Printable View
Hello -Mags and houseisland.....You both have me laughing.
Tears clouding up vision.
Sorry to interrupt this Adventure.
Going to my sister-in-laws to give her and my brother some blueberries.
Soft serve vanilla ice cream and blue berries.
Thank you both and El Squid for all the laughs sooooo far..............................
... which was all about making the proper choice in silverware for all occassions. After all, was a shrimp fork required for the consumption of Pygmy a l'Orange at the Cannibal King's annual feast, or would any small fork suffice? What were the philosophical ramifications of providing your Vegan guests with only salad forks? And, could they use steak knives for sawing away at particularly fibrous food? These were the little nuggets of education which separated the truly civilized and cultured folk from the plebian masses of the unwashed.
Meanwhile, El Squid found a moment to be thankful for his slick, waterproof hide, as Mr. P's polychromatic emesis simply slid off of it, leaving only the slightest trace of oily residue behind. He scuttled off to find an electrical outlet to jack in to, while the red LED warning light kept flashing its Low Batt message on his retinas.
"Danger, Will Robinson!" he screached, flailing his tentacles about as he ran in circles.
Enter Dawn, stage left, looking perplexed. What had happened to this thread? She recalled its innoccuous beginnings when the grumpy WOTPPers hurried before her, carrying food back into their caves. Where had they crossed the line into this Twilight Zone episode, filmed in Technicolor before a live studio audience? Who was responsible for this...
Meanwhile, the raging torrent of Technicolour vomit cascading down the street had caught up wee Tommy and his kilt and swept him into a deep pot hole where he whirled about in the current struggling to keep his head above the viscous liquid.
"Och!" He cried, "Ih can nay swim! Ih will drown, an none shall save meh!"
The posher denizens of the Prehistoric Planet, those who had been nurtured on standard received elite British English, stood and stared, perplexed by the wee Scot's suicidal utterance.
The others, the colonial riff raff and the Yankee trash, stood and stared, equally perplexed, not by the wee Scot's cries for help but rather by the seemingly elitist, upper-class, effete snobbery of the Poshies' inactivity.
Wee Tommy whirled about like a gold fish in a blender. Then suddenly his tam-o’-shanter disappeared beneath the sea of spew, sucked down into the maelstrom.
From a second story window above the hork-drenched street came the sounds of Stevie Ray Vaughan and Jeff Beck jamming on "I'm Going Down" -- "I'm going down ..... down, down, down......."
The smirking narrator mused on the vagaries of dialectology and the ambiguities of modal verbs.
____________________________________________
http://forums.windrivers.com/images/.../2010/07/1.jpg
It is my pure and virtuous heart that
gives me the strength of ten!
Then, just as wee Tommy had been given up as gone for good, a rather large Samoan exchange student stepped out from the Taco Del Mar and into the colorful sea of yuck. Making a quick assessment of the situation, he unhesitantly dove towrds the swirling whirlpool into which the wee lad had recently vanished.
Fortunately, the yech was but a few feet deep and the Good Samoan Samaritan had only to reach down an arm's length, to pull the sputtering Scotsman out of the varicolored depths.
"I say, good show!" the onlookers exclaimed, rejoicing in wee Tommy's good fortune. "Hip, hip hurrah!"
"Hip Hip Hooray Indeed", said Claire and she looked utterly surprised at the mention of her old friend, Dawn ...
And little Tommy breathed a tremendous sigh of relief, and launched forth on his bagpipes to the tune of ...
http://pybertra.free.fr/ceol/piob2.gif
Piobaireachd Dhomnuill Duibh
(Click on image or link --Midi - will probably open a new window)
Pibroch o' Donald Dhu -- "A very widespread tune, played on a G.H. Boyd MIDI bagpipe by Craig Neumann, here restored to its correct pitch : a complete Pibroch (13') with urlar (or ground) and the leumluath, taorluath and crunluath variations. (Move along the tune, and wait for the drones to be reactivated)"
Upon the crowd's urgent request for an encore, Tommy quickly followed with a second pibroch, An ceapadh Eucorach, The Unjust Incarceration, "A tune composed in 1705 by the blind piper Iain Dall MacKay of Gairloch (1656-1754). Complete Pibroch : urlar, specific variations in 3/4 at 4'40'', stereotyped variation (taorluath, no leumluath) at 9'20'', crunluath at 11'45'', then crunluath a-mach at 14', and back to the urlar at 16'."
http://pybertra.free.fr/ceol/celtic.htm
____________________________________________
http://forums.windrivers.com/images/.../2010/07/1.jpg
It is my pure and virtuous heart that
gives me the strength of ten!
In 1284, the town of Hamelin is suffering from a terrible plague of rats. The town council tries everything to get rid of them -- without success. At last, the Mayor promises 1000 virgins to the one who can put an end to the plague.
A stranger dressed in bright red and yellow clothes shows up and says he can rid Hamelin of the rats "This is alias Tommy wee Kilt". At night, the stranger starts to play a soft tune on a flute, luring all the rats out of the houses and barns towards the river Weser, where they break dance and drown in a colorful sea of yuck.
The Mayor refuses to pay the piper: "Playing a tune on a flute is not worth 1000 virgins you pervert. Get out of Hamelin!"
But the piper returns on a Sunday morning, when all the grown-ups are at church. Again he starts to play a tune on his flute. This time, all the virgins follow him, as he walks out of the gate to the mountains. Suddenly, a cave opens in the mountain. The piper walks into the mountain, still followed by the virgins, and the cave closes again.
The virgins were never seen again in Hamelin.But, Wee Tommy Kilt.......................
...was in dire need of a vitamin B shot and case of Viagara. When he finally emerged from the cave, the poor lad had wasted away to mere skin and bones, but had the most dazzling of smiles.
Meanwhile, Inspector Cleuseau was investigating the apparent murder of a cat. Someone reported a cat being strangled to death by a vacuum cleaner, unaware it was but the skirling of the bag pipes. Ummmm, screeee, urrrrm! :rolleyes:
:uke: :uke: :knife: Wee Tommy OD'd on viagra and vitamin B Held his abdomen real tight,grew very pale, then began his final run.
( Wee Tommy and The Submersible Turd) laid a great full-circle run. The turd trail ran through the woods, by the cows, through the goat pen, across somebody's farm, by the start... word has it that Wee Tommy grew up in this area which would explain the tricky maneuver and the permission of the farmer to run by his goats. The cats were punished by the acting Religious Advisor (A. Navigator) for their obvious sin during trail preparation - communion with animals is forbidden Wee Tommy step forward and meet the......................................
..Queen
...Queen..I hope she wasn't at Hamelin thought the sickly little frail figure of Tommy.
"Tommy! "said, the Queen..."You owe child support for 1012 children even some twins there." Of Course Tommy did the only sane thing he could and fell dead."Bury the varmit!"Scowled the Queen."
In the distance a familiar figure played the bagpipes,Smoked a cigar,Practiced with the chopsticks and thought about times of old and looked off in the distance to see..........................
Meanwhile, back at the sleazy Taco Del Mar on the wrong side of town there is a sudden commotion. Sirens wail. A hail of bullets dances down the street, ricocheting off the spew drenched pavement and the parked cars. The Squid, Mr. P, the Petronellas, Chi-Ken, Moby, Ahab, Daisy and the cast of thousands this sordid tale seems to have generated all jump for the relative safety of the dingy trash-strewn alley.
In a blur of light, a pair cyborg salties pulling a whacked looking dude on a large photon surfboard flash past the mouth of the alley. Bullets rage round them like amphetamine-pumped flies over a dead rat.
At the intersection of Down-n-Out Road and Lonely Street, just down the block from the Taco Del Mar and in front of Heartbeak Hotel, there is a quantum shift, the salties and the surfer dude making a sudden left in the spatial/temporal continuum while their holographic projections continue on straight, pursued by battalion of gun-blazing cars bearing CIA, KGB, Interpol, FBI, MI5, and Boy Scout logos. Bringing up the rear of this international posse, a CSIS moped struggles on valiantly, the rider desperately trying to keep his balance while shooting rubber bands off his plastic metric ruler.
Then there is silence. The crowd in the alley tenses, suddenly aware of each other's proximity. Things are too close.
Moby eyes the weakened, battery-drained Squid, his mouth watering remembering the taste of squid flesh back at the duck pond when triumph was almost his.
Mr. P quickly switches his vegemite sandwich from stun to kill. Chi-Ken gets his laser sashimi chopsticks ready.
Suddenly there is a broad sunburned Aussie laugh from the other end of the alley. Everyone turns as Dr. Bruce Antrhax and the cyborg salties emerge from the darkness.
Moby sneers and aims his sardine at Dr. Bruce, saying, "I pull the trigger, errr ... pectoral fin ... and there's one less insane sheep-killing dingo! No great loss........."
The salties scutter into the shadows at the sides of the alley and then inch slowly toward the whale. Moby's new friend, Ahab, steps forward with his flensing knife.
Dr. Bruce whistles casually, and then slowly drifting up from the shadows of the alley a school of cyborg great white sharks flows forward toward Moby and Ahab. The mad scientist regards the whale coldly and says in flat, matter of fact voice, "I have two words for you -- Feeding frenzy......."
Moby and Ahab look at each other and then beat a hasty retreat round the corner.
Dr. Bruce laughs again. He waves his hand and a small wombat back down the alley on the photon surfboard turns off the holograph generator. The great whites slowly fade away.
The wombat then waddles forward carrying a MKII cold-fusion battery-pack-replacement reactor.
Dr. Bruce beams at the Squid and Mr. P. "G'day Mates!" he chuckles. “That was great fun!”
Then donning an elbow- .. err... armpit-length latex glove, he takes the MKII reactor from the wombat, turns back to the Squid, grins, and says, "Bend over and spread'em, big boy!"
____________________________________________
http://forums.windrivers.com/images/.../2010/07/1.jpg
It is my pure and virtuous heart that
gives me the strength of ten!
But the Squid thinking fast starts remembering American Cowboy movies and the lingo used by Indians.
Me no spread-um-says squid.Have um heap big appointment with Chief Squat and Smile.Ask um him for his daughter-Lean and grin.No make um bad impression.Must impress true love um.Put um up big rubber TeePee you wear um and check um me later. :flames:
This brings an evil smile to..........................
Ooh! If my third wife read that, she would have yer butt in a sling, Street my friend! :guns: ;)
Woo, Hoo! The Pottowotomie, Citzen's Band curse she would unleash on you, would fry yer eyebrows off, all the way from Oklahoma! :grin::flame: :flames:
Yes but...........I be um 25% um Cherokee Indian- I name um my ugly daughter Wallflower make heap good laugh for paleface. ANY HOO! I am 25% Cherokee.
Make um fun of myself. :grin: :grin: :grin:
Well,as the story continues the Squid refuses the oil check at any price.
Sooooo...................................