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Ooh, ooh, someone PM me the list of all the suspected banees. I want to know who I can talk **** about sans repercussions.

You're still talking. Today I have made a friend.

And you're doing a fantastic job of showing it.

Y'know what works even better than a negative rep system? Not being a fucking child. Also, "Ignore."

Threads like this remind me that critical thinking is a skill that's damn near extinct. I blame the parents.

I wish I had photography skills.

Thanks to call display I narrowly averted a conversation with my utter moonbat of a grandmother.

Real men wear red robes.

In my defense, I thought you were easier.

Avatar, making white guilt profitable again. Oh, who am I kidding, it's always profitable. Haven't seen it, not sure I care to at this point. At least not in theaters. Hurt Locker should win best picture, Waltz for best supporting, and I can't load the page for some reason to see the rest...

OK, the mirror photos are lousy and I admit that my room is a sty, but I tried, so deal with it. Also, more shades, because I am still a whore.

The game I'm currently playing, Borderlands, has a BBW spank mag called "Heavy Fire." Awesome.

I shaved! Somewhat! And I still love these shades! Exclamation mark!

I sympathize. I don't make friends all that easily, either, and have tried, with varying levels of success, different support groups and the like. Usually come to the same conclusion; people are in support groups because they're incredibly shitty in many ways. ... I haven't helped at all, have I?

Your mother's so fat, she's her own alibi. Catchy.

... Not get cancer? Shitty friends *aren't* friends. Don't settle for that. It's good that you've tried to meet some new people, but if they're by and large dipfucks, why stick around? Find new people and start again. What was the group's focus, anyway?

As someone who does most of his thinking, say 90 percent, with his dick, I at least make the effort to use my brain for the initial contact. World of difference between "I will **** you until your soul needs a cigarette" vs. "Welcome to Dims! Here's a cupcake."

I confess that in some ways I regret moving back to St. Catharines, for as shitty as my job and situation was back in BC I at least had a steady paycheck.

For a second I read that as "Pat Robertson" and was overcome with something approaching sheer ecstasy.

I confess that I absolutely adore PZ Myers and Pharyngula. Today's post on a batshit fuckhat "alternative medicine" purveyor contains what is quite possibly my favorite line ever: "Of course, he is a homeopath. Maybe to him, a twitter award is like an infinitely diluted Nobel Prize, and is...