9622.net

Er, on another plane - can anyone discern what make and model of laptop has the Vatican seal?

That is my second favorite monkey picture I've seen posted here! And as for the computer, correct me if I'm wrong, but that appears to be a Mephistopheles340+ with the "Satan Inside" logo covered up. Or maybe he's just being tempted with an Apple.

Better get those altarboy.jpg files off there before you donate that laptop to charity!

MIGUEL! Oh, how I've missed you! The heartache....

Miguel! St. Louis has tried vainly (if only intermittently) to be the novo Lisbon, but without my mestre, it is as if my pitiful attempts at wit only serve to illustrate the empty space where once was a colossus.

Which is to say, where the hell have you been?

That laptop, by the way, exhibits the classic characteristics of a Dell Latitude. One of the cheaper home versions, too, by the looks of it.

Right now, he's typing his 87th post in the metafilter thread on popular democracy in the middle east (look for username "dios").

DOOM 3 IS TEH BIZZAWM, BITCHES!

Migs! So good to see you? Where the hell you been? And why had thou forsaken us?

And is there any truth to the ugly rumor that Port is the Vatican's official new communion wine?

From: jp2@god.org
To: forum@penthouse.com
Re: Submission

Dear Penthouse Forum,

I never thought I'd write one of these, but here goes. I was in the midst of "absolving" one of my altar boys (if you know what I mean), when suddenly I heard a knock on the confessional door...

Caption: "Excellent, your Holiness! 446.8 feet! You have obviously mastered the timing and hand/eye coordination required to make the yeti really cream the falling penguin!"

JP the Deuce hates getting the spyware off of Cardinal Perverzio's laptop, but, hey, it's part of the job.

ugh, dude, the duece is totally typing with one hand... gross!

"On the internet no one knows you're a Pope."

Is it just me, or does that hat make his head look like a giant strawberry?

Pope: Such pretty colors on the Internet these days.
Cardinal: No your holiness, that is a screen saver.
Pope: [ALT Tab] Tell me, whose pron site is this?
Cardinal: Yours, your holiness. You're viewing the latest posted links.
Pope: We have cameras?

"Wow. Check out Fred Durst. That's what I call a Limp Bizkit!"

From: jpdiddy@vatcit.org
To: Lindsay Lohan (lovebuggers@drunky.com)

Re: Sidekicked out?

LiLo! What up, whore? Somebods in N'awlins been turning your mineral water into wine coolers? LOL!!!111

Hy, Im buggin cuz I get out the hospit ("Exhaustion"--ha, thx for that) and the first things I do is check my box and I see that Paris got jacked and Im all "Oh noes@!" but then I find out that batch anit even got my digits?

Who peed in her confessional box? Besides Justin ha ha!

Whoz your Holy Father?

"Did you guys know I was in Paris Hilton's phone book?"

Dammit, Chef. If only I could type faster. Looks like we're channeling the same jokes.

(One more week and I'm cast-free! Hooray!)

Sure, until the Pope has your legs broken.

Of course you realize, you're all on the express train to hell, now.

Theologians, they don't know nothin',
about my soul, they don't know.

Oh, I'm a strawberry ghost.

This seems like a good place to post this.

My boss, who made my professional life a living hell for the last three years while he was battling cancer, finally passed away today. I was giving him and the Pope even odds to outlast the other, and the deuce won.

He died three years after I stopped admiring him for his legal knowledge and talents, two years after I stopped liking him for the person he used to be, one year after he stopped making me think of myself as a lawyer and start believing that I was a failure, and three months after he fired me, and gave me four months working severance.

Is it such a horrible thing to feel both terribly sad and terribly relieved at the same time, and on the occasion of someone's death? Of course I'm sorry he died. I liked him. I looked up to him. But, now that he's dead, I don't have to keep thinking "Dan says I'm a bad lawyer, therefore I must be a bad lawyer; since that's all I've ever done, I must be a failure; therefore, I have to find something else to do to show Dan I'm not a failure." Instead, I can think (which I did for the first time in many months today), "I'm a lawyer. I've done good things before, and I will again. I don't have to try live up to his ever-changing standards, or anyone else's but my own." I also don't have to keep thinking to myself, as I did several times in the last three months, that I just want him to hold on until I get another job, so I can give him my two weeks' notice in person. Now he's dead, and it doesn't matter any more - I can do whatever is best for me, without worrying about spite or anger.

Sorry if this doesn't make sense or hits anyone as inappropriate. It's a very complex situation in my mind at the moment.

Also, cancer is a horrible way to die. Dan went from being a strapping 240-pound ex-college football player and hard-living type-A managing partner to being a 120-pound caricature of himself before he went (I swear, and again, this is terrible - but he actually started both looking and acting like Gollum by the end) - but he lasted over two years longer than any doctor gave him a chance of.

Crap. Sorry.

Cancer fucking sucks. Fuck cancer.

Sorry the person you once admired but grew to despise because he made you question your self-worth died.

And I don't think you're a bad lawyer. Even if you won't take my negligence case against Krispy Kreme.

Are you going to the funeral?

Fuck Cancer hat

Thanks for understanding, Chef. Yeah, I'm going to the funeral, it's Monday. I don't think I'll go to the wake, because I don't do wakes as a general rule and I'd rather avoid any awkward conversation with his widow.

And I keep telling you, it's not negligence when the product does exactly what it was designed to do.

I find it difficult to believe that those little pastries were designed to make me break into a sweat and cry from trying to put socks on.

Commish my friend: Everyone dies; most don't go out easy. There's no shame in disliking a man who made your life hell, and no shame in being relieved at his death. Cancer doesn't lend anyone a special dispensation to assholery. Some of it you can forgive, because you are a good man and understand what others may do under duress; the rest was his self-pity, roiled in his gut with that cancer and spewed back out as black black bile, and that neither needs, nor deserves, your forgiveness. His spite, like his cancer, is not yours to eat.

Drink a glass to his shade, and to the memory of what he once was. Throw the glass as far as you can. Then put him away and give your attention to the living.

It's sort of a headfuck when somebody you're close to but not very fond of dies. And in your case you get the extra layer by adding the fact that you once respected and liked the guy. I say the appropriate response is to give pause for the loss of a life, feel for the family and loved ones, and go with your gut feelings on the emotions to focus. I've always had a problem with people that try force a feeling that they think is appropriate for the situation.

But when it comes to verbalizing your thoughts, especially imediately around the funeral, wake, and initial co-worker discussions, you should error on the side of caution. Even people that you're sure agree with your opinion of the guy might be swayed by what they percieve to be the only correct response at this time - a sanctified vision of a man with (flawed) human traits.

Commish, this is a perfectly appropriate place to vent - god knows we've all take our turn over the years (wow) now.

And hey, you want my case against the truck who hit me?

I've been thinking of suing ... everyone I've ever met. I'll give you fifty percent of whatever we manage to come up with.

I'm suing Micheal Jackson for those pajamas.

I am not suing Fes for sending me a swap disc today. What a guy! I actually have a secret crush on him, but don't tell.

Unless he wears weird blue pajamas, but I'm sure he never would.

Damn, we missed the tenth anniversary of Miguel's fan page.

Something like that should be cause for drinking and carousing. And when I say "drinking and carousing" I mean even more drinking and carousing than usual. Which would be a lot, I suspect.

Tizzie my dear, I am strictly a plaid-jammie-bottom-only man.

I used to be a nothing man, but after one too many times rushing outside armed and naked to check out some strange noise, I decided the world need not get an eyefull of Commander McBootay and the Piecemakers every time a trash can blows down the street or a couple cats decide to set to intercoursin' down toward the woods.

This drink goes out to :

Miguel! Nice to read you, cap'n. You've been missed.

The commish's dead boss: because dead people should be drunk to, even if they were assholes.

The rest of you monkeys: because I'm in a drinkin' mood!

And to Eeksy Peeksy! Happy Birthday!

9622.net: Come for the silly papal jokes, stay for the sobering reminders of mortality.

[reads above comment, then looks at thread's picture of the pope]
[dies laughing]

Commander McBootay and the Piecemakers

I want a shirt with this phrase so very very muchly. I &heart; Fes.

Crap. ♥

I want a shirt that says "Crap. ♥"

I was just flipping through a catalog of overpriced shoes, and here's a pair of loafers featured in the delightful color "Seahorse Snuffed."

I am not making this up.

I couldn't, really.

I saw a t-shirt last week on a nubile clueless K-girl that said "Seahorse Snuffed Crap ♥".†

†this is a lie.

My dangly bits are all aflutter to see what terrible horrible t-shirt slogan emerges.

Romakimmy, meine kleine liebchen, when I come triumphantly to Rome, at the head of column of airport vans like a victorious Condottierri captain, armored in grey flannel and striking salutes with my Waterman like a legionnaire's gladius, three gifts shall I lay at your feet: a case of Dr. Pepper, my eternal devotion to your service, and a shirt, sized one size smaller than is prudent, emblazoned with Commander McBootay and the Piecemakers, and in little letters below, the words "World Tour" and the year.

What's in mathowie's bag?

Interesting: no balls.

Okay, that was mean, especially since today is my third MeFi birthday.

Cake for me, pancakes for everyone else!

Well, I thought it was funny.

I remember when I turned three. Ah, those were the days. Was I ever really that young?

Looking at your page Commish, how many times did you quit forever? No balls, indeed.

And by "balls", I also mean "testicles."

And by "testicles", I of course mean, "shoehorn."

Your shoes are horny?

Of course. ADIDAS stands for "All Day I Dream About Sexualizing."

Put ur masturbating away.

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