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to read: i can't choose one.
either...
endgame by samuel beckett
this is our youth by kenneth lonergan
rosencrantz and guildenstern are dead by tom stoppard
in performance, of those i've seen staged:
three sisters by chekhov. saw it at stratford one time. blew my mind. -
My novelty airplanes are beloved by children all 'round the world. but i would give it all up for the chance to understand what the fuck you mean by feature.
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half dog, half cat, half person.
cats are cleaner. dogs are more fun. it all depends on what i'm hungry for. -
such a saucy question to someone like myself, who just yesterday married a mega rich super sexy corporate executive government dancer yoga librarian and moved to an isolated tropical island with delicious food that is served out of extravagant headwear, which is, of course, insulated so as to prohibit the passage of any extreme temperatures to the noggin. Unless, of course, you desire the effects of the aforementioned extreme temperatures.
but that didn't really happen.
Being that I am a firm believer in many tenets of socialism, I will not argue over such issues as the rightful ownership and possession of beeswax, and which beeswax belongs (or, more precisely, does not belong) to whom. I will suffice to say that, yes - much to my dismay, my often (and otherwise seemingly) unrequited infatuations persist.
Are you happy now?! -
I KNOW EVERYONE AND HATE EVERYONE.
but you, you've got something. something that gives me a twinge of laughter in my war room. pick up the red phone! tell the guy on the other end "she was a gallant lass, and made an indent in the wall as she came crashing"
Ah-OOOOOOOOOOO-Gah
AH- OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGAH!
That means alarm. The old kind. Lights and sounds. Bells and whistles.
When all is said and done, nice use of alliteration. I would like to meet you in battle. -
eeesh, it's been awhile since i've made love, but during sex i usually like to enjoy the scores from my favorite pornographic films.
The other times i just hum the chorus of "mmmbop"
and then i shout "mmmBOP!" when i climax. -
jesus this is a tough one. oh! jesus would be a good one. but he couldn't have any weapons. and he would have to fight...joseph smith! and joseph smith would fight with either a scythe or twin sai (like Raphael uses...the teenage mutant ninja turtle, not the renaissance artist. but we should also consider an art contest i think). i think i would want jesus to win, because joseph smith kinda seems like a tool. but hey, i guess this whole fight-to-the-death thing would help me get to know him better so i can make a better and more balanced assessment. but for all you gamblers out there, remember, it's a tad rigged, because supposedly jesus can't die. soooooo...offensive.
but beyond those with religious associations, i would probably choose theodore roosevelt and andrew jackson, because that would just be amazing to watch. and to make it even more entertaining i would make them fight with wire hangers. i think that would encourage creativity. as per my preferred combatant, i would definitely say teddy, on accounta i've always felt that andrew jackson never got his historical comeuppance in terms of the way he is viewed now and all the crazy, shitty things he did in his day (e.g. the trail of tears). but if andrew jackson won i would make him face genghis khan. if teddy won, i would split a fifth of whiskey with him.
But then, I just don't know, there are so many great options... maybe helen keller and eleanor roosevelt! . sure, this would be a second roosevelt, but they seem like a family of scrappers. very refined scrappers. Also, this particular match-up would definitely be interesting given the rule-breaking nature of both of these fine ladies, such as eleanor's breaking of the "no marrying cousins" rule or helen keller's breaking of the much-maligned "mummies don't coach softball" rule. So what I'm saying is that this fight would be super hawt. Also, for novelty sake and promotional reasons, the fight would be broadcast live from an above-ground pool filled waist-high with dippin' dots. but they wouldn't have to be name-brand, helen can't tell the difference.
in other historical news, irony was invented. HA! Get it?! but seriously-
if i ever met abraham lincoln, i would say "suck my dick!"
not because of any problems with his policies or him as a person, but more because i always thought he had a perdy mouth.
and because i think his beard would feel good on my balls.
and i feel his oratorical skills would translate well into the arena of fellatio.
and maybe my dick would go all the way through! what with the head wound and all. if i could ever go back in time, i would save abraham lincoln's life by sticking my cock in his head to stop the bleeding. I bet the secret service never thought of that!
but if he did die, his last words would be something like "stop doing that" or "quit moving around". and it would be funny. to me anyway. everyone else would probably be weirded out, just as you are now.
and then a joke involving lincoln dying with "my dong on his mind"
tasteless. -
it's...annoying. i wouldn't recommend it. though this operating system has fixed many of the problems of previous editions, it is still quite disappointing - high emissions, noisy equipment, all while remaining mostly land-based. My favorite is still Jon 1.4 for adorability.
Wait, wouldn't I be on the fourth? -
Either the index or the middle. But you can't use just one.
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none. i just make sounds with my mouth and then people yell at me.
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Sky is a flavorful construct.
Directions don't exist in space.
BAM.
ummmm, sweet/mashed/mashed sweet potatoes, and/or chocolate milk. maybe put them together in a large container of some sort, one large enough to support my frolicking amidst these super foods.
oh, and the blood of the innocent. -
I don't believe in notes of any kind, and this basically equivocates that either I am an ewok, or everyone else is. And I have to tell you, that hurts my feelings.
I wanted to answer this in an absurd fashion, but this shit is serious. Honestly, I don't listen to enough Beatles, and that means that I'm an idiot. But I usually get my fill from my friends that do listen to enough. I am not a fan of their early stuff, which probably means I'm kinda pretentious. But if you don't like or appreciate at least some Beatles music, you're probably a little ignorant. I am a big fan of songs like "Here Comes the Sun" and "Strawberry Fields Forever" and "Across the Universe". And that probably speaks for itself. -
Thank you, caller, for this, the most fucked-up of questions. This is difficult. So I will start with the obvious...
From various instances of flopping my wang out in public, I have learned several things. Dijon mustard is the most sensual of condiments, sometimes a bottle of dressing is easier entered than exited, and even the most well-organized of funeral wakes can be ruined by the noticeable combination of food and genitals.
So in conclusion, I'd have to say desert, because, though I realize there's the risk of delicate sunburn, it's easier and more comfortable to pee. And also, at least there's supposedly some pleasing hallucinations on the horizon to distract me. -
It comes from all of your regrets. first the dust stifles you, gets on your skin, in your eyes nose mouth ears lungs. You try and scratch it off and out, but soon you see it's fairly useless - you can move it around but it will always be there. And then it just builds. and you have to sit down before you fall down, but then you regret sitting down, because you just have to stay there and become the host of what is mostly dead skin. look what you've done, you've made a monster.
Also it comes from stupid questions. But primarily it comes from an big dumb old invisible tree frogs. it also causes the changing of seasons. Snow - duh? I know this because I have spent the last three years and four million dollars hunting BOZ - that's his name, stands for Broke Outta the Zoo - like he's the Predator. And when I say hunting I mean both Arnold Schwarzenegger and Danny Glover style, jungle and cityscape. But I think I need Carl Weathers. Unfortunately he has not responded to my emails. So if anyone sees Carl Weathers, send him my way. We'll get this whole dust and winter thing figured out. -
You want me to say Alex Georgia Marky and little lift from god's gift...and some sour patch kids. But I refuse to be peer-pressured, so I'm'onna say Ginger and Mary Ann, Chef Boyardee, and my own personal thanksgiving feast. And all of the hard drugs I can stuff in my ears.
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The best method? Tough call. But I will say that if everyday you stare into the sun, or consume a sandwich composed completely of two pieces of fried chicken enveloping bacon and cheese, or even masturbate while choking yourself with a dog leash attached to the handle of a revolving door, you have a pretty good idea of what's going to happen to you eventually. For me, to continue along the same lines, I blow a load into the collection plate on sundays. Because what is more valuable than the gift of life? That way I know I will go to heaven. Though I am never sure how long I will be allowed at any given church...service.
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"dog-a-jelly = yllej-a-god = illegible canine deity + pectin = dog eats jellybeans = jellybeans ate god."
And only because it is a one-sentence story can i not put a question mark at the end, which invariably makes it a fact. Also because I forget sometimes this is a place for answers and not more questions. This isn't church after all. Get it? Damn it. Get it. -
Could a chicken do this?....oh that's right, you can't see me. Well trust me, it's pretty cool. And I didn't even have to rip out all of the hair this time.
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Jonny T. Boomerang’s Bio
When I was just a little girl, I asked my mother- "why is my vagina all hangy?" And I continued- "I think I'm a boy. Or demon-spawn. Or fictional. Probably all three." She paused, confused. And i turned into several separate & distinct flavors of jam.
