"Running the board"

[Ravine]

I know what you're up to, Gnome, but that is a matter separate from the fact that, thanks to your pervasive stimulation of my already compulsive, deeply-felt love of tobacco, I now am wishing I could go upstairs and smoke two pipefuls at once.

Thanks a bunch, pal.

[Sstashmoo]

Quote: "Just a marvel, she was."

A chick that smokes? No thanks. Nothing pretty, sexy, seductive about that. Did Sue ever hark a big chunk of lung butter while trying to be seductive? Nasty.

[Ravine]

"Did Sue ever hark a big chunk of lung butter while trying to be seductive?"

Yeah. She spat it out and into the face of a guy who referred to her as a "chick."

[alsodave]

E.D.- nice work: targeted, cogent & well formatted. I'll try to stay out of your cross-hairs.

On the running the board topic, there is the ignore feature. I use it only with Lorax because she says the same thing in every post; I've been very happy with not having to read the exact same inanities on every thread.

You should try it out. I resisted at first because I like the whole exchange of views, but when the same view is comminicated on every thread, several times a day ... it gets tiresome. The CC thing is just one shazzam of the problem.

In my other life, I might have fired up a cigarette and asked my secretary, Sue, if she'd like one too. I liked how she smoked. No hotboxing with her. Like everything with her, she was real. She liked English Ovals, stocking seams and pill box hats with netted veils. A real fine tall glass of water she was, too bad she was partnered up with a dame named Shirley. Sue thought she was staring in a noir thriller and to that end, dressed in nothing but black, grey and white. Her only color, red, was her lipstick and she'd leave trailings on her butts in the ashtray. Sue liked the way a fresh firm pack felt in her hand. She liked peeling away that little piece of cellophane and seeing it twinkle in the light. Liked coaxing that first sweet cylinder out of its hiding place and bringing it slowly up to her lips. Striking a match, watching it burst into a perfect little flame and knowing that soon that flame will be inside her! She loved the first puff, pulling it into her lungs... little fingers of smoking filling her, caressing her, feeling that warmth penetrate deeper and deeper until I think she's going to burst! Then... watching it flow out of her in a lovely sinuous cloud, no two ever quite the same.

Just a marvel, she was.

Post of the freakin' year!

[ZRX Doug]

Dammit Gnome..who told you I had a closet smoking fetish?Here I was, all set to do battle in the global warming wars, now my head's all confuddled..Bastard!

[Sstashmoo]

Quote: "Yeah. She spat it out and into the face of a guy who referred to her as a "chick."

Oh really?

[Detroitej72]

This thread has taken a turn for the bizarre.

[Detroit Stylin]

E.D.- nice work: targeted, cogent & well formatted. I'll try to stay out of your cross-hairs.

On the running the board topic, there is the ignore feature. I use it only with Lorax because she says the same thing in every post; I've been very happy with not having to read the exact same inanities on every thread.

You should try it out. I resisted at first because I like the whole exchange of views, but when the same view is comminicated on every thread, several times a day ... it gets tiresome. The CC thing is just one shazzam of the problem.

In my other life, I might have fired up a cigarette and asked my secretary, Sue, if she'd like one too. I liked how she smoked. No hotboxing with her. Like everything with her, she was real. She liked English Ovals, stocking seams and pill box hats with netted veils. A real fine tall glass of water she was, too bad she was partnered up with a dame named Shirley. Sue thought she was staring in a noir thriller and to that end, dressed in nothing but black, grey and white. Her only color, red, was her lipstick and she'd leave trailings on her butts in the ashtray. Sue liked the way a fresh firm pack felt in her hand. She liked peeling away that little piece of cellophane and seeing it twinkle in the light. Liked coaxing that first sweet cylinder out of its hiding place and bringing it slowly up to her lips. Striking a match, watching it burst into a perfect little flame and knowing that soon that flame will be inside her! She loved the first puff, pulling it into her lungs... little fingers of smoking filling her, caressing her, feeling that warmth penetrate deeper and deeper until I think she's going to burst! Then... watching it flow out of her in a lovely sinuous cloud, no two ever quite the same.

Just a marvel, she was.

LMBAO this made absolutely ZERO sense.....whose been buyin dime store detective novels again?

[gnome]

I'm just wondering if anyone 'round these parts wants to hear more about Sue.

[Jimaz]

Cruel. Funny but cruel.

[Stosh]

I'm just wondering if anyone 'round these parts wants to hear more about Sue.

I do! I do! I do ! Just because!

[East Detroit]

Gnome, the problem is that even with ignore you're subject to the "running of the board" and all the posts being marked "new." It is more than annoying.

However, speaking of the running of the bulls.... let's hear more about Sue.

[gnome]

This might take some time, and it might require it's own thread. But i'll let the crowd decide. If you want me to continue, I will. Names, places and timeframes have all been altered - or not.

---

First time I saw Sue was long before we worked together. It was Halloween, before Elvira made it an adult sport, and I was with a future ex-wife sipping a Jim Beam and listening to Krystal Lynn make love to a Cole Porter tune. She was singing, and I was sitting, at the corner of Adams and Park in the then tattered Tuller Hotel . The last guests had checked out years ago, but the Tuller still ran two bars. The 101 Lounge was one of them.

To get into the 101 you took three steps down from street level into a dusty deco wonder of rounded plaster, and in-direct lighting. An underlit milk-glass bar-top ran down the far wall and behind it was the fossilized owner, Max. Max had a face made for radio and hands like catchers mitts: huge, creased with missing pinkies on both hands. Max always dressed sharp in a tuxedo shirt, vest and real bow tie.

Max was a gentleman who could snap your neck.

The glory days of the 101 had long passed but the bones of the place were still there. The coved ceiling, soft lighting and leather banquettes were a time machine back to when Detroit meant something. When Hoffa was prince and Duke Ellington played the Greystone. When we were a City of Champions and not a punchline.

Krystal Lynn was huge black gal who could out Billie, Billie Holiday. She would cradle the microphone in one hand and lean in like she loved nothing else in the world. Never thought 270 pounds could be sexy until Krystal Lynn. Her band consisted of two guys. One a blind piano player named Skip and the other a walking bass man, Sylvester. Both were ancient.

On that long ago Halloween Night Krystal asked if anyone wanted to sing. That’s when Sue stood up and walked to the small stage. She came up from behind me but when she passed you could tell this gal knew what she wanted. At almost 6 foot she had a confidence most tall women lack. No stooped slouch to hide her height, shoulders back, she strode on 4 inch satin spikes while sporting those seamed stockings that disappeared up into an a-line skirt.

She had an ass that could stop time.

[Meddle]

Guess who's loose again?

[Redford Kid]

Why ask where people have gone..............isn't obvious. have at it Batson you always do.

[Big Dog]

When the OCD kicks in, nothing can stop Dr. Jekyl.

[elganned]

Somebody check the stats; I think this one was an indoor record.

[Pam]

Somebody check the stats; I think this one was an indoor record.

Lots of replying to threads that had been dead for 2 weeks. Sad.

[ccbatson]

Jealous? 20-30 minutes a day is not that burdensome folks.

[d.mcc]

This might take some time, and it might require it's own thread. But i'll let the crowd decide. If you want me to continue, I will. Names, places and timeframes have all been altered - or not.

---

First time I saw Sue was long before we worked together. It was Halloween, before Elvira made it an adult sport, and I was with a future ex-wife sipping a Jim Beam and listening to Krystal Lynn make love to a Cole Porter tune. She was singing, and I was sitting, at the corner of Adams and Park in the then tattered Tuller Hotel . The last guests had checked out years ago, but the Tuller still ran two bars. The 101 Lounge was one of them.

To get into the 101 you took three steps down from street level into a dusty deco wonder of rounded plaster, and in-direct lighting. An underlit milk-glass bar-top ran down the far wall and behind it was the fossilized owner, Max. Max had a face made for radio and hands like catchers mitts: huge, creased with missing pinkies on both hands. Max always dressed sharp in a tuxedo shirt, vest and real bow tie.

Max was a gentleman who could snap your neck.

The glory days of the 101 had long passed but the bones of the place were still there. The coved ceiling, soft lighting and leather banquettes were a time machine back to when Detroit meant something. When Hoffa was prince and Duke Ellington played the Greystone. When we were a City of Champions and not a punchline.

Krystal Lynn was huge black gal who could out Billie, Billie Holiday. She would cradle the microphone in one hand and lean in like she loved nothing else in the world. Never thought 270 pounds could be sexy until Krystal Lynn. Her band consisted of two guys. One a blind piano player named Skip and the other a walking bass man, Sylvester. Both were ancient.

On that long ago Halloween Night Krystal asked if anyone wanted to sing. That’s when Sue stood up and walked to the small stage. She came up from behind me but when she passed you could tell this gal knew what she wanted. At almost 6 foot she had a confidence most tall women lack. No stooped slouch to hide her height, shoulders back, she strode on 4 inch satin spikes while sporting those seamed stockings that disappeared up into an a-line skirt.

She had an ass that could stop time.

Talk about painting a picture...

[East Detroit]

... an ass that could stop time.

Wait, which topic are we on?

[elganned]

gnome was just attempting to hijack the thread. And seems to have succeeded.

[eriedearie]

Gnome - tell us more...