AdamSmith

One is, after all these years on the analyst's couch, curious why one would feel a need to publicly post about a private message exchange.

Focus, like NORAD does, on your Distant Early Warning Line, and cut Trouble off at the source! That is NOT to say tamp risk down to zero before you even get out of bed. We all navigate oceans of worthwhile risk every day. But tune your sensors to pick up on users and pathological personalities immediately, and tell them Good-bye.

Sometimes if you like him, and hire him, and see him for an hour, you also get info. Just sayin.

I would rather The Beverly Hillbillies. Seriously.

The inventiveness of '60s and '70s sitcom writers spinning good stuff out of nothing premises is pretty amazing in retrospect. And then came Friends, etc. The Decay of Everything.

Yes in spades. The structural failure of the original (in hindsight) was that, to make gay safe for mainstream audiences, they had to put all the gay content into the sidekick joke characters, while constructing endless character and plot reasons why Will Was Never Seen Getting Any. In today's entirely different Brave New World, why not simply put the development and production effort into a new thing attuned to contemporary times?

He's only 200 incall. 'O taste and see,' as the poet said.

A True Story... Staid, straightlaced Wallace Stevens once walked into a meeting of the Bollingen Poetry Prize committee, of which he was a member that year, and stunned his colleagues by guffawing out: "You know why they're called nuns? Because they ain't ever had none, and they ain't ever going to get none!"

LMAO

So the novice young nun escapes the convent, goes into town, walks into the liquor store and nonchalantly asks for a fifth. The counter clerk, somewhat taken aback, recovers himself and asks, "Uh...er...Sister, are you sure the Mother Superior will approve?" The nun leans close and whispers confidentially, "Actually, it IS for the Mother Superior. For her constipation, you understand." Clerk: "OH! Sorry! Say no more. Here you go." Couple hours later, at closing time, he locks up the shop, starts to walk down the street -- and right around the corner spies the young Sister sitting on the sidewalk, propped up against a doorstep, clutching the empty bottle and completely blotto. Shocked clerk: "SISTER! Look at you! And you said that was for the Mother Superior's constipation!" Very sloshed Sister: "But it is. When she sees me like this, she's gonna shit!"

Hold onto your eyeballs.

GROAN "Putting the Hoss before the Cartright." -- Red Skelton P.S. Of course that should be "Putting the Cartwright before the Hoss." Fruits of posting while asleep.

My ex for instance. He was one time at a friend's house taking a poop. It turned out to be a big one, he decided he'd better flush mid-go to guard against clogging the antiquated toilet -- and the water unexpectedly rose to engulf more than the tip of HIS dangling snake! He came home and told me the story in the most disgusted tone I'd ever heard him use. It had me laughing the rest of the day. (This still being the good first half of our relationship, that was the expected & acceptable reaction.)

If anybody actually believes and accepts that, he is indulging what Arthur C. Clarke identified in his Profiles of the Future as either a failure of imagination, or a failure of nerve. Grow a pair, construct the reality you want, and move in.

E.g., Great-to-Swell!

And all those couplers!

Not for nothing is it called "laying pipe."

So nobody willing to touch the obvious crack that the instrument should be the organ? ...come up and see my pedalboard...

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