As I go through this system more and more, I see more and more trends by posters. This, for example, is the second one in which I've seen you refer to Phillipe as a dildo.

I'm gonna throw out a guess here...you just learned that word, and you're really taking it for a walk.

Heh, what?

I need to shut the fuck up.

I had no idea Achewood had such a lock on the gay community! Is it because no other webcomic would touch the issue with a 10 foot pole?

Quote:

This is the above post, spam-reported out of existence. I think as ill of Retardo as the next man, but this is actually a rather nice (if not a tad overly sycophantic) post on his part. It did not warrant the spam-shot. Were we to respond in the same manner to every sycophantic post on the boards, we'd lose half of all the posts! Did spam-marking Retardo just become a peripheral function of the users of old, like laming Asherdan?

I think spam marking should only be used for posts that actually are spam, like, I don't know, stupid adverts, or the thing we had recently where manflesh was posting all those things that fucked everyone's shit up. If it's a comment you just don't like, it shouldn't be spammed, it should be lamed.

chubby for truth.

my dad said he'd get me a lego, and i asked how much money he had. he said he had about a hundred dollars, and I assumed this meant i would be able to get a hundred-dollar lego.

i was severely dissapointed when this was not so.

One Christmas during the early 80s recession, instead of the Godzilla with fire tongue and shooting fist, my folks got me this dimestore dinosaur which, when plugged in, would whir loudly and haltingly walk on its clumsy C-shaped feet.

I think somewhere there is a picture of me, a bedhead tot in a T-shirt with the superhero mascot of a local bank, holding up this toy and trying to smile.

I received a dimestore mastodon that made a horrific groaning noise when you pressed a button on its chest.
I think I said "Oh," and tried to master a fake grin.

Oh man, so many memories of disappointing childhood gifts ... I'm stuck in this bizarre sad-laugh state ...

Philippe's situation is the worst, though, because it's a "just because" gift. A birthday or Christmas or whatever at least can put you in the mindset to politely endure a terrible present. But this ... jeez, the WalletPen just blindsided the poor kid!

Burn.

I had a real weird situation with toys.
My mother couldn't afford to get me most stuff, but she got me a lot of books.... and I had the ENTIRETY of the Natural History Museum's plastic model dinosaurs collection.... including the self-paint ones and the glow-in-the-dark ones.


And that was cool by me.
Only retard kids wanted the hinge-jointed things with vocalised roar and moving jaws... I had internally proportional models with the proper Taxonomic Name and Time Period on the underside.


... And now I have a Palaeobiology degree.

This sounds like some sort of chilling tale told by bearded old sailors, or palaeobiologisists, as they huddle around the hearth at the Aulde Albertosaurus Pub and Inne.

Palaeobiologists get to sample all the fine ales of the world... all sitting outside on the bench, making jokes with geological puns that nobody else gets... all stroking their dusty beards and then lewdly remarking about putting making an igneous intrusion into so-and-so famous female's sedimentary bedding, to which someone laughs and ripostes with a comment about herringbone cross-stratification (then another remarks about putting on his hard-hat).

And there is much frivolity.


I gave that up for a life as a Client Data Assistant in a Corporate Law firm.
I have the BSc, but I had no desire to grow a beard.

My dad is a geologist. Reading that paragraph brought back many horrifying memories of road trips in which he would point at cliffs and say "Hey girls, do you know what kind of rock *that* is? It formed near a fault line and then..." and us beating our heads against the car windows until we were unconscious so that we didn't have to talk about shale.

The paleontologist claims to know where the largest bones can be found. A coworker declares that they are not actually all that gneiss. A third mentions folds, thrusts, and overturned beds.

He gave you a single Lego? That's kind of harsh.

I wonder what a single 100 dollar lego would be like... maybe it would have an ipod shuffle inside? A fancy bottle of wine lego piece? Maybe it's made of tungsten.

Other ideas for the Single 100 Dollar Lego:

-Made from the Femur of Winston Churchill
-Actually a genetically engineered creature similar to a Cicada which produces a charming imitation of various Vivaldi melodies
-Pressure-treated Cocaine with instructions not to play with it until you're 23 (the "age of cocaine" in Brazil)
-Take a retarded child camping

When my mom told me she had a gift for me, for some reason i thought it was a parrot or some kind of exotic bird and I got really sad when it turned out to be a bed so I wouldn't have to sleep on the floor anymore. Most of the time when I look back on the things I did as I child, I can't help but think "what a bitch." I do not know if this is healthy.

10% off the sale price of 25¢ is 22.5¢. Fifteen cents would be a no-brainer, but I bet Téodor had to think long and hard about this purchase. I mean, think of what those seven and a half cents could buy instead.

It's neither singular nor plural; it's not a count noun.

I would like to see the party where a dude makes conversation about his WalletPen!

Am I the only one confused as to whether Phillipe might be actually choked with JOY here?

When I was 12 for Christmas I got a present that looked looked and felt like a CD case. Was it of one of my favourite bands? A new game for the PC? No, it was a case with 4 walletpens in it. I know that look on his face well, and it is not of joy.

Looks small, is small!

I can't think of a better slogan.

This reminds me of most of the gifts I got from my maternal grandparents. It's not there fault, they have 18 grandkids (farmers man, they bleed kids. Still, its tough explaining to a six-year-old why he's getting a wrapped box of Little Debbie snack cakes for his birthday.

This is a perfect look inside the brain of a 5-year old. They are old enough to have abstract expectations and fears about the world, but too young to have them bear much relation to reality.

I remember that, when I was a kid, grappling hooks were the single greatest thing in the universe.

Today's Blogs

Ray: I had a rad-ass day, m'buches!
Roast Beef: Man I had just a horrible day