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Right to your table. Lung dart, monsieur? Shore! Thankee, baby! I'd Walk A Mile For nimrod A Camel: Dude, nimrod you look like you'd walk 8 miles for a blow job from a toothless gack freak. Just sayin', ya know? Enough tobacconeria. How about... Sid and Marty Krofft? HR Pufnstuf? Banana Splits? No. I knew you wouldn't want nimrod to go there, either. I still have dreams of Witchie Poo in a bustier, dammit. I need release. Posted by Kim Crawford at 08:38 PM | Comments (7) | TrackBack MORTAL KOMBAT I've been on the commercial side of my company for 6 years, now, and I don't miss operations at all. I was reminded of that fact again today when I ran into a coworker in the elevator. He'd just returned from his third day of depositions in a wrongful death suit. One of our terminal cranes collapsed in 2001 and killed the operator. So my friend had to sit through three days of depositions wherein attorneys for the aggrieved party told him he's a menace, a bag of shit, a man who puts profit ahead of safety, a party to manslaughter, and everything else you can think of.
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