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...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!"
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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!
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...................................
Don't think that being quarter Cherokee would save your butt! You are still 75% something else! She is one mean woman and I autta know! :p
Anyway, the old clock on the wall reads time to "vamoose", so have a great weekend all! :wave:
So much to catch up with, I think I'll just juggle for a while ...
Quote:
Originally Posted by Mags
Good picture Mags.Hope below sites help. :grin:
http://yoyoguy.com/info/ball/index2.html
http://www.acm.uiuc.edu/webmonkeys/juggling/
Meanwhile, unseen to many, the Ladies Embroidery Class reopens. Ms Butterfly is keen to impart her knowledge to the ladies sitting poised with needles, silk and various materials.
She said, 'we will start with Daisy stitch, you have to thread your needle with white silk or green, depending on whether you are doing the leaves or the daisies. Then you carefully insert the needle into the material, don't stick the needle into your thumb, otherwise we shall have to look for bandages. Then you pull the needle through the material with the thread attached, don't lose it, otherwise, we shall have to go hunt for it. When the needle and the thread is through to the other side of the material, you put your hand up and I will let you know what to do next ....'
She smiled sweetly, as Embroidery Teachers do, and waited for results ... who would be the first?
"Arrr.." says Ahab, "This be a might similar t'mending sails, excepting that the needles here be smaller."
Mrs. Butterfly nods approvingly as Ahab threads his needle. She glances over at Moby who is all flippers and flukes as he struggles with a bobbin of pink thread. "There was just no hope for some people, err.... creatures." She thought to herself, feigning a smile of encouragement in Moby's direction.
"With me new mate, Moby, I can't do scrimshaw no more." says Ahab to no one in particular as he busily stitches away.
Mrs. Butterfly smiles again. With the exception of Moby, the class is going well.
Ahab looks up and says, "Mam, you wouldn't be having a dram o' grog handy, would you? This be right thirsty work."
Mrs. Butterfly, Vice President of the Virtuous Women's Temperance League, bristles with umbrage. "I should say not!" she replies frostily.
Standing erect to her highest pinnacle of virtue, she surveys Ahab with suspicion. Then horror! Oh horror! She comes to the startling realization that Ahab, her new pupil whom she had hoped to drag from the gutter onto the true path of righteousness and purity, was not stitching the daisy pattern the class had been studying but had rather started something in a lurid scrimshaw style involving mermaids and sailors, doing exactly what she was not entirely sure.
In the most un-genteel of fashions, she suddenly screamed, "Where will it end? What has happened to the Prehistoric Planet? Where is sanity?"
With a shaking hand, she reached into her sewing basket and pulled out a bottle of Lydia Pinkham's Nerve Tonic for Women, unscrewed the cap, and took a large swig.
Ahab, rubbing his parched lips, looked up and said, "Ere, that be good stuff. A dram o' that be like a double grog followed by a couple pipes o' opium."
As he reached for the bottle expectantly, Mrs. Butterfly fainted.
Daisy and Claire put down their needlework and came over to Moby and Ahab.
"She not be very sociable with the grog." Ahab said peevishly.
Daisy replied, "I think its time to go."
Moby who had just managed to thread his needle looked disappointed. Ahab looked hurt and confused.
Claire turned up her posh nose and thought to herself, "You can put bilge water into a champagne bottle, but it will never be anything but bilge water. Good God! What does Daisy see in this riff raff?"
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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!
Aye mateys ’struth be told in days of old there be pirates in Saskatchewan. So sit ye down with a dram o’grog while tell ye a tale or two
bq. The Last Saskatchewan Pirate
I used to be a farmer and I made a livin’ fine
I had a little stretch of land along the CP line
But times went by and though I tried the money wasn’t there
And bankers came and took my land and told me fair is fair
I looked for every kind of job, the answer always no
“Hire you now?” they always laughed, “We just let twenty go!”
The government they promised me a measly little sum
But I’ve got too much pride to end up just another bum
Then I thought who gives a damn if all the jobs are gone
I’m going to be a pirate on the River Saskatchewan….
Arrrrrgh!
Cause it’s a Heave! Ho! Hay! Ho! Comin’ down the plains
Stealin’ wheat and barley and all the other grains
It’s a Ho! Hay! Hi! Hay! Farmers bar your doors
When you see the Jolly Roger on Regina’s mighty shores
Well you’d think the local farmers would know that I’m at large
But just the other day I found an unprotected barge
I snuck up right behind them and they were none the wiser
I rammed the ship and sank it and I stole their fertilizer
A bridge outside of Moosejaw spans a mighty river
Farmers cross in so much fear their stomachs are aquiver
‘Cause they know that Tractor Jack is hiding in the bay
I’ll jump the bridge and knock them cold and sail off with their hay
Cause it’s a Heave! Ho! Hay! Ho! Comin’ down the plains
Stealin’ wheat and barley and all the other grains
It’s a Ho! Hay! Hi! Hay! Farmers bar your doors
When you see the Jolly Roger on Regina’s mighty shores
Well Mountie Bob he chased me, he was always at my throat
He’d follow on the shoreline but he didn’t own a boat
But cutbacks were a comin’ and the mountie lost his job
So now he’s sailin’ with me and we call him Salty Bob
A swingin’ sword, a scull ‘n’ bones and pleasant company
I never pay my income tax and screw the G.S.T. (screw it!)
Prince Albert down to Saskatoon, the terror of the sea
If you want to reach the Co-op, boy, you gotta get by me!
Cause it’s a Heave! Ho! Hay! Ho! Comin’ down the plains
Stealin’ wheat and barley and all the other grains
It’s a Ho! Hay! Hi! Hay! Farmers bar your doors
When you see the Jolly Roger on Regina’s mighty shores
Well pirate life’s appealing but you don’t just find it here
I’ve heard that in Alberta there’s a band of buccaneers
They roam the Athabaska from Smith to Fort McKay
You’re gonna lose your Stetson if you have to pass their way
Well winter is a comin’ and a chill is in the breeze
My pirate days are over when the river starts to freeze
I’ll be back in spring time, but now I have to go
I heard there’s lots of plunderin’ down in New Mexico
Cause it’s a Heave! Ho! Hay! Ho! Comin’ down the plains
Stealin’ wheat and barley and all the other grains
It’s a Ho! Hay! Hi! Hay! Farmers bar your doors
When you see the Jolly Roger on Regina’s mighty shores
Bad knitting song...I guess. But,Sing it they all did! :grin:
...then Ms Butterfly cautiously opened her eyes, her lips twitching then she said, 'I am VERY pleased to see that Moby has threaded his needle .. and I'm not mean with the grog, it's really only suitable for Ladies of a Delicate Disposition....'
Ms Butterfly then proceeded to wait with interest, to see who would join Moby in this most suitable task of embroidery?
El Squid struggled to thread his needles and get on with the embroidering, but sadly, he was all tentacles when it came right down to it.
Mr. P, on the other hand, wore a glove, which has nothing to do with embroidery, at all.
Chi Ken, deep in a zen-embroidery trance, whipped out a beautiful waterfall scene, complete with cranes and lotus blossoms, unfortunately embroidered into his own thigh, as he neglected to pick up his piece of silk.
And, as we all know, a stich in thigh, gathers no moss.
Ms Butterfly looked with interest and compassion upon her eager class.
She could see real potential in El Squid and felt that he could embroider about ten items at a time.
She looked back in her ancient instruction manual and realised she had failed to say that one must put one hand underneath the material, so that stitches don't dig deep into flesh. However, she did feel that Chi Ken's design was so beautiful, that she dashed to get her camera....
..and this, was the result -
http://theseoultimes.com/ST/db2/imag...0126113144.jpg
There are always things from one's past that one cannot escape, even by running away to sea.
Chi-Ken's so-called embroidery extended over most of his body. It was needle work of an entirely different kind. Then there was the missing little finger on his left hand, the permed hair, the sunglasses, and his fondness for Nissan Fairladies with black windows.
It all added up. It all made sense...........
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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!
It all made sense ... to Ms Butterfly, who with a glimpse of inspiration so rare in her life, she wondered if she'd been living before?
She realised here was a whole new craft, not just pretty lace embroidered serviettes, tablecloths, cushion covers, blouses and suchlike, but whole men !
She wondered whether she ought to split the class into two, one evening to concentrate on real embroidery and the other evening, to concentrate on this new craft.
So she proceeded to write a new instruction manual ... which would contain things like ...
... using a dictionary before committing to any "permanent" text and how to tastefully cover up any previous work, especially if it involves names. Perhaps, she mused, it would be wiser to start off with some simple blue-black jail house designs, such as a tear drop or broken heart, before assaying into colored inks or complex motifs.
Now, if only she could talk that Squid fellow into contributing a bit of ink, she could get started.
But, the Squid fellow was not to give up any ink.He had plans for a full body tatoo.
Ms. Butterfly put her hands on her hips (that way teachers do )and glared down at the Squid.Her mind was made up................................
But,the Squid fellow always kept his ink in his top hat.She could never find it there
unless..................
... she got some help from the white rabbit who lived in it. One had to be very careful when reaching into that top hat, for it enclosed a dimensional anomality, otherwise known as a worm hole, resulting from frequent exposure to the cephalopod's unusual cerebral emanations.
So, being very careful not to stick any part of her hand into the hat itself, Madame Butterfly rapped politely on it's brim.
"Hello! Is anybody in there?"
...to which the reply came, 'no' ...
(which is true, since I lost my Aunt, I've been in a daze, normal service will take a while to resume).
so ... therefore ... we ... await ...
In the interim, a wandering minstrel saunters in, stage left, and sits down atop a grassy knoll. He unpacks his lute and strums it lightly. He immediately makes a sour face, as the instrument is hideously out of tune, and puts the lute aside, pulling out a set of reed pipes from his copious knapsack.
"Much better!" he thinks to himself, as he lifts the pipes to his lips.
Just then, an enormous Saber-toothed Kangaroo crashes down on top of the Merry Minstrel, smashing him into a reddish puddle of goo, gathers itself up and then leaps out of sight.
A tiny voice emanates from the gory puddle of goo, "Ouch! That smarts!"
Hell to the Queen! I mean hail to the Queen! Is the voice we are now hearing.
Who could this be braving the goo?Such a little wee person to show up at a
time like this.Sauntering he is ,with little attention for anything and great admiration
for himself.Forward he trudges hunting the exit from the goo.
No respect yet!
Screeches the.................
... Inner Child of the former wandering Minstrel, who looks amazingly like Rodney Dangerfield. Finally freed from that caterwauling bufoon, he found himself open to run and play amid the clover, unfettered by the fleshy prison of his adult body.
"Woot!" he exclaimed, tumbling down the side of the grassy knoll. "I don't get any respect, but I don't care!"
'You don't care?, What ?!!' screached the Headmistress, well you should care, it is my earnest plea and the reason why I put so much into my work, that every pupil of mine should care ... I mean to say ....'
I mean to say......'
You,yes you!Look at yourself you twisted little excuse for a..........
Interloper attack! WOTPP :grin:
Let's get this straight. You are not an interloper. This is not a private thread which you are butting in on.Quote:
Originally Posted by jitBob
Your so-called "Interloper attack" is a welcome contribution, one every bit as meaningful and profound as most of what has gone before. It is also in keeping with the tradition of the thread.
Welcome back jitBob.
: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!
Quote:
Originally Posted by houseisland
You mean we ... have .... had things that were meaningful and profound? Gosh, oh my !! But of course, everyone's welcome to join in ... and please do !
And, as the seamstress said, when the phone went, as she was embarking upon a new job, 'I've lost the thread....'
However, a knock at the door heralded the arrival of ....
The supply guy is here with more threads for youQuote:
Originally Posted by Mags
came a booming shout at the door.
The seamtress took one look at him and knew........................
... knew that although the square root of negative one being equal to an imaginary number was a necessary fiction, in order to maintain continuity in the Universo Mathematico, it was in reality a wad of notational gum shoved into a hole of the logical tire, so the venerable car of science could continue to wobble its way down the road. Not much better than rattles and knucle bones, but with much cooler notation and way more money.
Then, there was the whole problem of the Unification Theory, but she thought it was still not time to reveal her anti-gravity mittens to the world, so it would just have to wait. Now, where did she put her cheque book? The nice package of new threads had come C.O.D. and the young delivery man would want paying.
First she remembered the day she spent in the
room hunting that darned umbrella shaped hat
she felt attractive in.
Her face soon became a twisted statement
of sorts.
She had to have the threads.
She couldn't find the cheque book.
So she thumb-cocked her pistol and shot
him right between the......................................
... second and third buttons of his uniform blouse. Fortunately, she had picked up a starter's pistol, so although it went off with a bang, that is all that came out the barrel. Unfortunately, the delivery dude had an undiagnosed congenital heart defect, so, when the pistol went off, he suffered a massive MI, clutched his chest with both hands and dropped to the floor, stone dead. Oh my!
The seamstress, unfazed by the young man's untimely demise, reached down and retrieved the aforementioned package of new threads. The package's plain brown paper wrapper surrendered to her insistent pulling, as did the tape wrapped about the simple cardboard box. She reached in and pulled out a great wad of thread, which, upon further examination, turned out to be just one single, very long thread of many colors.
It had a paper label wrapped around it, which read "The WOTPP's Tale". This egregious violation the self-referencing prime directive resulted in a massive disruption of the space-time continuum. A swirling vortex appeared, sucked everything into a gaping black hole and then vanished, leaving behind ....
...leaving behind ...
a very confused 'me', in fact so confused that yesterday, I picked up the remote control to make a phone call !!
Then realised it would be a lot easier if I picked up the cordless phone !
Do carry on, I'm trying to follow the thread .. but with having lots of responses from the letters I wrote to some of my late Aunt's friends, not sure if I'm on my head or heels here ...
On with the Tale ....
leaving behind ....Every cartoon ever made in military uniforms,high heels,tights and
a bandana around each leg.
Of course,Nike sent their cheerleaders with tennis shoes and protest signs.
The Mayor of Munchkin Land sent the coroner to make sure the guy was sincerely
dead.
The seamstress awoke from the Mad Hatter dream and spun a web from all the
threads she had accumalated through the years,jumped in spread eagle and
started doing a new found dance.
A sudden flash from who knows where.Sent WOTPP signs to every.................
..seamstress in the land !!
In fact, I had to go and see one this morning to get some neutral coloured material to cover the new television, I've been using a teacloth and wanted something that would blend into the background. She waded through rolls of this and that and one wasn't bendy enough, one was too green, then we finally found something. 'Can I pay you?' I asked. 'No' she said ... so the TV now has a new cover. And what a lovely seamstress she is too !!
Then little Tommy said ....
Then little Tommy said ....I got fences to mend and a train to catch.
I been high and low searching for an error in my WOTPP travels.
Pretty women,insane posters.Yep I got me a real............................
No comment:Trying to resurrect this tale from the dead. :grin:
That is not dead, which can eternal lie, and with the passing of strange aeons, even death may die!
Bwa ha ha!
Bwa ha ha!
Gathered - among the trees they seek
knowledge - through the stary night
sacrifices - rites of no purity
chants - for cthulhu, the dreaming one.
The dreaming one???Bwa ha ha!
The seamstress has now gone quite mad.....................
She has entered The Matrix.Where Miss Piggy sounds like Micheal Jackson.
http://video.google.com/videoplay?do...45502000914740