The following phone call is real. Parental discretion advised.
SCOTT: Hey, I'm heading home. Where do we stand with dinner?
MARY: I need to dry rub the meat.
MARY: That sounded really awful, didn't it?
SCOTT: Oh I don't know. It sounds great if you're the meat.
SCOTT: Except for that "dry rub" part. You might want to spit in your hand, just as a courtesy.
[SOUNDS OF STIFLED LAUGHTER THAT REFUSE TO GIVE YOU THE SATISFACTION]
SCOTT: So how long's this going to take? Although I guess that really depends on the meat...
SCOTT: ...and what sort of self-control it has.
...and that is why the gays want to be able to get married, too!
Vastra was later visited by Clara Oswald, whom she treated with some suspicion at first. Vastra and Jenny forced Clara to partake in their "one-word test", where she would only be allowed to answer their questions with a single word to prove she was not lying. In doing so, Vastra contradicted herself by explaining in great detail the Doctor's now-sullen exile in London, to which Clara replied "MEN".
I hope you and the Missus will not mind, Scott, that - due to the movie I just finished watching - I could not help visualizing you as Spencer Tracy and Mary as Myrna Loy. It was charming.
Mind? I'm pretty sure that's the nicest thing anyone has ever said about either of us. Or at least...both of us.
Surely not... the way we Crappers gently adulate you guys, even totally independent of the catz??
And yet I always get a "Thin Man" vibe from these interchanges... Well, I guess that really depends upon the type & quantity of cocktails enjoyed during the repartee', n'est-ce pas?
And yes, I think you've put your finger on the indispensable ingredient.
Drink 3 for me, baby, drink 3 for me. And yes, high & dry thus far here @ Batshit Acres (i.e. a whoooooole OTHER kinda prison, Dick Cheney would KEEP a perpetual porcine-heart-endangering hard-on if he'd studied @ the feet of the Fallen Uterus...), so no worrying about me or mine, except that Penny, the last survivor of the L9 kitteh gang, has an exploded titty with cancer that nobody can afford to cure.
She is not the round-faced little sweetie of 2 years ago, for damned sure, but she is one tough little heifer, have no doubt. Pitch-black as she is, she will NEVER go "softly" into ANY night, be it good or shit-splattered. Sorry about the bummer in the cute kitteh thread, but really, where else would anybody give a fuck? Here, I *know* that I'm always surrounded by kitteh/critter-lovin' nutbags not too unlike myself... If no one takes that as an insult...? Y'all have NO FUCKING IDEA how much that I have missed y'all... but knowing that all of y'all are still out there, that's what kept me alive the past few months... or, at least, off of death row... heh.
BTW: A round of massive belly-scritches for everybody!!! (keep the perversity to the humorous side, I'm on a short fuse, buckos...)
Post a Comment