Do you hate freedom, live music, democracy and totes intense porpoises?
Do you mean sexually aggressive porpoises? Or the sexual porpoise ice sculpture in the Pros fic that Dana used to torture me with before I started torturing myself?
Yes, it's terribly simple. The good guys are always stalwart and true, the bad guys are easily distinguished by their pointy horns or black hats, and, uh, we always defeat them and save the day. No one ever dies, and everybody lives happily ever after.
Giles ,'Conversations with Dead People'
Natter 69: Practically names itself.
Off-topic discussion. Wanna talk about corsets, duct tape, or physics? This is the place. Detailed discussion of any current-season TV must be whitefonted.
shrift - Nov 28, 2011 11:23:23 am PST #8872 of 30001
"You can't put a price on the joy of not giving a shit." -Zenkitty
SailAweigh - Nov 28, 2011 11:23:46 am PST #8873 of 30001
Nana korobi, ya oki. (Fall down seven times, stand up eight.) ~Yuzuru Hanyu/Japanese proverb
"much to do about nothing?"
I would have assumed the meant to-do as in:
It's a perfectly cromulent substitution, as far as I'm concerned. It may have arisen as a mondegreen, but it's got its own dictionary entry, and it fits.
Amy - Nov 28, 2011 11:25:13 am PST #8874 of 30001
Because books.
Hey, Tep, insent.
Cass - Nov 28, 2011 11:31:48 am PST #8875 of 30001
Bob's learned to live with tragedy, but he knows that this tragedy is one that won't ever leave him or get better.
Do you mean sexually aggressive porpoises?
I surrender.
Not to the creepy sea mammals, just in general.
P.M. Marc - Nov 28, 2011 11:38:04 am PST #8876 of 30001
So come, my friends, be not afraid/We are so lightly here/It is in love that we are made; In love we disappear
Ooh, what River Song boots?
The All Saints Criollo boots. BUCKLES!
Steph L. - Nov 28, 2011 11:41:02 am PST #8877 of 30001
this mess was yours / now your mess is mine
it's got its own dictionary entry, and it fits.
But it's not the correct title. And I realize that people aren't saying "allow me to quote William Shakespeare when I say that this argument is much to do about nothing," but, frankly, it's a really old damn work of literature that's not exactly obscure, and to use the phrase is in fact to quote the title. And quotes should be accurate.
Yeah, I am That Asshole.
shrift - Nov 28, 2011 11:43:28 am PST #8878 of 30001
"You can't put a price on the joy of not giving a shit." -Zenkitty
I surrender.
I've been watching MST3K episodes, so I'm filtering everything through an obscure and disquieting lens.
Jesse - Nov 28, 2011 11:46:31 am PST #8879 of 30001
Sometimes I trip on how happy we could be.
It's an eggcorn! Right? [link]
Kathy A - Nov 28, 2011 11:48:21 am PST #8880 of 30001
We're very stretchy. - Connie Neil
I so need a nap. I need three naps. I need All of the Naps.
Moooooommm!! Cass is bogarting all the naps!!!!!
I need one, too. Really, really badly. Because I am still at work, even though I wanted to leave 45 minutes ago. Instead, I am staying so I could deal with an email from a group manager who was complaining that he didn't get an update email three weeks ago, and he cc'd both my boss's boss and my boss's boss's boss, but not my boss, and after looking it up, I find out that he should have gotten the email and more than likely did, unless there was a problem with the email system, because the damn thing was generated in Lotus Notes. So, I forwarded him the registry of the actual html-filled newsletter that was emailed to him. I hope this satisfies his stress over missing future newsletters and puts the blame on the software or email server and not on me if he didn't get the darn thing.
And I still have to go home and work on my final for school. Ugh.
ETA: And now I'm stress-eating a piece of office cake, which is a total sugar bomb. Double-ugh.
ETA2: And when going over my PTO for the week with my boss, I teared up when saying that I've had one hell of a day. I really hate tearing up on my boss over simple stress.
Beverly - Nov 28, 2011 11:56:26 am PST #8881 of 30001
Days shrink and grow cold, sunlight through leaves is my song. Winter is long.
Backflung, Burrell.
And also? N-a-pppp. Just 20 minutes, Mom.