9622.net

I'm sober, painfully aware of it, and I got caught in fog-genreated traffic, came in an hour late, and ended up yelling at one of my *bosses* this morning. I need to be Steven Seagal - a fat, stupid, grimacing, badly-dressed, pony-tailed, zen ass-kicking vengeance machine. Innocent bystanders better keep one hand over their sternums today, because anyone that even gently fucks with me is going to get to see what their heart and lungs look like, because I am going rip them out of their chests and eat them.

And there's no coffee made. *snick-SNACK*

I'm not drunk, but I am grumpy-still waiting to hear about my job (big boss came and went in 6 hours, toting my resume with him).
But on the bright side I now have my own car to drive to my own therapist appointment, and thank God Nurse Ratchett doesn't work for him.

*bitterly envies Nurse Ratchett's casual capacity for sadism*

Not drubk. Wrestling with a brief that should have been a week ago. Week off next week willbe spent catching up with all the work I blew off to write the brief. Evil. Evil. Evil.

Study, study, study today.

And I would like to give a shout out to zinc. You prevented me from getting a full blown cold today. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you, zinc. Rock on.

I think I'd like to be Haley Joel Osment.

Or who was that guy who played Mr. Belvidere?

That guy.

Or j-lo's ass.

Why do I have the Mr. Belvedere theme song running through my head now?

Thanks lupo.

No wait, I just realized it's actually the Benson theme song.

I wanna be Natalie Portman's left hand.

If I could be anyone who would I be?
A brave little monkey, climbing a tree?
Perhaps an 80s starlet like Sheila E.?
A fat happy Frenchman, eating some brie?
A cannibal chewing on someone's knee?
Long haired, stinky saxophone git Kenny G?
Some poor unfortunate covered in bees?

I think in the end,
I'd have to decide
When I think of my friends
And my beautiful bride
My choice is to stay
Just the way that I am
Floating away
On a magical clam.

Unless I could be someone really rich.

I want to be Finland.

Finland Finland Finland
The country where I want to be
Eating breakfast or dinner
Or just watching TV

*stands. applauds*

I'd like to nominate kafkaesque the poet laureate of 9622.net

Or snack lunch in the hall?

You are korrekt Mr. kafka. I kleverly transposed the lines as a trap and you kaught me!

Actually as long as we're on the subject of literary character conciets, I was sitting on the subway thinking that my dream would be to go to all the messed up people in the world and tell them that they're OK. Then it occured to me that what I was thinking is that I wanted to be The Catcher in The Rye. Fetch my straight jacket and red hunting hat, post haste.

How bout the guy in The Fermata, who can stop time and goes around being geneerally really pervy?

I want to be meeeeeeee...

Generally. Generally. Not geneerally.

You know what? I'm not fixin' it! I'm taking a stand for typos! Typos of the world, unite! Stand up and be counted! Live free and speeled wrogn!

Gdo belss su eevroony!

When looking up The Fermata on IMDB, I discovered that the Italian name of Fried Green Tomatoes was:

Pomodori verdi fritti alla fermata del treno

Oh sorry.

The Fermata is a novel by Nicholson Baker. here's the Amazon link, much as we all hate to link to them, but then we end up buying from them anyway so we won't have to go out in public.

I have an unnacountable craving for Taco Bell, and as you know cravings must be obeyed. Sadly this means I gotta walk all the way to sixth ave and west fourth street. But the quesadilla beckons...

Make sure to keep us posted.

Yes, especially if you run into any women along the way that you fantasize about having sex with.

Anyone who wants my copy of the Fermata can have it. But I must warn you, it contains the line:

Fill my fucking fanny, Kev.

and one of the prominent characters is a sextoy called the Armand Clockenhammer Double-Headed somethingorother.

Fortunately for you, I've dogeared the good pages.

i have the back ache from hell.

i feel like my spine was a tall tower of toy blocks, and someone kicked out the bottom one, and the rest of them fell down in a heap. And then someone set them on fire, and someone else came along and jumped up and down on them to put out the flames.

Ah. You have somehow contracted "Jenga-spine".

Which just proves my theory that Germans love David Hasselhoff.

Not being an English major, I have no highbrow literary reference to throw out here.

But I did always want to be Lazarus Long.

I'd like to be a lawyer in Saudi Arabia, where only recently there was an article in a leading newspaper with the title "Lawyers Are A Worthy Lot". ;)

Back from taco bell. I got a couple of the Monterrey Chicken Quesadilla. I think it's the scraps from Monterrey Chicken Sandwiches at the Wendy's down the block. Not that I mind.

But they forgot the sour cream, which I din't find out until I got back to the office. This is an injustice. We should get goneill and some of her anarchist pals to march outside with a bullhorn demanding "Sour Cream For JonMc!!"

Man, I wish those sarcasm tags had caught on.

So far that's been the most exciting thing to happen today. Whaddaya want me to do, make up some shit?

I have a 2:00 meeting, and it's about a training program for dentists who show their patients porn films during treatment in order to produce endorphin responses that mask pain.

Not really, but I was trying to be interesting.

Why? I see no sarcasm anywhere here at all.

I wanna be Orson Welles at 24. To be making Citizen Kane, and still have the world at your feet would be the coolest thing in the world. All the future letdowns and alcoholisms would still be in the future. Yassuh, that would be the life.

(Also: Rita Hayworth. Mmmm.)

Nicholson Baker is quite gifted in the art of description. He has an amazing ability to explore situations in intricate detail. Which is why the scene The Fermata dealing with, um, "scat"* falls squarely in the "too much information" category.

Cool premise, though. And Monica Lewinsky apparently loved Baker's phone sex novel VOX so much she bought it for Bill.

*not the music style

Whaddaya want me to do, make up some shit?

Yeah! Make up some shit!

I eyed the quesadilla closely. Noticing nothing wrong, and the correct cheesey-greasy color scheme, I brought it to my lips for the first bite. I could already feel the queso-effluent running down my chin when a tiny voice (which sounded just a little like Cheech Marin) cried out "Don't! Don't eat me, man!"

My quesadilla had spoken!

I just want to get a job. dammit.

Fanny-filling? Talking quesadillas? David Hasselhoff?

You nasty people are crazy on the junk, I say. I'm gonna go home and read Archie Comics while listening to Nutty Squirels records just to cleanse myself.

David Hasselhoff fills his fanny with talking quesadillas.

There, I said it.

It's about time someone had the courage to say it, Lupo.

Ay caramba, it stinks in here! And somebody tell this guy to stop clenching!

those are some mean streets, when you're a wiener dog in a sweater.

Welcome to Non-Sequitir Theater, Ladies and Gentlemen.

That last comment of yours made me laugh so hard that several co-workers turned around to see if I was OK. This would not be a big deal except that they're all wearing headphones.

Teej whips out the Norm MacDonald. Nice!

Well, I guess the David Hasselhoff thing was Norm MacDonald too, but that weiner dog bit was hilarious.

Typos of the world, unite! Stand up and be counted!

ues,

I'll get me coat.

Mmm...taco bell...

9622.net: David Hasselhoff fills his fanny with talking quesadillas.

There, I said it.

My favorite Nicholson Baker description (and this is hearsay on my part) was the desciption of the tactile pleasure derived from writing on rubber with a ball-point pen - like writing a word on your shoe or something. Just the smoothness, the flow, the sensation... something you either know or don't know, but is such a substantially pleasing sense-memory that reading about it tenderly described is evocative in the best way. Oh, and why the Hell didn't the guy in the Fermat ever STEAL anything? He could stop time, but kept working as a temp in a typing pool? WTF!? Nobody's sense of morals is that warped.

Heresy! Get him, Cardinal Fang!

oh. hearsay. never mind.

The truth is that The Fermata is not that wondrous of a book. Kind of lit major whacking material. The Mezzanine, on the other hand, is super good.

His advice for people with "shy kidney" is fantastic:

When someone takes his position next to you, and you hear his nose breathing and you sense his proven ability to urinate time after time in public, and at the same time you feel your own muscles closing on themselves as hermit crabs pull into their shells, imagine yourself turning and dispassionately urinating onto the side of his head. Imagine your voluminous stream making fleeting parts in his hair, like the parts that appear in the grass of a lawn when you try to water it with a too-pressurized nozzle setting. Imagine drawing an X over his face; watch him fending the spray off with his arm, puffing and spluttering to keep it from getting in his mouth; and his protestations: "Excuse me? What are you doing? Hey! pff pff pff." It always worked. If I found myself in very difficult circumstances--flanked on both sides by colleagues, both of whom said hello to me and then began confidently to go--I might have to sharpen the image slightly, imagining myself urinating directly into one of their shock-widened eyeballs.

Kafkaesque wins the poetry competition and the pissing contest. All in one busy day!

Has anyone read his new book, A Box of Matches?

Kafka is not the poet laureate. He's better. He's...

He's...

NIPSEY RUSSELL!

(By the way, this Nipsey site is totally priceless.)

Nipsey kicks ass. If I have a kid, I'm naming it Nipsey.

I want to name a daughter Crayola.

9622.net : Welcome to Non-Sequitir Theater, Ladies and Gentlemen.

I'm not drubk, I am cranky. If fact, someone today put their hand in my face, in that 'talk to the hand move'...which is a dangerous thing to do when I'm in a good mood...but is nigh onto suicidal when I'm in a bad mood, and you are a retail clerk who won't get off a personal phone call to ring up my purchases, when my baby is starting to get fussy and I want to get out of the damn store!

I have to admit that the following words came out of my mouth, as I reached over and hung up the phone for her. "Bitch, if you ever want them to find your fucking body, you will put that Lee-nail wearing, bad jewelry waving, hand on the cash register where it belongs. I will hurt you, and I will enjoy doing it. Is that clear, princess?"

She appeared as though she wanted to say something back, then looked into my eyes, and I think perhaps saw the maelstrom of chaos dwelling there...and realized that I was a mother on an edge, and if I went over, I was taking her with me.

All I wanted was some damn socks. I didn't want to have to threaten people with slow and painful death...but sometimes, it's the only thing they understand.

I have to get more sleep. I really do. ;)

Oh my, I'm laughing at your misery. What a priceless retelling of a tale.

I hope you do get some sleep soon...I hear that it happens someday!

Hey, didn't I see that monkey holding up a "John 3:16" sign at major sporting events?

What is all this Monkey Business?

dejah420 rocks!

I wasn't myself when the J man was a wee tyke. The lack of sleep, the colic (sp?), the never-ending smell of formula, it just drove me batty.

*hurriedly removes Lee press-on® nails*

What does "talk to the hand" mean?

I'm so out of touch with popular culture.

Posted by: Steve_At_Linnwood on February 21, 2003 02:56 AM

There goes the neighborhood... :-)

Welcome, Steve.

(And filmgoerjuan.)

As in "`cuz the face don't understand", Bunny.

I'd expect more from a Springer enthusiast.

Hon, I stick to Maury and Montel.

On a sad note-didn't get the job. One of my previous coworkers did. That's life. But since I have a car, life isn't totally bleak and dismal.

After work today, I think I'm gonna get some Belgian. The place is supposed to have the best fries/frites in NYC. Plus an excellent ale selection.

Any of the euro- or gourmet-monkeys know the best brew for fries?

"Talk to the hand" is, of course, a tribute to the proud ventriloquists who have made this country great. Many of the founding fathers were superb ventriloquists, including Benjamin Franklin, who was known to have state meetings in hysterics with his "your wig is talking" bit.

Big, big laughs.

Any of the euro- or gourmet-monkeys know the best brew for fries?

Go with Chimay, my man. Or Stella Artois.

I shoulda coffee'd up. My response was so comparatively dull.

9622.net: My response was so comparatively dull

Go with Chimay, my man.

I believe I shall.

And I shall raise my mug to the kaf-monkey as I munch.

Dejah, I feel your pain. And there is nothing like a fussy baby to drive the point home. Had I been in line behind you, I would have cheered.

Yes dejah, that was too awesome. I wish you'd been there many years ago when a very mean and useless waitress nearly brought me to tears. You could've given her what-for. (Of course, getting her deported brought me momentary joy, but there's still that hurt deep down, you know?)

heheheh, thanks gang. I dunno Sally, getting them deported is pretty good. ;) Unfortunately, despite the fact that *I* think you need shots and a passport to go to Mesquite, I don't think I can have them deported. Rumor has it that Mesquite is actually part of Texas...even with the rodeo there. :)

Speaking of getting drubk...are there any other states besides Texas that still have blue laws that make certain areas dry? Dry, as in booze is illegal? Where I live, it's a 20 mile trek to get a bottle of wine, or a 6 pack. Doesn't that seem silly to everyone else?

Yeah, but remember, Paint Thinner's still legal. And a little modeling glue in your Sunny Delight will keep you smiling all day.

Well, in CT you can't buy packaged alcohol after 8pm or on Sundays. Puritan roots showing through. One of the (few) nice things about dade county was that we lived 500 feet from a 7-11, so I could always have easy access to my sunday morning six-pack.

That Belgian joint don't open till 5 and I'm getting outta work at 4 so I get to kill time wandering the west village. I can't decide whether to go candy shopping or record shopping.

How do you have any money left?

me?

I actually buy very cheap. Plus it's rare that I actually purchase records, I usually *cough*Cough* them. And I don't spend shit on non-essentials like clothes and the like till absolutely neccessary. Candy's kind of a cheap indulgence, really if you know where to look.

I found myself stone cold sober in Pigeon Forge, TN, for a week. I'm not sure if it's just the town that's dry or the entire county.

There was a Bible Factory Outlet down the street from my motel.

When I was in college, a bunch of us decided we were sick of the standard Daytona Beach Spring Break fare, so we set out to celebrate spring break in an unlikely place: the Ozarks. So eight college guys in two cars drive down from Indiana to Arkansas and set up camp in the mountains. One of us goes out on a beer run, only to return 20 minutes later. Guess what? We were in a "dry county".

We were in COLLEGE, folks. For us to find ourselves in a dry county was the equivalent of a group of born-agains waking up at a Motley Crue concert.

So we sent two guys off--one in each car--on the four-hour-round-trip journey to the nearest liquor store. They returned with $800 worth of beer and liquor--both cars were packed to the gills. It lasted us about four days, before we decided to set out for New Orleans.

(As an aside: You know those beer commercials where the guys are out camping and, lo and behold, there are a group of women camping just a few hundred yards away? And everybody gets drunk and fucks? Sometimes, that actually happens.)

Ah...good times...good times...

Ocean City, NJ and Ocean Grove, NJ are dry towns. Not that you can't have alcohol, but none is sold there.

(As an aside: You know those beer commercials where the guys are out camping and, lo and behold, there are a group of women camping just a few hundred yards away? And everybody gets drunk and fucks? Sometimes, that actually happens.)

I hate you, poulos.

My breaks from college consisted of me crawling underneath an industrial crouton oven and slithering on my belly with an compressed-air hose to blow out excess parsley scented ash.

When things improved, I got to wash raisins. Yes, wash raisins. My partner in that endeavor was a guy in his mid-40's who talked to himself a lot.

Suffice it to say nobody got laid.

Dej, when I moved to Texas they asked, Thom do you want to live in a dry or wet area. I having no clue, said, as I was thinking back to when I lived in Houston as a tike, seeing many a car float down the road after a storm, dry, duh. Little did I know until I spent 2 hours trying to find some Liquor one day with a buddies credit card, {heck yea I'll make a beer run} (it was his way of letting me know the laws of the land). that is when I knew what they meant by wet or dry areas, not flooding but for getting drbunk. The time of the day is also tricky in Texas. And what is with that damn uni-card.
Blue laws are for days and times as, clothes, cars, were included in these laws too. Chicken Filet is closed on Sundays(by choice now).

Arkansas has no beer or liquor on Sundays; I say this as the just told us, liquor so we thought ok no vodka, no big deal. Great place to go canoeing, though.

Growing up in Oklahoma, and college and current life in Texas has made me pretty accustomed to fucked up alcohol laws. In OK, no wine or liquor in grocery stores, you have to go to a liquor store (which close at 9 every day except for Sundays when they're closed). Also, the beer that's not in the liquor stores is three-point watered down piss. And you can't buy it after 2 a.m. (okay, that one's not too bad).

In Texas, same liquor store hours, but at least you can buy real beer and wine in the grocery. Until midnight (or one a.m. on the weekends). Needless to say, I've learned how to plan my drunken excursions very carefully and well in advance.

You can imagine the surprise and glee that I had when I went to Florida for my sister's wedding. We had eaten and drank in a horribly sick way the night before her wedding, and on the way back to her condo, I saw an open liquor store at 1:30 AM. I screamed and made her stop so I could buy some whiskey. She obliged, dropped her (now) husband and I off and went to go crash in my parents hotel room. I still get blamed for her hubbie being so hungover at the ceremony.

and TCS and dejah, you all just need to get the hell out of the 'burbs and come to the city.

I found myself stone cold sober in Pigeon Forge, TN, for a week.

Jesus, woman. Thank god they had all those foot-long corn dogs and Dollywood memorobilia or you might have had a bad time!

Has anyone besides the poor cowboy sally had the pleasure of visiting Gatlinburg/Pigeon Forge, TN?

It's mostly food for the fat fuck masses and putt-putt golf and shops where you can have your name carved into a plank of wood for just 9.99.

You say that like it's a bad thing.

(As an aside: You know those beer commercials where the guys are out camping and, lo and behold, there are a group of women camping just a few hundred yards away? And everybody gets drunk and fucks? Sometimes, that actually happens.)

Yeah, and then your best friend loses his virginity in your sleeping bag, while you are sleeping in a swamp.

Not so good times.

Did I forgot to close something?

Closing tags for the good of all.

For the good of none. That is what I meant to say.

Anyone else read this article?

The fact that rich people can buy their kids spots in exclusive colleges doesn't suprise me at all. But I am terribly amused that there is a human being named "Cissy Bunn."

And yeah, I'll make fun of her name. She could buy sell me a hundred times over, than she can take a little ribbing.

Sometimes when you're out camping, you forget to close your tags. That's all I'm saying. Sorry, all. I'll dissapear back into the shadows.

that should have done it.

i guess not.

I fixed it.

Well, that was a close one. I think we can all breathe a sigh of relief now.

Thank you! Thank you! I have no idea how I did that, but you have to remember that it's 8.34 PM where I am, and the beer is cold.

Now! Into the shadows!

I now picture soundofsuburbia as a shadow of the night.

Sound of Suburbia: Phantome Der Nacht.

I like it:

Klaus Kinski as soundsofsuburbia in Phantome Der Nacht.

I now picture soundofsuburbia as a shadow of the night

Oh great, then Pat Benatar's gonna try running with him...

I now picture soundofsuburbia as a shadow of the night

Oh great, then Pat Benatar's gonna try running with him...

Savoy Truffle, now post.

Sounds of Suburbia sounds like a late night radio show on which they play shopping music into the wee hours.

Slowly, gently
night unfurls its splendour . . .
Grasp it, sense it -
tremulous and tender . . .
Turn your face away
from the garish light of day,
turn your thoughts away
from cold, unfeeling light -
and listen to
the KWSoundOfSuburbia of the night . . .

Trailer (with that guy's voice)

In a world, where John Ashcroft reigns supreme . . .

In a time when the internet has become Big Brother . . .

On a website populated by chittering monkeys is poised on the brink of extinction . . .

Only one lurker can save it . . .

Phantome Der Nacht

(in German with English subtitles)

GrammarKing, save me!

GrammarKing: Less popular clone of Jungle King, in which the hero swung from vine to vine and was constantly menaced by dangling modifiers and subterranean participles.

These shadows are making me thirsty. In order to get really drubk, I've moved on to Bäska droppar. A wonderful swedish shot which makes your head spin and your legs wobble. Gotta love it.

Tonight an age old friend is moving to Texas and as her last request she got together twenty of her closest girlfriends for a night on the town. I know three of these people.

Throw in a stretch Escalade (So embarrassed.) and a few magnums of cheap red wine and one of us hillbilly ladies might get lucky tonight. Look out Music City, these rhinetones are extry bling-bling tonight.

Yes, only in Tennessee.

Okay, so we are going out tonight. She is moving next week. To clarify.

where in TX is she moving, britt? And a stretch escalade? bling bling indeed.

I wish I'd had a stretch Escalade when I was in Pigeon Forge. But how exactly does one make an Escalanche get bigger than it already is?

That there double-wide needs a fair bit a work done on it.

(translation for non-Kentucky/Tennesseans: The trailer needs repairs.)

That there double-wide needs a fair bit a work done on it.

(translation for non-Kentucky/Tennesseans: The trailer needs repairs.)

Post, dagnabbit.

Post, dagnabbit

(translation for non-Kentucky/Tennesseans: Please, vexatious internet site, I implore you: allow my thoughts entry on to your bright pixel-page, that they may be shared with the masses.)

soundsofsuburbia, I'd say hello in swedish but I have no idea how to spell words pronounced in the back of one's throat, plus I forget but I did learn to roll my r's from trying to speak scandanavian so there...have an erle or two with that shot. Skoal!

Mr. K, I did not know you were bilingual! Very good.

...I'm baaaack!
I went to see Thomas Denver Jonsson and Björn Kleinhenz perform a superb set. If you're into quiet singer-songwriter stuff that is. Which I am.
TCS: Skål!

Pardon my english.

9622.net : everybody gets drunk and fucks?

Good morning, Senor Wonderchicken!

Not everybody.

My, Mrs. B, that's an awfully large 'Y' your wearing this evening. What's the occasion?

These shadows are making me thirsty. In order to get really drubk, I've moved on to Bäska droppar. A wonderful swedish shot which makes your head spin and your legs wobble. Gotta love it.
Wormwood, eh, soundsie? Could it be the real (illegal everywhere else) absinthe? Hmmm. Makes me want to drop a few bäskas myself.

9622. net: everybody gets drunk and fucks?

Really? Shit. Where is that old sleeping bag...

9622: Sounds like it's time for a camping trip...

;)

I refusre to relive tha boyscout camping tick
1

or mayube I'm drubk

night

But tj! If you're not there who's going to get the left-handed smoke shifter!?

This evening I am going to a bar for literally the first time in months, and I'm slightly a-flutter. After spending (until recent years) most of my adult life in bars, it's an odd feeling, but one I'm quite enjoying, actually. Tomorrow may well be another story.

me drubk. sleep now.. g'night, why am i posting this?

Stravos, if you happen to meet up with Sabrina-the-bartender-who-disappeared-from-Houston-after-that-one-night-spent-gleefully-watching-her-lick-the-salt-off-that-virgin (hey, she was working!)-Bloody-Mary-glass...tell her I said, "hi!"

Or "Stavros"..however-the-hell you spell it.

I ♥ TJ.

oh, and...

9622.net: why am i posting this?

I've had my beers too...

I refusre to relive tha boyscout camping tick
1

Boy Scouts everywhere breathe a collective sigh of relief.

I suspect that a 9622 camp-out would bear very little resemblance to a scouting jamboree.

I also can't really see our Witchstone as the outdoorsy type.

Hey Jude!

Good morning and good night to our hangovers of the world.

or mayube I'm drubk

Next time I'm drbunk in public I will introduce myself as: mayube(ma-oob). Mayube now that's a name that will always have a nice ring to it when said with some drool coming out of one's mouth.

The mystery of the capital Y...my husband deleted cookies or some such nonsense and I had to retype in my info. I accidently typed it in that way and am too lazy to change it.

So there.
---------------------------------------------
I really don't think it's fair. I don't get drunk but here I sit with what I would term a hangover headache. (Back in the dark ages I used to get the real thing.)

The mystery of the capital Y...

A wonderfull child book tale by b***Yfire. Really that would make a nice title, No? What made me think of that is, how often do you see the "y"'s capitalized. For me the letter is mosly used as the last letter of a word or when talking about you. Usually when it is capitalized it's for names like Young & Yollanda which I know of none. Besides it being capitalized for you at the beginning of a sentance. You will see it in; Yucky, I don't like broccoli, or Yet, wait til your father get's home. The best, Yo, you talk'in to me. There you have it the mYstery of "Y".

PS, we all know Y is really aka for the flux-compensator. But..The time-traveling is just too dangerous. Better that I devote myself to study the other great mystery of the universe: women!

Ah...Yes the Y's of my life.

It's odd how I'll just be going along with the day, whistling a happy tune, when suddenly I remember....

*sniffle*

Tizzie, you left us in suspense(nothing there), the link it didn't seem to remember, unless this is the white album ...Number 9 #9...

1892 wow! Looking at 2003 and comparing it back to 1892 it looks more like a # than a date. But how cool you are skelton warrior to not have 19?? on your headstone.
Thanks for the tear tiz, that was enjoyable:)

I don't think I really comprehended the magnitude of what had happened until I saw that, tizzie. I had simply not realized that that Nestea ad was the last time I was to see him alive.

Now I'm all vaklempt. Damn. I'm really gonna miss him.

{{{{{{{{{Chico}}}}}}}

All we have are our memories.

How can a skeleton croak, is what I wanta know. Aren't they kinda dead already?

Don't be naive, ms. fire.

Aye, b-Y. Nothing is permanent, not empires, not dance styles, not hemlines or hairstyles or even the Jerry Lewis Telethon. (No, really.) And, sadly, not the rich and fruitful, if skinless, lives of our greatest skeleto-thespians. Even the great ones eventually must move on to the great Hamlet theme park in the sky.

All we have is now. Requiescat in pace, mein freund.

Pours forty for Mr. Warrior.

Drinks another forty for Mr. Warrior.

And another.

Whoo! I should mourn this guy more often!

Poor, poor, skelly! ;) Great link Tizzie.

Oh, but wait! There's so much more.
more.
more.
Skelly had so many admirers.
He will be missed.

My heart goes out to Skeleton Warrior's daughters Calista Flockhart and Kate Moss. I hereby raise half a soda cracker in their honor during this, their time of ravenous grief.

I also can't really see our Witchstone as the outdoorsy type.

Ah, Tizzie, it warms my heart how well you know me.

Tributes to SW are here, and here, and here and here and here too!

And you mustn't forget the Official Site.

It's heartwarming to see this grassroots campaign of love for Skeleton Warrior finally get some notice. He was such a force for good. Well, if good means getting drunk a lot and hurting people.

Skeleton Warrior.

I don't think Ezekiel will be paying him a visit anytime soon.

I have modeled my life after SW.

I need to rethink that.

Would that include the skinlessness, teej? Cos they the babes, ya know, they really like skin on a dude...

if good means getting drunk a lot and hurting people.

a little picture that never got released: Skeletons in the Closet.

SW is the hero in every closet.

Funky monkey

Funky monkey

Funky monkey

Funky monkey

Once more, with feeling.

Funky monkey

A note about posting images:

We encourage users to post images, especially those hilarous pics of monkeys wearing dresses or programming for Linux. But posting images that reside on someone else's server is considered by many to be bandwidth theft. Our thoughts on the matter, along with some solutions to the problem, can be found here. Thanks.

In an effort to help eliminate spam (and to preserve the sanity of the 9622 Volunteer Simian Spam-Cop Brigade) all threads older than 30 days will now be closed to comments.

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