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Quote:
Originally Posted by Mags
http://harpur.binghamton.edu/11802ho...ages/quill.gif
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http://forums.windrivers.com/images/.../2010/07/1.jpg
It is my pure and virtuous heart that
gives me the strength of ten!
Permitame, por favor!
https://forums.windrivers.com/
I no speaka da French!
And there's a rumour that I'm leaving the planet ... well hanging on with my teeth here ................................... and I have posted the little problem with external drive elsewhere on this worthy site ... so I must away ..... and see what words of wisdom await ... talking of wisdom ...
Along came ....
Muy rico suave!Quote:
Originally Posted by El_Squid
:thumbs2:
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http://forums.windrivers.com/images/.../2010/07/1.jpg
It is my pure and virtuous heart that
gives me the strength of ten!
NooNoo...
NooNoo had been lost in lineland, sorted the pollution problem in the land of the crags, had even been to the underwhere...finally returning to the thread, confused and bewildered.
Who named this child Bev? Why was she screaming? What did Auntie Mags start?
That's quite alright, neither do I, any more. After many decades of not using it, all of the French I knew has gone away. So, I fall back on my native Spanish.Quote:
Originally Posted by Mags
Permitame, por favor! = Allow me, please!
Glad to hear you've resolved your pesky partition problem with the external. And now, I must back to my office and official duties! These past months have been hellishly busy for me! :devil:
Thanks El Squid, I no speaka da Spanish either .. and having sorted the external, having problems with the internal now ... especially as after a Scrape and Polish at Dentist, I swallowed a black amalgum mercury filling last night at teatime ... ring NHS Direct, she said you'll be fine, as long as you keep breathing ... ring a neighbour ... keep my keys overnight, you never know what might happen ... back to Dentist .. not much tooth left .. you'll have to have it out ... oh give me computer problems any day .......................................
Anyway, does anyone know where we were in this scintillating, fascinating, exciting, meandering tail ? Or was that tale ?
House Island, our Illustrious Literrati summarized the Short Attention Span Saga rather succinctly:a rather dishevelled, distacted-looking squid came in through the bathroom window, muttering to itself as it wrung its tentacles in a woeful display of despair. Halfway into Little Bev's bedroom, the self-absorbed cephalopod noticed Auntie Mags and Little Bev, letting out a startled yip, before turning its large saucerlike eyes on the loopy-looking blue vacuum appliance.Quote:
Originally Posted by houseisland
"Ye Gods and little fishes! How have I ended up back here?" It shook its "head" in disapproval, "This will never do! I have too much to do,... I think. Or, perhaps,.. I think not!" And promptly vanished in a flash of Anti-DesCartesian logic.
After a brief moment of silent disbelief...
NooNoo swung into action with her SP catchcard - I need a squid to complete the collection on Super Paper Mario - hold still this won't hurt a bit.... The card engulfed squid and began to spin...
.. and the Squid let out a squeal of glee, "Wii!"
Meantime, back at the Keep, Wee Tommy strapped on his trusty Claymore and shoved a pair of wicked Dirks into the waistband of his Battle Kilt, girding himself for the Quest to Find Mr. P. Bob, on the other hand, wore a glove, whilst he busied himself emptying a bottle of Lochan Ora. The fire in the hearth snapped and popped ominously.
:flames:
The wicked Dirks managed to struggle free from Wee Tommy's battle kilt (a hard fought battle indeed since Wee Tommy now massed 20 stone thanks to a lot of eating, drinking and generally being a layabout for the last 50 pages).
The Dirks, Twins and Cousins as they were (another story), stood all of 22 inches floor to pompadour, and were in deed deemed very, very wicked.
The'd as soon cut you as coddle you, and could do so with anything convenient, be it a blade of grass or scimitar.
Dirk 1 says to Dirk 2, looking up at Wee Tommy's distended abdomen and dangling claymore, ..................................
... "Lordy, that is a bloody big belly! Just think of the great pile o' steaming innards that would spill out, if we but slice it open!"
His brother/cousin Dirk 2 replied, "Aye, but then who would clean up the mess? Not me, I tell you! And, think of the stink! That big ruddy Scot is as full of crap as a constipated oliphant, and twice as ugly!"
So, the Dirks decided it would be wiser to amble over to the nearest Pub and quaff a few pints, instead.
Bob watched, in bleary-eyed stupefaction, as the wee pair of Dirks leaped out of a window and into the foggy night air. The bottle of Lochan Ora was empty, but a powerful thirst still consumed him, compelling the amiable sidekick to leave his chair and stagger down the hall to the liqour cabinet.
Unable to find his favourite liqour, Bob settled for some regular liquor, drank a huge quafe of 'Grandma's Old and Possibly Distilled Vermont Drambui' and then thudded to the floor, stony cold.
Meanwhile, in another part of the place where he fell (I am NOT making this up), Ahab was slurring to a sprightly barmaid of no less than 60 years of age, "So, what brings an old beauty like you to a place like this?'
To which, as she picked a tankard of stale ale, she replied ............
....'Well, I usually check in about this time of day ... to see what you've been up to, Ahab? And as per usual, I can't understand a word you're saying ... so what was that again?' ... as she held the tankard to her ear, hoping it would act as an ear trumpet!
The place suddenly was bathed in a blinding purple light that flashed on the eyes like a cacaphony of drums, beating the staff and patrons alike into a stupefying silence.
Outlined at the door, a figure entered, and shouted................
Eh?
It was none other than the notorious Mr. P, the Platyborgpus, who, having stumbled through a convenient Wormhole of the Chickadees, found himself back at the Hello Sailor staring into a blinding puple light.
"Could someone turn off that bloody light, or at least point it at someone else? Ey?", he yelled, momentarily confusing blindness with deafness. "Is anbody out there? Hello?"
The sprightly barmaid, now with an ear full of Guiness, jumped up, dashed over to the over the fusebox and cut the power to the purple spot light. All present let out a heavy sigh of relief as the assault on their retinas ended. Mr. P spotted Cap'n Ahab and happily hurried over to the old salt's side, extending one of his limbs to help the crusty aold curmudgeon extract his peg from the hole.
Quote:
Originally Posted by El_Squid
'Could you say that again ... again ... again? Because I can't hear with an earful of Guiness....'
Buh-dee, Buh-dee, Buh-dee, that's all folks! :)
Disclaimer and explanation: Sadly, the triple Buh-dees were a rather lame attempt to paraphrase the infamous philosopher and porcine star, Porky the Pig, in his oft seen farewell to the show address. :rolleyes:Quote:
Originally Posted by El_Squid
If this has caused any concern, or confusion, please rest assured that the fault is entirely yours and the management refuses to accept any responsibility for items left unattended. :p
The Squid, Wee Tommy, the sprightly barmaid, the wicked Dirks, Chi-Ken, Cinder-Daphne, Bob, the missing Petronella twins, Auntie Mags, Moby and Daisy, Little Bev, Ahab and Madame Butterfly and all the other cast and crew were suddenly teleported onto the roof-terrace of the Inn.
Misty Highland daylight was assaulted by purple lights glaring from various and sundry spots, skyrockets were in flight, and, as it was the afternoon, they realized they should be in .......
..should be in a hurry, bringing warm drinks to Auntie Mags, who has a VIRUS of the physical, not computeral kind ... and as she's not a very female female, neither is a male female ... is a born female and still a female .. but is having a bit of a 'MAN VIRUS' which is like a 'MAN COLD', where EVERYBODY has to know all about it, EVERYBODY has to know how fed up she is...with Drs advice, to stay warm, keep SNIFFING UP .. do NOT resume your Social Life until you are better, so appointments are being cancelled left, right and centre, so Auntie Mags is going Stir Crazy (term stolen from a friend who gets back trouble) and is actually resorting to the Internet for her Social Life ... how sad is that?
But of course, if one has no other way of having a social life, the Internet is a perfectly acceptable way of having one or even if one has no-one to talk to during Coffee Breaks, social life has to take place on the Net...
...then because she's struggling with virus and stuff and moods, Auntie Mags then throws a fit and KICKS everyone out of the room, because she wants a bit of piece and quiet ...
So The Squid, Wee Tommy, the sprightly barmaid, the wicked Dirks, Chi-Ken, Cinder-Daphne, Bob, the missing Petronella twins, Moby and Daisy, Little Bev, Ahab and Madame Butterfly and all the other cast and crew then decide to....
... adjourn to the Billiards Room for a snifter of cognac, or perhaps a nice tawny Port, and have a sensible discussion about these unsettling events.
"Arrh, me hearties! ... and ladies, ahem!" Ahab growled, "We appear t' be havin' a whale uva problem keepin' ar story straight. We kan' even keep ar genre on course."
The distraught captain began pacing the room, his peg leg clip clopping on the wooden flooring, as he continued to fume aloud. "We flit about, frum Romance to Dime Store Detective, frum Science Fiction to Stream uv Conciousness, wit'out so much as a proper seque, or fade to bloody black!"
"What do it all mean?" ... :confused:
"The question is meaningless," replied Chi-Ken, totally ignoring its rhetorical nature, "For True Meaning is derived from context, which is a totally internal perspective and unique to every individual. In fact..."
"STFU!", barked the wicked Dirks, in unison, if not in harmony. "Has anyone seen where the bottle of scotch has gotten off to?"
Moby, feeling a bit peckish, eyeballed the nefarious cephalopod with gastronomic intentions, which sent shivers of paranoic alarm, up The Squid's spine. Or, would have, if he would only have had one.
"My squidy sense is tingling!" thought the Squid, with some trepidation, then leapt, tentacles writhing, to the far side of the Billiards Room. And not a millisecond too soon, to avoid Moby's slavering jaws slamming shut on his... ummm... head-like body part.
The Petronella Twins, Bob and Wee Tommy were in a darkened corner whispering and giggling in a sickeningly coquettish way. A half-empty bottle of twelve year old, single malt scotch passing between them, unbeknownst to the dastardly Dirks.
Suddenly, the Wicked Dirks appeared in the corner, grabbed the The Petronella Twins with one hand ap[iece, grabbed the half-empty bottle of Scotch, veered across the room and exited stage front, never to be seen again for at least 20 pages (and what an adventure to tell then, oh my yes!).
Daisy, Little Bev, the sniffling and snorting Auntie Mags, and Chi-Ken with Cinder-Daphne arm-in-arm all trouped out behind the Dirks-Petronella pairings and went to the Tasty Freeze in Albequerque.
Platyborgpus and Squid (noone knows if they are separate or one-and-the-same) slipped out to the docks seeking a trip to less perilous shores, taking the willing sprightly barmaid along as she had always wished to visit the colonies.
Thus, the rattling in the billiard room was heard by Ahab, Wee Tommy, Bob and Moby, and they crept there to find Madame Butterfly with a cue in her hands and a smile on her ruby-painted lips.
"What'll it be boys?" she sneered. "Eight ball or straight pool?"
Breaking the silence, Ahab .......................
.
... broke wind, adjusted his cod piece and stumped over to the unflapable Madame Butterfly. "I prefer snooker, but Eight Ball's good enough for me." He then unscrewed his peg leg and chalked up the end, asking "Do you mind if I break?"
To which the glaring Madame Butterfly replied, "You may break, sailor man, but you'll lose game after game, for you haven't a leg to stand on against me!"
And so, the ball breaking began. The outcome of the first seven games...................
... total domination by Madame Butterfly and her mad eight-ball skills. Dejected, defeated and deflated, Ahab hopped his way over to a leather wingback chair, flopped down in it and reattached his wooden appendage.
Bob, quick to take up the gauntlet, stepped forward, thumped his chest with his fist and declared, "I, Bodacious Bob, do challenge you, Madame Butterfly! And, will emerge victorious where Ahab failed to cut the mustard!" Unimpressed, she fixed Bob with a smoldering glare of such saucy salaciousness, Wee Tommy broke out into a sweat. "Bring it on then, Bobby! Let's see what you got!"
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, someone was beating a dead horse of another color. On the other hand, she wore a glove and the shoe was on her other foot, while she waited for the other one to drop. And, although it was just a drop in the bucket, she kicked it and was pushing up daisies from six feet under. Yet, he felt a little under the weather, or not, to be sure. :confused:
Glistening ripples spread acroos the surface of the placid, moolit waters near the docks. A dark, squishy mass emerged from the briny depths and scuttled ashore on ten sinuous tentacles, dragging a four foot long, wooden post behind it. The spineless creature made its way carefully up the waterfront, past the Taco del Mar, and into the heart of Techville.
Nary a soul witnessed the strange spectacle of this nocturnal cephalopod, muttering constantly to itself as it dragged the barnacle-covered post to the town square. Nor did anyone see it plant the water-logged post into the soft ground, attach a rumpled piece of parchment to it then leave, as silently as it came.
Wee Tommy awoke early, from his usual spastic bladder, picked himself up from the gutter and staggered bleary-eyed to the public toilets next to the town square. On his way there he noticed, or rather, he ran into a strange, soggy post, with a notice on it that read: "BUMP!"
<The mad laughter of squids in the distance.> :eek:
Of course, the sodden sailor was blurry-eyed and, well, sodden with alcohol, so he thought it read 'Dump', which brought his present conditon to mind and he hurried off to do his morning ablutions.
It was the sharp-eyed (and always sharp-witted) Madame Butterfly who finally got to the post and read the message thereon.
"Someone or something expects to take me for a sucker", she mused, "but this old gal has seen this Kraken humour before, and I didn't laugh then either. It may well be calamari time again!"
Returning to the bar, she began searching the kitchen for a large pot and a sharp knife.
Meanwhile, a much less distressed Ahab was returning from the loo, and...................
... realized he had been Wee Tommy on the way to the loo and, yet, was now the barnacular Ahab. How had this happened? What was going on?
The world began to spin crazily about his head, while strange, conflicting thoughts and emotions raced through his feverish brain.
"I yam what I yam!"
"Nae! Wee Tommy I be!"
Ahab... Tommy... Captain... Wee!...
Ahab became aware of a strange presence, a sinister entity who, somehow, appeared to be inside his skull. It was the vestigial remains of his unborn twin, still attached to his brain stem like some evil, sentient parasite manipulating his thoughts. Then, a familiar voice echoed in his mind.
"Och, laddie! You've found me out now, have ya? 'Tis true enough, though. We are one and the same, you and I, Captain Ahab and Wee Tommy." :devil:
"No!" he screamed, "It can not be! It is inconceivable!"... :eek:
And it truly was, for not 5 seconds after Wee Tommy had wended his wobbling way to the outhouse, our satyrated sailor-man had himself made a zig-zagged trail to that very same spot.
Finding the 'his' taken, and being in dire need, he made use of the 'hers'.
An so it was that, as Wee Tommy exited his commode, so too did Ahab, and, seeing the staggering Scot (or sot?), he murmured low right behind him, 'I am Ahab, I am Ahab', which caused the episode as detailed above.
Thus, when Wee Tommy cried "No! It can not be! It is inconceivable!", the old salt leapt upon his back and pummelled him a good one or seven, shouting, 'Of course it canna be ye dimwwit. You are you and I are I, or summit like that!'.
This confusing part of their morning was interrupted by.........
...Auntie Mags, who wonders what she's doing in the Men's Loo? And has been away so long, that she's lost it ...
Looking around for some demure ladies, she espies ....
... Madame Butterfly whetting her cutlery in preparation for a calamari feast. Her glassy, unfocused eyes were fixed upon the far horizon, which was quite a feat considering she stood in a windowless kitchen, deep in the bowels of Castle Carlysle on the Moors.
"Sching!" the razor-edged knife rang, each time she swiped it across the whetstone, with smooth and deceptively easy strokes. The pale olive-hued flesh of her delicate hands contrasted sharply with the stark white of the knife's ivory hilt and glistening steel blade.
Petronella, straightening her somewhat dishevelled attire, entered the kitchen with the spry barmaid in tow. Spotting the distracted Madame Butterfly, they exclaimed...
There was a hollow wooden "THUNK" as the rusty spade struck something beneath the slick dark earth. Pausing to wipe his nose on a filthy sleeve, Scungeon Foulpester, the aged parish sexton, stood (or stooped) perplexed. He leant the spade against the side of the open grave in which he was standing (or stooping) and ran his dirty fingers through the matted and greasy yellowy-grey stings that passed for hair atop his toothless skull.
"Ere.." he wheezed, "Ain't sposed t'be no box in this ere plot. Not yet, any ow."
He clutched the spade for support, and with a noise like the crushing of egg shells, he slowly made his way to his knees and began scooping the foetid wet soil from the lid of the unexpected coffin.
Gradually a brass plaque emerged from the dirt. Scrintching up his rheumy eyes, Scungeon traced his fingers slowly over the letters trying mouth the sounds, "p... p.... p.... aa..... aa.... an..... d... d... do.... dor.... aa."
"Ere.." he sputtered suddenly, "That mean all gold, don' it."
With arthritic excitement, he pulled an ancient pocket knife from his shabby pocket and began to work loose the death's-head-figure screws in the lid. As he prised the top half of the lid open with glacial effort, a boney appendage trailing bits of rotting flesh reached out and handed him a URL: http://forums.windrivers.com/showthread.php?t=73397 .
Scungeon, startled out of the few wits he possessed, knelt frozen, gums agape, staring down at the incomprehensible object in his filthy hands.
Suddenly the resounding bang of the coffin lid being pulled shut brought him to his limited senses.
"Ere..." he gasped.. "Vicar'll know what t'make a this."
He pulled himself up on the spade and with snail-like speed scrambled up and out of the open grave.
As he headed off through the yellowy mist towards the vicarage, he was suddenly troubled by a dim recollection of a long distant maternal figure boxing his ears and spit-scrubbing his childhood, Sunday-school face and hands.
He paused momentarily to wash his hands up against a dying oak, and then shaking the dribble from the URL he carried, he shuffled on to see the vicar in sure and certain hope.
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http://forums.windrivers.com/images/.../2010/07/1.jpg
It is my pure and virtuous heart that
gives me the strength of ten!
Quote:
Originally Posted by houseisland
...in sure and certain hope that the URL would 'be saved' ... I mean as on the 28th October, it will be all of three years old! Can one believe that?
The vicar saw Scungeon Foulpester approaching and turned to that most helpful book .....
....the Sears-Roebuck 1932 catalogue, tore off a page, wiped and then rearranged his robes.
After absent-mindedly washing his hands in the nearby bowl, he went to greet his unwelcome grave digger.
Throwing open the rectory door, he said...........
.....'I didn't expect to see the Vicar of Dibley here ... do come in, dear'
To which she replied ...