Where else, at the zoo-be-glued store, on e-Bay, although I got to tell ya, I heard that that stuff is really really (I mean REALLY) inexpensive, so inexpensive that they actually got paid to receive it!Originally asked by zoobygluie
Where would I be able to buy Zoobieglue in 55 gallon drums?
"Zoobygluieeeeeeeeeee" is one of the most adhesive substances known to humanity, but NOT to the greys, why?
Your average grey space alien isOriginally posted by ExtravagantDreams
Where on Earth did these grey come from anyway?
Well it is actually an inverse function as the quantity consumed has a reverse preportional effect inasmuch as the percentage of ingestion declines with the affectivnesse's surmounting of the ingestions affectation. IN other (simpler) words "the more they consume, the less affect it has on them" hence the real amounts remain secret, to this day! as we'll need to kill you, if you can figure it out.Originally asked by ZOObySHOE
How many 55 gallon drums of Zoobie glue does the average grey space
alien fraternity consume per frat party?
There is a small conference room at the end of a cramped corridor in an abandoned underground bunker beneath the West Wing of the White house where full grown men are presently growling at each other in a vigorous difference of opinion over this very issue. It is likewise, strangely enough, the subject of a "thread" of graffiti in the third stall of the men's bathroom on the ground floor level of the Mall Of The America's in Minneapolis, Minnesota. What should a person do if they discover that the Person they have been corresponding with over the internet actually passed away several years ago?Originally posted by Mr. Robin Parsons Since MRP is the ONLY person on the planet who knows the real, and needed amount of "55 gallon drums of zoobie-glue' to have the effect that is the cause of the effects reaction, what does it measure in degrees(°) Rankine??
Come to the realization that the internet has gone etherial and that it is presently connected to "The Beyond" in such a manner that communicating with the dead is now as simply as www.talkingtodeadpeople.grav[/URL] thereby connecting the "World Wide Weeb" with the "Universal Metaphysical Realm" (UMR) as to enable all of the persons, past, present, and future to communicate in an open, and friendly, fashion, to further the profiteering of all of the "Communal Charities" all over the Universe. So remember. please GIVE, the dead need the ca$h! (Some of them are being asked to pay to enter Heaven, to bad they couldn't take it with them!)Originally posted by zoobyshoe
What should a person do if they discover that the Person they have been corresponding with over the internet actually passed away several years ago?
Robin PARSONS (ABT 1925 - 10 Dec 1991)http://kropf.org/html/d0005/I219.html
Legal adoption into the clan Parsons constitutes legal membership in the clan Parsons with all the attendant rights to loose change provided you could establish a link between your adoptive parents and the deceased namesake which would best be accomplished by calling yourself "The Lowlander", getting a large sword, and lopping the heads off of every Parsons who may be of more potentially direct relation urging yourself on with the motto:"There Can Be Only One!"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"?Originally posted by Mr. Robin Parsons How do you go about collecting on a bequest, that is in a name similar to your, but all along knowing that, since you are adopted, it cannot really be any relation to you, but you need the money, so you try anyways, but you don't know how??
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)[/color]
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 *[/color][/size] (?)
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" [/color] 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??)[/color]
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[/color] by Mr. Robin Parsons in an obvious fit of marshmallow intoxication[/color]
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[/color] story and who is also under the erroneous impression that a male zoobie can become pregnant[/color] . 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[/color] 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[/color], 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([/color]l)[/color] 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"?[/color]
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!??
NOPE it's now the star formerly known as North, with the new combinatrix naming of SNORTH STAR and N'SOUTH STAR.Originally posted by zoobyshoe
Ooooo! I just heard the magnetic field flip! Should we now call the North Star the South Star?
Revert to my amoeboid state just before the event, divide into two 40 kg amoeba (amoebi?), wait it out, and when it is over think up a new user name for the new Zoobyshoe.Originally posted by Mr. Robin Parsons If the Earth's magnetic field flipped, and the last time nothing over 39 Kgs survived the toss, what are you going to do, this time, if you weigh in at 80 kgs?
Not sure about that, but you could try here in Kingston, "The Store Famous[/color]" might have them, I was in there the other day, couldn't afford Fame, so I bought rolling papers instead, but maybe you could afford it, or one of those famous sandwiches.Originally posted by zoobyshoe
(Ah, comme je suis malin!) Where can one find one of those incredibly delicious pumpkin and liverwurst on sourdough sandwiches like they used to serve on the Rive Gauche, somewhere along le Rue de Lapin Mort, in the Cafe Vagabond back before the War?
Since the term "Shark's Q'tips" means "Of no use whatever to sharks", given they haven't any apparatus for manipulating a Q'tip and no interest in eating them, this is no concern. As for the expanse of water, this could be quite an obstacle. I think I will lie down, and take a nap, while my unconscious mind works it out.Originally posted by Mr. Robin Parsons So what would you do when you find out you have been running the proverbial race of "The Tortoise, and the Hare", you are the "Hare", and this writter is the "Tortoise", you realize that the race is a planetary one, 70 % of the planets face is water, "Tortoises" can swim really really well, and Hare's are nicknamed "Shark's Q'tips" to all Ocean dwellers?
I know. I own that store.Once, when I was dozing at a table outside a cafe in Paris called Le Lapin Dormant a somewhat familiar voice from a few tables away caught my attention, and, opening one eye slightly I was horrified to see it was my old high school math teacher, Mrs. Quadraticus, who was something like a cross between a screw at Alcatraz and a Tasmanian Devil. I disappeared from the premises rapidly, and in the process, neglected the bill. This has been weighing on my conscience heavily in the intervening years and I wonder what I should do about it?P.S. There really is a store called "The Store Famous[/color]" here in Kingston, corner of York and Barrie.
"Yes son, your dilema is very clear to us all here at the "Phone in Psychiatric Center", The "PPC" where every call is important to U$, surely you have realized that you should immediately phone Mrs. Quadraticus and apologize to her in full, with admonitions upon yourself for eternal damnations should you ever have such heathens thoughts, about such a pure woman, EvEr again, failing that, you should do a self imposed penance as recomended by Sister Aldat Dizcip'line, from 'Our Lady of The Oaken Rulers", she'll make darn certain that that old adage of "Give a man an inch, and he'll think he is a ruler", never crosses your mind, (or knuckles too) and from there you can led a live of purity, and chastity that is the life you have always dreamed of! From that, you can probably make New friends, and with them, earn yourself some real honest money, then you can go back to that sweet little cafe, in "Paras", like you done told us, and work off your debt there too. Don't forget sweety, we have your credit card number, thanks bye!Originally posted by zoobyshoe
Once, when I was dozing at a table outside a cafe in Paris called Le Lapin Dormant a somewhat familiar voice from a few tables away caught my attention, and, opening one eye slightly I was horrified to see it was my old high school math teacher, Mrs. Quadraticus, who was something like a cross between a screw at Alcatraz and a Tasmanian Devil. I disappeared from the premises rapidly, and in the process, neglected the bill. This has been weighing on my conscience heavily in the intervening years and I wonder what I should do about it?
There are precedents for this, and one hears rumors, so don't be surprised if suddenness isn't as unexpected as you would anticipate.Originally murmured over the "Help For The Hapless Hotline" by Mr.Robin Parsons, defender of psychopathic math teachers and disciplinarian clergy, and soon-to-be Prime Tyrant of "The Canadian Nationalist Party Of The Too Distracted by Internet Interests To Be Employed":What if all of a sudden isn't?"
Nope riding on a tortoises back is NOT on of my dreams cause I know all of those tortoises and I'll tell you about them, they look innocuous enough, but get near enough to any of them, and you will get to find out just how sharp a tortoises beak can be, nevermind the claws on the feet. See really they are the ones who employ the Sharks Q'tip's, use them for after going to the bathroom (or something like that) which is why you never find any washed up on the shoreline, well, except the ones that got away, but usually they are quite well marked, if they have any head, or brains, left at all (those kinds of tortoises are real fat lovers, and you brains is mostly fat sooo...) after those ones have had there way with anyone. So in conclusion, well clear enough, pedantic little ploglidites need not apply.Originally snored into existence by the dream state of the "hariest of the hares" "slowest of the speedy" "deluded of the deluding, when being decieved" and generally "All round sound of emittent gases" zoobyshoe-The Foist, really number 12, in of all the "Books of ten"
Once, when I was snoring sweetly at a cab stand in Paris, waiting for one of those two horse power taxis ironically referred to as "Les Lapins Rapides" I dreampt I was repelling down the side of coordinate system K' and encountered several tortoises plodding along a vector roughly 67 degrees off the normal of my own in a coordinate system K9 that was in relative motion with K' at a leisurely velocty of roughly 2 mph. I though to myself that if I let go my hold and landed on the back of one of those tortoises I could take a nap there while it transported me. But I woke up to see the taxi driver staring me in the face saying "Alors! Vous venez ou non?" On the way to my little Chambre, I related the narrative of this dream to him, and he responded "Je sais. Tout le mond a le meme reve." And so: Does Mr.R.P., too, have the same dream?
