sweasel.com

Dogdammet, if that drone is not careful, he will share the fate of the woodpecker.

… And any talk about them Neendurtuls is fightin’ words.
This is Troglodyte country in upper mesopleistocene. Keep it up weasel lady and we’ll put your furtube on a shoulder cape where it belongs.

In my defense, I’m only friends with Stoaty Weasel because I don’t know who you really are. For all I know you could be an old high school classmate, a cousin, sister-in-law, whatever. Better to be safe than sorry, I allus say!

I’m at the itchy part of my post-op countdown, and it’s driving me mad with itchiness. Twin incisions this time has doubled my pleasure, doubled my fun.

Or not. Scritch, scritch, scritch…

Cute at the end the way one of them drags the other reluctant one over the edge.

Interesting that Mommy knows how many there are, and when one is missing.

That was Mrs. Skridlow what did the tagging . . .

Nina, what will be your post-op name, please?
Bartholomew has a nice ring to it, Olaf or Dag will be catchy in Norge, and Tim the Enchanter is already taken.

Yeah, I thought it was cool the way Mom came back and grabbed the reluctant child.

@Nina. Anti-itch cortisone cream helps with the itching at your stitching.

Nothin’ against the kids I went to school with together, but I don’t care to have random people from my past “liking” the fact that I just got blackout drunk & smashed my fact into a fencepole. & honestly, what the hell else would I post on the ol’ facebuck anyway? Inspiring mottos written by kiddie-fiddlers? Meh.

Comment from QuasiModo
Time: June 8, 2015, 10:15 pm

Cute at the end the way one of them drags the other reluctant one over the edge.
*
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It happened so fast it looked like a Bugs Bunny cartoon!

I found it. Shriveled weaselfurters on a robe.

Looking back on the picture above, the mustelid scoundrels look like brontosaurae; hard to believe there are just 7 cervical vertebrae. The neck is so long because the beast would trip carrying away a bunny to a discrete shady place to gratify itself further.

Yup, that’s the noise. That chittering. It’s weasel cursing.

I know, I had a weasel cuss me out once.

PS: Neanderthal? Og no like FB. Og smart.

PS: What is that running weasel at page top? A roll-over that switches between a static image and an animated gif?

Trivial, I know.

Heh. That thing is ancient, mojo. Though I’ll admit many people miss it — it only works inside a post, on the comment pages.

I’d love to do more of that sort of thing but a) WordPress software hates Flash (as do all tablets) and b) I lost my Flash animation tools when I left my day job, seven years ago.

Yeah, it’s that old.

I noticed because I usually hit a pagetop banner to go back to the home page. Yours is one of few exceptions.

Is it just me or does the warbling noise of the momma sound like the roller mines from Half Life 2?

Yes, one of the things it won’t let me do is make a Flash animation into a link. To get around that, I made the image in the top left corner — the darkest England one — into a front page link.

The warbling roller mines. I have to play HL2 through again.

How stupid can you be to not notice a WhizzleWink on every 5th leap.
Dame Stoat’s tenuous grasp of lower math being what it is, we cannot hope for Morse code message of, say, Vodak Lemon, Brandy Alexander or Bunny Aorta.

I love this video. A drone, was it? So the kids are following mom, a big buzzing thing comes along. The kids are all like “Wow! What’s THAT?”, but moms is more “What the… MOVE IT, NOW!HUP! HUP! HUP! 1,2,3,4,5…”.

BTW, Weas: when DID you admit to being a girl?

” old Stoaty has his nose to the grapevine and his ear to the wall.” – Oct. 2006

(might want to look to your xmlrpc too. Don’t want to say too much in the open. Yeah, I’m nosy, it’s a habit. I poke at things. Update available?)

After the Ace o’ Spades get together in Boston. 2007.

(What’n the heck is an xmlrpc?).

Click

Oh, shit. I guess I’d better update. I always put it off because it blows out my custom emoticons and I have to replace them.

Life’s a bitch, and then you die.