Ask a Stupid Quetion Get a Stupid Answer

zoobyshoe

"e" generally ends up just anterior to the soprifiform gyrus of the left parietal lobe when cranially typed, stimulating such a surge of bordom that the person is rendered fast asleep within seconds. Unless the typist has shorter fingers whereupon the tapped "e" hits just posterior to said gyrus, resulting in the stimulation of reverse-hearing syndrome, a peculiar experience in which things are heard in reverse. Which is what you'd expect from the name of the syndrome. That's not always the case with syndromes. Some syndromes, like Archer's Left Thumb Syndrome, mis-suggest what they're all about. We'd expect that to have something to do with Archery when, in fact, it is a debilitating reading impairment that developes from trying to read the messages typed on people's heads. These always seem to say "left thumb", and the condition was first described, not by any Doctor Archer, but by Dr. Clarence F. Folletos, who named it after the man whose head most often seemed to have these words typed on it.

Was that too much detail?

jimmy p

The stupidity of that quetion belies the longevity of the previous answer. There were many theorems which support reasons as to why the general idocy of a quetion is directly linked to the longevity of the previous answer. Unfortunately, when all the leading researchers were presented with the quetion about stupid quetion:detailed previous answer, they were first of all confused as to what the previous answer to that quetion was, and it's length, which is now a known constant, of @. The main concern was that once they had finished coming up with an answer, the posed it to the board, who asked an insanely stupid quetion. Giving that their 5000 page dossier was the previous answer to that quetion, the researchers were infuriated and burned the work.

To keep a balance between my answer and the possible stupidity of the quetion I'm about to ask, how long do you think your answer should be?

jimmie

Yes.

Speaking of details, what part of the cow gets cut-off first at the slaughter house?

zoobyshoe

I like to follow classical guidelines in this sort of thing. Specifically, the wisdom of Squanderus Maximus, the Latin pedant and social critic, who advised that the ratio of anser to quetion should not depart appreciably from the ratio of the length of an oxtail at high noon on the second day of the feast of Jupiter to the weight of a bushel of Carthaginian shoe leather. He thought that a nice ratio. He had his reasons.

Speaking of the ancients, I was recently looking over my boyhood copy of the great Latin General Seizer's account of his military campaigns in Baul, Seizer's Baulic (rhymes with bollock) Wars, and read again those famous opening words, "Greater Baul is divided by zero into three parts, one of which is inhabited by the circle squarers, another by the angle trisectors, and the third of which by the..."

Who remembers who inhabited the third part?

jimmy p

If I recall correctly, it was an ancient race of isoceles dodecahedronites. A much feared race of people, violent and zealously dedicated to their god, Geometrus.

This discussion of ancient history brings me to other quetions. As we are well aware through the ages, there has always been a favourite drink. Nowadays, we have cola, in the middle ages, there was a concoction made from the horn of a unicorn, in the dark ages there was a sweat mixed with larks droppings. I am having a dinner party in a few days, and have the ingredients to make these delightful potions, but I can't for the life of me remember what the Romans used to drink.

Can you give me the recipe?

zoobyshoe

Start with an amphora or two of common wine. Add three handfuls of yellow ochre earth from the left bank of the Tiber and three fish heads per litre of liquid, and let sit in the sun two weeks. Now add four cups of the juice of stinging nettles, stir, and pour the contents into several pigs stomachs, hang from the limb of a deciduous tree, and beat the bags for an hour with switches cut from bushes growing outside the Temple of Bacchus. Set the bags on the ground and have them be sat upon for warming by any corpulent peasant women who've had more than three children. Add some pellets of lead, a dash of quicksilver, and the hooves and hide scraps of ruminant animals. Simmer. Decant. Chill. Add a raspberry. Enjoy!

Why couldn't I think of a more Byzantine and disturbing recipe?

jimmy p

I have had my suspicions about you right from the start. You have come accross as Byzantinian in the past, however I feel it is a ruse. At first I was awake at night wondering why that answer was not as it should have been. In the brief moments that I slept, I also awoke screaming and in a cold sweat because I felt that my previous quetion and answer were of a mediocre standard, they didn't have the edge. Could it be? They certainly had a level of stupidity, and that helped me reason with myself. It merely states "ask a stupid quetion, get a stupid answer", it doesn't require degrees of stupidity, and therefore my responses were just. Which leads me to you. I spent the day looking through the web and various ancient texts, rubbings and manuscripts in my vault, and nowhere did the word Zoobyshoe, Zooby, or shoe appear in any ancient language, except that of the Minoans. The brush shelter is where Minoan hermits, who pondered on the stupidity in life, lived. You would expect them to be messy, but no. Zooby's of the ancient kind were orderly. So the reason you couldn't think of a Byzantine and disgusting answer is because you are a clean living Minoan Zooby.

Because I spent all of this time in my vault searching for the answer, I have missed a days work and have developed an allergy to dust. Was it worth it?

zoobyshoe

Definitely not since all you uncovered was the forged and false "De Zoobiem Minous", a pseudo-treatise which was created from scratch in the twelfth century to discredit zoobies who were then politically out of favor. I assure you we are, and have always been, quite consistently untidy. Neatness and tidiness amaze and fascinate us, but it's not like we'll ever get the hang of it.

Lately I have been having the strange and uncanny experience of sensing ahead of time what people are going to post at PF. I think perhaps this is the result of a spell someone has place on me, or it could be a side effect of the tooth I had removed a month ago. At any rate, I dislike it since it is not much different that watching a movie and having some jerk who's already seen it exitedly spilling the beans about what's going to happen next.

How do I get it to stop?

Livingod

Well, it's actually quite easy, first off you... BOO!!! Didn't see that coming, did you?

Did you see it coming?

zoobyshoe

No, I'm completely cured, thanks.

How did I know I was going to write that?

jimmy p

I would say that it were an outer body experience.

Would you have known this is a previous life however?

zoobyshoe

I would have, yes, except no one bothered to E-Mail me.

Apparently last night I was talking loudly in my sleep, for today an irate neighbor knocked on my door with a cassette tape of strange zoobie howls, shrieks, and screams which she said were emanating from my brush shelter in the wee hours.

Taking the tape to analyze more closely, I heard myself saying, in the zoobie tongue, such odd things as "...the weird purple sisterhood gargles with the anxious broth of the third-born tijuana zebra, and paints the dimmer brothers of the marsh wren with salisbury ink, pushing them, Rambo-like, toward the fate of the super-turtle that could not fly..."

and:

"...haircuts don't sing to the scissors, neither do toenail clippers speed the hero-pencil sharpener to the brink of polished cardboard when the need of the carbon fiber eaters is emergent or the whinning of the true blue meter rods has warped the devil notebook to it's maximum extention, in this perpendicular universe..."

and:

"...flank the elders, music elves, for the harsh star rises and unzips all our rubber band balsa planes. The hour of the glazing is at hand, and the cock vanes point to the city of the low rhythms in the land of five sweet treats a night for the polyethelene fairy. Light your pipes, and frown upon the exploding truffles of your unfresh underwear. Rampage delicately with your wispy sequoia smiles, barking not at the metals below gold, nor above aluminum. Goodnight and God speed..."

So, it turned out it was all perfectly clear.

How high can ants count?

Livingod

If by 'ants' you mean 'teens' and by 'count' you mean 'get', then the sky is the limit (nice pun, huh) but by any chance you don't mean such things, it is the total number of jobs that the ant has. Jobs include but are not limited to:
digging
fighting
enforcing the queen's laws
"personally" servicing the queen ant (i.e. populating)
among others.

What does your quetion have anything to do with the 4 paragraphs you wrote right before it?

(And does the quetion above make grammatical sense?)

zoobyshoe

Exactly as much as it seems to, depending on the angle of your view and the color temperature of the light with which you illuminate it.

Speaking of jury duty, recently I recieved about a pound of beeswax in the mail from a beeswax vendor in Anaheim with a cover letter informing me it was a free sample for me to try in my candle making business, sent in the hope I'd find it superior to the beeswax I presently use and would order more from them in the future.

Who among you is spreading the strange rumor I am in the candle making business?

Livingod

Oh no! You found out! Everyone in PF was conspiring against you. We tried to kill you with beeswax and this pound of beeswax would be the means to do it. "Why send me the murder weapon?" you ask, because wax is too sticky to carry from New York to your brush shelter so we sent it there beforehand.

Am I gonna get killed for spilling the beans?

jimmy p

I would most probably say yes, but I don't know what spilling beans has to do with telling everyone zooby has a secret passion for homemade candlelit dinners.

Because we have wax in our ears, how do the bees get it out?

jimmie

They don't get it out. They put it in there. While you were not conscious. I thought everyone knew that. Bees are busy inside ears. Only hear them when awake.

Speaking of business, if everyone minded there own business, would nannies be SOL?