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Whatta buncha dicks.

Those are nuts.

Those things are so very, very wrong...and now I may have to buy one. ;)

Your mom and pop must have fucked you up.

But Matt, they

That's what's funny.... they vibrate!

oh dear.

there is nothing funny about vibrating.

Good Monday morning, everyone, it's time to Spank the Monkey!
Speak for yourself. For me, it's time to Buy More Batteries.

It occurred to me in the harsh light of morning that my comment above looks harsh if you've never heard the talking heads song "sax and violins".

I wasn't casting aspersions.

Also, there's lots of funny about vibrating.
Janet Reno, for example.

Hey, commish. It's kind of hard to get excited about a post like this on a Monday morning. I mean, I come in to work, feeling kind of stiff after a weekend of activity, and I see that someone has decided to erect a post with this picture on it. Now I'm no prude, but if you want to be a member of a civilized society, you need to know when something like this is appropriate, and when it needs to be rubbed out. Frankly, it's enough to make a bald man puke. So stop dicking around. You decided to make this pubic. Now the balls in your court to do the right thing and take it down.

Whatever happened to, um, just getting together with someone and, you know, doing it.

Not that these aren't nice, but jeez louise. Maybe I'm old fashioned, but the thought of sticking a bovine-themed vibrator up my butt just doesn't set the mojo working for some reason.

gawd. i'm going back to --------.com, there's a trainwreck over there too, but it's about the sniper. i wonder if he vibrates...

everything vibrates if it's posted on the blue enough times and subsequently deleted.

I want a vibrating pancake, then.

*gets out crepe pan*

Coming right up, ma'am.

You want a little marmalade with that?

vibrates at multiples of the speed of light a la The Flash into another dimension.

"As Jay aged, he began to slow, so now he can only timetravel with mechanical aids or with another higher powered speedster.

*Sigh* It's not the years, it's the mileage.

You want a little marmalade with that?
I have an 'issue' with marmalade stemming from childhood. I'll take the chocolate hazelnut spread of the gods known as Nutella instead, thanks.

*searches fridge, winces, wonders what sort of horrific childhood incident can generate a lifelong issue with an entire subsection of jellied fruit, decides it's best not to ask, sends out for this Nutella stuff*

wonders what sort of horrific childhood incident can generate a lifelong issue with an entire subsection of jellied fruit

My guess? Perhaps our romakimmy broke her left arm in three places which required her to take pain medication so strong it is only available in pill form, yet she was too young to swallow the gargantuan pills. So, the doctor recommended her mother crush the pills up into marmalade or syrup thereby, seemingly, masking the horrid taste.

It's just a hunch--one that kept me from eating syrup on ANYTHING for years and years, and still now with reservation.

I'm sure that it was just that some mean old woman (possibly a grandmother) made her eat it on toast.

Or that.

The traumas of marmalade are many and various. From an incident in Iceland in the early seventies in which a young boy was blinded by an unfortunate accident involving a rogue peel that defied the very laws of physics themselves, to a most unlikely happenstance which began with a dollop of Robertson's flung with malice aforethought from a teaspoon and ended up causing the downfall of a quite prominent import/export magnate in Southeast Asia.

One need only remember the chilling words of the prophetic Cat Stevens song "Marmalade" to know that the sweet pectin treat ain't shit to messed with:

Marmalade, your wicked ways
Got me eating
Citrus glaze
Ain't going nowhere
Your zesty-skinned haze
Marmalade, you got wicked ways

Baby.

*grooves*

Swing it, Cat Daddy!

ooo eee ooo ah ah,
ding dang walla walla bing bang.
ooo eee ooo ah ah,
ding dang walla walla bing bang.

ding dang, walla walla biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing bang!

Mom always had a jar of imported orange marmelade complete with extra large slightly greenish peel mixed in, which to my way of thinking looked like worms. One morning I spooned some onto my toast, took a huge bite, felt some weird texture in my mouth, spit out the toast into a napkin, and discovered a tiny dead brown worm.

And you don't want to know about the bluberry yoghurt incident. The memory makes me want to hurl to this day and makes worms n' marmelade seem palatable. In this day and age, I probably could have sued for mental trauma and anguish.

I had some weird experiences with food as a kid.

I guess you never connected it with the LSD you were consuming.

LSD? Never touched the stuff.

*makes note to self to ask Mom about those 'special' mushrooms stashed in the back of the cupboard*

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