Not something I heard recently, but a friend who suffered terribly from hayfever once was heard to miserably state:
“I hate tree bukkake season”.
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“I can’t believe [King] Charlie is going to America.”
“Still? Is it for the World Cup?”
“Wouldn’t think so. He’s far too old to play.”
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“I have a hypothesis: The majority of ranch dressing sold is not used on salads.”
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“Rigmarole is my favourite Italian dish.”
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As a follow up from my previous post,
“What about ranch?” – a woman as a hot chicken food truck who had gotten tenders and fries.
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“You eat ice cream like someone who has been temporarily cured of Parkinson’s”
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Me, elsewhere: “Small stakes are big to the people whose stakes they are. If you’re counting people rather than gold pieces or experience points, it can be just as satisfying to get Little Johnny out of that weird new church he was going to as to punch Cthulhu in the face.”
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Small stakes are big to small vampires.
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‘…so I apologised to the swan’
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Swans are assholes. Don’t apologize.
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I don’t think it’s fair to call that ‘small stakes’. At least not if that weird new church was a cult, with either mass suicide or human sacrifice vibes. I mean, life and death stakes are pretty much the antithesis to ‘small stakes’.
Even if it were just a regular cult, those are pretty bad, too. Little Johnny is probably not free to leave, so there are the kidnap aspects, and the odds are high he will be the victim of sexual abuse. To be on the safe side, assume everyone who is converted to a new religion as an adult is at risk for all the things cults bring with them, and maybe just never go to church, ever. Can’t be part of ushering in Armageddon, the End of Days or the Harvesting of Souls if you make sure never to take part in anything which smacks even vaguely of rituals, worship or sacrifice.
Really small stakes are roleplaying sessions where the objective is to prevent the younger sister of a PC’s girlfriend from disgracing herself at a party or where the PCs go on a hunting trip for some (herbivorous, nonhazardous) dinosaurs, because the natives invited them along so it would be bad for cultural relations not to make a good impression, because they needed the meat to make into jerky for supplies for a sailing voyage, and because what kind of person has not wanted to hunt the magnificent dinosaurs, in their natural habitat of a weird fantasy mishmash world which looks like a collission between several different ones? All of which I’ve run.
I do not mention as examples of small stakes any roleplaying sessions devoted to affairs of the heart, because the only stakes bigger than life and death, are, of course, True Love. And one who makes light of the gravity of affairs of the heart is at risk of never finding True Love.
So, I am counting all instances where PCs were unable to continue their serious business of home invasion and murder due to romantic entanglements, jealousies or love triangles, not to mention when my PC paused briefly while the armed guard force of an asylum for the criminally insane hunted us down (I’m not sure the HR procedures there were as good as they could have been, if I am being honest) in order to reunite with his first love while sprinklers sprayed from the ceilings and the imaginary camera panned in circles around them as they forgot the existence of the rest of the world, as the very highest of stakes.
After all, les affaires sont seulement les affaires, l’amour est l’amour.
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“Extreme Cheese Terror sounds like a good name for a band.”
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Some sort of cheese-based tribute to Extreme Noise Terror?
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“Go big or go home.”
“I am home.”
“Then you’ll have to go big.”
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More a protest against Extreme Noise Terror not being a silly enough name.
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Colleague at work: “An Eldritch Abomination worshipped by a bunch of deranged cultists? My, that’s like 80% of the Bay Area tech industry.”
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Only 80%? 
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Said by me one time at a business lunch with a team out of town when a religious discussion was about to get out of hand:
“I’m a traditionalist. I believe in one god. His name is Zorgo and he lives in that lake.”
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“He does not have opinions about [hot-button topic of the day]. He does however have strong opinions about drowning in the lake.”
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Spotted online:
“North Oxford contains everything that is north of North Parade and south of South Parade. Summertown, being north of South Parade, is north of North Oxford although south of Oxford North.”
“While we’re on this, St John’s sadly chickened out of naming their new buildings north of North Quad after their former President, Sir Richard Southern. “Garden Quad” is feeble.”
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