"Double the Webster, double the fun!"

Lemme, as a former Yooper, second this; also, if anyone would like to engage in adulation, I kind of know the fellow who played the corpse at the beginning of the film.

"Look upon what ye have wrought and feel shame, you fucking cunt!" I would yell at her.  There'd be a wall of flames in back.

Any song that includes lyrics equivalent to "step into my jungle book" is alright by me, as well.

I heartily endorse this endorsement, especially if you're into psychedelia.

But what's up with the Rev. Horton Heat?  That's kind of swing-y, maybe, but I don't know.  And I'm not going to break my decade-long Heatless period to find out.

If so, he would be rechristened "Suicide Bomber Baldwin" and become my favorite novelty celebrity OF ALL TIME.

As Pauly said of his 'Biodome' wine, he's "a bit fruity, a bit plucky…"

Every time I think of math class, I'm reminded of being vaguely attracted to my HS math teacher senior year.  One of her legs was slightly longer than the other.

Maybe a boiled potato and glass of buttermilk would make you feel better?

Thanks for that, phodreaw, although I almost feel indecent receiving hard information on the AVC.

Insert Pun Here
I'm going to have to mull that one over — I "liked" it, and think it's most definitely feasible — but not until I've taken it for a spin will I know for sure.  But I'm pretty sure.  And learning a new obscenity is a rare treat.

I "love" that the abortion debate only concerns poor people, really.

Sidebar: what percentage of people with graduate degrees are actually deluded twats[1]?  You can credit them with tenacity, sure, but that seems to be the sole necessary trait.

Also, I don't know about the medical problems associated with "incessant ovulation", but a primary reason that my wife preferred the pill to methods that did not mess with the ovulation cycle was that if Aunt Flo stopped visiting she'd be on notice that shit might be going on… down there.

This simply reflects the fact that, when laboring under illusions (and many other times), a woman simply requires an administration of the long dick to set them right.

Great television? — no — but I do wonder whether Pope Benedict XVI and his homies ever watch something like this, compare themselves to their predecessors, and conclude "God, we're such a bunch of pussies."

(and, in 'The Graduate', when Hoffman is chillin' in the pool he's trying to steal some of that sweet cocoon action)

That's right;  Hamm has B. Button Syndrome, but hangs out at the bottom of the swimming pool now and then to remain… middle-aged.

Perhaps the 'Cuckoo' film & book had… a failure to communicate?  Hmmmm?  Hmmmmm?