Early happy birthday, bub.

Yeah, last week it was 'film.'

…laid by a sweaty, stoned, hip (read: hirsute) young person in a flower headdress and neon shorts, who hasn't showered in three days?

We're just being polite.

It sounds catty and shitty, but if they don't ever contact you to setup something social, they're not really friends.

Have a guy you're dating go as the Mila Kunis character from Black Swan.  Bonus points if he has a neckbeard.

This place is like some huge sociological experiment.  Eventually, we'll all go Lord of the Flies and destroy each other and this community.

Yeah, she is a joy. I guess that's one positive thing about the lack of anonymous comments now (that's the only good thing I have/will say about Disqus).
 

He's living on a farm, and he's happy.

If I'm ever in Philly for Thanksgiving, I am looking your sister up so we can watch each others' backs.

In one of the earlier, shitty TNG episodes, didn't the Space Irish have to go polyamorous in order to rebuild their population?  Wouldn't that have to happen here?

Brilliant.
To whomever is writing these: thanks.  You brighten up my Thursdays.

And Martok's a General!

Victorious, and with a ship full of suvivors from the other ship.
This is really the first that I remember Klingons following the 'rescue the survivors at risk to ourselves, leave no *man* behind' concept that humans in sci-fi follow so well. I'd have thought Klingons would say 'they failed at their duty, and lost the…

Yeah, and it goes with the theme of the previous episode: even if you fight and don't/can't win (like against Martok or against time) it's still worth it to fight.

Check out the 7 minute workout (it's on the NY Times blog).  It mixes up a bunch of exercises, and you don't need a gym.  It ain't half bad.

Puget Sound?  I used to live up there, and there really aren't any sharks to be worried about.  Maybe used needles down south and effluent up north, but not sharks.

Thanks.
Now breed.  And remind me of my humanity.

So…bring ipecac.  Claim illness.

Long story, but the first time was the first time I was allowed to ride my bike to the local grocery store (I think I was 7 or 8), and the driver was  a sixteen year old girl.  She felt bad.  I felt worse.