islander wrote:
Yup. 

 buddy wrote:

sounds soper doper. Or, soperb. Either one...

 buddy wrote:

Just call it a quaalude.  And you were supposed to chase it with a couple shots of whiskey or tequila. The sugar would offset the sleepiness, and the alcohol would put your judgement further in the back seat. Hilarity would ensue. 

 oldviolin wrote:
Back in my day they were called Soper 714s & I could only ever do a half of one. Cheap date.

Winter uses a knife and fork to eat a banana, peel and all. 

NoEnz tells everyone that spring is his favorite season, but really it's "that one time when Jennie Weatherby's mom didn't know he was there and started changing in front of him".

Geoff_morphini, simian labor activist and monkey census-taker, once bet a stranger he could name all the colors of the rainbow: "lemon, orange, lime, blueberry, cannon fodder,  axle grease, Beddie-Bye, and cage-floor straw."

 geoff_morphini wrote:

worth it

winter has a thousand monkeys typing 24 hrs a day, 7 days a week to produce these “gems”

Lazy8 bought some savings bonds to give his friends' dogs for graduating from obedience school.

Buddy would like everyone to know that he once kissed Jane Fonda on the mouth.

Okay, it was a Jane Fonda poster.

All right, all right, settle down: you win. It was a Bob Dole poster that he wrote "Jane FONDa" on in Sharpie.

And yes, it was definitely more than once.

 winter wrote:


sick

Buddy thinks getting molared up on a jug of Wild Turkey and dropping a couple of Rorer 714s from his vintage stash is perfect for every occasion imaginable...

In other news, I heard GeneP59 was happier than a shew fly in an outhouse since he came out of the closet as a NY Yankees fanboy...

When ptooey speaks about the excretory habits of ptarmigans, the regulars down at Big Bib Bobbi's Smokehouse and Civic Athenaeum listen.

Set sail for the hills! Cry "hatrack" and let slip the sloths of confusion! Islander's getting ready to tell everyone the real truth about how the Marx brothers killed the Kennedys.

GeneP59 sleeps to a collection of snipe-hunting calls from Seventies campgrounds in the western mountains. 

"If he don't get his pudding, SFW is meaner'n a diamondback in high mercury, stronger'n a cactus ape diggin' caliche for sand-clams, and stanker'n a mud shark on a three-day clothesline," says Manbird, spitting his gum into an old sock he affectionately calls "Sara". "You get me, son?"

Most people have the sense to just nod. But not oldviolin! No, he's set hard on that wee little pea of truth that keeps the princess up in the silent hours. So he asks, "what's the over and under on all that risotto you just ladled, compadre?"

Remember that one time when Manbird walked into pottery class, dropped a fresh dog turd on the wheel, and made a flawless cereal bowl from it?

If so, reach out to the Reno Superior Court and ask for the Trauma Compensation office. You may be entitled to a settlement.

Oldv likes to take a couple of concrete nails and pin a flip-flop to his driveway so he can scream, "YOU DON'T GET IT! YOU JUST DON'T GET IT!" at the footwear until he falls asleep on the spot, pants down and snoring his way to sunrise.