cerebral smallsy
Well-Known Member
Alright, I’ll play along. I’ll have to admit I briefly considered refusing my nomination, but came to my senses when realizing the ramifications of denying such an honour. (insert rolleyes emoticon here). That being said, here goes…
1. Small talk.
(n : light informal conversation for social occasions [syn: chitchat,gab, gabfest, gossip, tittle-tattle, chin-wag, chin-wagging, causerie]
Chin wagging indeed.
Picture yourself in an elevator. Keeping to yourself, staring at the floors ticking by whenst the chap next to you throws the old, “So, how about that nasty weather we’re having?” atcha. The horror. I’m the first to admit that I’m no social butterfly, but fcuk me. A simple “How’s it goin’?” would suffice. Do me a favour, keep staring straight ahead, shut the fcuk up and in Depeche Modian fashion, enjoy the silence.
Silently into the Closet with you.
2. Edited for TV Movies.
TBS, the so-called “Superstation” and its’ butchery of such cinematic classics as ‘Fast Times at Ridgemont High’ and ‘The Breakfast Club’. Friggin psychos should take off and stick the shoddy editing up their behinds. Gratuituous profanity is fcukin therapeutic.
Into the Closet. Cnuts.
3. Three putts.
Actual, physical proof that there is no God. Many o’ putter have met there demise as a result of His most cruelest of lessons. My golfing buddies no full well that they had best take cover and simply stay out of my way en route the next tee box following such a debacle. Don’t talk to me. Someone like Keeper would probably ask me about the weather.
For non-golfers who don’t know what I’m on about, frigg off.
To the Closet alongside my two way Northwestern putter.
4. Lite Beer
I’m sure little or no elaboration is required here. I fail to grasp the point of this abomination. It is akin to ordering a Diet Coke with a Big Mac, six pack of McNuggets and super size fries. If something is worth doing, it is worth doing well. Drink real beer and get drunk. That is the entire point. Frankly, it’s un-Canadian to drink lite beer.
Off to the Closet eh.
5. Darts
Can’t even be considered a sport really. Comparable in athletic prowess to World Championship Poker. Obviously an outlet for the less fortunate, (like referees and Surrey United strikers) who lack the athletisism to be competetive in real sports. I’m all for an excuse to drink beer and eat nachos, but please remove any inkling that this activity is a sport. It’s on par with pull-tabs.
Closet for you.
There you have it. My head hurts from thinking.
1. Small talk.
(n : light informal conversation for social occasions [syn: chitchat,gab, gabfest, gossip, tittle-tattle, chin-wag, chin-wagging, causerie]
Chin wagging indeed.
Picture yourself in an elevator. Keeping to yourself, staring at the floors ticking by whenst the chap next to you throws the old, “So, how about that nasty weather we’re having?” atcha. The horror. I’m the first to admit that I’m no social butterfly, but fcuk me. A simple “How’s it goin’?” would suffice. Do me a favour, keep staring straight ahead, shut the fcuk up and in Depeche Modian fashion, enjoy the silence.
Silently into the Closet with you.
2. Edited for TV Movies.
TBS, the so-called “Superstation” and its’ butchery of such cinematic classics as ‘Fast Times at Ridgemont High’ and ‘The Breakfast Club’. Friggin psychos should take off and stick the shoddy editing up their behinds. Gratuituous profanity is fcukin therapeutic.
Into the Closet. Cnuts.
3. Three putts.
Actual, physical proof that there is no God. Many o’ putter have met there demise as a result of His most cruelest of lessons. My golfing buddies no full well that they had best take cover and simply stay out of my way en route the next tee box following such a debacle. Don’t talk to me. Someone like Keeper would probably ask me about the weather.
For non-golfers who don’t know what I’m on about, frigg off.
To the Closet alongside my two way Northwestern putter.
4. Lite Beer
I’m sure little or no elaboration is required here. I fail to grasp the point of this abomination. It is akin to ordering a Diet Coke with a Big Mac, six pack of McNuggets and super size fries. If something is worth doing, it is worth doing well. Drink real beer and get drunk. That is the entire point. Frankly, it’s un-Canadian to drink lite beer.
Off to the Closet eh.
5. Darts
Can’t even be considered a sport really. Comparable in athletic prowess to World Championship Poker. Obviously an outlet for the less fortunate, (like referees and Surrey United strikers) who lack the athletisism to be competetive in real sports. I’m all for an excuse to drink beer and eat nachos, but please remove any inkling that this activity is a sport. It’s on par with pull-tabs.
Closet for you.
There you have it. My head hurts from thinking.