. They are just chickens after all. But if we can’t look down on the chickens why should we look down on the people? They are just people after all.
Re: #3
“Hey how do you click your mouse?”
Whenever I mess up my right fingers I go to the control panel and change the mouse to left handed and then use my left hand. You basically have to reverse the way the buttons work. Clumsy for a while but it doesn’t hurt.
nope. You’ll see. He’ll pick himself up and put on some clothes, probably the same ones, and then he’ll go up and get some pie and open his presents. And someone will say hey what happened to your face and Darby will say one of them jars of peaches fell off that shelf by the stairs and caught me on the way down. I cleaned it up but be careful if you go down there to put on some shoes.
Where’s the disdain for the chickens!?!
Fucking chickens.
Well that was just a just in case metaphor for if the gun had been loaded, Enrak. But the gun wasn’t. Turns out the metaphor wasn’t loaded either is how I look at it.
@ #40: You realize you’re effectively accusing Jeff of being a writer, don’t you? ;-)
#51 –
No no, he’s a reader, obviously. :^D
OK, Mr. Intentionalism: Did you intend to say that Darby went through with hanging himself, or only that he was fixin’ to?
Because my read is that he went through with it, or at least had such a strong intention of doing so that he wasn’t capable of thinking otherwise before the story ended. And once the story ends, the characters can’t change their minds, unless they’re being reinterpreted by graduate students, in which case Darby’s despair is emblematic of the mal du siecle that can getcha even in the middle of the century, and the grotesquerie of the dead chicken and the flat cat is a blanket condemnation of bourgeoisie values, which necessarily murder the enlightened academic by its incomprehension and indifference.
Also, phallic symbols and erasure.
Dicentra, that may be because they know you wouldn’t get all suicidy. That which doesn’t kill you, and all that.
No, it’s because they had the humanity beat out of them when they were kids. Seven kids, seven personality disorders. Which is why I’m always spotting PDs wherever I go.
See, feets, I really do prefer your ending — because what a moronic emo you’d have to be to off yourself just because the fiancée disparaged your manhood on the way to ripping out your heart and stomping on it — but I’m not sure that the signs point in that direction. We gots that dead chicken and flat cat and dead father and all. And his attempt to shoot himself what was thwarted by the inconveniently unloaded gun.
I mean, he did deliberately recreate his father’s suicide scenario (dude, two words: drama queen), but then he didn’t get the rope yet. The story doesn’t end with him swinging from it.
So Jeff’s gone and decided to be deliberately ambivalent, so if you’re not sure what he did, that would be the meaning of the story’s ending.
And when you’ve got the ambiguity at the end, that means you should probably spend more time contemplating elements earlier in the story, such as the stupid relatives and sagging things.
Mr Intentionalism intentionally kept the ending open, but he certainly did some suggesting. For what it’s worth, hf seems to be thinking along the lines I was — though I empathize a bit with Darby, whose despair, at base, comes from not yet seeing how he’s been inscribed.
Were he and I to meet up at a coffee shop and have a talk, I think he’d ditch the self-pity for a tattoo, and maybe a nipple piercing and some catch wrestling lessons.
But that could all just be the booze talking. Pain is not getting a Xmas card from me this year.
If Jeff wanted him dead he’d be dead.
Jeff knows people…
Thanks for the excellent ruminations everyone. I don’t think I’ve ever had so much fun being so far out of my depth.
Thanks Mr. Goldstein.
Exactly. Instead, by leaving the ending open, he lets each of us write the ending that we brought into the story as we read it. Some of us expected him to die, others not.
Makes you think.
Instead, by leaving the ending open, he lets each of us write the ending that we brought into the story as we read it.
Hey, I have an idea!
Hang a blank canvas on the wall and let the viewers paint the painting that we brought into the museum!
Sorry, McGehee. You set it up…
Actually, by leaving the ending open, Darby becomes Schroëdinger’s Cat, only you never open the box.
So you really can’t come to a conclusion about Darby’s fate. Fictional characters are thoroughly bounded by the text in a way that meat people aren’t. We exist independently of what is written about us, but Darby can’t.
So Jeff can say here that Darby went through with it, but really Darby didn’t. Unless Jeff changes the story and ends it with his bare toes dangling above the floor.
Like how during the first five seasons of The X-Files Mulder and Scully had a purely platonic relationship, viewer speculation to the contrary.
I just wonder, Jeff, what you have against cats?
Or was Fireball just a particularly egregious asshole of a cat?
‘Cause then I’d totally be behind parking a car on him.
Rather like my brother, really.
Darby needed some fireball.
Good story Jeff.
That young cowboy will grow old; he’ll never be The Marshal Tucker Band though, hence the despair.
Actually, Dicentra, according to the Many Worlds interpretation of quantum mechanics, the universe splits; in one universe, Darby finds a rope and hangs himself, but in another, he decides that killing himself doesn’t change the fact that Angie’s a bitch, so he decides against it. In one universe, he does manage to get elected Senator, and screws his videographer.
Jeff should allow people who want to help with the website of his friend, however indirectly that help might be, email him (Jeff I mean, his jeff@pw.c is full).
Prancing Chickens, playing next Tuesday at Hermit’s Hideaway on Broadway.
Get your tickets.
Hmm, syncronicity….
“Most volatile flame war ignitor ever:
Cats are assholes.”
http://tinyurl.com/59e8sm
I love Rachel Lucas.
It’s been done. They call it “abstract.”
Frankly, I have a hard time concerning myself with this fiction knowing that Christina Applegate has been separated from her boobies.
Fucking cancer. You suck. Those were some great boobies. (Warning: Link contains boobies)
That’s very sad. That radical masectomy thing is a lot less common than it used to be. Is my understanding.
*mastectomy*
Pablo, apparently my wife has her finger on my internet connection, because when I click that link I get “You do not have permission to access…”
McGehee, it works for me and you can interpret that any way you like. Such is my intention.
it works in IE but not firefox
She seems to have chosen not to roll the dice, ‘feets.
A fucking tragedy, no matter how you look at it. I don’t think man can rebuild titties like that.
It works for me in Firefox, in several ways.
Well for on tv they can. And also for sure this comes with a guaranteed three-movie Lifetime deal and a People cover. Gosh I sound cynical. This is me over here trying to figure out why I sound so darn cynical.
Happy,
I paid about $200 in 6 hours at a strip club last weekend, albeit it was over two days (both Friday and Saturday).
I just gave Jeff $11 and I’m pretty sure he’s happy about that.
Cynicism rules the day.
Happy,
What’s the perfect metaphor for an individual using his or her talent, in a somewhat-profitable-but-evidently-not-very-profitable way, when other options are available?
Jeff writing novellas or great blog posts as opposed to tackling Hollywood notwithstanding.
For real individuals don’t need metaphors I don’t think.
Actually, Dicentra, according to the Many Worlds interpretation of quantum mechanics, the universe splits;
Calling Alan Sokal…
It’s been done. They call it “abstract.”
Actually, I was mocking what is now a cliché, especially with young aspiring artists, all of whom go through the “let the viewer decide” phase. I was mocking you, too, BTW. Just to be clear.
As for Rachel Lucas’s opinion of cats…
Well, she might have a point. I have two kittehs, whose main purpose in life is to wait until I’m the least able or willing to give them scritchy-scratch on the head (such as 3:00 in the blessed AM), and then engage in Typical Cat Persistence until I throw them out of the room and shut the door.
But then, do her dogs bring her dead Calliope hummingbirds? Flammulated owls? Mouses who scurry under the couch and are not seen again until the couch is moved and there, clear as day, is a dessicated mouse carcass?
I thought not. Also, cats don’t bark, don’t stink, don’t need to be taken out for a walk, bathed, or baby-sat while you’re on vacation.
On the other hand, if your cat-to-person ratio gets higher than 2:1, you’re in the official Eccentric Old Lady category, whereas with dogs you can have as many as you want.
Well, Pablo, when I just click the link I get the permission warning. Then when I highlight the URL in the address window and hit “Enter” it works.
Might be an ISP thing.
It’s about time somebody around here did.
I don’t see Jeff tackling Hollywood. I see him trying to vault over the linguistic barriers that have been stacked up against him.
I see him trying to vault over the linguistic barriers that have been stacked up against him.
Not until his finger heals, geez.
It’s about time somebody around here did.
I live to serve, my liege.
Vault or tackle?
Both might involve metaphors, yet still…
It’s an Olympian thing. Beyond that, he’s a promoter.
“linguistic barriers”
Wow.
If only anyone had ever in history overcome that concept, then would it were.
Oops.
?.
What’s the deal? You question speech zones? Check out my city in a week. I am in the middle of this shit. I have been briefed, trained, and prepped for the liklehood of utter mayhem next week.
cynn,
My deal is I’m not very bright.
Not bright enough (shit Happy, sorry again for the m-phor) to underdstand if you were addressing me.
Or what, perhaps, you mean.
Jeff’s theory yet again is best: ignore it.
It’s all really Jeff’s deal though is the thing, and we all point it out in a way not mine.
cynn you’re in Denver? Are you going to be there when they crown the Messiah?
Cynn, I am glad right now for two things: that I wasn’t in Atlanta in 1996 for the Olympics, and that they and political conventions only come once every four years.
Also that, Georgia being a relibly red state, it’s virtually certain there will never be a convention here any time soon.
Wait, that’s three. Three things I am glad for right now.
I’ll go out and come back in again.
NO-body expects the Spanish Inquisition!
See, it even says so right here.
But I doubt you’ll make it before the credits finish rolling, McGehee. Every time I see it they don’t quite make it back, and then they cuss when the screen goes black.
Jeff, did you set out to intermix the many typical fears of the hayseed conscious?
I’m not used to credibility, and I shalln’t have it hear by God.
I live in Lakewood.
This is my email to Jeff a couple of days ago that got returned, which I’m trying to tell everyone isn’t good because emails like this should be discarded as rubbish ONLY AFTER HAVING BEEN DELIVERED:
Jeff,
Coen Brothers have a new movie coming out, so that should take care of the depression.
DNC is a big opportunity for you, although I’m not quite certain how and I’m not sure you are either at this point. Google is erecting a two-story dingus at the DNC, so keep that in mind.
I’d wash someone’s windows within 40 miles of Denver if they help build your friend’s website (and business.) I’d bid out the job and do up to $300 (7 hours of work or so) in exchange for their help on the web. I realize there are problems with this type of deal (i.e. who wants some stranger off the interwebs walking through every room in their house; are there any PW readers in a close enough proximity to Denver with the skills required to build a website fretting right now about their dirty windows?), but you never can tell.
Hey,
Fuck that.
I can tell.
There are people with the skills to help build Jeff’s friend’s business who need their windows washed, and I know for a fact some of them live in Denver or the 80111.
I have dirty windows, but not the mad skillz nor the zip code to do the job.
It was necessary for me to say that. I’m sure of it.
Oh dear. Looks like someone’s been reading Jeff’s blog.
linky
Just you wait, you. There is old cat smell. Like old man smell, it’s a chemical signal that means “unfuckable.”
This is the part where maybe you imagine what the character you’ve come to know was maybe going to say when the text ended before you thought it would.
Buy a mic and get some speech recognition software. Problem solved. Then help me take over these things, yo. Take the whole shebang. THE WHOLE WORLD IS WATCHING!!!!11!
I think I’m going with the “All people suck a little bit, but it really sucks to be a chicken or a cat, because then nobody cares” interpretation. If that’s alright, Jeff?
And who gets naked and hangs themselves?
Michael Hutchence
Yup yup. I knew a guy who did that, too.
I didn’t participate, but this was a pretty enjoyable thread to read. THANKS!
Bedtime stories, want more!
<crickets>
Cat’s don’t smell?
Well, just let them piss in your stone fireplace a couple of times, and you’ll probably have to tear down the whole fucking chimney to get rid of the stench. That smell is impervious to anything known to man.
And, I’m not sure where this is coming from, but in the 70’s I lived in a house that had an old, old beagle. I don’t know why, but this dog loved me. If she saw me walking up the driveway, she would bark and bark, and jump up and down on her front legs until she collapsed on the ground, barely able to breathe. She was, like, 100 years old in dog years.
One morning I woke up to find her standing over me, wagging her tail, with her face about two feet from mine, looking me in the eye. I thought “Oh, how cute” until I realized that she was pissing all over my legs. I had been wondering for days why my sheets were so damp every night.
Not a good way to greet the day. And my brand new girlfriend, who was beside me, was not all that amused, either.
But the dog looked so happy. That was the day that I first wished that I knew how to say “You fucking dipshit!” in dog-speak.
Did the chicken slam into the fence because it was coming home to roost too hard? It was Bushes fault, wasn’t it?
B. Moe
I’m not sure, but I think the chicken slammed into the fence because the pervert had to use a crowbar to get himself loose. Way esoteric, huh?
OK. Ok.
I guess you have to know the joke.
Anybody want to clarify?
Why did the pervert cross the street?
Because…(You’re on your own from here on in).
Because a lesbian broke his heart, maybe?
Why did the pervert cross the street?
Because…he was stapled to the chicken. Obviously.
Q.: Why did the masochist make it safely across the road?
A.: Because the sadist refused to run over him.
I thought the chicken crossed the road to prove to the possum it could be done.
This post is the newest post and yet for all its newestness I have grown weary of it.
Q: How do you stop a clown from laughing?
A: Hit him in the face with an ax.
Look, if we’re doing dark humor, I might as well…
Oh yeah, Michael Hutchence got nekkid and hanged himself over her. Good catch, Pablo. Shows you what I know about near-death sexual experiences that go wrong.
Q: What do cannibals say when their eating a clown?
A: “This tastes funny.”
Q.: How do you stop a rhinoceros from charging.
A.: Rocket-propelled grenade.
Q: Why did the pervert cross the street?
A: Because his dick was stuck in the chicken.
What do Martin Peretz and Muhammed have in common?
Both married money and neither can write.
What’s the difference between Iraq and Vietnam?
Bush had a plan to get out of Vietnam.
@ #125: <snort>
Q.: How did the elephant get in the tree?
A.: I don’t know, but I wouldn’t stand under him if I were you.
We have a winner!
Take a bow, Slarti!
Next.
What’s the difference between a blonde and a washing machine?
Go! (This might take a while. I gotta go do something).
What’s the difference between Iraq and Vietnam?
We won in Vietnam.
Q. Why won’t Obama laugh at himself?
A. Because it would be racist.
What’s the difference between a blonde and a washing machine?
That joke will get you denounced.
Another begging-for-denunciation-joke:
Q: How do you tell if your roommate is gay?
A train hits a bus filled with Catholic school girls and they all perish.
They are in heaven trying to enter the pearly gates when St. Peter asks
the first girl, “Tiffany, have you ever had any contact with a male organ?”
She giggles and shyly replies, “Well, I once touched the head of one with
the tip of my finger.”
St. Peter says, “OK, dip the tip of your finger in the Holy Water and
pass through the gate.”
St. Peter asks the next girl the same question, “Jennifer, have you ever
had any contact with a male organ?”
The girl is a little reluctant but replies, “Well, once I fondled and
stroked one.”
St. Peter says, “OK, dip your whole hand in the Holy Water and pass
through the gate.”
All of a sudden, there is a lot of commotion in the line of girls. One
girl is pushing her way to the front of the line. When she reaches the
front, St. Peter says, “Lisa! What seems to be the rush?”
The girl replies, “If I’m going to have to gargle that Holy Water, I
want to do it before Jessica sticks her ass in it.”
He doesn’t keep reloading Protein Wisdom in hopes of finding out what Shannon Elizabeth’s nipples think about South Ossetia?
Jeff’s red blender has no chance against Shannon Elizabeth’s nipples. Not when she gets ’em hard.
#128 A washing machine doesn’t expect you to cuddle after you dump a load in it.
#132 His dick tates like shit.
Denounce away!
/just killin’ time
I denounce you for knowing the answer, Pablo.
Why, thank you, Slart. And I denounce you for asking it. Racist.
Why a blonde anyways? Doesn’t that make the joke both sexist and racist?
Make the blonde your gay roommate and it’s a hat trick of denouncement.
Great thread! But I can’t let it go without saying this…
Shutup Thor.
I read Jeff’s transcript, and this whole thread.
I can’t find a damn word of this in the Bible…including the blonde jokes!
Maybe it’s somewhere in the back.
This all has a ‘Whore of Babylon’ ring to it.
The ‘Whore’ is probably blonde.
I’ll let ya know what I find.
@ #140: My wife and I have concocted a far more poetic way of addressing such irritants, to wit:
The chicken prelude was nice. Beautiful imagery, actually. Circular like Steinbeck, but a little better somehow. Maybe its Steinbeckier?
Godammit! I meant Faulkner.
Pablo,
Judges say you win, but the real answer is: “You can dump a load in a washing machine and it won’t follow you around for three months”.
Just checking to see if I am really sicker than most. I have my answer, and I am quite happy now.
Off to the pub…