It's called sarcasm, dipshit. I'm not sure if your dinner is ready, ask your mom, she'll know.Originally Posted by Yoshi
That rocks. We really need to look into adopting these methods of execution, albeit not for this crime. Talk about a deterent.Originally Posted by Chibi Nappa
Oh, yeah. That would hurt. Let me give you a hint. We don't give a shit. BTW, is my dinner ready yet?Originally Posted by AstroBlue
It's called sarcasm, dipshit. I'm not sure if your dinner is ready, ask your mom, she'll know.Originally Posted by Yoshi
Quick zephyrs blow, vexing daft Jim.
I'm disgusted with you guys. Stop fighting amongst yourselves; we're talking about women here, women who can and should have rights... to deez nuts.
This is an incredible thread.
HA! HA! I AM USING THE INTERNET!!1
My Backloggery
lifes a bitch
Originally Posted by rezo
Sapphire makes very good sandwiches and does the dishes. I don't believe in ironing unless it's extreme ironing (and we don't have the money to travel places to do that), so she doesn't need to iron a damned thing.
Speaking of food, what's for dinner tonight, dear?
BTW, that Augusta National picture is totally awesome. That guy rules. Why the hell do women want to play golf with a bunch of stuck up rich guys anyway?
I think the airlines might give you a deal for that.Originally Posted by Calliander
Murdoc:
Skateboard!? You better watch out that Avril Lavine doesn't hear about you and stupid skateboards or she'll be right on your case, Sk8ter Boi.
That would be so totally sweet that I would kick my mom's head off.Originally Posted by nakkato
Originally Posted by Klonoa
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Well that's like, your opinion, man.
Yes, I do make sandwiches for us, do the dishes and sometimes the laundry. And no, I don't iron, because I once used this old @ss piece of metal (REALLY just a hunk of metal with a handle and an electric cord attached) to iron my pants, left an iron-shaped mark on the seat of my pants and had to wear them out in public, the entire day. So....never again.Originally Posted by Calliander
(1) I make the sandwiches because I'm hungry and ask if he's hungry (if he is, he is and if he isn't, he isn't), (2) washing the dishes, because I don't like eating off dirty crusty dishes, and (3) I make him help me with the laundry, because all of those clothes AREN'T mine. And my love doesn't tell me to do things (other than in a I'm-trying-to-be-funny way) because he would probably end up having to eat TV dinners and Ramen/starve, or wallow in bottles, cans and dirty laundry. I love you, sweetie.
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