Ask a Stupid Quetion Get a Stupid Answer

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In summary, a group of individuals are discussing a new forum and its purpose of asking and answering "stupid questions." They discuss topics such as how long it takes to reach 1000 posts, the existence of the old forums, the best superpower, an elevator that goes sideways, and the reasons behind posting in this forum. They also explore the question of why they ask questions and the possible theories that have not been invented. Eventually, the conversation turns to the expansion of the universe and the orbit of planets around stars.
  • #561
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"?
From a minimium of fifty (50') feet!

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?
 
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  • #562
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?
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.

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?
 
  • #563
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?
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!)

Now, what I really want to know is exactly how many times has zoobyshoe climbed?
 
  • #564
Originally posted by Mr. Robin Parsons
Now, what I really want to know is exactly how many times has zoobyshoe climbed?
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.
He awoke, asked what year it was, and upon being told, he said that he had been holding his breath in there for 137 years, but that, much worse, he had been holding a couple other things and wanted directions to the nearest outhouse.

As I lead him toward that goal he chattered away in the manner of a man who'd been alone too long and began hinting, rather obviously, that if I would only ask him he would be happy to explain the interesting story of how he'd come to be trapped in the coal seam all those years before.

Having work to do, I left him at the outhouse and returned to the mine. When I emerged at the end of the day, he was nowhere to be found, and I never saw him again.

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?
 
  • #565
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?
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)

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?
 
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  • #566
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?
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."

I soon forgot all about him. Did he live that long?
 
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  • #567
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?

Well not unlike you zoobyshoe, I too have an extensive collection of reading materials, and in a perusal of the MOST recent copy of "Composers Who Compose Composite Compositions while Camping" your Mr. Plinckoff was exposed for what he truly is, a Composite Fraud, as it arises that the man has NEVER, ever, composed a singular piece of Compositional work, for himself, never mind that even the ones that he could possibly lay a Side Claim to, as having assisted in compostion, it turns out that his major contribution to the compositional effort(s) was to provide the paper, hence he is nothing but a fraud and is not even worth looking up in the "Anuals of Persons, Famous, or InFamous, Living, or Dead, composed, or Decomposing" (nevermind I seem to have misplaced my most recent copy of that one, sooo...) for the simple fact of the matter is that he will probably not even be listed in such and illustrious publication as it would be denegrating to the Editors of said noble enterprise.
That stated, he is still alive, and well, deep well actually, as it seems that he owes his creditors mucho buck$$$ for all of that stolen paper.

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?
 
  • #568
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?
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!
What's the problem with them!??"

Fearing for my life I kicked him in the shin and ran.

On the train back to Brooklyn I divided 13 by 21 and got .619047619, but that didn't seem to mean anything in particular.
Years later, though, I received a check made out to precisely that amount as the sum total of the royalties earned by the sale of my book Scaldinyevski: The Far Rockaway Years. Given that I had purchased the only copy of that book that ever sold myself, that decimal took on a mystical signifigance for me whose true meaning I have still not completely fathomed.

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?
 
  • #569
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?
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!

So how many unread tomes does it take to completely bury a former Russian psuedo (poser) Composer?

(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??)

*Editors (blue) notation, don't know why that Boob Parsons is still sooooo silly, knows darn well that it is supposed to be "Y of X" and NOT "9 of 7", probably just watched too much television, in his life.
If He makes such errors again, please inform me, Thanks Editor.
 
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  • #570
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?
How many tomes to entomb? Twenty times twenty.

(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??)
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.
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?
 
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  • #571
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?
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.

Clearly his notation of you making a large mark in the world, but it being mistaken for "A large truck", shows how little he realizes about your current situation, as, to the best of my knowledge (TTBOMK) you have NOT been mistaken for any kind of large truck, but rather the sound of a growing mushroom, blooming late in the season, and clearly ready to pollinate!

Given that it is so clear that zoobyshoe, napalm scented, is ready to pollinate, are there an volounteers?
 
  • #572
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?
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:

"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.
 
  • #573
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.
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!

So I was out walking in the woods, one cold and frosty afternoon, accompanioned by my neighbours dog Sheba. A fresh snow had fallen, the day earlier, covering the ground in white, to a depth of about six inches, that crunched underfoot.

Suddenly I heard a cry, "Whaaaaaa" was the sound, just like a Babies cry, and I listened for it again as I noticed the dogs ears perking up at the noise. It resounded again, and I could tell that, although it sounded just like a human baby, the noise had a quality about it that distincted it from human, and I knew then that it was not of human origin.

Quickly I instructed the dog, Sheba, "Go see" I said to her, and off she went scurrieing into the forest that was a thickset grouping of low cedars growing in a eutriphieing swamp like wetland. I followed her pawprints as she was quite capable of travel in these woods, wheras I was somewhat hindered by my size and inablity to scent out the source of the wailing.

Suddenly I came upon it, the dog standing duty off to the side, there it was, a Snow White Rabbit, caught in a snare wire, its leg wrapped around the securing line that tied the wire to the brush, and the other end of it snared around the rabbits throat, choking the air out of it.

I could easily hear the rabbit's raspng breaths, and could see that, every time it struggled against the wire, it's hind leg would tighten the line, as to choke it, even tighter, generating a further "Rasping and Gargling" sound from the rabbit's frantic breathing.

With the dog watching, I attempted to remove whatever of the wire that I could, but was impaired by the tangled lines around the animals foot, so I shifted attention to the line at the leg and decided to remove the wire from it's brush securing point, as to be able to further manipulate it. Getting the wire off of the Brush was simple enough, but as soon as I had accomplished that, the rabbit bolted, off into the deeper woods, well out of view, and me there, with the setting sun, and darkness, quickly approaching this mountain wetland habitat.

Once again, I sent faithful Sheba after the Rabbit, after all, she too seemed to sense the peril that the frightened animal was in, and that this was something that she did not want to seem to hurt as she once agian, upon finding the critter, held her distance till I got there.

The Rabbit was on it's side, panting and gasping for air with it's leg jerking the wire tighter and choking it more and more. I moved quickly again to this time remove the line from the Rabbits foot. That done, this time I wasn't about to let go of the animal, and I suspect it knew it too.

Gently I picked up the rabbit by placing both of my hands around it's body, and used one hand to search out the line of heavy brass wire that was around it's throat. too thick was the line, and so tight that there was no way I was going to be able to remove it, without harming the animal, or by using tools that just weren't available to me, at this site in the woods.

With the darkness quickly arriving, I decided to take the rabbit back to the house, as to find a pair of cutters, to release it from it potential death. Holding it, as to allow it's body to drop down from my clasped hands around it's chest position, I began the carry of a lifetime, holding a live wild creature in my two hands, attempting rescue.

On the way I could feel that animals heartbeat, as I stroked the back of it's head, 'tween it's ears to attempt to calm it down while I made the half hour walk home. Sheba was her perfectly poised self, not even bothering me about the fact that I was carrieing a live Rabbit, she just went about her business, of sniffing things, and walking along with me, as if this were the most normal of things to be doing. She was used to me, and my long walks so it was kinda normal for her now.

On the way, the rabbit very suddenly decided to attempt a break for freedom, it started Kicking wildly with it's hind legs, trying to get at the hands that held it, but to no avail, as I had my grasp high enough up, on the animals body, as to ensure that it's hind legs couldn't reach my hands, and it's flailing wasn't strong enough to cause anything more then a reaction of me, lifting it a little higher up in the air, as to avoid getting kicked in the face by some accidental backkick.

Arriving at the house, I went for the tool shed immediately. Finding the wire cutters I tried again to calm the animal, placing it on the workbench and starting to cut away at all of the wire that I had not been able to previouly get off of it's body. Down to the last one, the wire around its neck, gently probing in with the wire cutters, I found the line 'tween the jaws of the pliers and I gave them a gentle squeeze, YEEEOOOOOWWWWWEEEEEEEEEEEEE did that Rabbit bolt, it was FREE and it knew it!

After it's running around the tool shed, for what seemded an indeterminable amount of time, it finally stopped, but woudn't you know it, right in front of the door. I knew I had to let it go, so I slowly made my way towards the door, it finally hopped off towards the rear, so I opened the door, it saw that, and bolted out the door, right past my two feet, like a little bolt of lightening.

As it exited the Shed, it ran out about ten feet, turned towards the direction of the forest from whence I had gotten it, started to run towards there, but just slightly after it had turned towards the direction of it's home, it slowed slightly, turned it's head towards me, just a little (as the see out of their eyes slightly differently then us) bit, and it grunted to me, then fled off into the forest and I never saw it again.

Now, in human english, what was it that the rabbit said to me, when it grunted, in rabbit??


BTW this is actually a true story, this really happened to me, BUT, not unlike Biblical stories, there are only two other witnesses to the events, God, and the dog, but, TTBOMK, the dog has since departed this earth, and apparently God isn't really talking to much to some of you, (What did you do to deserve that??) soooo, Believe it, or, well, Whaaaatever!

P.S. Anyone up for adopting a slightly mishapen, napalmed, grey alien derivitive baby?? call the Zoo line (666) 1-800 I need zoob's love now
 
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  • #574
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??
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:

"There is, among the men of Rome, a kind of philosopher who advises us to be content with the misfortunes doled out by the Nature~Soul saying that there is always a sublime reason for these troubles. These `philosophers' claim the boil on my ass is there in accordance with a higher good and must be accepted as inevitable and necessary for the world to continue as it is. I think, therefore, that it would be good that they all develop boils so that the good of the universe might be thereby increased, and that, in this vein, Rome would be a positive Utopia if all men could only be afflicted with these good boils, and it would become a nation of the upstanding since no one could take their ease in sitting any longer."

-Scabius Cankerous
Whinings

In other words, the rabbit was saying that, even though you had just freed it, it had just been through the worst day of its life and although your capture and handling of it were for its ultimate good, it was still pretty much scared witless and hoped you weren't expecting any effusive show of gratitude, under the circumstances.
Quetion: What peculiar neurological damage can account for Mr. Robin Parsons' decision to characterize me as pregnant?
 
  • #575
Originally WHIIIIINED by zoobyshoe
Quetion: What peculiar neurological damage can account for Mr. Robin Parsons' decision to characterize me as pregnant?
Telepathy!

Out of what orifice is zoobyshoe's resultant "child" (for lack of a better, or less insulting word) being birthed/born through?
 
  • #576
Originally 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?
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 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 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"?
 
  • #577
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"?
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.

That said, we ask something in the above statement, what?
 
  • #578
Originally posted by Mr. Robin Parsons
That said, we ask something in the above statement, what?
See other thread for tedious reply.Does "Fat liver" have anything to do with "Fat Tuesday" or "Fats Waller"?
 
  • #579
Only in the theory of FAT GUT, which is marvellous but too long to fit in this post.

Why do Mr Robin and zoobyshoe dominate this thread?
 
  • #580
Originally posted by FZ+
Why do Mr Robin and zoobyshoe dominate this thread?
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?
 
  • #581
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?
Good Question! so here's your answer...

Originally asked by zoobyshoe's other "denominator"
See other thread for tedious reply.

Why is it that people all ways accuse "others" of doing exactly what it is that they do?
 
  • #582
Originally posted by Mr. Robin Parsons
Why is it that people all ways accuse "others" of doing exactly what it is that they do?
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?
 
  • #583
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 Ghost within...

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?
 
  • #584
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?
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.

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?
 
  • #585
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?
From the Ohhh so obvious Wry smilie upon it's face.

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?
 
  • #586
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?
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.

Why doesn't this work for "good" Witches?
 
  • #587
Originally posted by J-Man
This is why it rains so much this time of year.

Why doesn't this work for "good" Witches?
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.

The "good" witches have no need of cleaning implements in their transportation, because they practically weightless already and the mere thought of levitation induces it: they have already lost what weight they ever had to lose.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?
 
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  • #588
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?

Government Bureaucracy!

(P.S. sssst...be careful with that Pumkin, It's Military Grade, worth More then you are)

Are 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?
 
  • #589
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?
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?
 
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  • #590
REMEMBER--------

there are no stupid questions, just stupid people.

Laters.
 
  • #591


Originally posted by theEVIL1
there are no stupid questions, ...
There are, however, stupid quetions.
 
  • #592
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?
Ask if they had seen Mr. P Lately...

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?
 
  • #593
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?
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.

Did Einstein ever know this kind of joy?
 
  • #594
Originally posted by zoobyshoe
Did Einstein ever know this kind of joy?
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!

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 or, just stay down!??
 
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  • #595
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!??
I let my chauffeur and mechanic handle all that stuff.

Ooooo! I just heard the magnetic field flip! Should we now call the North Star the South Star?
 
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