But this - this, this, this is like being nibbled to death by... what are those Earth creatures called? Feathers, long bill, webbed feet... go 'quack'...
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But this - this, this, this is like being nibbled to death by... what are those Earth creatures called? Feathers, long bill, webbed feet... go 'quack'...
No way am I going back to read all of the posts in the thread since the first page. No way, http://tbn0.google.com/images?q=tbn:...079_476178.jpg
Come on JT, you know you want to read all 46 pages from start to finish. ;)
A cat.Quote:
Originally Posted by v85rawdeal
Duckbilledplatypus?
Oh wait! They don't have feathers! Now I'm stumped!
Tut TUt Harrison. Forgetting your B5.:nono:
Sorry... not into remembering B5 quotes. Only really watched the episodes once. Unlike ST.
Heathen!!
These are my three wives: pestilence, famine, and death. Do you think I married them for their personalities? Their personalities could shatter worlds! Arranged marriages, every one. But they worked out; they inspired me. Knowing that they were waiting at home for me is what keeps me here, 75 light-years away.
I do have to admit that the script writers of B5 were very good and probably some of the best of any Sci-Fi series as they managed to keep the quality high throughout.
In the case of B5, the show's creator J.M. Straczynski actually wrote most of the show himself. At least all the episodes that had to do with the main plot. A lot of the stand-alone episodes were handled by guest writers though. Definitely one of the best written sci-fi sagas ever. :thumbs:
And don't forget that some of the guest writers are stalwharts in the sci-fi genre like D.C Fontana who wrote some of the best ST:TOS episodes.
The trouble with being infallible is that you have to deal with everyone else making mistakes.
And the trouble with being inflatable is having to avoid all the drawing pins!
And the trouble with being impotent speaks for itself.
And the trouble with being incontinent is making sure you never sit in the same seat twice.
Vote YES on Proposition 421
No because that sort of crap doesn't happen in Britain. We're only allowed to vote the fools in and not vote on what they want to do.
I mean what's the point of being treated like sheep. What's the point of going abroad if you're just another tourist carted around in buses surrounded by sweaty mindless oafs from Kettering and Coventry in their cloth caps and their cardigans and their transistor radios and their Sunday Mirrors, complaining about the tea - "Oh they don't make it properly here, do they, not like at home" - and stopping at Majorcan bodegas selling fish and chips and Watney's Red Barrel and calamares and two veg and sitting in their cotton frocks squirting Timothy White's suncream all over their puffy raw swollen purulent flesh 'cos they "overdid it on the first day."
(reading from The Little Book Of Calm) Let let let let... let go once in a while, you're a loose lily floating down an amber river. Ahhh.
I was only watching that the other day :)
Everything's covered in filth! Look! The whole place is a complete mess. Can't find anything. Right now I'm eating scrambled eggs, with a comb, from a shoe!
It's a bit quiet on here today. Where is everyone???
And being herded into endless Hotel Miramars and Bellvueses and Continentales with their modern international luxury roomettes and draught Red Barrel and swimming pools full of fat German businessmen pretending they're acrobats forming pyramids and frightening the children and barging into queues and if you're not at your table spot on seven you miss the bowl of Campbell's Cream of Mushroom soup, the first item on the menu of International Cuisine, and every Thursday night the hotel has a bloody cabaret in the bar, featuring a tiny emaciated dago with nine-inch hips and some bloated fat tart with her hair brylcreemed down and a big arse presenting Flamenco for Foreigners.
I knew i could rely on you to put the post count up. I take it you're having lots of fun then. Remember "Don't mention ze war!!!!"
I bet everyone is watching the football....
*ick*
Yep :D
Watched the FA Cup semi, now watching a bit of Arsenal v. Liverpool and in 15 minutes or so, off to Carrow Road to watch Norwich "play" :D
Isn't that a term like millitary intelligence or honest politician:lol:. Say hello to Delia for me.:wub:Quote:
Originally Posted by Graham Humphrey
We won! And played well! What's the world coming to? That's made my weekend :D
Delia can get lost, by the way ;)
ECHO!!!!
And then some adenoidal typists from Birmingham with flabby white legs and diarrhoea trying to pick up hairy bandy-legged wop waiters called Manuel and once a week there's an excursion to the local Roman Remains to buy cherryade and melted ice cream and bleeding Watney's Red Barrel and one evening you visit the so called typical restaurant with local colour and atmosphere and you sit next to a party from Rhyl who keep singing "Torremolinos, torremolinos" and complaining about the food - "It's so greasy isn't it?" - and you get cornered by some drunken greengrocer from Luton with an Instamatic camera and Dr. Scholl sandals and last Tuesday's Daily Express and he drones on and on about how Mr. Smith should be running this country and how many languages Enoch Powell can speak and then he throws up over the Cuba Libres.
Will you be quiet please?
And sending tinted postcards of places they don't realise they haven't even visited to "All at number 22, weather wonderful, our room is marked with an 'X'.
Shut up
Food very greasy but we've found a charming little local place hidden away in the back streets
Water is essential when it comes to doing the dishes.
@v85rawdeal
SHUT UP!!
where they serve Watney's Red Barrel and cheese and onion.......
Shut up your bloody gob....
crisps and the accordionist plays 'Maybe it's because I'm a Londoner'." And spending four days on the tarmac at Luton airport on a five-day package tour with nothing to eat but dried BEA-type sandwiches and you can't even get a drink of Watney's Red Barrel because you're still in England and the bloody bar closes every time you're thirsty and there's nowhere to sleep and the kids are crying and vomiting and breaking the plastic ash-trays and they keep telling you it'll only be another hour although your plane is still in Iceland and has to take some Swedes to Yugoslavia before it can load you up at 3 a.m. in the bloody morning and you sit on the tarmac till six because of "unforeseen difficulties", i.e. the permanent strike of Air Traffic Control in Paris - and nobody can go to the lavatory until you take off at 8, and when you get to Malaga airport everybody's swallowing "enterovioform" and queuing for the toilets and queuing for the armed customs officers, and queuing for the bloody bus that isn't there to take you to the hotel that hasn't yet been finished. And when you finally get to the half-built Algerian ruin called the Hotel del Sol by paying half your holiday money to a licensed bandit in a taxi you find there's no water in the pool, there's no water in the taps, there's no water in the bog and there's only a bleeding lizard in the bidet. And half the rooms are double booked and you can't sleep anyway because of the permanent twenty-four-hour drilling of the foundations of the hotel next door - and you're plagues by appalling apprentice chemists from Ealing pretending to be hippies, and middle-class stockbrokers' wives busily buying identical holiday villas in suburban development plots just like Esher, in case the Labour government gets in again, and fat American matrons with sloppy-buttocks and Hawaiian-patterned ski pants looking for any mulatto male who can keep it up long enough when they finally let it all flop out. And the Spanish Tourist Board promises you that the raging cholera epidemic is merely a case of mild Spanish tummy, like the previous outbreak of Spanish tummy in 1660 which killed half London and decimated Europe - and meanwhile the bloody Guardia are busy arresting sixteen-year-olds for kissing in the streets and shooting anyone under nineteen who doesn't like Franco. And then on the last day in the airport lounge everyone's comparing sunburns, drinking Nasty Spumante, buying cartons of duty free "cigarillos" and using up their last pesetas on horrid dolls in Spanish National costume and awful straw donkeys and bullfight posters with your name on "Ordoney, El Cordobes and Brian Pules of Norwich" and 3-D pictures of the Pope and Kennedy and Franco, and everybody's talking about coming again next year and you swear you never will although there you are tumbling bleary-eyed out of a tourist-tight antique Iberian airplane...
What has gotten into you people?? LOL
I wonder about the same thing. :lol:
This is my 1000th post. :smokin:
That calls for a coffee and a cig to celebrate! :thumbs:
Edit: Uh oh... It was actually post number 999. :(
Is this the five-minute argument or the full half-hour?
Are you going to argue about that as well? If yes, then you are in reality extending the argument with more to argue about.
Anyway, this is my 1000th post. :thumbs:
And this is my 724th... of which 723 are in this thread...
That's probably about right. :lol: Wonder what the limit on the amount of pages in a thread is..
Jeremy Clarkson is one of a few celebrities who have been blamed for poor denim sales. Louise Foster of Draper's Record, trade magazine to the fashion industry, is quoted as saying, "For a period in the late nineties denim became unfashionable. 501s — Levi's flagship brand — in particular suffered from the so-called 'Jeremy Clarkson effect', the association with men in middle youth."
He also received a fashion makeover from fashion gurus Trinny Woodall and Susannah Constantine on a celebrity edition of their style series What Not to Wear. He had previously been named as one of the world's worst-dressed celebrities by the two fashionistas. After Clarkson appeared on the show, he stated "I'd rather eat my own hair than shop with these two [Woodall and Constantine] again".
Oh, just the five minutes.Quote:
Originally Posted by v85rawdeal
I don't think there is a page limit somehow! But if it gets to 99, then we may have a problem!!
From what I understand, it takes approx 15,000 posts before a vB thread starts causing database problems (corruption/slow searches etc.)Quote:
Originally Posted by P G
@Buleste
Right you are, sir, one half-hour argument comin' right up.