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BS: The Mother of all BS threads

Rapparee 02 Mar 12 - 03:01 PM
gnu 02 Mar 12 - 02:45 PM
Amos 02 Mar 12 - 01:20 PM
Little Hawk 02 Mar 12 - 10:10 AM
Rapparee 02 Mar 12 - 10:02 AM
Amos 02 Mar 12 - 09:49 AM
Little Hawk 01 Mar 12 - 11:34 PM
Rapparee 01 Mar 12 - 10:37 PM
Amos 01 Mar 12 - 09:46 PM
Rapparee 01 Mar 12 - 07:18 PM
Amos 01 Mar 12 - 04:36 PM
Little Hawk 01 Mar 12 - 02:27 PM
gnu 01 Mar 12 - 02:20 PM
Amos 01 Mar 12 - 02:18 PM
Little Hawk 01 Mar 12 - 02:10 PM
Rapparee 01 Mar 12 - 01:38 PM
Little Hawk 01 Mar 12 - 10:42 AM
Rapparee 01 Mar 12 - 10:17 AM
Amos 01 Mar 12 - 10:16 AM
Rapparee 29 Feb 12 - 11:30 PM
Amos 29 Feb 12 - 10:58 PM
gnu 29 Feb 12 - 10:46 PM
Rapparee 29 Feb 12 - 10:05 PM
Rapparee 29 Feb 12 - 07:58 PM
Amos 29 Feb 12 - 05:01 PM
gnu 29 Feb 12 - 03:52 PM
Little Hawk 29 Feb 12 - 03:24 PM
Rapparee 29 Feb 12 - 03:09 PM
Amos 29 Feb 12 - 02:23 PM
Rapparee 29 Feb 12 - 01:30 PM
Amos 29 Feb 12 - 12:58 PM
Little Hawk 29 Feb 12 - 11:45 AM
Amos 29 Feb 12 - 09:28 AM
Rapparee 29 Feb 12 - 09:10 AM
Little Hawk 29 Feb 12 - 02:11 AM
Amos 28 Feb 12 - 10:11 PM
Amos 28 Feb 12 - 10:10 PM
Acme 28 Feb 12 - 08:33 PM
Rapparee 28 Feb 12 - 05:41 PM
Little Hawk 28 Feb 12 - 03:29 PM
gnu 28 Feb 12 - 12:48 PM
Bill D 28 Feb 12 - 10:55 AM
Amos 28 Feb 12 - 10:41 AM
Rapparee 28 Feb 12 - 09:57 AM
Little Hawk 28 Feb 12 - 09:19 AM
Amos 28 Feb 12 - 09:09 AM
Acme 28 Feb 12 - 12:06 AM
Little Hawk 27 Feb 12 - 11:21 PM
Little Hawk 27 Feb 12 - 11:20 PM
Little Hawk 27 Feb 12 - 11:12 PM
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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 02 Mar 12 - 03:01 PM

Amos, you totally ignore the fact that I misspelled Housman as "Houseman."

Poor old Amos. He's gettin' a tad slow and forgetful, but Mom sort of loves him anyway.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: gnu
Date: 02 Mar 12 - 02:45 PM

"Apple's wealth was built on brilliant PR..." CBC Radio One did an amazing docu on Jobs. It was fascinating to hear of all the PR he orchestrated beyond being a genius that started with a pittance of coin in a garage and turned it into billions "overnight". The fact that he kept telling one advertising agency that he wanted "something different" from them for OVER a year but wouldn't give them any clues. Sheer genius when he had a full page ad in Rolling Stone Mag... "Welcome IBM" with the apple logo... what a stroke (yes, a double)! And more, including the "obit" ad in that same mag "Steeve Job's Legacy, February 24, 1955 - " What a sendoff ad! Sheer marketing genius!

Truly a genius who changed the course of history... in a garage.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 02 Mar 12 - 01:20 PM

I do apologize. I meant, of course, that Housman is better than McGonagle. Needless to say a simple typographical error has thrown Rapparee into fits of glee, paroxysms of unmoored guffawing. It is clear the deep end of the pool into which he has thrown himself is not the gene pool. It might be the cess pool, I suppose.

MOM, Mom:

It is a well known and reliable datum in ectoplasm research that the standard fault lines inherent in a typical spiritual visitor (or "hant") are such that when shattered (such as by a sudden shock, introduction to a crucifix, or capturing by a Ghostbuster ectoplasmic ray tractor-beam) the average ectoplasmic construct shatters in to 10^12 parts.

Each of these parts still shares certain characteristics of the original construct, including the well known ectoplasmic vocalization impulse. However it will be appreciated that the magnitude of the individual part is dramatically reduced, being only 1x10^-12 of the original ectoplasmic construct. Therefore the capacity for vocalization is proportionately lower in amplitude and higher in frequency.

This sound, which can only be detected by specialized equipment sold only to licensed ectoplasmic researchers, is known as the picoboo.

I'll get me hat.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 02 Mar 12 - 10:10 AM

LOL! I love it when he stalks away, Rap, nose in the air and a disgusted grimace on his face, clutching his skirts to himself like a Victorian maiden aunt who has been deeply offended by some gauche remark uttered by a social inferior...


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 02 Mar 12 - 10:02 AM

Housman is better than Housman? Something is better than itself?

LH, Amos has finally and irrevocably slipped into the deep end of the pool. We could do worse than name The Contest after him:

The Amos Award

"Did you see what she almost wore to to the Amoses last night??"

"On the brown carpet now is one of the world's most beloved po8s...."

"Bob, did you hear THAT? Bob? Oh, he's throwing up. I guess he heard it...."


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 02 Mar 12 - 09:49 AM

Hmmph. A man cut from your own cloth, all wrapped in delusion, and full of sound, like a trumpet in a bag.

I shall not deign to measure myself by such a sodden, broken stick.

Your Housman poem, good Rapp, I have known long since but it was delight to revisit it. He is better than Housman.

Somewhere in the Mudcat Poetry thread there is a poem concerning a War on Poets, which I recommend to your inspiration.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 01 Mar 12 - 11:34 PM

I cannot fathom how you can so completely misconstrue what I am saying about MacGonagall, Amos. It baffles me.

MacGonagall did NOT believe his poetry was mediocre! He fully believed that he was the greatest poet of his century. He had absolute confidence in the supposed brilliance of his own work, and that was what drove him on, even when his working class peers jeered him, laughed, and threw fruits and vegetables at him in the public houses where he usually performed.

He felt that they were simply too ignorant of great art to appreciate what he had to offer! "pearls before swine", he must have thought. The rich people were more subtle. They would invite him for humorous purposes only to recite his poetry, and pretend to be fascinated by it. MacGonagall drank it up, feeling that the well-to-do WERE capable of recognizing his greatness. He sent numerous volumes of his work to Queen Victoria, expecting to soon be summoned to her side and receive a knighthood. He received no response from her. Undaunted, he walked all the way from Edinborough to her country manor and presented himself to the guards at the gate. I believe he expected to become "The Queen's Poet" and probably live amongst the royals on a regular basis. The guards turned him away.

He walked back to Edinborough, still fully believing that only ignorant underlyings stood in his way, and that one day his genius would be the toast of the Empire.

You see, Amos, you completely misunderstood my meaning. MacGonagall thought his work was brilliant! The rich who invited him thought it was hilariously bad, absolutely worthless tripe...and THAT's why they invited him...to amuse their dinner guests...but they didn't tell HIM what they were really thinking. So he enjoyed the occasion...and so did they. That's a win-win situation, even if it is a little sad.

MacGonagall lived and died believing that he was the greatest poet of his time. One can only admire his unshakable faith in the face of adverse fortune and an almost complete lack of poetic ability.

Here's a brief and striking bit of MacGonagall verse:

"On the hill stands a coo    (cow)
But it's not there...it's awa' noo"    (now)

Positively zenlike! The man may have been a Master. ;-D

Got it now?


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 01 Mar 12 - 10:37 PM

Amos, Houseman replied before you were even thought of:

'TERENCE, this is stupid stuff        
You eat your victuals fast enough;        
There can't be much amiss, 'tis clear,        
To see the rate you drink your beer.        
But oh, good Lord, the verse you make,              
It gives a chap the belly-ache.        
The cow, the old cow, she is dead;        
It sleeps well, the horned head:        
We poor lads, 'tis our turn now        
To hear such tunes as killed the cow.              
Pretty friendship 'tis to rhyme        
Your friends to death before their time        
Moping melancholy mad:        
Come, pipe a tune to dance to, lad.'        

Why, if 'tis dancing you would be,              
There's brisker pipes than poetry.        
Say, for what were hop-yards meant,        
Or why was Burton built on Trent?        
Oh many a peer of England brews        
Livelier liquor than the Muse,              
And malt does more than Milton can        
To justify God's ways to man.        
Ale, man, ale's the stuff to drink        
For fellows whom it hurts to think:        
Look into the pewter pot              
To see the world as the world's not.        
And faith, 'tis pleasant till 'tis past:        
The mischief is that 'twill not last.        
Oh I have been to Ludlow fair        
And left my necktie God knows where,              
And carried half way home, or near,        
Pints and quarts of Ludlow beer:        
Then the world seemed none so bad,        
And I myself a sterling lad;        
And down in lovely muck I've lain,              
Happy till I woke again.        
Then I saw the morning sky:        
Heigho, the tale was all a lie;        
The world, it was the old world yet,        
I was I, my things were wet,              
And nothing now remained to do        
But begin the game anew.        

Therefore, since the world has still        
Much good, but much less good than ill,        
And while the sun and moon endure              
Luck's a chance, but trouble's sure,        
I'd face it as a wise man would,        
And train for ill and not for good.        
'Tis true, the stuff I bring for sale        
Is not so brisk a brew as ale:              
Out of a stem that scored the hand        
I wrung it in a weary land.        
But take it: if the smack is sour,        
The better for the embittered hour;        
It should do good to heart and head              
When your soul is in my soul's stead;        
And I will friend you, if I may,        
In the dark and cloudy day.        

There was a king reigned in the East:        
There, when kings will sit to feast,              
They get their fill before they think        
With poisoned meat and poisoned drink.        
He gathered all the springs to birth        
From the many-venomed earth;        
First a little, thence to more,              
He sampled all her killing store;        
And easy, smiling, seasoned sound,        
Sate the king when healths went round.        
They put arsenic in his meat        
And stared aghast to watch him eat;              
They poured strychnine in his cup        
And shook to see him drink it up:        
They shook, they stared as white's their shirt:        
Them it was their poison hurt.        
—I tell the tale that I heard told.              
Mithridates, he died old.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 01 Mar 12 - 09:46 PM

You are splitting hairs, with a sushi knife you ordered from a late-night TV advertorial, I am sure. Apple's wealth was built on brilliant PR and product quality and design genius. Everybody knows that.

The only art to be found in bad art is when it serves to shock the user into coming to his senses about the difference. McGonagle does have that effect, I admit it. Nothing brings home the meaning of "bad" verse like his rhapsodic drool about the silv'ry Tay.

A


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 01 Mar 12 - 07:18 PM

So...Apple Computers, which is one of the richest companies in the world, came from schlock.

I think such an award is needed and necessary, IF the resulting poesy isn't deliberately written to be bad. There used to be a "World's Worst Quilt" contest, but people started deliberately making awful quilts so it was discontinued.

There is an art in bad art.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 01 Mar 12 - 04:36 PM

LH, I am sure the self-important ant was having fun because of what he imagined he was doing. I find it hard to credit that McGonagle actually believed his poetry was pathetically mediocre; at least, he probably thought, the sentiments were noble enough to outshine any flaws in the execution. A delusion comparable to the ant's, you see.   As for wealthy people asking McG to speak, I would point out that taste and wealth are not coupled variables, whatsoever, and more wealth has come from shlock than from quality.


A


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 01 Mar 12 - 02:27 PM

I simply don't follow your analogy about the elephant, the monkey, and the ant, Amos. It fails to illuminate.

Have you never experienced the pleasurable delight of reading one of MacGonagall's or Moore's florid poems, grasping the emotional state and cultural sense that impelled the author to write such tripe, and enjoyed the keen amusement it elicits in the reader?

Many people have. The rich in MacGonagall's day would invite him to speak at their house parties, considering it to be fine entertainment for the guests. They even sometimes paid him for the privilege, and he humbly accepted...being besotted with the nobility and the royals. He had fun. They had fun. It was a win-win situation.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: gnu
Date: 01 Mar 12 - 02:20 PM

I could easily win that with my Richard Gere song which is equally terrible and somewhat disturbing when read as poetry. I shant post it in open forum but I'll just say it's subtitle is "The Gerbil".


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 01 Mar 12 - 02:18 PM

Sigh. THis is like the ant trying to make points by screwing a pachyderm; it takes him eleven hours just to reach the target zone and as he begins to ply his ridiculous equipment, a monkey throws a coconut down and hits the elephant on the head; the elephant screams in annoyance, and the ant mutters, "Ah, suffer, baby, suffer."

Let me put it to you this way, Little Hawk. If you put your mind to it could you still get excited about an ice cream cone the way you did when you were five? Of course you could. You don't lose the skills you have outgrown. You couold still play the guitar badly with muffed chords and deadened strings like you used to last year, if you tried.

Aroint, then, with your huffery and puffery. In sooth thou blowest but pale smoke.

A


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 01 Mar 12 - 02:10 PM

Yes, I am proposing just such an award, Rap. Perhaps I should issue this challenge to the entire forum.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 01 Mar 12 - 01:38 PM

Are you proposing a "Moore-MacGonagall Award"? If so, shouldn't you open it up to more potential po8s that just poor old Amos?


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 01 Mar 12 - 10:42 AM

Amos, I have long noted the brilliance of your prose and poetry. Indeed, it is almost unmatched in the history of western literature.

But....I do not think you possess the ability to match either William MacGonagall OR Julia Moore when it comes to composing tremendously bad poetry!

You have accused them both of mediocrity, but you could hardly have made a less appropriate criticism of their work. It is NOT mediocre! It is utterly and absymally dreadful to an astounding degree....yet at the same time tremendously dramatic and fraught with a portentous sort of its own grandeur and worth.

I don't think you can write as badly as they do. I just don't think you're up to it. As a matter of fact, I dare you to write a poem that rivals either one of them in the field of truly dreadful yet self-confident verse...verse that does not scan well, that does not rhyme well, that uses laughable word constructions and tortured lines of imagery, and yet does so with a innate and confident sense of its own grand importance and historical weightiness.

I think it's beyond your abilities to match them in that regard.

Can you prove me wrong?

The next 24 hours will tell the tale. Consider yourself challenged, good sir!


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 01 Mar 12 - 10:17 AM

No reaction. None at all. Mom, no one cares!!! I think I'll go off and Do Something Drastic.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 01 Mar 12 - 10:16 AM

Dang. I was wondering why you were sticking those strange words in at the end!! Nice job.


A


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 29 Feb 12 - 11:30 PM

Gracious me, I even replied to Amos' little whatever-it-was in alphabetical order, going "round the bend" to do so.

Too bad...after Monday evening next you may never hear from me again.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 29 Feb 12 - 10:58 PM

I know exactly how that old man feels; here he is, trying to cooperate with all the horseshit he's been handed about some self-styled Deity, and it's like talking to a fucking wall. Rapparee, your sui-generis conundrum is laid bare, your Gordian know of self-invented complexity cut through, your mangled web, unwoven; go to, sirrah, you are exposed.


A


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: gnu
Date: 29 Feb 12 - 10:46 PM

Sad.


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

From an email:

Jerusalem, a female CNN journalist heard about a very old Jewish man who had been going to the Wailing Wall to pray, twice a day, everyday, for a long, long time. So she went to check it out. She went to the Wailing Wall and there he was!

She watched him pray and after about 45 minutes, when he turned to leave, she approached him for an interview.

"I'm Rebecca Smith from CNN. Sir, how long have you been coming to the Wall and praying?"

"For about 60 years."

"60 years! That's amazing! What do you pray for?"

"I pray for peace between the Christians, Jews and the Muslims. I pray for all the hatred to stop and I pray for all our children to grow up in safety and friendship."

"How do you feel after doing this for 60 years?"

"Like I'm talking to a fuckin' wall."


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 29 Feb 12 - 07:58 PM

Amos, being completely deified (except for gratuitous hallucinations I just keep lamenting) my notable outrage pursues querulous rebellions so that unrepentant variables who, xenophobic, yield zymurgic absolution before completed Deity.

This means you.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 29 Feb 12 - 05:01 PM

apparee is always ready to run someone through, or to run through someone, depending on his scale of imagination.

By the way:

More speeders were ticketed in the section of Interstate 5 between Harbor Drive and La Costa Avenue in North San Diego County than any other highway in the county last year, 10News reports.


So!! There ya go!!


A


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: gnu
Date: 29 Feb 12 - 03:52 PM

Eat enough blackberries and sumpthin'll run through ya.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 29 Feb 12 - 03:24 PM

What heroic verbiage! Even Cyrano de Bergerac would have doffed his hat and plume in respect, Amos. (and then he might have run you through...)


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 29 Feb 12 - 03:09 PM

That's a funny thing to say. We used to love to find dewberries when we'd go blackberrying. Big, juicy, delicious black berries...delicious.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 29 Feb 12 - 02:23 PM

See, Rapp, that's exactly what I'm talking about. You don't diss my mother's aura, you self-aggrandizing rump-fed runyon. There no more sensibility in your whole Sphere of Being than in a stale prune and you have all the delicate discretion of a folly-fallen dewberry clinging to the greasy buttocks of Misfortune.

A


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 29 Feb 12 - 01:30 PM

Geez, Amos. I didn't know that was your aura. Can I send you a can of deodorant or something?


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 29 Feb 12 - 12:58 PM

My momma allus said, Little Hawk, "Better a much of suchness than too much of a muchness." You could look it up. Or ask her, when you are cruising the Great Beyond. You would recognize her anywhere--she has my same aura.


A


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 29 Feb 12 - 11:45 AM

I love it when you get all lofty and superior, Amos. ;-D Such wit! Such style! Such 'elan! Such savoir-faire! Such suchness!


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 29 Feb 12 - 09:28 AM

I reserve the right to re-enter the fray when there is anything substantive being discussed. The recycling of small-minded blatherings does not appeal.

The only physical danger I have been in of late has been irritating my wife, but I am defter at hand-to-hand combat than she is. And I don't irritate her enough to drive her to reach for the shotgun, of which she is slightly nervous. Someday, though.


A


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 29 Feb 12 - 09:10 AM

Nerve gas (VX) in his emials, measles in his snail mail, C-4 in his car's starter, drive-bys on the way to work...nah, there's nothing different for Amos. That's all standard SoCal stuff.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 29 Feb 12 - 02:11 AM

I have reached the age of majority, Amos, and I no longer have to do what my Mommy tells me to. ;-)

***

I note that you are no longer getting involved in the political threads here. Is it to save yourself unnecessary stress? Or have you decided it's getting a bit too dangerous?


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 28 Feb 12 - 10:11 PM

I am SO sorry. That last line should read:

AND SHIP YOU BACK TO HELL!

---Your resident lurking mudelf repaired the line, Amos


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

It takes a heap of living,
To make a thread a home,
And Mom's place ain't no different,
No matter where ya roam.

Ya want to come back to a place
As you recall it best,
When travels make you weary
An' ya need a place to rest.

A house the like of Mom's, you know
Is a kind of special place
Where folks are glad to see ya
When you show your purdy face.

But if you want a home like that
When your wandering makes you weary
Ya got to keep in mind one thing,
A homely little theory.

Don't take no craps on the parlor floor
Don't pee in Mother's soup
Don't leave your empty beer cans piled
On Mother's spotless stoop.

Just keep it as you'd find it,
Or at least, jes' do yer best,
And never spout McGonagle
Or crap from Edgar Guest.

The air of Mom's is bright and clean
And full of wit, an' smart
And when you haul out shitty verse
It breaks your Mother's heart!

So please, forsake that Julia Moore
And Walkabout puerile
Don't bring in them pathetic poems
So deadened, wan and sterile.

For if you do, your Mom will know
(A Mom can always tell!)
And she'll ban you from her door, my friend
And ship you back to hell!!


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Acme
Date: 28 Feb 12 - 08:33 PM

It's clearly time to start dusting off some Edgar Guest works.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 28 Feb 12 - 05:41 PM

When your mind is on GA
And you can't say, "Ta-ta" --
Sing some more, Ray!


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 28 Feb 12 - 03:29 PM

Oh, my!!! Julia Moore! The Sweet Singer of Michigan! She is the one voice in American poetry that can reach the sublime heights of one such as William MacGonagall. Indeed, their work bears a close resemblance! What a pity that they could not have met, married, and made beautiful verse together for the remainder of their mortal lives!


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: gnu
Date: 28 Feb 12 - 12:48 PM

Now THAT'S a good tune, Bill. Heheheee.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Bill D
Date: 28 Feb 12 - 10:55 AM

♫"When an eel bites your hand,
And that's not what you planned,
That's a moray."♫


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 28 Feb 12 - 10:41 AM

Dear god, a plague on both your keyboards! I am beset, beseiged by a torrential horde of simian mediocrity!! O, tempura! O, morays!!


A


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 28 Feb 12 - 09:57 AM

Well, fer.... Here a real, two-fisted, all-American poem and since it happened on the shores of Lake Erie Canada can claim part of it, too.

Ashtabula Disaster

Air -- "Gently Down the Stream of Time"

Have you heard of the dreadful fate
Of Mr. P. P. Bliss and wife?
Of their death I will relate,
And also others lost their life;
Ashtabula Bridge disaster,
Where so many people died
Without a thought that destruction
Would plunge them 'neath the wheel of tide.

CHORUS:

Swiftly passed the engine's call,
Hastening souls on to death,
Warning not one of them all;
It brought despair right and left.

Among the ruins are many friends,
Crushed to death amidst the roar;
On one thread all may depend,
And hope they've reached the other shore.
P. P. Bliss showed great devotion
To his faithful wife, his pride,
When he saw that she must perish,
He died a martyr by her side.

P. P. Bliss went home above --
Left all friends, earth and fame,
To rest in God's holy love;
Left on earth his work and name.
The people love his work by numbers,
It is read by great and small,
He by it will be remembered,
He has left it for us all.

His good name from time to time
Will rise on land and sea;
It is known in distant climes,
Let it echo wide and free.
One good man among the number,
Found sweet rest in a short time,
His weary soul may sweetly slumber
Within the vale, heaven sublime.

Destruction lay on every side,
Confusion, fire and despair;
No help, no hope, so they died,
Two hundred people over there.
Many ties was there broken,
Many a heart was filled with pain,
Each one left a little token,
For above they live again.

--Julia A Moore


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 28 Feb 12 - 09:19 AM

LOLOL!!!!!! Rolling on the floor here! It is a great shame you were never elected to the USA Senate, Amos. Your outraged soliloquies would leave even Everett Dirksen and Strom Thurmond mutely gasping for air, unable to respond in kind, silenced by sheer awe at your impassioned verbiage.

My friend Bryan Sutton (not the famous guitarist but another Bryan Sutton) tells me that the locals in Scotland ever after referred to the locomotive invoved in the disaster as "the diver", showing typical black humour about the matter. It was presently raised from the bottom of the river, cleaned up, and then returned to service, but some people were reluctant to ride on it after that for superstitious reasons.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 28 Feb 12 - 09:09 AM

Another milestone muddied with the limp-wristed fecal fotherings of a mathematically challenged ne'er-do-well whose greatest artistic effort is to dump the second-rate leavings of a fetid, half-assed worhtless rhymester on the stoop at Mom's door, like a rotted carcass of a long forgotten kewpie doll.

Consider yourself fortunate, Sir Hawk, that there is no quality control in Mom's family.

I am sorry for those buggers on the train though.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Acme
Date: 28 Feb 12 - 12:06 AM

That's a nice round number you landed on, LH. Congratulations, a perfect 10!


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 27 Feb 12 - 11:21 PM

The Tay Bridge Disaster
Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.

'Twas about seven o'clock at night,
And the wind it blew with all its might,
And the rain came pouring down,
And the dark clouds seem'd to frown,
And the Demon of the air seem'd to say-
"I'll blow down the Bridge of Tay."

When the train left Edinburgh
The passengers' hearts were light and felt no sorrow,
But Boreas blew a terrific gale,
Which made their hearts for to quail,
And many of the passengers with fear did say-
"I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay."

But when the train came near to Wormit Bay,
Boreas he did loud and angry bray,
And shook the central girders of the Bridge of Tay
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.

So the train sped on with all its might,
And Bonnie Dundee soon hove in sight,
And the passengers' hearts felt light,
Thinking they would enjoy themselves on the New Year,
With their friends at home they lov'd most dear,
And wish them all a happy New Year.

So the train mov'd slowly along the Bridge of Tay,
Until it was about midway,
Then the central girders with a crash gave way,
And down went the train and passengers into the Tay!
The Storm Fiend did loudly bray,
Because ninety lives had been taken away,
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.

As soon as the catastrophe came to be known
The alarm from mouth to mouth was blown,
And the cry rang out all o'er the town,
Good Heavens! the Tay Bridge is blown down,
And a passenger train from Edinburgh,
Which fill'd all the peoples hearts with sorrow,
And made them for to turn pale,
Because none of the passengers were sav'd to tell the tale
How the disaster happen'd on the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.

It must have been an awful sight,
To witness in the dusky moonlight,
While the Storm Fiend did laugh, and angry did bray,
Along the Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay,
Oh! ill-fated Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay,
I must now conclude my lay
By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay,
That your central girders would not have given way,
At least many sensible men do say,
Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,
At least many sensible men confesses,
For the stronger we our houses do build,
The less chance we have of being killed.

Dreadful Accident on the Tay Bridge
Loss of Passenger Train
Dundee, Sunday Midnight
To-night a heavy gale swept over Dundee and a portion of the Tay bridge was blown down while a train from Edinburgh due at 7.15 was passing. It is believed that the train is in the water, but the gale is still so strong that a steamboat has not yet been able to reach the bridge. The train was duly signalled from Fife as having entered the bridge at 7.14. It was seen running along the rails, and then suddenly was observed a flash of fire. The opinion was that the train left the rails, and went over the bridge. Those who saw the incident repaired immediately to the Tay-bridge station at Dundee and informed the station master of what they had seen. He immediately put himself in communication with the man in charge of the signal-box at the north end of the bridge. The telegraph wires are stretched across the bridge, but when the instrument was tried it was soon seen that the wires were broken.

Mr. Smith, the station-master and Mr. Roberts, locomotive superintendent, determined, notwithstanding the fierce gale, to walk across the bridge as far as possible from the north side, with the view of ascertaining the extent of the disaster. They were able to get out a considerable distance, and the first thing that caught their eye was the water spurting from a pipe which was laid across the bridge for the supply of Newport, a village on the south side, from the Dundee reservoirs. Going a little further, they could distinctly see by the aid of the strong moonlight that there was a large gap in the bridge caused by the fall, so far as they could discern, of two or three of the largest spars. They thought, however, that they observed a red light on the south part of the bridge, and were of the opinion that the train had been brought to a standstill on the driver noticing the accident. This conjecture has, unfortunately, been proved incorrect. At Broughtyferry, four miles from the bridge, several mail bags have come ashore, and there is no doubt that the train is in the river. No precise information as to the number of passengers can be obtained, but it is variously estimated at from 150 to 200.

The Provost and a number of leading citizens of Dundee started at half-past 10 o'clock in a steam-boat for the bridge, the gale being moderated; but they have not yet returned.

Monday, 1.30 A.M.
The scene at the Tay-bridge station to-night is simply appalling. Many thousand persons are congregated around the buildings, and strong men and women are wringing their hands in despair. On the 2d of October 1877, while the bridge was in course of construction, one of the girders was blown down during a gale similar to that of to-day, but the only one of the workmen lost his life. The return of the steamboat is anxiously awaited.

The Times, 29th December 1879


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 27 Feb 12 - 11:20 PM

Are we almost there?


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 27 Feb 12 - 11:12 PM

Sad but true! It was by default.


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