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BS: The Mother of all BS threads

Rapparee 08 Feb 05 - 10:16 PM
Bee-dubya-ell 08 Feb 05 - 10:43 PM
Rapparee 08 Feb 05 - 10:52 PM
Acme 08 Feb 05 - 11:38 PM
Bee-dubya-ell 09 Feb 05 - 02:04 AM
Teresa 09 Feb 05 - 02:11 AM
Rustic Rebel 09 Feb 05 - 03:04 AM
GUEST,Rapaire 09 Feb 05 - 09:16 AM
GUEST,Bandersnatch 09 Feb 05 - 09:49 AM
GUEST,Teresa 09 Feb 05 - 10:11 AM
GUEST,MMario 09 Feb 05 - 11:09 AM
GUEST,MMario 09 Feb 05 - 11:21 AM
GUEST,Teresa 09 Feb 05 - 11:29 AM
GUEST,lle-aybud-eeB 09 Feb 05 - 11:38 AM
GUEST,Stilly River Sage 09 Feb 05 - 11:41 AM
GUEST,Spock 09 Feb 05 - 11:45 AM
GUEST,Amos 09 Feb 05 - 11:51 AM
GUEST,Bee-dubs 09 Feb 05 - 11:56 AM
GUEST,Teresa 09 Feb 05 - 12:05 PM
GUEST,Teresa 09 Feb 05 - 12:16 PM
GUEST 09 Feb 05 - 01:01 PM
GUEST,rr 09 Feb 05 - 01:06 PM
GUEST,Stilly River Sage 09 Feb 05 - 01:11 PM
GUEST,Rapaire 09 Feb 05 - 02:01 PM
GUEST 09 Feb 05 - 02:30 PM
GUEST,Teresa 09 Feb 05 - 03:17 PM
Bunnahabhain 09 Feb 05 - 04:30 PM
Bee-dubya-ell 09 Feb 05 - 06:09 PM
Layah 09 Feb 05 - 06:25 PM
Layah 09 Feb 05 - 06:27 PM
Bee-dubya-ell 09 Feb 05 - 06:46 PM
Bunnahabhain 09 Feb 05 - 09:52 PM
Rapparee 09 Feb 05 - 10:23 PM
Bee-dubya-ell 09 Feb 05 - 10:45 PM
Teresa 09 Feb 05 - 10:54 PM
Bee-dubya-ell 09 Feb 05 - 11:16 PM
Acme 10 Feb 05 - 12:58 AM
Bee-dubya-ell 10 Feb 05 - 01:47 AM
Teresa 10 Feb 05 - 01:54 AM
Amos 10 Feb 05 - 05:28 AM
Rapparee 10 Feb 05 - 09:52 AM
Bunnahabhain 10 Feb 05 - 11:30 AM
Layah 10 Feb 05 - 11:34 AM
GUEST,MMario 10 Feb 05 - 11:45 AM
Layah 10 Feb 05 - 11:55 AM
Acme 10 Feb 05 - 12:28 PM
Acme 10 Feb 05 - 12:29 PM
Acme 10 Feb 05 - 12:32 PM
GUEST,heric 10 Feb 05 - 12:35 PM
Acme 10 Feb 05 - 12:35 PM
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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 08 Feb 05 - 10:16 PM

Sounds like that old song from the Walt Disney movie: ...that's why the veggie is a trap.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Bee-dubya-ell
Date: 08 Feb 05 - 10:43 PM

Wasn't there a band named "Roasted Root"?

And haggis... Why do they feel compelled to serve haggis at Burns Night dinners just because Robert Burns wrote a poem called "To a Haggis"? If some group were to host a dinner in honor of Walt Whitman would they serve compost because he wrote a poem called "This Compost"?


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 08 Feb 05 - 10:52 PM

Whitman (whose father, let it be said, was ALSO named Walter, so the poet is really "Junior" Whitman, which sounds like a small box of candy or the leader of a 1930s-era swing band) also wrote "When Lilacs Last In The Dooryard Bloomed" and "Oh Pioneers!" I don't think that we'd serve lilacs OR dooryards OR pioneers. Especially pioneers, because according to the poem they have pistols. I don't like to eat any dinner that shoots back once it's on my plate.

Haggis. Oatmeal, root veggies, and little bits of mystery meat boiled up in a sheep's stomach. Why, that's awful! Not at all like the dishes of my youth, like panhaus or blutwurst!


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Acme
Date: 08 Feb 05 - 11:38 PM

sigh!

We're back to good ol' freebie "Folk Alley" and "Free - Music Downloads." My cat is sitting in my lap with her chilly nose tucked under my left forearm (keeping her forehead warm) and all is right with the world. Haggis was a bad dream, like a "bit of undigested beef," or to whatever Scrooge attributed Marley's ghost.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Bee-dubya-ell
Date: 09 Feb 05 - 02:04 AM

Google ads are back to the tinned haggis and a book called Whitman's Self Explained: On Mysticism in American Literature.

And speaking of haggis... From THIS PAGE:

Gordon Sinclair, owner of Gordon's Fine Meats, once again honours Scotland's national bard, Robbie Burns, with his annual haggis toss across the mighty Bow River.

Sinclair always improves upon the mechanism used to hurl the haggis across the river. Sinclair says customers of his built this years machine, a trebuchet, which is a catapult-type device used to hurl heavy missles like rocks, or in this case, a haggis.

...apparently they've never managed to get the haggis completely across the river.


Yes, that's right folks! Used a trebuchet to fling a haggis across a river! Coincidence that we were talking about using trebuchets to toss salads on the "Salad Shooter" thread? Coincidence that this thread seems to be enamored of root vegetables? Coincidence that when sheep eat mangelwurzels they give birth to old tires? I think not! There's something going on here. Some power greater than ourselves is trying to send us a message. I can almost make it out! The part I can almost make out says "B-e-d--ya is - f--k-n' d-mb--s." I don't quite understand. Wonder what the message really says? Anyone have a magic decoder ring with ya?


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Teresa
Date: 09 Feb 05 - 02:11 AM

Are you sure it doesn't mean "O yen pounds section O E euros?"

I hope I got that right; my brain ain't what it once were. ...

Teresa


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rustic Rebel
Date: 09 Feb 05 - 03:04 AM

Ode to finding the true meaning;

If it was to be that I should know what it means
than I will.
If it is true meaning that I should not,
than I'll find out some way that I don't.
If I should know anything without really thinking I do,
please, stop me now.
If I forgot to remember the meaning and told you what it was anyway,
I meant it.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: GUEST,Rapaire
Date: 09 Feb 05 - 09:16 AM

Well, yes and no.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: GUEST,Bandersnatch
Date: 09 Feb 05 - 09:49 AM

Would that I was what I am not;
then would I go where I may not;
Here am I where I must be,
Go where I will I cannot.

Oh, diddle-i-oh! Oh, lonseome li-oe-day!



Oh, Rustic you have raised the standard of confuscatory concatenators everywhere. You deserve an invitations tot he very Olympics of DIsintermediation and Amplified Clarification.

A


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: GUEST,Teresa
Date: 09 Feb 05 - 10:11 AM

There is a distinction between its name, what it's called, and who it is, isn't it? :)

Teresa


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: GUEST,MMario
Date: 09 Feb 05 - 11:09 AM

you couldn't be more correct Teresa.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: GUEST,MMario
Date: 09 Feb 05 - 11:21 AM

6162

I mean to say - it's like a championship show dog - who often has a long involved title incorperating the kennel name, sometimes a "line name" and all the various awards - (just like people with PhD, Ma, BS, etc)

Then there is the "family name" they go by - usually much shorter - sometimes seemingly totally unrelated to the dog's official title.

and then frequently you will find out they have a nick-name or pet name used by the owner and/or handler that usually succintly somes up the dog in a word. but not sneccessarily the same name for the owner as the handler. because the dog *is* not the same for the two people.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: GUEST,Teresa
Date: 09 Feb 05 - 11:29 AM

Ok, I need to "vent". Even when I use the "D" to break up the number of posts per page, it still takes two minutes for it to load on DSL. Grrrrrrrrr!!!!!³

There, I feel better now. Now what was it we were saying. Oh, to heck with it. :)

Teresa


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: GUEST,lle-aybud-eeB
Date: 09 Feb 05 - 11:38 AM

There is a distinction between its name, what it's called, and who it is...

You mean like Tweed's name is "Rick", what he's called is "Hizonner da Mayor obv Tweedsburg", and who he is is "idjit personified"?

Or like Amos' name is "Amos", what he's called is "silver-tongued obfuscator", and who he is is "not anything we're at all certain we really want to know".

Or like my name is "Bruce", what I'm called is "dumbass, idjit or moron, depending on the phase of the moon" and who I really am will be revealed as soon as I calculate the exact relationship between the sheep, the onions, the mangelwurzels, the Swedes (can't say "rutabagas"), the onions, the trebuchets, the spatulas, the onions, the old tires, and exactly why men wear socks with sandals.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: GUEST,Stilly River Sage
Date: 09 Feb 05 - 11:41 AM

Let's examine Teresa's rant:

Grrrrrrrrr!!!!!³

Is this Grrrrr to the third? Is it that bad? Grrrrrr Cubed? Wow! (But it is slow to click on the "d"--sometimes it seems faster to just click on the number then click on the last page).


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: GUEST,Spock
Date: 09 Feb 05 - 11:45 AM

Most illogical discussion. However, due to my mind-meld with the chair a while ago, it's making some kind of sense. I'm feeling a sense of apprehension.

Live long and Prosper,
Spock


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: GUEST,Amos
Date: 09 Feb 05 - 11:51 AM

who I really am will be revealed as soon as I calculate the exact relationship between the sheep, the onions, the mangelwurzels, the Swedes (can't say "rutabagas"), the onions, the trebuchets, the spatulas, the onions, the old tires, and exactly why men wear socks with sandals.


I think the silver-tongued obfuscator has been revealed, and he is buck nekkid!!LOL!


A


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: GUEST,Bee-dubs
Date: 09 Feb 05 - 11:56 AM

Yas, sometimes clicking the "d" times out on me but clicking the number works. And sometimes it'll load faster from this "back-door" server than from ".org". And sometimes it'll load faster if I switch browsers. And sometimes it'll load faster if I restart my computer to clear all those built up temp files out. But sometimes it just sits and spins until it times out no matter what I do.

Better watch it though, or Mom might hear us talkin' this tech stuff and send us to our rooms... alone.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: GUEST,Teresa
Date: 09 Feb 05 - 12:05 PM

Thanks, SRS, shall try that. Yes, it was grrrr cubed; that bad ... at that very instant. :)

Teresa


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: GUEST,Teresa
Date: 09 Feb 05 - 12:16 PM

Now I am convinced MOAB is lightyears away. It takes minutes to cross-post with some of the other mission participants.

And unfortunately, going to the numbers instead of the D takes at least twice as long for me.

Ok, I will not get frustrated. It's just a quirk. string theory, or something. Or is that thread theory?

Teresa


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: GUEST
Date: 09 Feb 05 - 01:01 PM

Is that the G-string theory in the onion field of a metaphysical modicum of nearly nakkid boys?


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: GUEST,rr
Date: 09 Feb 05 - 01:06 PM

I mean- nearly nekkid boys?
Rustic


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: GUEST,Stilly River Sage
Date: 09 Feb 05 - 01:11 PM

Yes. And they run around singing "With a Thong in my Heart." They feel a little sheepish about their performances.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: GUEST,Rapaire
Date: 09 Feb 05 - 02:01 PM

That's why they tire quickly.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: GUEST
Date: 09 Feb 05 - 02:30 PM

Highly variable Northern Hemisphere temperatures reconstructed from low- and high-resolution proxy data


ANDERS MOBERG1, DMITRY M. SONECHKIN2, KARIN HOLMGREN3, NINA M. DATSENKO2 & WIBJÖRN KARLÉN3


1 Department of Meteorology, Stockholm University, SE-106 91 Stockholm, Sweden
2 Dynamical-Stochastical Laboratory, Hydrometeorological Research Centre of Russia, Bolshoy Predtechensky Lane 11/13, Moscow 123 242, Russia
3 Department of Physical Geography and Quaternary Geology, Stockholm University, SE-106 91 Stockholm, Sweden

A number of reconstructions of millennial-scale climate variability have been carried out in order to understand patterns of natural climate variability, on decade to century timescales, and the role of anthropogenic forcing. These reconstructions have mainly used tree-ring data and other data sets of annual to decadal resolution. Lake and ocean sediments have a lower time resolution, but provide climate information at multicentennial timescales that may not be captured by tree-ring data. Here we reconstruct Northern Hemisphere temperatures for the past 2,000 years by combining low-resolution proxies with tree-ring data, using a wavelet transform technique to achieve timescale-dependent processing of the data. Our reconstruction shows larger multicentennial variability than most previous multi-proxy reconstructions, but agrees well with temperatures reconstructed from borehole measurements and with temperatures obtained with a general circulation model. According to our reconstruction, high temperatures—similar to those observed in the twentieth century before 1990—occurred around AD 1000 to 1100, and minimum temperatures that are about 0.7 K below the average of 1961–90 occurred around AD 1600. This large natural variability in the past suggests an important role of natural multicentennial variability that is likely to continue.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: GUEST,Teresa
Date: 09 Feb 05 - 03:17 PM

And there was at least one Ice Age between 1000 and 1600 A.D. A mini-one in europe, as I recall.

Wait, that isn't BS.

Teresa


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Bunnahabhain
Date: 09 Feb 05 - 04:30 PM

See we can relate swedes and sheep. If they're not related already in the more rural parts...


swedish sheep


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Bee-dubya-ell
Date: 09 Feb 05 - 06:09 PM

But do those Swedish fur sheep eat mangelwurzels or Swedes? And if they eat Swedes doesn't that make them dangerous man-eating carnivores? And what of the tires? Are the tires made from the fur of the Swedish fur sheep?

And what of the kohlrabi! Not that it has a damned thing to do with the sheep, the mangelwurzels, the Swedes, the tires or even the haggis. Just, what of it?

(Notice the sly and subtle manner in which he introduces a new vegetable into the equation?)


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Layah
Date: 09 Feb 05 - 06:25 PM

The sheep die and become tires and then the tires hatch baby sheep. Sometimes the sheep get confused with clouds, but you have to remember that clouds don't have limbs. That is the lifecycle of a Swedish sheep. The Swedes eat swedes and thats the lifecycle of a swede. The French eat kohlrabi, the kohlrabi eat mangelwurzels, the mangelwurzels die and are born again as Frenchmen. The haggis run around on the hiltops with one leg shorter than the other so they can balance. I think that takes care of everything there. Oh, of course and the spatulas are used by the French to cook the kohlrabi.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Layah
Date: 09 Feb 05 - 06:27 PM

Oh and I forgot to mention the roving bands of neeps and tatties who gang up on the poor haggis. neeps and tatties eat haggis. Nobody else does.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Bee-dubya-ell
Date: 09 Feb 05 - 06:46 PM

I grew kohlrabi once. What a glorious waste of garden space! Do you know kohlrabi? No? Well, here's a picture: CLICK.

What you eat is the bulbous part. It has to be peeled first. Then, you can use it in salads, soups or stirfry. It's okay, but it's virtually indistinguishable from brocolli stems, which can also be peeled and used in salads, soups or stirfry. Why should I grow kohlrabi when I already have more brocolli stems than I know what to do with?


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Bunnahabhain
Date: 09 Feb 05 - 09:52 PM

I thought kohlrabi was a Jewish holy man stuck in the Antarctic....


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 09 Feb 05 - 10:23 PM

Critical Behavior of a Cubic-Lattice 3D Ising Model for Systems with Quenched Disorder by A. K. Murtazaev, I. K. Kamilov, and A. B. Babaev

A Monte Carlo method is applied to simulate the static critical behavior of a cubic-lattice 3D Ising model for systems with quenched disorder. Numerical results are presented for the spin concentrations of p = 1.0, 0.95, 0.9, 0.8, 0.6 on L × L × L lattices with L = 20–60 under periodic boundary conditions. The critical temperature is determined by the Binder cumulant method. A finite-size scaling technique is used to calculate the static critical exponents alpha, beta, gamma, and nu (for specific heat, susceptibility, magnetization, and correlation length, respectively) in the range of p under study. Universality classes of critical behavior are discussed for three-dimensional diluted systems.


and then there's this bit:

Collective Modes in Quasi-Two-Dimensional Conductors under Strong Spatial Dispersion by O. V. Kirichenko, V. G. Peschanskii, and D. I. Stepanenko

Propagation of electromagnetic and spin waves in layered conductors with a quasi-two-dimensional dispersion law of charge carriers is investigated theoretically in the presence of an external magnetic field with induction B0 . In layered conductors, the drift velocity vD of electrons along B0 is an oscillatory function of the angle between the magnetic field direction and the normal to the layers. For certain orientations of the magnetic field with respect to the layers of the conductor, vD is close to zero. In these directions, there is no collision-free absorption, and weakly damped waves may propagate even under strong spatial dispersion. In the short-wavelength limit, there may exist collective modes with frequencies in the neighborhood of resonances for arbitrary orientation of the wavevector k relative to B0 . Similar types of excitations in quasi-isotropic metals are possible only when k is perpendicular to the direction of the external magnetic field.


Why, you ask, is he doing this to us? Shall I call Mom? you ask yourself. Perhaps he's slightly mad (though those ARE his initials) and needs psychiatric help?

No. Not at all. I will unveil my GUT soon, and you will need to understand these articles (and others) to understand my GUT.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Bee-dubya-ell
Date: 09 Feb 05 - 10:45 PM

MOMMMMM!!!! MOMMMMM!!!! Little Hawk stole my "rutabaga" bit and started a thread with it! Make him give it back! It's not fair! He already has Chongo Chimp, and Blind Drunk in Blind River, and Ms. Penelope Rutledge. All I have is rutabagas and spatulas! It's not fair!

That Little Hawk is a broke-dick mamalucca and if he doesn't give my rutabaga back I won't play with him anymore!


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Teresa
Date: 09 Feb 05 - 10:54 PM

Is this about bipolar disorder, Rapaire? :>

Teresa


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Bee-dubya-ell
Date: 09 Feb 05 - 11:16 PM

Oh Boy! Forget about LH and the rutabagas. Rapaire's got a GUT! Wow! I never met anybody with GUT before! Even Stephen Hawking doesn't have a GUT, he just wishes he did. That's way cool.

Brucie has a goat, but that's different, isn't it? Or is it Little Hawk who has the goat? Somehow I missed that little bit of Mudcat mythology. Musta happened during one of those rare times when I actually pull myself away from the computer and work for more than two hours a day.

WHOA! Wait a minute! Rapaire has a GUT! Brucie has a goat! The Swedish word for "goat" is "gute". And a Swede is a RUTABAGA! Hah! Round and round and round we go, and where we stop, nobody knows!

Yeeeeeeehaaaaawwwww!!!! Mangelwurzels off the port bow!!!!


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Acme
Date: 10 Feb 05 - 12:58 AM

Eggplant (aubergine)


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Bee-dubya-ell
Date: 10 Feb 05 - 01:47 AM

ZUCCHINI!!!!
ZUCCHINI!!!!
ZUCCHINI!!!!
ZUCCHINI!!!!
ZUCCHINI!!!!


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Teresa
Date: 10 Feb 05 - 01:54 AM

"And it's all because they didn't eat their vegetables."

It's coming back in all the guilt-ridden nightmares. Yes, the parade of spatulas, eggplants, ru ... swedes, arti ... jerusalems ... endive, parsnip, radiccio, till the horror of them overflows the carnivorous palate.

Attack of the killer tomatoes!

Teresa


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 10 Feb 05 - 05:28 AM

"How do you expect to amount to anything if you don't clean your plate? "

Another of those imponderable questions that only mothers can invent, the subtle and insoluble machines of mental death and oppression implanted into the innocent minds of kids everywhere.

"What would Gramma Tweedle think if she knew what you were doing?" "How can you bear to waste your vegetables, knowing how hungry the poor children in India are tonight?" and "If your classmates told you to jump off a building, would you do it?" "Would you put your elbows on the table if you were an ambassador?" I have heard all these and worse from folks desperately trying to recover their perspective and self-respect from the jaws of mad, destructive maternal rhetoric.

It's a wonder any of us survived to think again!!

A


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 10 Feb 05 - 09:52 AM

I have just one more piece of evidence to examine before I reveal my GUT. In the meantime, here's a letter a local family received from their kid in Marine Boot Camp in San Diego. Maybe Amos knows the kid?

Dear Ma and Pa,      

I am well. Hope you are. Tell Brother Walt and Brother Elmer the Marine Corps beats working for old man Minch by a mile. Tell them to join up quick before all of the places are filled.

I was restless at first because you got to stay in bed till nearly 6 a.m. but I am getting so I like to sleep late. Tell Walt and Elmer all you do before breakfast is smooth your cot, and shine some things.
No hogs to slop, feed to pitch, mash to mix, wood to split, fire to lay. Practically nothing. Men got to shave but it is not so bad, there's warm water.

Breakfast is strong on trimmings like fruit juice, cereal, eggs, bacon, etc. but kind of weak on chops, potatoes, ham, steak, fried eggplant, pie and other regular food, but tell Walt and Elmer you can always sit by the two city boys that live on coffee. Their food plus yours holds you til noon when you get fed again. It's no wonder these city boys can't walk much.

We go on "route marches", which the platoon sergeant says are long walks to harden us. If he thinks so, it's not my place to tell him different. A "route march" is about as far as to our mailbox at home. Then the city guys get sore feet and we all ride back in trucks.

The country is nice but awful flat The sergeant is like a school teacher. He nags a lot. The Captain is like the school board. Majors and colonels just ride around and frown. They don't bother you none.

This next will kill Walt and Elmer with laughing. I keep getting medals for shooting. I don't know why. The bulls-eye is near as big as a chipmunk head and don't move, and it ain't shooting at you like the Higgett boys at home. All you got to do is lie there all comfortable and hit it. You don't even load your own cartridges. They come in boxes.

Then we have what they call hand-to-hand combat training. You get to wrestle with them city boys. I have to be real careful though, they break real easy. It ain't like fighting with that ole bull at home. I'm about the best they got in this except for that Tug Jordan from over in Silver Lake. I only beat him once. He joined up the same time as me, but I'm only 5'6" and 130 pounds and he's 6'8" and near 300 pounds dry.

Be sure to tell Walt and Elmer to hurry and join before other fellers get onto this setup and come stampeding in.

Your loving daughter,
Gail


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Bunnahabhain
Date: 10 Feb 05 - 11:30 AM

From Amos
It's a wonder any of us survived to think again!!

You sure we have suvived to think?

And how about the classic 'Just because your brother made you do, do you think it's something your brother would do?'


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Layah
Date: 10 Feb 05 - 11:34 AM

'Just because your brother made you do, do you think it's something your brother would do?'

I think that one's purely British. For one thing I've never heard it before. For another you can't say that in American grammar. You have to say 'Just because your brother made you do it, do you think it's something your brother would do?" I wonder why you need the it after the first do, but no it after the second. And you missed "you'll put someone's eye out like that" and "If you keep making that face it will get stuck like that"


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: GUEST,MMario
Date: 10 Feb 05 - 11:45 AM

I was much more likely to hear "Just because your brother did it, you think that makes it okay for YOU?"


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Layah
Date: 10 Feb 05 - 11:55 AM

Thats like three posts in a row of sense. I demand more BS! And while the vegetables are invading, I demand more attention be given to artichokes!


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Acme
Date: 10 Feb 05 - 12:28 PM

Layah, please step back a moment and ponder the following:

BS is NOT synonymous with "nonsense." Far from it. Shooting the BS breeze simply means our interests are far reaching and varied and that our take may be on the absurd side.

Thank you.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Acme
Date: 10 Feb 05 - 12:29 PM

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know,
His house is in the village though.
He will not see me stopping here,
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer,
To stop without a farmhouse near,
Between the woods and frozen lake,
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake,
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep,
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

         -- Robert Frost


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Acme
Date: 10 Feb 05 - 12:32 PM

    There are strange things done in the midnight sun
    By the men who moil for gold;
    The Arctic trails have their secret tales
    That would make your blood run cold;
    The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
    But the queerest they ever did see
    Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
    I cremated Sam McGee.


Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he'd often say in his homely way that "he'd sooner live in hell."

On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't see;
It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.

And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request."

Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; then he says with a sort of moan:
"It's the cursed cold, and it's got right hold till I'm chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet 'taint being dead--it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains."

A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: "You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it's up to you to cremate those last remains."

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows—O God! how I loathed the thing.

And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.

Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice May."
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;
Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum."

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared—such a blaze you seldom see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.

Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.

I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep inside.
I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked;" . . . then the door I opened wide.

And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: "Please close that door.
It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm—
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm."

    There are strange things done in the midnight sun
    By the men who moil for gold;
    The Arctic trails have their secret tales
    That would make your blood run cold;
    The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
    But the queerest they ever did see
    Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
    I cremated Sam McGee.


Robert Service


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: GUEST,heric
Date: 10 Feb 05 - 12:35 PM

:) (My English professor hated that poem with a passion. "Little horse. Of course it was a little horse. Couldn't have been anything else in a Robert Frost poem.")


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Acme
Date: 10 Feb 05 - 12:35 PM

The Lady of Shallot

On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And through the field the road run by
To many-tower'd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Through the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow veil'd,
Slide the heavy barges trail'd
By slow horses; and unhail'd
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?

Only reapers, reaping early,
In among the bearded barley
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly;
Down to tower'd Camelot;
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers, " 'Tis the fairy
The Lady of Shalott."

There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.

And moving through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot;
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls
Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad
Goes by to tower'd Camelot;
And sometimes through the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two.
She hath no loyal Knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often through the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot;
Or when the Moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed.
"I am half sick of shadows," said
The Lady of Shalott.

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his blazon'd baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armor rung
Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn'd like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.
As often thro' the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, burning bright,
Moves over still Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra," by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott.

In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining.
Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower'd Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And around about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.

And down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance --
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.

Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right --
The leaves upon her falling light --
Thro' the noises of the night,
She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.
For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame,
And around the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.

Who is this? And what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed themselves for fear,
All the Knights at Camelot;
But Lancelot mused a little space
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott."


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