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BS: The Mother of all BS threads

Little Hawk 15 Oct 10 - 10:27 AM
Acme 15 Oct 10 - 10:10 AM
Little Hawk 15 Oct 10 - 08:51 AM
Amos 14 Oct 10 - 11:58 PM
Rapparee 14 Oct 10 - 07:37 PM
Rapparee 14 Oct 10 - 02:23 PM
Amos 14 Oct 10 - 12:21 PM
Little Hawk 14 Oct 10 - 12:00 PM
MMario 14 Oct 10 - 11:43 AM
Acme 14 Oct 10 - 11:30 AM
Little Hawk 14 Oct 10 - 10:46 AM
Rapparee 14 Oct 10 - 10:32 AM
Amos 13 Oct 10 - 10:46 PM
Rapparee 13 Oct 10 - 08:50 PM
Amos 13 Oct 10 - 08:30 PM
Acme 13 Oct 10 - 06:54 PM
Little Hawk 13 Oct 10 - 06:50 PM
Rapparee 13 Oct 10 - 06:30 PM
Little Hawk 13 Oct 10 - 06:18 PM
gnu 13 Oct 10 - 05:35 PM
Amos 13 Oct 10 - 03:42 PM
Acme 13 Oct 10 - 03:35 PM
Eiseley 13 Oct 10 - 03:15 PM
Amos 13 Oct 10 - 02:35 PM
Rapparee 13 Oct 10 - 02:26 PM
Amos 13 Oct 10 - 02:00 PM
Eiseley 13 Oct 10 - 01:28 PM
gnu 13 Oct 10 - 01:23 PM
Acme 13 Oct 10 - 01:00 PM
Rapparee 13 Oct 10 - 11:00 AM
Rapparee 13 Oct 10 - 10:56 AM
Rapparee 13 Oct 10 - 12:18 AM
Eiseley 13 Oct 10 - 12:05 AM
Amos 12 Oct 10 - 08:39 PM
Amos 12 Oct 10 - 07:56 PM
gnu 12 Oct 10 - 07:30 PM
Rapparee 12 Oct 10 - 06:11 PM
Amos 12 Oct 10 - 03:39 PM
Little Hawk 12 Oct 10 - 03:33 PM
Amos 12 Oct 10 - 03:23 PM
Amos 12 Oct 10 - 02:33 PM
Little Hawk 12 Oct 10 - 02:11 PM
Rapparee 12 Oct 10 - 01:42 PM
Amos 12 Oct 10 - 01:28 PM
Little Hawk 12 Oct 10 - 12:12 PM
Rapparee 12 Oct 10 - 12:11 PM
Rapparee 12 Oct 10 - 11:23 AM
Little Hawk 11 Oct 10 - 11:38 PM
Rapparee 11 Oct 10 - 11:13 PM
Amos 11 Oct 10 - 11:12 PM
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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 15 Oct 10 - 10:27 AM

If it wasn't for all the guns and implied violence, the Legion Hovel would be a perfect place for Shane to hang out. And it IS the perfect place for Chongo to hang out, but he'd have to re-educate some of the members and cure them of their specist prejudices.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Acme
Date: 15 Oct 10 - 10:10 AM

Well, they'd at least be sick.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 15 Oct 10 - 08:51 AM

They would be sick with envy.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 14 Oct 10 - 11:58 PM

ANother pearl of deathless translucent, pellucid literary genius laid before Mother's porcine sprats. Sigh. If only the literary world knew what they were missing!!


A


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 14 Oct 10 - 07:37 PM

This just in:

The "necessary rooms" at the Legion Hovel have fallen into a large sinkhole. Apparently they were built over an old mine tunnel after the mouth was dynamited closed many years back. Prissy Magee, the fastidious brother of Stinky, happened to be in the facilities at the time. While he wasn't hurt, he was taken to the hospital strapped on top of an ambulance; he will be hosed off, treated by the local hazmat team as a biological nuisance, and kept overnight for fumigation.

Construction crews are already at work (they're kept on retainer) doing what they can to solve the problem. Several people who have investigated the tunnel report that in addition to what you'd expect there are "fairly large numbers" of revolvers, sawed-off shotguns, knives, straight razors, brass knuckles and other memorabilia in the tunnel. There are also indications that the at some time the tunnel was "salted" with what appears to be gold paint.

In the meantime, denizens of the Hovel are asked to use the facilities at Alice's Place across the street ("Only The Best In The West!" - adv.).


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 14 Oct 10 - 02:23 PM

Fighting for Truth, Justice, and the American Way (which is to say, those of North, Central, and South America, including both the Caribbean and Arctic islands, Hawai'i, the Trust Territories of the Pacific, and military and other bases around the world of the various countries included above).


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 14 Oct 10 - 12:21 PM

There ain't no flies on Cliche Man!! He's ahead of the curve, a shoo-in, a sure thing, a stitch in time!!!

A


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 14 Oct 10 - 12:00 PM

Cliche Man! A trite phrase for every occasion! The perfect thing to grace your next birthday party or other social event! Call up Cliche Man NOW!!!! Take advantage of the pre-Christmas discount!!!


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: MMario
Date: 14 Oct 10 - 11:43 AM

I'm late with this...but:

Seventy Six more posts to the Next of Kay
Amos and Leetle Hawk led the way...
There were lines and lines of typing really fine
and Rap led off with a cliche!


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Acme
Date: 14 Oct 10 - 11:30 AM

Did she ever visit the Mudcat Tavern?


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 14 Oct 10 - 10:46 AM

I knew a woman who used to go and roll with the sand squids to appease her almost limitless carnal appetites.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 14 Oct 10 - 10:32 AM

Well, they are Idaho Sand Squid. When the pond dries up during the summer they just live in the sand. That's when they lay their eggs. You oughta see it: whole ponds, dry as an old bone, the bottoms covered with thousands of squids all writhing and rolling in the throes of squid passion. Of course it does kick up a lot of dust.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 13 Oct 10 - 10:46 PM

Dead or alive, those squid are your just deserts.


A


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 13 Oct 10 - 08:50 PM

Seventy-five.

And I'm not going down to the Hovel tonight. Tonight they're serving raw squid with hot sauce, freshly caught out of The Pond Beyond The Last Hill Before You Get To The Mountains. There is no guarantee the squid are dead.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 13 Oct 10 - 08:30 PM

The wit and wild semantic tricks
That do our Mother daily fix
Will find a way
To the next of Kay
She needeth now but seventy-six!


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Acme
Date: 13 Oct 10 - 06:54 PM

You're right about the "state your business!" bark. My dogs telegraph a lot with their barks. I can tell if they're excited about animals at the back, I can tell in an exciting animal is in the yard (that isn't pretty), and I can tell if they are challenging a human. Poppy was doing that bark a couple of weeks ago and I went into the back yard to stand beside her as she telegraphed a bark to the man on the next door neighbor's room "What Are You Doing UP There?!!" The bark really does change. I knew I'd be seeing a person when I went outside.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 13 Oct 10 - 06:50 PM

Sniff! Sniff! Snarf! (rolling around on the ground sounds) - "Wow! This is good shit!"


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 13 Oct 10 - 06:30 PM

RRup! = Good meal, let's eat it again.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 13 Oct 10 - 06:18 PM

"Ougghhhh!" - "Don't ask me to move right now."

"Rrrrrrr!" - "MY BONE!"

"Barch! Barch! Barch!" - "Who goes there? State your business!"

"Ahhhhhhh! (urp!)" - "That was a great meal!!!"


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: gnu
Date: 13 Oct 10 - 05:35 PM

You don't speak hundt? Allow mw to translate.

"Arf." = feed me.

"Ruff." = feed me.

"Arrr... arrr... arrraarrr" = feed me.

Theree are other variations of the dialect.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 13 Oct 10 - 03:42 PM

QUark! Quark!! says Gluon.


AAAAAAFeckt!! Replies Little Hawk's Duckshundt.

It is hard to determine whether LH's pet is being psychological or scatological, but no matter, as long as he is being unintelligible.



A


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Acme
Date: 13 Oct 10 - 03:35 PM

[slaps forehead]

I haven't thought of Gluon or the Freds in SOOOOOOO long!

Now I will.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Eiseley
Date: 13 Oct 10 - 03:15 PM

Go back and look at the "invisible writing" for the answer.

Eiseley


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 13 Oct 10 - 02:35 PM

You would do well to collect these Tales of the Legion Hovel and publish them.

I am sure the national pulse would quicken with emotion.


A


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 13 Oct 10 - 02:26 PM

Well, it seems that the whole thing last night was a mistake. One of the neighbors -- probably Layin' Lizzie or one of her "girls" -- was mad because Hulkster Yates had parked his triple-rear-wheel, jacked-up, pickup in her lot and took up the usual three spaces. Whoever called reported that out front of the Hovel were "men with guM". Naturally Deef Smitty, the police dispatcher, heard that there were "men with guNS" and put out a Class AAA Terrorist Alert.

Now these folks were Hulkster, The Jonah, and Slim Thickens. They were chomping away on some Juicy Fruit and jawin' about fishin' when searchlights hit 'em, and big amplified voice boomed out not to move, and the SWAT vehicle (one of these but in police blue) was pointing a Great Big Gun at them. They dropped their fishin' poles and raised their hands, but when the SWAT team had run out the back they clubbed the three and handcuffed them saying, "You were told not to move!" and then pepper-gassed them.

Meanwhile, the other two Stryker vehicles had disgorged their squads and were busy lobbing concussion grenades and tear gas bombs in the general direction of the Hovel. As I said before, one of the tear gas bombs missed and exploded the beer car on the Hovel Siding at the same time the SWAT them blew in the screen door and started spraying blanks around on full auto (the Chief ain't crazy and doesn't give these guys real bullets). That's when I dodged out.

This morning the roof to the Hovel is kinda caved in in places and the aroma of pepper gas, tear gas, and gunpowder kinda lingers, mixed with the smell of 50,000 gallons of beer from the beer car. Nobody got hurt (the three outside were bruised, but they LOVE hot peppers so the spray didn't bother them -- in fact they ask for more). The SWAT team was gently chided by the Chief for the slowness of their response and Deef Smitty was told to get new batteries in his hearing aids.

In many ways it was just a normal night at the Legion Hovel. Fortunately there are always at least two backup beer cars in reserve.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 13 Oct 10 - 02:00 PM

No!! "Eiseley" is one of Mom's lovely daughters. The duck-dog which belonged originally to BWL and me is called Gluon.

I don't know what Little Hawk's quxking dog is called--Aaafect, maybe?



A


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Eiseley
Date: 13 Oct 10 - 01:28 PM

What do you call Little Hawk's quacking dog?


A Duckshund!


Eiseley


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: gnu
Date: 13 Oct 10 - 01:23 PM

Now THAT is the stuff! Exciting prose with explosions and men with guns and beer.

I may not know art but I know ted.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Acme
Date: 13 Oct 10 - 01:00 PM

Eiseley, you're talking about "Out, Out" by Robert Frost. It's one of those poems that is horrible to watch, heartbreaking, but teaches so much. I have probably pasted it a few times. Only someone who read the entire thing would remember that, though. :)

Where did MOM stash the neti pot? My sinuses are killing me.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 13 Oct 10 - 11:00 AM

Come to think of it, the Legionnaires probably shouldn't have screamed "Imperial Stormtroopers!" and "Darth and the Vaderettes!" when the SWAT team blew in the door.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 13 Oct 10 - 10:56 AM

I got nicked to help raise bail money. Seems that the Perpetual Bail Fund was too low to cover it all following last night's raid and even now some of the more undesirable Legionnaires will have to stay in durance vile for a few days. These include Augustus "Dicky" Byrde, who jumped upon the back of a SWAT team members screaming, "Horsey ride! Horsey ride!" and Old Haddockeye, who might have gotten away after stealing the SWAT team's assault vehicle if he hadn't been pulled over for drunken driving.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 13 Oct 10 - 12:18 AM

Well, I'm just back from the Legion Hovel. Fortunately I wasn't harmed when the beer car exploded after the cops' tear gas grenade missed the window and went off under said rail car. It did make a nice hole in the wall out of which I could escape into the darkness that was caused when the Hovel's electric beer pumps shorted out and plunged most of the city into darkness. Waddy shouldn't have wired the sump pump up to the beer pumps even if it did save him from having to run another circuit.

Anyway, no one was harmed much. Just the usual sort of thing that goes on all the time.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Eiseley
Date: 13 Oct 10 - 12:05 AM

Oh, I kind of like the cut and paste poetry. It's a reminder that there is such stuff in the world. But the Buzz-Saw one is just so sad. I could go another few Kay without reading it again.

Eiseley


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 12 Oct 10 - 08:39 PM

Come and walk a way with me
And we shall inspiration seek
Beyond the edge of morning spree
And over the top of other-week.
Under the shadows, past the trees
Behind the back of Lazy Day,
Let us go ramble, you and I
In quest of thirty-eight of Kay.

Speak not the maundering tongues of man
Nor whisper in their bellied creed
And rattle not the blatherskite
That he shall rest, no sounds to bleed.
Treadle the winsome sunlit ray
Where neither boast nor brag await
And if we creep as soft as day
We may behold the Thirty-eight.

For Kays are not bumptious, harsh or large
Kays whisper in and lissome pass
And splashing like a river-barge,
Will send the Kay far from your grasp!
They blithely fit and dolorous hide
And lightly on the Mayhap skate
So grace and silence name your tunes
If you would find the Thirty-Eight.

A


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 12 Oct 10 - 07:56 PM

Boo!!! Hissss!! Discordant obfuscation is bad enough when it is happenstance, but tis is born of the grossest intentionality. Go to, fie, aroint!!


A


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: gnu
Date: 12 Oct 10 - 07:30 PM

All that cut and paste is enough to make me not bother with this thread again, as I did some thousands of post ago.

If ya got nothin ta say, don' say it. Geeze oh eh?

I mean, it's the real Mudchat these days. Don't ruin it.

Your mileage may vary. Have fun with it.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 12 Oct 10 - 06:11 PM

What? You don't like Milton? You want all of "Paradise Lost" and "Paradise Regained" maybe? "Areopagitica"? "Artis logicae plenior institutio"?

Well, okay. I know! Dante Alighieri:

Al poco giorno e al gran cerchio d'ombra
son giunto, lasso! ed al bianchir de' colli,
quando si perde lo color ne l'erba:
e 'l mio disio per non cangia 'l verde,
s barbato ne la dura petra
che parla e sente come fosse donna.

Similmente questa nova donna
si sta gelata come neve a l'ombra;
ch non la move, se non come petra,
il dolce tempo che riscalda i colli,
e che li fa tornar di bianco in verde
perch li copre di fioretti e d'erba.

Quand'ella ha in testa una ghirlanda d'erba,
trae de la mente nostra ogn'altra donna;
perch si mischia il crespo giallo e 'l verde
s bel, ch'Amor l viene a stare a l'ombra,
che m'ha serrato intra piccioli colli
pi forte assai che la calcina petra.

La sua bellezza ha pi vert che petra,
e 'l colpo suo non pu sanar per erba;
ch'io son fuggito per piani e per colli,
per potere scampar da cotal donna;
e dal suo lume non mi pu far ombra
poggio n muro mai n fronda verde.

Io l'ho veduta gi vestita a verde,
s fatta ch'ella avrebbe messo in petra
l'amor ch'io porto pur a la sua ombra:
ond'io l'ho chesta in un bel prato d'erba,
innamorata com'anco fu donna,
e chiuso intorno d'altissimi colli.

Ma ben ritorneranno i fiumi a' colli,
prima che questo legno molle e verde
s'infiammi, come suol far bella donna,
di me; che mi torrei dormire in petra
tutto il mio tempo e gir pascendo l'erba,
sol per veder do' suol parmi fanno ombra.

Quandunque i colli fanno pi nera ombra,
sotto un bel verde la giovane donna
la fa sparer, com'uom petra sott'erba.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 12 Oct 10 - 03:39 PM

And with that fillip of good mind
Hawk gives us thirty-seven nine
Which means we are 100 posts away
From glory and the THirty EIght of Kay!


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 12 Oct 10 - 03:33 PM

Aye, death never was, but life stands proud and triumphant.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 12 Oct 10 - 03:23 PM

THERE is no dusk to be,
There is no dawn that was,
Only there's now, and now,
And the wind in the grass.

Days I remember of
Now in my heart, are now;
Days that I dream will bloom
White the peach bough.

Dying shall never be
Now in the windy grass;
Now under shooken leaves
Death never was.

Archie MacLeish


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 12 Oct 10 - 02:33 PM

Deluging us with the lugubrious tediosities of John Milton is no favor, goode Sirre!


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 12 Oct 10 - 02:11 PM

WTF???????

Boy, you must have a ton of time on your hands, my good man. ;-)

Or was that a block-and-paste?


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 12 Oct 10 - 01:42 PM

Hence loathed Melancholy,
Of Cerberus, and blackest Midnight born,
In Stygian cave forlorn,
      'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy;
Find out some uncouth cell,
      Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings,
And the night-raven sings;
      There under ebon shades, and low-brow'd rocks,
As ragged as thy locks,
      In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.
But come thou goddess fair and free,
In heav'n yclep'd Euphrosyne,
And by men, heart-easing Mirth,
Whom lovely Venus at a birth
With two sister Graces more
To Ivy-crowned Bacchus bore;
Or whether (as some sager sing)
The frolic wind that breathes the spring,
Zephyr, with Aurora playing,
As he met her once a-Maying,
There on beds of violets blue,
And fresh-blown roses wash'd in dew,
Fill'd her with thee, a daughter fair,
So buxom, blithe, and debonair.
Haste thee nymph, and bring with thee
Jest and youthful Jollity,
Quips and cranks, and wanton wiles,
Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles,
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek,
And love to live in dimple sleek;
Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides.
Come, and trip it as ye go
On the light fantastic toe,
And in thy right hand lead with thee,
The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty;
And if I give thee honour due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crew
To live with her, and live with thee,
In unreproved pleasures free;
To hear the lark begin his flight,
And singing startle the dull night,
From his watch-tower in the skies,
Till the dappled dawn doth rise;
Then to come in spite of sorrow,
And at my window bid good-morrow,
Through the sweet-briar, or the vine,
Or the twisted eglantine;
While the cock with lively din,
Scatters the rear of darkness thin,
And to the stack, or the barn door,
Stoutly struts his dames before;
Oft list'ning how the hounds and horn
Cheerly rouse the slumb'ring morn,
From the side of some hoar hill,
Through the high wood echoing shrill.
Sometime walking, not unseen,
By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green,
Right against the eastern gate,
Where the great Sun begins his state,
Rob'd in flames, and amber light,
The clouds in thousand liveries dight.
While the ploughman near at hand,
Whistles o'er the furrow'd land,
And the milkmaid singeth blithe,
And the mower whets his scythe,
And every shepherd tells his tale
Under the hawthorn in the dale.
Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures
Whilst the landskip round it measures,
Russet lawns, and fallows gray,
Where the nibbling flocks do stray;
Mountains on whose barren breast
The labouring clouds do often rest;
Meadows trim with daisies pied,
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide.
Towers, and battlements it sees
Bosom'd high in tufted trees,
Where perhaps some beauty lies,
The cynosure of neighbouring eyes.
Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes,
From betwixt two aged oaks,
Where Corydon and Thyrsis met,
Are at their savoury dinner set
Of herbs, and other country messes,
Which the neat-handed Phyllis dresses;
And then in haste her bow'r she leaves,
With Thestylis to bind the sheaves;
Or if the earlier season lead
To the tann'd haycock in the mead.
Sometimes with secure delight
The upland hamlets will invite,
When the merry bells ring round,
And the jocund rebecks sound
To many a youth, and many a maid,
Dancing in the chequer'd shade;
And young and old come forth to play
On a sunshine holiday,
Till the live-long daylight fail;
Then to the spicy nut-brown ale,
With stories told of many a feat,
How Faery Mab the junkets eat,
She was pinch'd and pull'd she said,
And he by friar's lanthorn led,
Tells how the drudging goblin sweat,
To earn his cream-bowl duly set,
When in one night, ere glimpse of morn,
His shadowy flail hath thresh'd the corn
That ten day-labourers could not end;
Then lies him down, the lubber fiend,
And stretch'd out all the chimney's length,
Basks at the fire his hairy strength;
And crop-full out of doors he flings,
Ere the first cock his matin rings.
Thus done the tales, to bed they creep,
By whispering winds soon lull'd asleep.
Tower'd cities please us then,
And the busy hum of men,
Where throngs of knights and barons bold,
In weeds of peace high triumphs hold,
With store of ladies, whose bright eyes
Rain influence, and judge the prize
Of wit, or arms, while both contend
To win her grace, whom all commend.
There let Hymen oft appear
In saffron robe, with taper clear,
And pomp, and feast, and revelry,
With mask, and antique pageantry;
Such sights as youthful poets dream
On summer eves by haunted stream.
Then to the well-trod stage anon,
If Jonson's learned sock be on,
Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child,
Warble his native wood-notes wild.
And ever against eating cares,
Lap me in soft Lydian airs,
Married to immortal verse,
Such as the meeting soul may pierce
In notes with many a winding bout
Of linked sweetness long drawn out,
With wanton heed, and giddy cunning,
The melting voice through mazes running,
Untwisting all the chains that tie
The hidden soul of harmony;
That Orpheus' self may heave his head
From golden slumber on a bed
Of heap'd Elysian flow'rs, and hear
Such strains as would have won the ear
Of Pluto, to have quite set free
His half-regain'd Eurydice.
These delights if thou canst give,
Mirth, with thee I mean to live.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 12 Oct 10 - 01:28 PM

Where I may sit and rightly spell
Of every Star that heav'n doth shew,
And every Herb that sips the dew;
Till old experience do attain
To something like Prophetic strain.
These pleasures of Melancholy give,
And I with thee will choose to live.


Geeze, Mister D. Retirement is a bitch, huh? LOL!!

I KNOW that was not from a television show, unless it was the Hallmark Theater.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaandd Beedlebauuum".

"Goodnight, Mrs McGilicuddy, wherever you are..."

"And that's the way it is...".

"Goodnight Chet. Goodnight, Hunt."

"Heeeeeeeeeeere's JOHNNY!"

"Take my wife...please."

We really are in severe regression now; our hopes of regaining some tenuous relationship with present time are dimming rapidly. But it is possible we just don't care, being rowdy souls who are as happy to gallop through the sun-dappled trails of the Long Ago as to bend to the oars of the present moment's storm-tossed boats.


A


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

"77...Sunset Strip (Boomp! Boomp!) 77...Sunset Strip!"

"To boldly go where no man has gone before!"

"And now....HERE'S......................"

"On with the show, this is it!"


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 12 Oct 10 - 12:11 PM

HENCE vain deluding joyes,
    The brood of folly without father bred,
How little you bested,
    Or fill the fixd mind with all your toyes;
Dwell in some idle brain,
    And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess,
As thick and numberless
    As the gay motes that poeple the Sun Beams,
Or likest hovering dreams
    The fickle Pensioners of Morpheus train.
But hail thou Goddess, sage and holy,
    Hail divinest Melancholy,
Whose Saintly visage is too bright
To hit the Sense of human sight;
And therefore to our weaker view,
Ore laid with black staid Wisdoms hue.
Black, but such as in esteem,
Prince Memnons sister might beseem,
Or that starr'd Ethiope Queen that strove
To set her beauties praise above
The Sea Nymphs, and their powers offended,
Yet thou art higher far descended,
Thee bright-hair'd Vesta long of yore,
To solitary Saturn bore;
His daughter she (in Saturns raign,
Such mixture was not held a stain)
Oft in glimmering Bowres, and glades
He met her, and in secret shades
Of woody Ida's inmost grove,
While yet there was no fear of Jove.
Com pensive Nun, devout and pure,
Sober, stedfast, and demure,
All in a robe of darkest grain,
Flowing with majestick train,
And sable stole of Cipres Lawn,
Over thy decent shoulders drawn.
Com, but keep thy wonted state,
With eev'n step, and musing gate,
And looks commercing with the skies,
Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes:
There held in holy passion still,
Forget thy self to Marble, till
With a sad Leaden downward cast,
Thou fix them on the earth as fast.
And joyn with thee calm Peace, and Quiet,
Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet,
And hears the Muses in a ring,
Ay round about Joves Altar sing.
And adde to these retired leasure,
That in trim Gardens takes his pleasure;
But first, and chiefest, with thee bring,
Him that yon soars on golden wing,
Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne,
The Cherub Contemplation,
And the mute Silence hist along,
Less Philomel will deign a Song,
In her sweetest, saddest plight,
Smoothing the rugged brow of night,
While Cynthia checks her Dragon yoke,
Gently o're th' accustomed Oke;
Sweet Bird that shunn'st the noise of folly,
Most musical, most Melancholy!
Thee Chauntress oft the Woods among,
I woo to hear thy Even-Song;
And missing thee, I walk unseen
On the dry smooth-shaven Green,
To behold the wandring Moon,
Riding neer her highest noon,
Like one that had bin led astray
Through the Heav'ns wide pathles way;
And oft, as if her head she bow'd,
Stooping through a fleecy cloud.
Oft on a Plat of rising ground,
I hear the far-off Curfeu sound,
Over some wide-water'd shoar,
Swinging slow with sullen roar;
Or if the Ayr will not permit,
Som still removed place will fit,
Where glowing Embers through the room
Teach light to counterfeit a gloom,
Far from all resort of mirth,
Save the Cricket on the hearth,
Or the Belmans drowsie charm
To bless the dores from nightly harm:
Or let my Lamp at midnight hour,
Be seen in some high lonely Towr,
Where I may oft out-watch the Bear,
With thrice great Hermes, or unsphear
The spirit of Plato to unfold
What Worlds, or what vast Regions hold
The immortal mind that hath forsook
Her mansion in this fleshly nook:
And of those Daemons that are found
In fire, air, flood, or under ground,
Whose power hath a true consent
With Planet, or with Element.
Som time let Gorgeous Tragedy
In Scepter'd Pall com sweeping by,
Presenting Thebs, or Pelops line,
Or the tale of Troy divine.
Or what (though rare) of later age,
Ennobled hath the Buskind stage.
But, O sad Virgin, that thy power
Might raise Musaeus from his bower,
Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing
Such notes as warbled to the string,
Drew Iron tears down Pluto's cheek,
And made Hell grant what Love did seek.
Or call up him that left half told
The story of Cambuscan bold,
Of Camball, and of Algarsife,
And who had Canace to wife,
That own'd the vertuous Ring and Glass,
And of the wondrous Hors of Brass,
On which the Tartar King did ride.
And if ought els, great Bards beside,
In sage and solemn tunes have sung,
Of Turneys and of Trophies hung;
Of Forests, and inchantments drear,
Where more is meant then meets the ear.
Thus night oft see me in thy pale career,
Till civil-suitd Morn appeer,
Not trickt and frounc't as she was wont,
With the Attick Boy to hunt,
But Cherchef't in a comely Cloud,
While rocking Winds are Piping loud,
Or usher'd with a shower still,
When the gust hath blown his fill,
Ending on the russling Leaves,
With minute drops from off the Eaves.
And when the Sun begins to fling
His flaring beams, me Goddess bring
To archd walks of twilight groves,
And shadows brown that Sylvan loves
Of Pine, or monumental Oake,
Where the rude Ax with heaved stroke
Was never heard the Nymphs to daunt,
Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt.
There in close covert by some Brook,
Where no prophaner eye may look,
Hide me from Day's garish eie,
While the Bee with Honied thie,
That at her flowry work doth sing,
And the Waters murmuring
With such consort as they keep,
Entice the dewy-feather'd Sleep;
And let some strange mysterious dream,
Wave at his Wings in Airy stream,
Of lively portrature display'd,
Softly on my eye-lids laid.
And as I wake, sweek musick breath
Above, about, or underneath,
Sent by som spirit to mortals good,
Or th'unseen Genius of the Wood.
But let my due feet never fail,
To walk the studious Cloysters pale.
And love the high embowed Roof,
With antick Pillars massy proof,
And storied Windows richly dight,
Casting a dimm religious light.
There let the pealing Organ blow,
To the full voic'd Quire below,
In Service high, and Anthems cleer,
As may with sweetness, through mine ear,
Dissovle me into extasies,
And bring all Heav'n before mine eyes.
And may at last my weary age
Find out the peacefull hermitage,
The Hairy Gown and Mossy Cell,
Where I may sit and rightly spell
Of every Star that heav'n doth shew,
And every Herb that sips the dew;
Till old experience do attain
To something like Prophetic strain.
These pleasures of Melancholy give,
And I with thee will choose to live.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 12 Oct 10 - 11:23 AM

Winky Dink and you
Winky Dink and me
We are pals
Through fair and stormy weather!
Presto, change-o,
That's a think of the past!
Wink-o, wink-o
Works twice a fast!
Winky Dink and you
Winky Dink and me!

Move 'em on, head 'em up,
Head 'em up, move 'em out,
Move 'em on, head 'em out Rawhide!
Set 'em out, ride 'em in
Ride 'em in, let 'em out,
Cut 'em out, ride 'em in Rawhide.

Josie and the Pussycats
Long tails and and ears for hats
Guitars and sharps and flats
Neat, sweet, a groovy song
You're invited, come along.

Love, exciting and new
Come Aboard. We're expecting you.
Love, life's sweetest reward.
Let it flow, it floats back to you.

Out of the night,
When the full moon is bright,
Comes the horseman known as Zorro.
This bold renegade
Carves a "Z" with his blade,
A "Z" that stands for Zorro.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 11 Oct 10 - 11:38 PM

"HERE I COME TO SAVE THE DAY!" tells you that....

"Sufferin' Succotash!!!!"

"BOY! I say, BOY!!! Are you LISSENIN' to me, BOY?"

"Eh....what's up, Doc?"

"B-dee...B-dee...th-that's all, folks!"

"But, Yo-giiiiii!"

"That dadwatted, wascally wabbit!"

"Ooooooo...I tawt I taw a puddy tat!"

"&%!@###$%$!!!" (Donald Duck)

"I yam what I yam and that's all that I yam!"

"My strength is as the strenght of ten, because my heart is pure."

"Curses! Foiled again!!!"

"Beep! Beep!"

"WILLLLL-MAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!"

"AYYYY-DRIENNNNNE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 11 Oct 10 - 11:13 PM

Half a loaf is better than none. If wishes were horses beggars would ride. A cat can look at a queen. Ask not for whom the bell tolls. The guard dies but never surrenders. Requiescat In Pace. The race is not always to the swift. All that glisters is not gold. Better a hovel with love than a castle without. Honi soit qui mal y pense. Take all you want, but eat all you take. There is nothing like a dame. Man proposes, but God disposes. The best laid plans of mice and men gang oft a-glee. Laugh and the world laughs with you; cry and you cry alone. Give me some men who are stout-hearted men and I'll soon give you ten thousand more. Be prepared. Lightning never strikes twice in the same place.


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

Wow! Great idea, Still!! On my wish list!! :D


A


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