Yoga & Hellion the Stress Addict

My doctor yelled at me again. Okay, she didn't actually raise her voice. She smiled kindly as she said, "Your blood pressure is a concern." You're telling me. Please don't tell me to stop eating salt, please don't tell me to stop eating salt.

So I need to work on not eating as much salt. And eating more fruits and veggies. And losing more weight. And walking more every day. And not stressing about every little thing every five seconds. Gah.

After leaving the doc's office, rather depressed that I'm about two more doctor's visits away from being taken out back and being shot for my crappy processed-foods lifestyle and genetics (both sides of the family) like some nag that's outlived her purpose, I went to the library and contemplated skipping the gym. But thought after having written on my form I went to the gym three times a week, that I shouldn't lie so soon after committing it to paper.

Holly was there after my BodyPump class. (I did both BodyPump and Yoga--does it matter? No, I still have a crappy HBP rating. Bastards.) I was laying on my mat, enjoying the fact I hadn't collapsed and died in the last class, and she grinned: "Corpse pose already?"

"Yep." Then I mentioned the doctor thing.

"You need to stop stressing out, man."

I just looked at her.

"You're right. Look who I'm talking too. Maybe you need some Xanex. And make sure they write you a big enough prescription that I get some too."

I've heard of worse ideas. Xanex is sounding mighty tempting at the moment.

But I did yoga instead. Maybe I'll ask the doc at the next checkup. Which is in a month. Yeah, me.

Song Lyric Wednesday: Our Favorite Pet

As sung by The Limeybirds, who you should totally Google and go watch their act live if you get the chance. These girls are hysterical--and the interpretative dance is worth the price of admission alone. When I grow up, I want to be Charity.

Some folks have a pussy, a budgee or a tit,

Some folks have a puppy to fill the house with sh….

But me, I raise chickens, and I’ve a favorite one,

He’s Dick, my little cockerel, and I don’t know where he’s gone.

Has anybody seen my cock,

My big Rhode Island Red,

He’s mostly pink

With a little bit of blue

And purple round his head.

He’ll stand straight up in the morning

And gives me quite a shock *cock-a-doodle-doo*

[He’s a chicken.]

Has anybody seen,

Anybody seen,

Anybody, anybody seen my cock

He’s a plucky little fellow

And he’ll stand straight up to me!

He’ll raise his head,

Again and again,

And make me utter, “WHEEEEE”

Has anybody seen my cock,

My big Rhode Island Red,

He’s mostly pink

With a little bit of blue

And purple round his head.

He’ll stand straight up in the morning

And gives me quite a shock *cock-a-doodle-doo*

[He’s a chicken.]

Has anybody seen,

Anybody seen,

Anybody, anybody seen my cock

His two enormous waddles hang down

The best you’ll ever find,

Mister, you can stroke him if you like

If you feel that way inclined.

Has anybody seen my cock,

My big Rhode Island Red,

He’s mostly pink

With a little bit of blue

And purple round his head.

He’ll stand straight up in the morning

And gives me quite a shock *cock-a-doodle-doo*

[He’s a chicken.]

Has anybody seen,

Anybody seen,

Anybody, anybody seen my cock

But now he’s gone

And flown the coop

His life was such a strain

He was always up…

When I needed him.

Perhaps he’ll come again.

Has anybody seen my cock,

My big Rhode Island Red,

He’s mostly pink

With a little bit of blue

And purple round his head.

He’ll stand straight up in the morning

And gives me quite a shock *cock-a-doodle-doo*

[He’s a chicken.]

Poem of the Day

Hey, I was in the mood for poetry. Even if it was my poetry. I wrote this about 10 years ago (Sept 1998).

Happiness is a state of being in which one feels
characterized by good fortune and marked by pleasure….
Soft kisses, wispy as moonlight,
Then rest quietly
Against my breast as the shimmering caress
The sweet-plump curve of my hip—once, twice,
And the game is up.

I stretch and groan, my belly stretching
Into me, his morning stubble raking in a teasing nuzzle
Down the slope of my neck…and
His teeth graze
Wantonly along the rise of my breast, nipping delicately.
And he pauses there until I open my
Eyes and smile, my hands reaching to cup his face
Between my palms, one leg creeping to curve over his hip.
His smile is voracious, carnivorous even…and he
Pounces, kitten-like, his silky hair tousled across his brow
And his muscles rippling…he smells of bedsheets and nights unbridled
And moments tender-rough…and I tug at his shoulders until he collapses
Mockingly into
A heap on top of me, laughing as he rolls me
Above him, my hair teasing as it spills around
Us. His hard warm hands
Rub up my back and curve firmly over my shoulders, tilting me as he
Drawing a slow wet kiss on my midriff.
The morning light dims and the bedrooms walls fuzz at their edges,
As we melt languidly into the bedsheets…and his fingers
Begin their roguish romp, sliding down and down, and I open my eyes
To see his impish salacious smile—and I laugh joyfully,
Thinking….
Happiness is a state of being in which one feels
Characterized by good fortune and marked by pleasure.
Ah, ‘tis true, ‘tis true.

P.S. Here's your quote of the day: "If you don't think sin is fun, you haven't been committing the right sins."--Billy Graham (attributed)

Heaven, Ice Cream & Mark Twain

My sister and I were discussing church yesterday. She was trying to talk me into going to her church. I said, I'm too liberal for a church; and I look for fights. I believe what I believe. Not to get all political or religious, but if you did a checklist of the democratic party, I'd probably agree with most of it...though most of the little ticks on the democracy side is, well, considered immoral by 99% of churches. (You know, hate the sin but not the sinner, which sorta drives me crazy since I still think you're not really loving the sinner at all. You're kinda being...self-righteous and better-than-thou towards someone you think you're better than. I call it conditional love. They'd love you for real if you were sinning like a big fat sinner you are.)

Anyway, so was our discussion. And my sister says: "Well, it doesn't matter. There won't be any sex in Heaven."

This is not news to me. 18 years as a Deacon's daughter, I'm well aware of all the fun things Heaven is without. To which my sibling added: "Well, it's better to spend eternity in a pleasant climate than in a fiery hell." I asked her if she was sure, since we were going to be without sex and all. I mean, ETERNITY is a long time to go without something. That's like getting to Heaven and there's no ice cream. "But you won't be hungry," they explain patiently; and frankly I have to think: "That's really not the point of ice cream, is it?" How often do we eat ice cream because it's a health food to help along as we're hungry? Exactly.

You don't eat ice cream because you're hungry. You eat it because it tastes good.

So it's really not the point that in Heaven we won't need sex because we won't need to procreate; and we'll all be brothers and sisters (and therefore it's all sorta incestuous anyway)--and well, you think it was bad now when you're in the middle of sex and you realize, "Hey, Jesus is watching." (Hey, it's happened.) I mean, in Heaven, he's really watching. We all are.

Frankly I want to be wherever Mark Twain is. He has us nailed.

...the human being, like the immortals, natually places sexual intercourse far and away above all other joys--yet he has left it out of his heaven! The very thought of it excites him; opportunity sets him wild; in this state he will risk life, reputation, everything--even his queer heaven itself--to make good that opportunity and ride it to the overwhelming climax. From youth to middle age all men and all women prize copulation above all other pleasures combined, yet it actually as I have said: it is not in their heaven; prayer takes its place.
- Letters from the Earth

Prayer. I don't know about you, but that does not sound like a pleasant way to pass an eternity. What would we have to pray about? We're already in heaven; everyone else is in heaven--if they didn't make it, we've been told prayers won't help them at this point. So now we're left with praise prayer, which I'm not saying God's not deserving, but I think he has a bit more to do with his time than say 'Thank you' a billion times a day as we continue to praise him. I mean, that's gotta be boring after a while...and he's a humble guy, so he's only going to tolerate that so long, I would think.

Still.

Clearly I can't hope for Heaven making up for the dearth of hanky-panky I have going on down here. So I guess I'll just have to catch up so when I'm in Heaven, I don't miss it so much. I should probably go ahead and eat all the ice cream I'm going to want as well.

I don't know about you but I'm going to my local Ben & Jerry's.

6 Words or Less

I think Marnee tagged me for this. Weeks ago, but I haven't thought of anything.

Obsessed...no. Passionate. Yes, passionate.

Passionate, rebellious, and freedom-seeking pirate

There we go.

Me in 6 words.

Taglines and Costumes

At the Bandits, we were asked to pick three words that describe your "voice." I picked irreverent, droll, and chick-littish. Then I said, well, not typical chick-lit, more like "small-town, Southern chick-lit." Terri now thinks that should be my tagline; and Cassondra (at the Bandits) also thinks that is the way I should pitch my work to agents/editors. What do you all think? And those of you who've read my stuff--do you think small-town, Southern chick-lit works?

And I think I'm going to be Maid Marian (dressed as a sassy Robin Hood outfit with bows and arrows) for Halloween. I have the costume picked out; lot less material than usual; and I get weapons. Now if I can just find the right shoes!

An Ideal Man Is Like....

A good bra: supportive, uplifting, and makes us feel sexy

The perfect pair of jeans: a perfect fit where it counts, looks good dressed up or dressed down, and always highlights the best aspects of our ass

Okay, these are lame. Do you guys have any?

Which HP Kid Are You?

Quote of the Day

The entire sum of existence is the magic of being needed by just one other person. --Vi Putnam

No idea who Vi Putnam is, or if in fact, this is a person...but damn, that's a great quotation.

Movie Season Is Upon Us

I love this time of year: the morel mushrooms are all over the place (and God, they're good) and the hype for summer movies is at full throttle.

My former boss isn't intrigued by the movie selection this year, but man, I'm hyped. (Okay, not the in same sort of hyped I was last year at this time, when I was literally counting the minutes until I got to see Sweet Jack again...but there can be only one Pirates of the Caribbean. Or three, maybe four if they work out the details. Whatever.)

Speaking of sequels I'll toss my money at, Indiana Jones is coming back to the big screen. Granted it's been almost 20 years and lately, Indy has been looking a bit worse for wear, but they're bringing back Marion, too. And there might be a "secret baby" (all grown up), being that Indy's sidekick in this movie is a 21 year old guy who has some "personal business" with Indy. That is one secret baby plot I can get behind. I've been dying for Marion and Indy to have some babies, and just the THOUGHT that might be what's going on has me excited! He's still got the hat and the whip...and that devilish look about him. AND he's an archaeologist! Hello, the older you get, the more interested he is in you.

This weekend I'll be seeing Made of Honor, which Patrick Dempsey has become my favorite movie leading man. Loved him in Enchanted, and I think he'll be just as enchanting here. This weekend, What Happens In Vegas also will be out--and though I'm sure it's not going to win any awards, it still looks amusing. Campy and funny...and the same plot device we've seen in about three other Ashton Kutcher movies, but whatever. Looks amusing. Anything to distract me from my dreary life.

In June, I've picked my "Get Out of Jail BAD Movie" Movie: The Love Guru. I've already raved about this at the ship, because it features, at some point, Justin Timberlake in a speedo and sporting a pornstache. I'm so there, baby. I don't care how bad it is, it looks funny.

Of course, Adam Sandler's summer movie comes out like a week before him (maybe two), and it looks like it has some merit as well. Politically incorrect, cheap laughs, and I'm sure an ending where he saves it from being a completely themeless movie.

So it's clear I'm going to be spending a lot of my time at the movie theater this summer--which is good because I don't have AC anyway. What movies will you be seeing and what are you excited about?

Contest

No, I'm not featuring a contest. But Amazon is.

If you're a Harry Potter fan...or even an Amazon.com fan, this is the contest for you.

Go here, and play.

No fee. Just be willing to be one of a billion entries that's filtered out...and take the chance that you might be one of the ones. I've already entered. Wish me luck...and meanwhile, I wish you luck. One of us should get the chance to go!

And if you don't win the Grand Prize, there's always the second prize. :)

It was a necessary war, they said.

We must fight for truth.

For justice. For prosperity.

And for these things, they sent my son

To die for peace.

My prayers fell on deaf ears,

My fury at the senseless death ignored.

And so my son returned to me,

A broken toy soldier in a box,

And I buried him with my heart.

The Deathman Cometh....

You know you sometimes read these little new bits in the newspaper and laugh because they can't be true. And yet they are.

This week, I read about a man who was on the way to the store to get some mushrooms for his pizza, who died when he swerved to miss hitting a deer. The clincher? He was riding a scooter.

You laugh because you think, No way, what kind of bad luck are you under to have that happen? I mean, he was wearing a helmet!

To top this, this guy was in my yoga class. A marathon runner. Tight hamstrings--only wanted to do that yoga pose where you can put your fingers under your heels and straighten your hips to the ceiling. He was a wonderful guy. For one, he never was resentful for the fact me and my two yoga-partners-in-arms were complete gigglers; and if any of us were missing, he'd ask after that person by name. He was smart, interesting, and the loving father of three sons and loving husband of a professor here at the university. He was a very valued colleague; he worked for the chief counsel of the county. He ate right, I believe; exercise faithfully; and even yoga'd to relax. What does all this get you?

Dead. From a rogue deer.

So last night I yoga'd to the best of my ability, as we lit candles for him and played his favorite CD in class; then after we went out for ice cream (though we hadn't had supper yet.) Because you never know. You might not get a chance for dessert if you do it the "right way."

So go get ice cream. Tell your friends you love them. Hug your children.

The Grim Deer stalks, baby. It stalks.

Watercooler Talk Friday

The boss is out of town today, so there were several moments in the day where my ass actually wiggled out of the office and talked to the co-workers.

First topic of discussion was very important. I sent a co-worker to go look at the movie trailer for The Love Guru. Clearly an Oscar-nomination worthy flick coming out in June--and if anyone should get the Oscar nod, it should be Justin Timberlake, who is going to be the sole reason I'm watching this flick. Plus the site had the quite memorable quote of the day: "If you're happy and you know it: think again." That's my mantra, baby, right there.

The rest of it...well I was *going* to talk about but it got too long, too heavy, and displayed way too much of my ignorance about China-US relations. Clearly though I prefer to not worry about the direction the boat (America) is headed and will just play my fiddle to the best of my ability until the damned thing hits an iceberg and sinks itself.

The question of the day boiled down to this: when it comes to November and you head to the polls are you going to be voting FOR someone? Or are you going to do what most of us will be doing, "I'm not voting to FOR someone, it's more like I'm voting AGAINST someone." None of us knew who we wanted to voted for. All the options frightened us. And frankly I'm going to think it's a miracle if Bush doesn't get us in another war before he leaves office.

Revelation Monday

I found out I'm not a pessimist.

Look.

"Philosophical pessimism is the similar but not identical idea that life has a negative value, or that this world is as bad as it could possibly be."

I do not believe the world is as bad as it could possibly be. I have the utmost faith and belief that it can and will get worse.

Happy Monday!

Old Obession Thursday

Normally I don't write on my personal blog so often, but clearly I'm procrastinating on...well, everything.

And the Daylights Savings Time has totally #(%)*#()$#* up my week.

So I was up till 1 am finishing Harry Potter & the Deathly Hallows--there is a certain point of the book where you literally can't put the book down, you have to start doing stuff one-handed and hope you don't, oh, crash your car and stuff.

So I've finished up the annual "Christmas" read of all the books, which is basically what I've done since I've started the series. Harry Potter is very...well, Christmasy in the way. Christmas is a big deal to him--so I read them at Christmas.

I read The Goblet of Fire for what, the tenth time? I honestly don't know; and in book 3, Harry acquires a map. In Goblet of Fire, a professor BORROWS this map and doesn't return it. Seriously. I realized suddenly he doesn't have his map back by the end of this book; and in book 5, when Harry is clearly holding the map once again, there is no explanation HOW this occurred?

So I'm calling out to other fans, does anyone *know* how he got the map back? Did I misread my 10th reading of book 4 and my whatever reading of book 5 and he did get it back?? Please help me. It's been driving me mad, and MuggleNet Staff won't return my emails.

New Obsession Tuesday

Yippee! The Young Riders Season 1 came in the mail last night.

This lovely show was on TV from 1989-1992. I went through a mourning period when it went off the air, being I was madly in love with The Kid (and frankly, Buck, Jimmy, and Cody.) Now granted, since nearly (dear God) 20 years have passed and my ability to suspend reality ("Are you kidding? How in the heck did they all just happen to end up there to rescue each other?") has dimmed since I've gotten so old; I find I'm not so old as not to enjoy watching them set fence posts shirtless, their tanned beautiful skin rippling under the Wyoming sun.

This was back in the days that Stephen Baldwin still looked hot; Josh Brolin was an unknown (but damn, what a cutie!); and Ty Miller was my future husband, though he didn't know it at the time.

It's still worth a watch if you get the opportunity. I realized my main attraction to The Kid (who'd I'd typically call The Beta) was because he had the best looking horse of the outfit. Obviously during my adolescence when horses mattered as much (if not more) than men.

If you don't mind your historical not very accurate (and hey if you watch any Hollywood historical, you do); your plots as holey as Swiss cheese; and your men young, ripped, and earnest--this is your TV series.

Anyone else used to watch this show? I could have been the only one.

Talladega Nights Friday

I was in the mood for some movies quotes...and Will was just speaking to me.

Ricky Bobby: Here's the deal I'm the best there is. Plain and simple. I wake up in the morning and I piss excellence.

Cal Naughton, Jr.: I like to think of Jesus as a mischievous badger.

Cal Naughton, Jr.: I like to picture Jesus as a figure skater. He wears like a white outfit, and He does interpretive ice dances of my life's journey.

Cal Naughton, Jr.: I like to think of Jesus like with giant eagles wings, and singin' lead vocals for Lynyrd Skynyrd with like an angel band and I'm in the front row and I'm hammered drunk!

Susan: It's because it's what you love, Ricky. It is who you were born to be. And here you sit, thinking. Well, Ricky Bobby is not a thinker. Ricky Bobby is a driver. He is a doer. And that's what you need to do. You don't need to think. You need to drive. You need speed. You need to go out there, and you need to rev your engine. You need to fire it up. You need to grab ahold of that line between speed and chaos, and you need to wrestle it to the ground like a demon cobra! And then, when the fear rises up in your belly, you use it. And you know that fear is powerful, because it has been there for billions of years. And it is good. And you use it. And you ride it; you ride it like a skeleton horse through the gates of hell, and then you win, Ricky. You WIN! And you don't win for anybody else. You win for you, you know why? Because a man takes what he wants. He takes it all. And you're a man, aren't you? Aren't you?
Ricky Bobby: [pauses] Susan, I've never heard you talk like that... Are we about to get it on? Because I'm as hard as a diamond in an ice storm right now.

Ricky Bobby: [television commercial] Hi, I'm Ricky Bobby. If you don't chew Big Red, then f-*bleep* you.

Chip: [to Ricky Bobby] Are you just going to let your sons talk to their grandfather like this?
Ricky Bobby: Hell yes I am! They are winners! That is how winners talk!
Carley Bobby: If we wanted two wussies, we would have named them Dr. Quinn and Medicine Woman!

Lucy Bobby: So how was your day driving with you father?
Ricky Bobby: Well let's see. I got mauled by a cougar, my Crystal Gayle shirt is ruined, and I didn't learn dick about driving. Other than that, it was great.

Ricky Bobby: [running around on the track in his underwear] Help me Jesus! Help me Jewish God! Help me Allah! AAAAAHHH! Help me Tom Cruise! Tom Cruise, use your witchcraft on me to get the fire off me!

Cal Naughton, Jr.: Please don't let the invisible fire burn my friend!

The Written Word

I'm not a very good journal-keeper. I like to collect them, mind. I have a stack of 70-sheet notebooks, a number of leather-and/or-cloth-bound journals, and post-its to myself everywhere in my room, in my purse, in my car. But I'm loathe to commit anything personal down, anything really personal.

Now mind you, I have a desire for immortality, and what is more immortal than the written word? Would we know a guy named Shakespeare if he hadn't written down those eternal words: To be or not to be, that is the question. Maybe, but maybe not.

The written word is viable. Imperative. We wouldn't have know the Golden Rule if someone hadn't taken the time to write it on papyrus. But I hate committing my little treasure-trove of Hellionisms to journal entries. Well, perhaps I don't mind the outrageous ones. But I do mind writing down the stuff that journals are actually made for. The vulnerabilities. The "I hate Jane Smith, that two-time, double-crossing snake that stole my boyfriend!" or "My boyfriend Tom kisses like an eel." Or my personal favorite Hellionism: if I had an opportunity to run over Chris Roberts, I would. Then I'd back up and hit him again. Rat bastard.

There are lots of things people remember about me that I don't remember at all. Seriously embarrassing little anecdotes that I would have been content never remembering at all until they showed up at Happy Hour and decided to share that tidbit with all my new friends. Perhaps it would be easier if I'd quit just doing embarrassing things, then nobody would bother to remember them at all. But that's not likely to happen.

Anyway--I have all these leather journals that no one would ever see and I won't even commit my own follies for my own eyes (I figure I'll have enough of Hellion This Is Your Life come Judgment Day, you know?)--and yet some people use their blogger to post their real vulnerabilities out there for all web-eternity. (I don't mean the pre-teen who's despairing about That's So Raven being canceled. I mean: My husband is a cheating scumbag and his new girlfriend, my former best friend Jessica, is a cheating whore type blogs. Or work woes blogged, using real names of bosses and co-workers.) Doesn't that seem dangerous to you all?

I don't know if it's stoic-father or what, but isn't there something dangerous about expressing every single emotion that filters through us before we've had a chance to digest it and figure it out? I don't know. It just makes me think of Tom Riddle's diary from Harry Potter. Little Ginny Weasley poured all her feelings into it, and it talked back to her, justified her feelings, soothed and petted her--and in the end, it turned out really badly.

What do you think? Yea or nay? Does it matter this is a wide-world forum? I mean, technically, now many people are likely to read your inner-most thoughts, right?

For Irish: Blasphemous Wednesday

Since Irish reminded me of it, I'm going to post some of my favorite quotations from The Life of Brian. Don't worry. You won't go to hell for laughing. Unlike some of His creations, God has a sense of humor. You should see the dates He sends me out with. Seriously.

Coordinator: Crucifixion?
Prisoner: Yes.
Coordinator: Good. Out of the door, line on the left, one cross each.
[Next prisoner]
Coordinator: Crucifixion?
Mr. Cheeky: Er, no, freedom actually.
Coordinator: What?
Mr. Cheeky: Yeah, they said I hadn't done anything and I could go and live on an island somewhere.
Coordinator: Oh I say, that's very nice. Well, off you go then.
Mr. Cheeky: No, I'm just pulling your leg, it's crucifixion really.
Coordinator: [laughing] Oh yes, very good. Well...
Mr. Cheeky: Yes I know, out of the door, one cross each, line on the left.


Suicide Squad Leader: We are the Judean People's Front crack suicide squad! Suicide squad, attack!
[they all stab themselves]
Suicide Squad Leader: That showed 'em, huh?


Reg: [arriving at Brian's crucifixion] Hello, Sibling Brian.
Brian: Thank God you've come, Reg.
Reg: Well, I think I should point out first, Brian, in all fairness, we are not, in fact, the rescue committee. However, I have been asked to read the following prepare statement on behalf of the movement. "We the People's Front of Judea, brackets, officials, end brackets, do hereby convey our sincere fraternal and sisterly greetings to you, Brian, on this, the occasion of your martyrdom. "
Brian: What?
Reg: "Your death will stand as a landmark in the continuing struggle to liberate the parent land from the hands of the Roman imperialist aggressors, excluding those concerned with drainage, medicine, roads, housing, education, viniculture and any other Romans contributing to the welfare of Jews of both sexes and hermaphrodites. Signed, on behalf of the P. F. J. , etc. " And I'd just like to add, on a personal note, my own admiration, for what you're doing for us, Brian, on what must be, after all, for you a very difficult time.

(This is my *favorite* scene)

Matthias: Look, I don't think it should be a sin, just for saying "Jehovah".
[Everyone gasps]
Jewish Official: You're only making it worse for yourself!
Matthias: Making it worse? How can it be worse? Jehovah! Jehovah! Jehovah!
Jewish Official: I'm warning you! If you say "Jehovah" one more time (gets hit with rock) RIGHT! Who did that? Come on, who did it?
Stoners: She did! She did! (suddenly speaking as men) He! He did! He!
Jewish Official: Was it you?
Stoner: Yes.
Jewish Official: Right...
Stoner: Well you did say "Jehovah. "
[Crowd throws rocks at the stoner]
Jewish Official: STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT RIGHT NOW! STOP IT! All right, no one is to stone _anyone_ until I blow this whistle. Even... and I want to make this absolutely clear... even if they do say, "Jehovah. "
[Crowd stones the Jewish Official to death]


Judith: [on Stan's desire to be a mother] Here! I've got an idea: Suppose you agree that he can't actually have babies, not having a womb - which is nobody's fault, not even the Romans' - but that he can have the *right* to have babies.
Francis: Good idea, Judith. We shall fight the oppressors for your right to have babies, brother... sister, sorry.
Reg: What's the *point*?
Francis: What?
Reg: What's the point of fighting for his right to have babies, when he can't have babies?
Francis: It is symbolic of our struggle against oppression.
Reg: It's symbolic of his struggle against reality.


Stan: It's every man's right to have babies if he wants them.
Reg: But you can't have babies.
Stan: Don't you oppress me.
Reg: Where's the fetus going to gestate? You going to keep it in a box?


Spectator I: I think it was "Blessed are the cheesemakers".
Mrs. Gregory: Aha, what's so special about the cheesemakers?
Gregory: Well, obviously it's not meant to be taken literally; it refers to any manufacturers of dairy products.



Brian: What will they do to me?
Ben the Prisoner: Oh you'll probably get away with crucifixion.
Brian: CRUCIFIXION?
Ben the Prisoner: Yeah, first offense.



Lead Singer Crucifee: [Dying on the cross] Cheer up, Brian. You know what they say: some things in live are bad. They can really make you mad. Other things just make you swear and curse. When you're chewing on life's gristle, don't grumble; give a whistle, and this'll help things turn out for the best. And... always look on the bright side of life...