[Billthedrill]

Well, OK, as long as this is now whitespace I want to register a complaint. You know those plastic thingies they tack the price tags onto clothing with? You know, the little doodads with a sort of T on each end that they use a machine to tack onto the garment, that you're supposed to break off by hand if you have the grip of a gorilla on steroids and don't mind severe lacerations to the flesh? And then you find out that one end is broken off inside a seam or some sort of closed place that the laws of physics state they could never get it into in the first place but oh, no, now you're stuck with a loose plastic thingy in your garmet that you can't find but you know it's there and it's gonna tear yer flesh if you don't get it out of there or clog yer washing machine and put water all over the floor which is gonna drip down into the apartment below where there's a retired Mafia hitman who's a borderline psychotic who's ripped to the tits on meth and so he'll come up to your apartment with a supercharged battery-powered juicer and mangle very important bits of your body until you're bleeding to death into the garbage disposal which is NOT rated for that sort of thing and will screw up the resale value of yer entire building?

Yeah, those things. They piss me off.

[TheOldLady]

OMGoodness! Do you have a ping list? Every time I see you, I get a tummy ache from laughter.

[Salamander]

You can burn my house
You can cut my hair
You can make me wrestle naked
With a grizzly bear

You can poison my cat
Baby I don’t care
But if you talk in the movies
I’ll kill you right there

It’s the little things
It’s just the little things
Aw it’s the little things
It’s just the little things
Yeah it’s the little things
That drive me wild

I’m like a mad dog
I’m on a short leash
I’m on a tight rope
Hanging by a thread

I’m on some thin ice
You push me too far
Welcome to my nightmare
No more Mr. Nice Guy