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The Question Game

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Well you freak, if you must know there are no curtains or drapes. Thanks for asking.


Do y'all really think rcnut really wanted that much information about me?
 
no.
Curtains and drapes are the same thing. I didn't ask if the carpet matched the drapes, get your head outa the gutter.

How much longer will people post in this thread before it dies?
 
Untill they have Run out of things to say . Which will be probably be never .

Straight's or roll your own .
 
[ame="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HY9uZWCh4go"]YouTube - ‪Cali Swag District-Teach Me How To Dougie (Unofficial Video)‬‏[/ame]

... there ya go h8z :)


Anyone wanna tell me the easiest way to jailbreak an iPhone 4?
 
it voids the warranty...my iphone had to be replace a few weeks after I got it and that was the first thing they checked!


why does everything have to be so complicated?
 
Plug it in, and restore, then there is no way to tell.


Because people r dumb

Who is already ready for the weekend?
 
I know I am.. looking forward to racing my slash 4x4 around the local track, and then fixing a savage.

Anyone a yankee fan? I know I am :D
 
No.

Should I buy a new glow plug ignitor for the savage or put the money toward a ticket to the Labor Day race in Atlanta?
 
Introducing a subordinate clause expressing a statement or hypothesis: "she said that she was satisfied".
Pronoun: Used to identify a specific person or thing observed by the speaker: "that's his wife over there"

Ex: Satisfying a woman..Rolex could never do THAT :D

Plug it in, and restore, then there is no way to tell.

Mine wouldn't restore, wouldn't do poop!


Why am I not sleepy?
 
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That is the question. Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune Or to take arms against a sea of troubles And by opposing end them. To die, to sleep-- No more--and by a sleep to say we end The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep-- To sleep--perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub, For in that sleep of death what dreams may come When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause. There's the respect That makes calamity of so long life. For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of th' unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death, The undiscovered country, from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will, And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, And enterprise of great pitch and moment With this regard their currents turn awry And lose the name of action. -- Soft you now, The fair Ophelia! -- Nymph, in thy orisons Be all my sins remembered.



Was it, or wasn't it?
 
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