I'm going to start a debate. Then I want you to tell me, why I'm wrong and then let's go back and forth for... Options

[The Balls]

10 pages thinking we can change each other's position.....


GO!!!!!!

[JodyThePig]

GO!!!!!!

WRONG, JACKASS!!!!!!

[JodyThePig]

Okay, that wasn't helpful in the trying-to-change-your-mind sense, so I'd like to change that "WRONG, JACKASS!!!!" to "DON'T YOU KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT INERTIA, JACKASS??@!??@?!"

[benhamean]

[RJC]

But first, a word from our sponsor:

Friends, do you suffer from severe back pain? Migranes? Dizziness? Heartburn?

If you answered YES to any of these questions, then go the fuck home. It's Friday and you don't need to be at work.

Now back to our regularly scheduled thread!

[Colt45]

Okay, that wasn't helpful in the trying-to-change-your-mind sense, so I'd like to change that "WRONG, JACKASS!!!!" to "DON'T YOU KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT INERTIA, JACKASS??@!??@?!"

still is still moving to me--- Willie Nelson

[tarawhite]

Hipster douchebags wearing ironic white belts is necessary for the survival of the Boston music scene.

[mhaverty]

How is Mad Science Studio's doing?

[The Balls]

How is Mad Science Studio's doing?

Like a car crash in my dreams!!!!

[Jack]

Hipster douchebags wearing ironic white belts is necessary for the survival of the Boston music scene.

They aren't douchebags, they're the reason we play live music. Someone besides musicians has to come to shows and buy expensive beer. If they think it's cool to see and be seen, so much the better. We need a scene, no matter how bogus.

I'm just arguing to argue. That's the point, right?

White belts suck, actually. When did they get to be trendy?

[FrankD]

I'm hongry for a burritto so I can have a brownload to drop behind a bushmill

FACKT

This post has been edited by FrankD: May 16 2008, 01:20 PM

[The Balls]

Hipster douchebags wearing ironic white belts is necessary for the survival of the Boston music scene.

Hipsters are exactly what's runing the music scene!!

[The Balls]

I'm hongry for a burritto so I can have a brownload to drop behind a bushmill

FACKT

you're not hungry you fuckin' liar

[tarawhite]

Hipsters are exactly what's runing the music scene!!

The Balls, you ignorant slut. Hipsters are the glue that holds it all together, bra. Drive off the hipsters and it will be a town of yah-dood whitehats and geriatrics.

[The Balls]

The Balls, you ignorant slut. Hipsters are the glue that holds it all together, bra. Drive off the hipsters and it will be a town of yah-dood whitehats and geriatrics.

next thing you know, hipsters will be clapping by snapping thier fingers - like a poetry jam

they suck

[FrankD]

you're not hungry you fuckin' liar

why......why, you ARE right! I *do* respect the sound man!

[dimenno]

I think "duh" should be spelled "dugh".

[The Balls]

I think "duh" should be spelled "dugh".

you don't post nearly enough

[dimenno]

http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=dugh

[dimenno]

I'm hongry for a burritto so I can have a brownload to drop behind a bushmill

FACKT

Belief in Bushmill is childish superstition

[tarawhite]

Belief in Bushmill is childish superstition

Not true. I swear by Bushmills. 400th Anniversary!

[The Nuge]

But first, a word from our sponsor:

Friends, do you suffer from severe back pain? Migranes? Dizziness? Heartburn?

If you answered YES to any of these questions, then go the fuck home. It's Friday and you don't need to be at work.

Now back to our regularly scheduled thread!

This is unfunny. You can't debate that.

[dimenno]

WHAT IS IT WITH THESE OLD PEOPLE AND BUSHMILLS AND THE EASTER HOLIDAYS, HUH?

I dread Easter, and visiting with the folks.

Who always go out of their way to annoy you.

For instance, my alcoholic uncle Adlebert, who everybody calls Al.

His politics and habits date from the Pleistocene era--before TV dinners, the atomic bomb and the widespread use of illicit drugs. Back when people referred to a fat roast turkey as "th' turk."

Sometimes I ride with him in his super-sized murder-mobile just to keep him company, but mostly to help him fetch some liquor.

Jumping juniper--those old people can drink! Arbor Day, Flag Day, Zimbabwan Independence Day--no commemoration is too trivial or obscure. To celebrate the sacred holiday of Christ the King seated on His eternal throne, Uncle Adlebert goes all out and buys a gallon of gin, a bottle of dry vermouth, a bottle of sweet vermouth, 6 lemons, a case of seltzer, a case of ginger ale, a fifth of bourbon, two gallons of vodka, two gallons of orange juice, a pint of bitters, and 5 bags of ice. And that's just for him.

Then on the drive back he forces me to listen to loudmouthed right-wing drive-time radio talk show hosts (as revenge for having to endure my ear-splitting rock and roll when I went to visit with him 10 summers ago).

Not only does he listen to brain-dead Rush Limbaugh and that tribe--he tunes into snake-handlers and banana-oil salesmen so harsh they could make your hair curl.

And because these idea-impaired demagogues rant at a pace of about 14 words a minute from his tinny car radio, that leaves plenty of time for good ole Uncle Al to pull a pint bottle of Bushmills Irish Whiskey out of the glove compartment of his 300 horsepower land yacht and snap at that bottle without spilling so much as a one precious precious drop or missing even one word of ole Rush condemning uppity welfare recipients or nearly mowing down more than a single Negro pedestrian.

Because he's driving down the turnpike at about 39.8 miles an hour wearing a greasy fedora that's bigger than his head, inevitably with a fishing fly in the sweatband even though he wouldn't know a pike from a flounder.

Meanwhile, he's also brushing pipe dottle off his threadbare shit-green mis-matched polyester suit while muttering ethnic slurs in some incomprehensible and only vaguely Indo-European dialect.

And no doubt yearning for the days when clean-cut sailor boys at the USO cut a rug with husky gum-snapping ribbon-haired pin-up gals to the strains of whitebread big bands with the frontman's initials on the drumset.

So I do not enjoy the festive Easter holidays very much.

Did I happen to mention that I also abominate the Paschal ham?

People with deadened palates seem to think everyone in the world enjoys 4167 milligrams of salt per adult serving. Nevertheless, inevitably, come the dawn, there it sits, flabby and quiescent, exuding a ghastly pink glow, surrounded by dreadfully mushy pineapple rings and riddled with evil cloves. And they always urge you to eat more, even though you're so dyhydrated already that you have to prise your tongue from the roof of your mouth with a cold chisel.

Can anybody explain to me why we must eat pork to celebrate the resurrection of a deceased Jewish rabbi?

Also, I hate pastel formal wear, stale chocolate bunnies as hollow as the ritual of eating them, and marshmallow peeps.

OK--I know I've gone too far now--marshmallow peeps are OK--in moderation.

[FrankD]

Belief in Bushmill is childish superstition

Ernie Bushmiller.

[tarawhite]

Ernie Bushmiller.

You're now entering the Bushmiller zone.