Petticoat Discipline Quarterly (thanks linnifer) - If I had to imagine the worst childhood ever, it would probably involve getting dressed in petticoats by a crazy mother and forced to watch Dr. Phil in some kind of A Clockwork Orange torture chair until I learn to love myself. The former is apparently fairly common, at least enough that there is something of a web community for petticoat obsessed adult men living out the aftereffects of a bad childhood.
This site, although a bit old, is the Daily Planet of petticoat discipline, which is a concept I hope I never have to think about ever again in my entire life. It has more words on the subject than any book I’ve ever read has on any subject. Coincidentally, it also involves more creepy artwork and pictures than any book I’ve ever read. Creepy images such as thus:
It’s still better than Penny Arcade I guess.
The singer dove off the stage and crowd surfed in a sort of reverse funeral procession where the person being carried is the only one truly alive. Touching him I felt religious ecstasy and started speaking in tongues and requesting songs that didn't exist.
There's no easy way to put this, so I'll tell it like it is. Bouillon is died. He went missing before the weekend and yesterday I found his skeletonized remains at the bottom of the #3 soup vat during one of my swims. I thought the cream of mushroom soup had an especially nourishing taste, and a lot more clumps of fur and skin than usual.
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