Graham? Is that you?

No. I was looking for my car keys.

Plant an apple tree. It's pretty and good for the environment.

i suggest candling.

The smell, we need the smell.

It smelled uh, linty.

Plant an apple tree. It's pretty and good for the environment.

I hang out with the wrong pot-heads, apparently.

Y LORRIES ALONG SIR JOHN ROGERSON'S QUAY MR BLOOM WALKED soberly, past Windmill lane, Leask's the linseed crusher's, the postal telegraph office. Could have given that address too. And past the sailors' home. He turned from the morning noises of the quayside and walked through Lime street. By Brady's cottages a boy for the skins lolled, his bucket of offal linked, smoking a chewed fagbutt. A smaller girl with scars of eczema on her forehead eyed him, listlessly holding her battered caskhoop. Tell him if he smokes he won't grow. O let him! His life isn't such a bed of roses! Waiting outside pubs to bring da home. Come home to ma, da. Slack hour: won't be many there. He crossed Townsend street, passed the frowning face of Bethel. El, yes: house of: Aleph, Beth. And past Nichols' the undertaker's. At eleven it is. Time enough. Daresay Corny Kelleher bagged that job for O'Neill's. Singing with his eyes shut. Corney. Met her once in the park. In the dark. What a lark. Police tout. Her name and address she then told with my tooraloom tooraloom tay. O, surely he bagged it. Bury him cheap in a whatyoumaycall. With my tooraloom, tooraloom, tooraloom, tooraloom.

"a lot of kakhis in this room
cargo pant boxers in brief
tank top cardigans
supermodel born agains
but the perma soft has no relief
from
WEARING YOUR DEAD DAD'S CLOTHES--"
--to the tune of your total metal attitude

Lint is merely the remnants of what once was. Dreams, goals, ambitions. All were once mighty balls of cotton, spun threads of dacron and lycra. But then along came trondant and dashed those dreams, those goals, those ambitions. Forever lost to the memories of time, the tiny shreds of what once was, what could have been, what was now merely lint found refuge in the buttoned belly and waited for a second chance. Let us all raise a toast to the lint in trondant's navel and remember a better time. We who are salute you who were.

*still under the spell of bubees*

hey, do people who have outies get lint too?

i'm still not sure how you get lint
i'll take a survey while i'm out

*still under the spell of bubees*

bubees is a very powerful spell.

Is there navel-plastic surgery? After my last laprascopi (where they shove a camera in your navel, blow up your belly and have a look around) they closed my navel in a really effed up way. I totally despise this one, it looks awful and for the first time ever, collects dirt. Navel #1 (the one I got when I was born) was great, navel 2# was a-ok, this one = ugly. I wanna get a new navel. Where can I buy one?

You can have mine, but the bottom of it is halfway to China.

Pocket-lint and other fibrous fluff is an excellent primary kindling for spark or friction fire making. Using belly-button lint is inadvisable, unless you're the sort that also thinks that peeing on the campfire is funny.

However, balls of dryer-lint dipped in wax or paraffin and allowed to cool make insanely good fire-starters for those sorts of fires you start with matches.

Okay, this is as good a place as any. Someone sent me this picture earlier and I must know (seriously) what is wrong with this guy?

well he's obviously a mefite who's been driven to heinous acts of impropriety due to some users off hand advice

stop picking on quonsar

Holy shit. Baseball bat across the face?

let's not pick on someone mental scabs, shall we?