2002-10-29 - 7:40 p.m.
And we're back!
The administrator of Quoted is on hiatus (she hasn't given up on Quoted, she's pregnant and needs to devote some time to her offline baby) and I have volunteered to administer the site until her return. Feel free to email nominations for the site to firstname.lastname@example.org as always.
Without further ado, some quotes....
My friend goes to that bar to see naked girls, but I can never, ever see them. I only see tenants and daughters. Girls buying jeans at the mall. girls brushing doll hair when they were seven, and more than breasts, I see car payments being mailed.
Blue flowers and yellow flowers, mostly. I've decided those are the only two colors that are fit for a garden. Pink? Go to hell. Red/orange? Die. Fuschia? Blick. Brown? Well, I can't think of a brown flower, but if there is one I hereby declare it ShitBloom and I won't have it.
I actually stop often in the mornings, especially with that new Sausage and Bacon sandwich. I mean, come on itís got twice the meat! I donít care what itís doing to the environment, global warming, NAFTA, my heart, or me. We got Bacon AND Sausage. Together! We men love double meat, which is why our erections can make us so happy. Itís double meat. Ahem, but I digress.
I don't know about you, but I don't seem to be getting my period anymore. It's actually more of an ellipsis. You know the bloody hallway scene in The Shining? Like that, only with chunks. Chunks! Little pieces of Evany-brand fetus food that shoot off and hit the wall when I change tampons.
Still here? Hi!
We talk in awkward circles about how weíd like to start talking about the other as ďmy boyfriendĒ and its reciprocate. We shyly admit that we donít want even the freedom to see other people. We look at each other and our eyes shine like they contain flashlights. We fall asleep naked under the covers, with her upper body draped over my chest. I would swear in a court of law that as I fell asleep, she weighed nothing more than a feather.
From Dancing Brave
I love the word. "Pants." Say it out loud. Feel the crisp consonants. Roll it around. Pants. It owns itself. Thereís no sensible anagram of "pants," no songworthy pronunciation games, no identity crisis to rattle Pants to its core. Is Evian just "naÔve" spelled backwards, or is "naÔve" just the reversal of Evian? Potato, po-tah-to? Which came first, the chicken or the pants? The answer is clear.