and anyway, that wouldn't be ironic.

literally.

preach on, D.

and Dan, no need for personal attacks.

koombayah.

man that is the saddest gun ever.

no one thinks sneaking up on 100 sleeping ducks and slaughtering them all in one single finger jerk is ...

i dont know, ... fucked up?

Who is the meat, who would share his tin with his brother meats?

SPAM!

You're damn right.

Just remember: However bad things are, they can always get worse.

Some days, you're better off just staying in bed.

Bravo Biltmore for saying what the rest of us thought immediately upon reading Noah's post.

For Christ's sake people, stop trying to censor Neatorama. I am so sick of you people complaining endlessly, making the rest of us suffer for your prude beliefs. If you don't want your kids to discover the many cruel truths of the world, lock them in a room. Otherwise, here you go: www.disney.com.

Oh and good retort, Noah. God you people make me sick.

And Blacknimbus: Nice tangent?? Blast at parties?? What does any of that mean? Biltmore wasn't going off on a tangent; his post was just a response to a former poster. And blast at parties? Have you ever even been to a party?? I'm quite sure Noah hasn't. And I'll bet Biltmore's style of rational critique would actually make for interesting conversation over mugs of cheap beer.

Once again: If you don't like this site (sorry Alex, but you're doing a heck of a job, I'd say), go somewhere else. Because if this site is forced to dumb itself down - to water down the content so that uptight parents don't expose their kids to :shock: the harsh truth about the world - the greatness of this site will suffer.

To sum: This is a damned good site. Let's allow its creator to continue running things the way he deems best. And if it offends you, too bad.

i dont know what you guys are talking about, its -obviously- tinkerbell.

I want to play!

My father was never much for "boy stuff," probably because of his weight problem; mostly he liked to stay indoors, in the comfort of the A/C. But I was a mischievous youth, like most boys, or perhaps even more so. I remember one day back in the early '90s - it must have been the beginning of summer - when a couple friends and I stumbled upon a seemingly abandoned case of cleaning supplies, in a wooded area behind our neighborhood.

Naturally, there aren't many good stories about a group of young boys that start with a discovery of Pine Sol and paper towels, but this was not just a bag of groceries; this was a cache, a mini mart, a supply drop of bottles, tubes, boxes, crates, plastic and cardboard, stacked bottles, packs of 12, a veritable circus of assorted materials. Boys that we were, we made the most of our find: Rather than using the goods for their intended purpose, we improvised, creating a massive G.I. Joe fort out of the tubs and boxes. Integrating the surrounding woods, we spent all day constructing an elaborate battle ground, up and down trees, inside shallow ditches full of bugs and dead foliage, over and under overgrown root systems.

We must have gotten completely immersed in our large-scale toy war, because it was dark before we knew it (and this was back before 10 year olds carried cellphones). By the time we realized how long we'd been playing, we all ran back to our homes - leaving our toys in mid-attack. My mother must have given me quite the talking to, because I still remember it. My dad, if I recall correctly, didn't seem much to mind: 'Boys will be boys' sounds like something he would have said. But my mom wasn't so easy; she grounded me for a whole week for not checking in on time.

But when that week was up, we all returned, this time having informed our parents. I remember spending the rest of that summer behind that lake, constructing ever-more elaborate constructions to conquer with our plastic action figures.