don't quote me boy, 'cause i ain't said shit

[jebreject]

NEW QUOTES THREAD 'CAUSE FUCK THAT OLD ONE

This cracked me up:

I have never assassinated a character. Characters are what make the world go 'round. Without the willfully eccentric, this damn planet would never see another sunrise or sunset.

You know, it's hard to trust you when you're constantly cocking that eyebrow...

way to be phallocentric!!

[Greg Nog]

The enjoyment of drinking Faxe Kondi lies not in the drink itself, but in the fact that you are drinking it.

Faxe Kondi: The soda of Fluxus.

This actually really made me want to start drinking Faxe Kondi.  Someone alert the Mad Men!

[Babar]

wow great! i think i'd make a great mad man. i'd have to start smoking though

[Greg Nog]

I lost a bunch of my showtunes during that wine-on-the-keyboard incident

[coldforge]

You're Icelandic, I shouldn't have to tell you this.

[alex]

Both of these struck me as immensely quotable:

Obviously, the solution is to raise CEO pay so they can attract more competent management.

You, my friend, are just one PhD away from a John Bates Clark Medal.

[El_Josharino]

One of them responded, "I could tell you like women, but I did think you might be trans." I was so caught up in the self-revealing that I didn't stop to ask for clarification, and now I keep wondering exactly how she meant it.

Uh, that your penis was created in a Swedish operating room when you were 25? I don't know how else that statement could be interpreted.

Nicely done, Tiskis.

[jebreject]

Thermofusion is ON FIRE today!

Except from A Lucid Terror Upon The Folk: The Collected Letters of Ryan [Redacted]
Little, Brown
New York October 2019

God only knows what cold, shivering hour lay upon the land by the time I flung open the creaky hatch of my 1986 Passat. A sharp bite in the arctic air suggested the witching hour had long since come and gone; a sinister fog enveloping the valley in its stead. I stared down at my hostage as he lay crumpled and unconscious on the filthy carpet inside the car. I stared through the fog, but I may as well have been staring through the veil of my own insanity.

My boots pivoting on the gritty gravel, I trudged for the toolshed and in sixty-seconds' time returned with a Sears Dandux Mark II wheelbarrow rolling clumsily before me, its ancient tire nearly flat and its hand grips wizened with the trespasses of many a gardening season thence removed. I faltered as I made my return to the Volkswagen, a brief light of sanity struggling to flicker to life deep within the inky labyrinth of my own tormented brain. But my hands only squeezed the wheelbarrow grips tighter and all I had to do was narrow my eyes and grit my teeth to blow out the final pilot flame of dormant reason contained therein.

Devin was still unconscious, the demonic cocktail of flunitrazepam and ether no doubt still coursing through his slumbering body, despite our three hours' removal from the city.

A sinister breeze blew off the Hudson and swept across my neck and I shivered as I placed his body in the wheelbarrow, surprised at the strength I managed to conjure from my narrow, anemic, pasta-cooked-al-dente arms. His black frames slipped down his nose and tumbled to the gravel like a maladroit virgin skier. I crushed them under the wheel of the Sears Dandux Mark II as I cut a broad circle around the Passat and wheeled my abductee up the long, winding path to the abandoned mansion.

It was nearly forty-five minutes later when he came to, his black tangle of hair caked with the hardened detritus of a feverish prostrate sweat. I stared at him curiously as he stumbled to something resembling consciousness and I lifted the glass to my parched lips and tasted the sweet syrup of Port on my tongue. Slouching casually in the high-backed antique chair, I smirked as I held my glass and stared unfeelingly at Devin, his knuckles pressing themselves to the thick Persian rug as he stuggled to push himself to his feet.

The perpetual glow of the fireplace alternated flashes of orange and red upon his confused face and my smirk widened into a sneer as I watched him blindly feel his face for his absent glasses.

I cleared my throat.

"You may have wondered why I've brought you here," I say, amused at my villainous candor even as I spake it.

Devin pushed himself to his feet and whirled to face me in surprise. His eyes were pink with bloodshot and his mouth open, his lower lip blue and dangling loosely like a cheap suitcase left unzipped, drool spilling to the floor like such neatly-pressed laundry tumbling from therein. "W-who--who are you?" He finally managed, even as he tripped backwards upon his own gamey foot to land squarely on his rump. I narrowed my eyes in rage.

"You don't remember me, Devin?" I snarled, savoring the final syllable of his name like so much steak in my teeth. "You don't remember the BLOOD OATH?"

I lurched out of my chair and sent my wine glass crashing to the fireplace. The flame roared and the massive den of the mansion was cast in a sinister crimson as I moved toward him slowly. He cowered and shielded his face as I approached.

"YOU DON'T REMEMBER THIS?!" I screamed, producing from my pocket a crumpled, many-times-folded document. I nearly ripped it as I forced it open.

Dropping clumsily to my sore knees like a pile of frost-bitten apples falling to the sawdusted floor of a rural Appalachian general store, I grabbed Devin by the collar with my free hand and pulled his glazed stare to within inches of my own eyes as I waved the thick parchment wildly through the red-colored air like a married man desperate hailing a cab outside a seedy pornographic theater even as I mentally noted that some similes, while seemingly clever upon conception, fail to materialize properly when placed into the rigid constraint of word. "You signed this...in your own BLOOD."

He shuddered and the night sky was suddenly pierced with sharp thunder, odd for mid-December upstate New York but certainly welcome for it punctuated my words with an adequate amount of otherworldly evil. I struggled not to smile, as in that moment I realized that I loved what I had become.

I was a monster, and Devin Davis was responsible.

I grabbed him by the throat and turned his head to face the document. "Do you not recognize your signature? DO YOU NOT REMEMBER?"

His teeth chattered as he opened his mouth wider but only a weak groan could escape his drug-burdened throat. I smacked him across the face.

"N-no!" He finally gasped, coughing weakly and wheezing for air.

"Then allow me to read it to you," I said tersely. I loosened my grip on his throat and turned the document to face my unfeeling gaze. I relaxed my throat and began to read aloud:

"I, Devin Davis, being of sound mind and body, do solemnly assure, declare and swear that I will maintain regular communication about the status of my musical endeavours--be they those endeavours directly related to my own musical career or those tangential endeavours embarked upon out of mutual esteem toward my musician companions--and to do so in a manner that is both timely and frequent--all in order to assure Ryan [redacted] of my deeply personal commitment to my obligations and duties to him as both artist and raconteur and, as such, any failure to update my Myspace account in regular* fashion will constitute a failure to fulfill my obligation to him and will warrant my official repudiation of his affections. By failing these terms I render myself dead to rights and subject to whatever punishment, sanctions or disciplining deemed necessary by Ryan [redacted]. I agree to all terms contained within this opening letter and those contained within the seventy-two Index Of Personal Artistic Obligation Clarification And Sundry Relevant Errata contained in this package and any terms not explicitly outlined within said index.

Hence signed and stamped in my own blood, Devin Nathaniel Luis Davis, 28 Oct 2006.

*definition of "regular" to be subjectively and arbitrarily assigned by Ryan [redacted] with all flexibility awarded to its temporal denotation to be redefined at any juncture at his whim."

The light in his eyes remained dim, and I knew he recognized not even his own words, nor his own signature or his own caked blood stamped violently into the bottom right corner of the wrinkled document.

As I withdrew the pistol from my top coat, his lips sputtered weakly.

"You're....you're a lunatic...a-a...a raving lunatic..."

I sneered.

"You made me this."

FIN

[Thermofusion]

Let the record show that's Thermofusion: 2, Greg Nog: 359

[coldforge]

I only read the LPTJ fanfics if my name is in them. Plus points if they don't just feature me and Greg Nog analingusing each other.  

[YojimboMonkey]

Goddammit this movie is giving me tourettes

FUCK and CUNT at Tanagra, when the SHIT fell

Don't get a big head about it though, you're still a bitch

[coldforge]

It's 'Jujutsu', actually.

You idiot.

There would be a witty and cutting rejoinder here, if only it were permitted by my NDA.  Rest assured, your assertion is incorrect, and possibly a bit naive.

Holy shit, I did lol

[elpollodiablo]

I actually didn't get that until it was taken out of context

[FreddyKnuckles]

yeah me neither.  good show.

[Almanzo]

This is from another board I'm on, but I've been giggling about it for a few days:

But just for giggles, what do you think of the "Smell Yo' Dick" video
I posted above? I bet you're far less put off both by it and the type
of behavior it illustrates (and the effect that this kind of thing has
on society in general) than would be most conservatives, and I would
suggest that it is precisely that liberal acceptance of (and ingrained
lack of disdain for) this kind of behavior that makes liberalism
responsible for the downward spiral of the quality of life in this
country over the last fifty years.

[Maaik]

I should hate that song, but I think the song's outlandishness deflects it.  Still--there's a video online of some guy playing it on a ukulele and singing it with some woman backstage somewhere--I think that's like a million times better than the original.

[mountmccabe]

If you are keeping score I'm scoring it as one assist for Josharino, one goal and one assist for d_p and one goal for Mike24.

I'm not going to. But if I did, I could do what that guy did, and then have it lead to like a maze that covers my entire stomach and wraps around to my back a little bit, and then the maze would probably end where my cock starts.

I'm sorry, I'm not sure I understand why you would want to add obstacles to your dick.

it's called foreplay, sucka.

[diesel_powered]

My room mate has a cat that shits everywhere but the litter box,


but

she also bakes cookes, spaghetti, and brownies on the regular.

what the fuck kind of cat

She ate a bag of weed

no wonder she wants to bake so much

WIN.

[kyle]

I'm not saying it was all that great but I dunno that a bunch of sex would've made it any better.

[dieblucasdie]

I am probably among the world's elite Machines of Loving Grace scholars

[davy]

 

[coldforge]

Animal Collective's for closers only, Babar

[citrus]

i don't get it.

[Thermofusion]

It's a poorly incorporated Glengarry Glen Ross reference

[ellaguru]

First prize is a signed Merriweather Post Pavilion, second prize is a set of steak knives, third prize is you're fired.