Towards the end the "arms" look they're doing that Arsenio "WHOO!-WHOO!WHOO!"

The tax code needs to be reworked to address how two people can basically incorporate in a special way wit the govt, and benefit, while > 2 is not allowed.

There should be no limit because there should be no laws about marraige, period.

You shouldn't get tax status changes for something only you can do, by default, while denying others rights, especially when the historical attempt is to make the most fair system possible for people who have no choice living together (society).

clearly the argument is so convoluted when the victory is allowing ANOTHER set of TWO to have rights.

Just like letting gays serve in the military. Whoo hoo. I'd rather not have war.

Idiocy.

Whoo-eee! That plums cut is on here already somewhere, but the rest is worth it too.

I have watched that plum cut about a dozen times, and I have not been able to keep a straight face on any occasion.

Whoo Skinny Puppy.

bwahahaahahaah... I choose to hear it as she's riding Unicron.

"Whoo's in da houuse?" bwahahahaha that cracked me up when she started dropping that ill shit.

--UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!

WHOO boy, that was exausting.

He sounded like that whoo-whoo guy.

http://www.videosift.com/video/Know-Your-Meme-Whistle-Tips-and-Bubb-Rubb

[formatting lost]

http://www.bettinamay.com/poem/2008/10/the-waking-galway-kinnell.html

"The Waking", Galway Kinnell

What just just happened between the lovers,
who lie now in love-sleep under the owls' calls,
call, answer, back and forth, and so on,
until one, calling faster, overtakes the other
and the two whoo together in one
shimmering harmonic -- is called "lovemaking."
Lovers who come exalted to their trysts,
who approach from opposite directions
along a path by the sea, through the pines,
meet, embrace, go up from the sea,
lie crushed into each other under
the sky half golden, half deep-blueing
the moon and stars into shining, know
they don't "make" love, but are earth-creatures
who live and -- here maybe no other word will do --
fuck one another forever if possible across the stars.
An ancient word, formed perhaps before
the sacred and profane had split apart,
when the tongue was like the flame of the heart
in the mouth, and lighted each word
as it was spoken, to remind it
to remember, as when flamingos
change feeding places on a marsh,
and there is a moment, after the first to fly
puts its head into the water in the new place
and before in the old place the last to fly
lifts out its head to see the rest have flown,
when, scattered with pink bodies, the sky
is one vast remembering. They still hear,
in sleep, the steady crushing and uncrushing
of bedsprings; they imagine a sonata in which
violins' lines draw the writhing and shiftings.
They lie with heads touching, thinking
themselves back across the blackness.
When dawn touches the bed their bodies re-form,
heaps of golden matter sieved
out of the night. The bed, caressed threadbare,
worn almost away, is now more than ever
the place where such light as humans
shine with seeps up into us. The eyelids,
which love the eyes and lie on them to sleep,
open. This is a bed. That is a fireplace.
That is last morning's breakfast tray
which nobody has yet bothered to take away.
This face, too alive with feeling to survive past
the world in which it is said, "Ni vous
san moi, ni moi san vous," so unguarded
this day might be breaking in the Middle Ages,
in the illusion fateful randomness chooses
to beam into existence, now, on this pillow.
In a ray of sun the lovers see motes cross,
mingle, collide, lose their way, in this puff
of ecstatic dust. Tears overfill their eyes,
wet their faces, drain quickly away
into their smiles. One leg hangs off the bed.
He is still inside her. His big toe
sticks into the pot of strawberry jam. "Oh migod!"
They kiss while laughing and hit teeth
and remember they are bones and laugh
naturally again. The feeling, perhaps
it is only a feeling, perhaps mostly due
to living only in the overlapping lifetimes
of dying things, that time starts up,
comes over them. They get up, put on clothes,
go out. They are not in the street yet,
however, but for a few minutes longer,
still in their elsewhere, beside a river,
with their arms around each other, in the aura
earth has when it remembers its former beauty.
An ambulance sirens a bandage-stiffened
body towards St. Vincent's. A police car
running red lights parodies
in high pitch the owls of paradise. The lovers
enter the ordinary day the ordinary world
providentially provides. Their pockets ring.
Good. For now askers and beggarmen
come up to them needing change for breakfast.

Comment hidden because you are ignoring dag. (show it anyway)

Congrats Bruti. >> ^Bruti79:
Whoo, my first top 15 =D

Whoo, my first top 15 =D

Whoo Hooo! Halloween! Thanks Dag/Lucky!!

It's a great idea to mix it up a bit, Keeps things interesting, and I like that.
Like Dracula says, "Suck It Up" people, and enjoy it for a couple days before going back to the tried and true!

Upvote for making a joke out of literally nothing.
Whoo... <riff>!

"Randy: You want to know the truth?
Lt. Col. Frank Slade: You got a handle on that, do you, Randy?
Randy: He was an asshole before.
Lt. Col. Frank Slade: Whoo-ah!
Randy: Now all he is is a blind asshole.
Lt. Col. Frank Slade: Whoo-ah.
Randy: Hey, God's a funny guy.
Lt. Col. Frank Slade: God doth have a sense of humor.
Randy: Maybe God thinks some people don't deserve to see.
Lt. Col. Frank Slade: Whoo-ah. Hah!"

Tags for this video have been changed from 'whoo, rotating head' to 'whoo, rotating head, something wise, bumming' - edited by calvados

>> ^Sagemind:
Oh, and... even one more way robots replace people in there jobs... Saves the company money, Whoo Hoo, That's great! But more people on the unemployment line... (I'm just sayin')

All those unemployed pancake makers can now go get a degree in Robotics!