From a minimium of fifty (50') feet!Originally posted by zoobyshoe
What's the best way to explain to a sword weilding maniac that what you just said was "Yes, I am a person," and not: "Yes, I am a Parsons"?
This would be a good time to lean 17 degrees left of the normal, rotate on that axis, and scoot into the conveniently located perpendicular universe you'll find located just ahead.Originally posted by Mr. Robin Parsons
When you are fifty feet (50') from this 'sword wielding maniac', you decide to tell him that you meant "Person" not "Parsons", and he pulls out him 457 magnum, takes aim, what is the best direction to jump, left?, right?, forwards?, backwards?, up? or down?
Well according to the Journal "Essential Catter", the average number of Hairs shed by any given Cat in a given period of time will be the exponent of the cats weight multiplied by the average numeber of Birds eaten in the last twelve years. But it is clearly stipulated that Cats encountered While climbing the face of Big Ben (NOT the same as the Statue of Liberty!) have a severalfold increase in Hair dander, Hair loss, and Fur Ball cough-up factors. The resulting figures gave credibility to the theory that climbing the face of a Clocktower, imbues into said Felines, the very same mentality as that of serial Snipers, hence it is known that the effects of the Post traumatic stress Inducement that arises from the placing of the Cats paws upon the faces of dials, hands, or clock faces, arrests the nomally resistant affective hair retention system of the dermus of Feline climbers to the degree that shedding of hair at such altitudes is in congrouity with the known factors of fur ball eruction to the degree that the Actual number of hairs becomes impossible to establish with any reliability beyond the present known count of Seventy seven thousand, per milisecond, per lumen, per tick of the clock. (Completely different if done in the darkness, so we won't even go there!)Recently yelled from the side of a clockface, in the U.S.A., (while holding his pistol, and ranting) outside the place of work of zoobyshoe
Recently, when I was repelling down the side of Big Ben, London, England, I encountered a black and white stray cat who was trying to pound in a piton as part of his continuing effort to ascend the clock tower. When I pointed out the large number of pitons already in place from previous feline conquests of the monumental time piece, he hissed aggressively at me and inexpertly hurled his hammer in my direction. It suddenly occurred to me that I had found the answer to a question that had been nagging me for years: Why do you never see cats playing softball? Obviously, I seemed to have discovered, cats can't pitch.
In light of the facts of this anecdote, how many hairs does the average cat shed during the ascent of Big Ben to the cat lounge in the rafters above the clockwork?
It's interesting you should ask that question because , once, when repelling down a rope that had been thrown up into the air by an Indian Fakir I encountered that mystical gentleman while he was on the way up. Not able to contain his curiosity as to how I had come to be "up" there in the first place, he interviewed me on the matter for several minutes but none of my clear and simple answers seemed to satisfy him, so I came to the conclusion he was unaware of the elementary laws of western physics, and that this ignorance is what allowed him to go around throwing unsupported ropes into the air and climbing them in the first place, and that for both our sakes I ought probably not disabuse him of any illusions at that particular time.Shortly before World War I, I was excavating some coal from a family mine at the back of our property in West Virginia when I broke through the bituminous wall ahead of me into a very small chamber in which an Indian Fakir was napping.Originally posted by Mr. Robin Parsons
Now, what I really want to know is exactly how many times has zoobyshoe climbed?
Well statistically speaking, the shear number of "Fakirs", in the world, limits the resultant mean average annual imput of "Fakirs" into coal seams, resulting in a false reading that misconscrues the values averaging (that is requisite to have the required knowledge) as to respond soundly to the inquiry, as it has been quired, hence we must be able to analyse the shear values of "Fakirs" relative to the output of seamed coal, per capita, per day, per tonne, per season, per methane releases (as well) in a reletively normalized fashion. So the answer would be around twelve (12)Originally asked by a soot darkened coal miner from lost ridge Louisiana who speaks in nothing bigger then three letter words in pidgeon "fringlish" Translated herein into "regular English" by one 'zoobyshoe'...(a real cracker-upper)
Given the facts of this anecdote, what is the maximum amount of Indian Fakirs, in weight, that a single West Virginian Miner can extract from a seam of soft coal in a sixteen hour work day?
Frankly, I don't know. I consulted the classic on this matter, J. Jefferson Johnson's The True And Accurate Use of Simians, Marsupials, and Lemurs in Chain Drive Lubrication but I found, to my disapointment, that he completely neglects to address the whole issue of bicycle chain lubrication for marine use. I can't tell you how surprised I was at this gap in such an otherwise comprehensive treatment of the subject.Earlier in my life I had the rare opportunity of meeting the famous Russian composer, Plinckoff whose sonatas for the upper fifteen notes of the Pianoforte changed music forever, sort of. He regarded me as if I were something that had squirmed out of a soft, brown apple, and declared: "You will never understand how to perform my compositions! Do not try!" To which I replied: "Even the goatherd of Vladivostok, with his milking-nimbled fingers does not understand how he should perform your compositions. Should he not try? Whereupon Plinckoff put his arm around my shoulder and said:"What a bright young performer you are! I will compose for you, someday, if I live that long."Originally posted by Mr. Robin Parsons
Given that while I was descending into the abyss of the Atlantic Ocean, I saw a woman, riding her bicycle, on the bottom, but she had no clothes on, so she was getting extremely wet, how many monkeys did it take to oil the bike chain?
Originally Composed by zoobishoe
Earlier in my life I had the rare opportunity of meeting the famous Russian composer, Plinckoff whose sonatas for the upper fifteen notes of the Pianoforte changed music forever, sort of. He regarded me as if I were something that had squirmed out of a soft, brown apple, and declared: "You will never understand how to perform my compositions! Do not try!" To which I replied: "Even the goatherd of Vladivostok, with his milking-nimbled fingers does not understand how he should perform your compositions. Should he not try? Whereupon Plinckoff put his arm around my shoulder and said:"What a bright young performer you are! I will compose for you, someday, if I live that long."
I soon forgot all about him. Did he live that long?
By simply calling their headquarters in Potosi, Missouri I was able to learn that the answer to that question is a straightforward 2:49 P.M. I called back several times in succession, asked the same question and received the same answer. I thought to myself, "Hm, that sounds suspiciously consistent. What's really going on here?" I am now camped in the grove of trees across the road from their offices with a pair of high-powered binoculars trained on their third floor suite, writing to you from a wireless laptop.Shortly before World War One I had the peculiar experience of a chance encounter with the Russian conductor Fyevor Hotanivich Scaldinyevski on the streets of Far Rockaway, Queens, New York. He regarded me, a complete stranger to him, with a look of anger one would only expect from someone bent on revenge for the seduction of his wife, and shouted "The celli! The celli! Why can't the celli count a simple 13/21 rhythm!Originally misspelled(sp?) by Mr. Robin Parsons
While reading in the "Anuals of Journal Anuals" the article stated that the history of "The Journal" was an 'anual', (and that this was a yearly event) hence, the question is begged as to just what time does the publication get distributed, annually?
One word, P-R-O-J-E-C-T-I-L-E-S, as in, should it be that that deleterious, and offensively impudent progression of an scalar notation, Ever threatens you again, call upon us all, and we will assist you in the launching of the 5000 superflous volumes of the tome, towards the offending indication of a primate, as to ensure that anyone, and everyone, knows, with an aclarity that is clearly/presently, unknown, NOT TO MESS WITH THE ZOOB!A truncated citation of the quetion that was originally posited by one zoobyshoe, male of female, AKA 9 of 7 * (?)
In light of the facts of this anecdote, what do you suppose is the best use to be made of 5000 unread copies of a biography of an angry and menacing Russian conductor?
How many tomes to entomb? Twenty times twenty.Originally wondered by the wonder boy, or boy wonder ROBIN So how many unread tomes does it take to completely bury a former Russian psuedo (poser) Composer?
I love the smell of Zoobies in the morning. Smells like...napalm.As a young man, shortly before World war One I had the enchanting experience of a chance encounter with famed Russian violin virtuoso Skrachimir Scrichanovich Shrilikovki on an elevator in the Department of Public Works in Chatsworth, N.Y. U.S.A.(BTW I read that book, "Scaldinyevski: The Far Rockaway Years" they have a smuggled copy of it, here in the Kingston library. Reeks of the fish that it was buried in, in transit to Canada, or is that just the Authors scent??)
Well, very clearly, the answer is in your little short anec-doting inasmuch as it is simple to note that that Famed Russian Violin Virtuoso plays with such force, that he is emitting sounds that only animals can hear, hence he is instigating a deafening volume of sound that is circumnavigating the planet, as a resonant harmonic that only all of the Non-human animals can hear, and it's interpretation into "Common Animal English" (language) is "It is safe to cross the road now", probably why the use of the analogy of your face as appearing as that of a crushed particle of road kill, one that required a 'second flushing' to evacuate from the face of the planet.Originally SUNG (off key) by one known as the Y of X, or the male of the female, or zoobyshoe..."The reek of Napalm, in the morning"
As a young man, shortly before World war One I had the enchanting experience of a chance encounter with famed Russian violin virtuoso Skrachimir Scrichanovich Shrilikovki on an elevator in the Department of Public Works in Chatsworth, N.Y. U.S.A.
He regarded me, a total stranger to him, with the look you'd expect to see on the face of a man who happened to notice an automobile-flattened animal on the side of the road, and said: "That's odd. I was certain I'd flushed twice." To which I retorted, "I thought you had, too". Whereupon he put his arm around my shoulder and said, "You are an impertinent and oblique young man. Someday you will make a big noise in the world, but people will mistake it for a large truck going by outside."
Given the facts of this anecdote, disgorge, if you would, a response to the following quetion: why don't animals learn to look both ways before crossing?
There seems to be and endless stream of Gray Space Alien Wenches, Paralyzing Old Hags, Succubi, and Telemarketers clammouring for this opportunity. I have been referring them to you.A recent perusal of the famous "Whinings" of the ancient Roman thinker and life commentator, Scabius Cankerous, brought this particularly thoughtful story to my attention:Originally chortled by Mr. Robin Parsons in an obvious fit of marshmallow intoxication
Given that it is so clear that zoobyshoe, napalm scented, is ready to pollinate, are there an volounteers?
Well tie down my dogs and give me a shot of Canadian Club, Consider yourself enlightened by this one, A chamber pot IS considered indoor Plumbing for people whose only other idea of Plumbing were "Lead W(h)ineglasses!Originally posited by a now pregnant(?) zoobyshoe2
A recent perusal of the famous "Whinings" of the ancient Roman thinker and life commentator, Scabius Cankerous, brought this particularly thoughtful story to my attention:
"This morning I was awaken at sunrise by the sounds of some Phoenecian sailors playing upon the lyre and tambour and singing wistfully in their own tongue as they passed by outside my window. Perhaps the song expressed a longing to return to their homeland, or perhaps to the women waiting for them there, or perhaps just to be back on their great ships bound for some new, wonderful port. These, at least, were the ponderings about their song that passed through my mind as I rose up from my litter and flung the contents of my chamber pot out the window on them for waking a sick man from his slumber."
Now enlighten me if I missed something, but I found the story to be extremely confusing given that the ancient Romans are famous to this day for their celebrated indoor plumbing.
What a remarkable well educated rabbit that was! His grunt was the very compact rabbit version of the following citation from the memoirs of Scabius Cankerous:Originally asked by a poor soul suffering delusions of grandeur in that he compares the narrative of an episode of his life to a Biblical story and who is also under the erroneous impression that a male zoobie can become pregnant . Please send him your spare Haldol and Zyprexa.Now, in human english, what was it that the rabbit said to me, when it grunted, in rabbit??
Telepathy!Originally WHIIIIINED by zoobyshoe
Quetion: What peculiar neurological damage can account for Mr. Robin Parsons' decision to characterize me as pregnant?
Since the word "child" is not insulting when applied to new borns, your suggestion that it is clearly means you have neglected to accurately translate the sentiment behind this quetion into English from the original Parsophrenia, to coin a term, and as the quetion stands (in complete incoherence) it is unanswerable. It is, therefore, an example of the stupidest of all stupid quetions, and is right where it belongs: in this thread.Once, as a young man, before World War One, I had the extrordinary experience of a chance encounterOriginally pondered by the most ponderous poltroon:Parsons
Out of what orifice is zoobyshoe's resultant "child" (for lack of a better, or less insulting word) being birthed/born through?
Monopoly Money and the corrrect Roman translation of the encrypted word 'Plato', (as to it's root meaning) decoded being; P-Lat(e)-O(h)! as in "Mr. P is a going to be Late...OH! but he only gots Monopoly Money, no real ca$h". So the relationship is clearly seen as a mutable form of a plastic coupled to the timely observation of the tardiness of the encumbent form of 'mutable neuronal plasticity' presently tie'ping.Originally uttered by the most unutterable X+1 that has roamed the facia of the sphere in , well, the last thirty seconds...zoobyshoe
Once, as a young man, before World War One, I had the extrordinary experience of a chance encounter with the Greek philosopher, Plato,
(this was way before World War One) who pushed me up against a marble column outside a public edifice one day and began ranting about some lost civilization that had been destroyed in an earthquake. To prove to him that he was in the throes of a manic delusion I bodily carried him to a nearby spring rich in dissolved lithium carbonate and forced him to sit in the water for several hours until(l) his delusional state subsided.
When he had regained his sences he lamented that he had already written the whole weird tale down, had it copied many times over by busy scribes, and dispatched to libraries and private collections all over the mediterranean.
In light of the incident described in the above anecdote, what relation might be said to exist between the term "Play Dough" and the name "Plato"?
See other thread for tedious reply.Does "Fat liver" have anything to do with "Fat Tuesday" or "Fats Waller"?Originally posted by Mr. Robin Parsons
That said, we ask something in the above statement, what?
There is, at this very moment, a consortium of nearly 70 sociologists, psychiatrists, psychologists and psychotics deeply concentrating on discovering the merest toehold of understanding from which to launch a heavily funded research project whose goal is to formulate the outlines of an hypothesis about this phenomenon. The predicted date of the time when it may become reasonable to start wondering when the hypothesis will be ready to be alluded to with confidence is 6 April 09. Untill then try thinking about something else. Why doesn't Fz+ dominate this thread? He has the ambition, intelligence, Batman-villain-style lust to dominate essentially pointess enterprises. Warum nicht?Originally posted by FZ+
Why do Mr Robin and zoobyshoe dominate this thread?
Good Question! so here's your answer...Originally asked by zoobyshoe, the other "denominator"
Why doesn't Fz+ dominate this thread? He has the ambition, intelligence, Batman-villain-style lust to dominate essentially pointess enterprises. Warum nicht?
Originally asked by zoobyshoe's other "denominator"
See other thread for tedious reply.
Try accusing "yourself" of doing exactly what it is that others do, and you'll see why: it's a lot less fun.What could account for the fact that the fine pumpkin you brought home for Halloween appears to be still growing?Originally posted by Mr. Robin Parsons
Why is it that people all ways accuse "others" of doing exactly what it is that they do?
The Ghost within...Originally posted by zoobyshoe
What could account for the fact that the fine pumpkin you brought home for Halloween appears to be still growing?
The tracks you saw actually belong to a little known species of Duiker, which is a very small sort of deer-like animal that frequents clover/lace meadows and has fangs. They can leap ten feet and are bloodthirsty when bored so do not enter the meadow again without practising your repertoire of soft show dances and witty banter to entertain him should he discover you.Originally posted by Mr. Robin Parsons
On a short trip through a field yesterday, midst the Sweet white clovers and the Queen Annes lace, I found a rabbit track, could it be the same one as I had had previous chance to encounter?
From the Ohhh so obvious Wry smilie upon it's face.Originally posted by zoobyshoe
How do you account for the fact that you are just about positive the fine Halloween pumpkin you recently purchased seems to understand every word you utter in it's presence, but pretends to be stone deaf?
This is a strange phenomenon known only to apply to "bad" Witches. Apparently the antigravity aspects of said broom form a covalent bond with the water in the Witch's body. The water is drawn out, thereby decreasing the nomative weight of the witch, runs down the length of the broom to where it randomly coagulates between the bristles until it falls to the ground. This is why it rains so much this time of year.Originally posted by Mr. Robin Parsons
When a Witch, gets on her broom, (electrolux now-a-days I here, but it's only a rumor) how does that help her to lose weight?
Before answering let me say that, in addition to being the first coherent and accurate explanation of autumnal rain I have ever encountered, your response also has opened a window to an undertanding of the cause of the change to liquid state when "bad" witches come in direct contact with water. I am thinking along these lines: being nearly anhydrous would cause them to rehydrate at a rate in excess of what the cellular connectivity could bear. I'm afraid this is just speculation, however, and merely meant to prod those with more information into giving the matter serious consideration.Originally posted by J-Man
This is why it rains so much this time of year.
Why doesn't this work for "good" Witches?
Originally flewn in on "Pumkins Airlines" Piloted by zoobyshoe, "Pumkin Airlines we always land with a soft pLoP"
How do you account for the fact that the Halloween pumpkin you personally hunted down and bagged yourself in a pumpkin patch near your California home has been found to bear a small tag on it's underside instructing you to call the Departement of Fish, Game and Pumpkin Tracking, Fayetteville, Louisiana, USA, if found?
Does a werewolf sh*t in the woods? How would you react if, on Halloween night, the doorbell rang and you open it only to find ten little men in old fashioned prison garb banging on stones with a hammer?Originally mumbled in a noticabley irritated tone by some very grumpy version of Mr.Robin ParsonsAre we now going to go on a "Halloween" theme, for weeks on end, till the end of the weeks, till "Halloween", and all of the "Halloween" theme items can be trumped out of the 'closets of the mind' as to employ the uselessness of knowledge, that is useful, if it is used in this theme event history till we all know it all off by heart, only to forget it till next halloween, then we will try to remember it all over again a to repeat as nessecary?
There are, however, stupid quetions.Originally posted by theEVIL1
there are no stupid questions, ...
Ask if they had seen Mr. P Lately...Originally posted by zoobyshoe
How would you react if, on Halloween night, the doorbell rang and you open it only to find ten little men in old fashioned prison garb banging on stones with a hammer?
This is obviously the non-denominational view of the issue but you have forgotten that this is a Southern Baptist matter with neo-presbeterian congregationalist overtones that was, you will remember, first introduced into the issue from the issues own sine qua non enigmatic riddilism, prior to any attempt to formulate riddilistic enigmaticism, which most practitioners of the art would agree is just a corruption of the qetion and anser format of inquirizational responsiveness joking in all earnestness, here, mysterious riddlism is something quite distinct altogether, obviously, but you have never ansered that point to your own complete confusion and cling to the illusion of pre-surrealistic quethtions andth anthers,(I mean that in the Parkinsonian, not Parsonian, mode) during which, the whole time, syntactical infelicity substitutes for humor instead of employing humor qua humor, but riddles wearing joke's clothing hiding behind the erroneously coughed up furball that lies at the Earth's end.Originally posted by Mr. Robin Parsons
What if the answer to the quetion, is found in a riddle, but the riddle isn't the answer to the quetion, but the answer to the riddle's question, is the answer to the answer of the riddle, which in turn then solves the riddles need of responding to the original qeution?
Actually, from some recent reading I found out that the "Joy" that Einstein enjoyed, was of another nature, as that was, apparently, the name of his "bateau au voile" that he used to enJOY, till the winds died, and the Suns set, and the Cows came back out "agin", in da mornin!Originally posted by zoobyshoe
Did Einstein ever know this kind of joy?
I let my chauffeur and mechanic handle all that stuff.Originally posted by Mr. Robin Parsons So, if you are running your computer, and the Cruise Control takes over and skids you out fiercely on the dry surface of the information highway, do you pick yourself back up again and restart/reboot/rerun, or, just stay down!??