.

Subject: RE: .
From: Rapparee
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 06:35 PM

Fumus, draco magus
Incoluit mare.
Lusit autumnal'illic
Maritimo Hanalo.

Parvus Marcus Iulus
Lasciv'amavit.
Marcus dedit olivas
Et alia dona.

Chorus: (bis)
Ha, Fumus, draco magus
Incoluit mare.
Lusit autumnal'illic
Maritimo Hanalo.

Vexerunt coniunctim
Scapha magica;
Stetit cauda Fumi
Et illic vigilavit.

Reges, duces, patres
Coluerunt eis.
Piratae se tradiderunt
Mugente Fumo sic:

Chorus:

Draco nunquam mutat,
Sed puer fiat vir.
Ludi liberum brevi
Substituent rebus.

Gravi noct'accidit.
Marcus Iulus abiit.
Fumus, draco magnus,
Destitit mugitum.

Tum lacrimavit draco,
Et posuit squamas.
Nunquam rursum hic luderet
Cum amico Marco.

Sine socio,
Non sensit se fortem.
Fumus, draco magnus,
Ad speluncam repsit.

Chorus

Subject: RE: .
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 06:28 PM

Nil Carborundum illegitimi

Subject: RE: .
From: Rapparee
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 06:12 PM

Mah fav-o-rite song!

Dies irae
dies illa
Solvet saeclum in favilla:
Teste David cum Sybilla.
Quantus tremor est futurus
Quando judex est venturus
Cuncta stricte discussurus!
Dies irae
dies illa
Solvet saeclum in favilla:
Teste David cum Sybilla
Quantus tremor est futurus
Quatdo judex est venturus
Cuncta stricte discussurus!
Quantus tremor est futurus
Dies irae, dies illa
Quantus tremor est futurus
Dies irae, dies illa
Quantus tremor est futurus
Quantus tremor est futurus
Quando judex est venturus
Cuncta stricte discussurus
Cuncta stricte
Cuncta stricte
Stricte discussurus
Cuncta stricte
Cuncta stricte
Stricte discussurus!

Subject: RE: .
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 05:47 PM

O Caritas O Caritas, nobis semper sit amor.
Nos perituri, mortem salutamus
Sola resurgit vita.









Bit of Cat Stevens for ya!

Subject: RE: .
From: Peace
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 05:23 PM

LA CUCARACHA

1 Cuando uno quiere a una
Y esta una no lo quiere,
Es lo mismo que si un calvo
En la calle encuentr' un peine.

Chorus:
La cucaracha, la cucaracha,
Ya no quieres caminar,
Porque no tienes,
Porque le falta,
Marihuana que fumar.

2 Las muchachas son de oro;
Las casadas son de plata;
Las viudas son de cobre,
Y las viejas oja de lata.

3 Mi vecina de enfrente
Se llamaba Doña Clara,
Y si no había muerto
Es probable se llamara.

4 Las muchachas de Las Vegas
Son muy altas y delgaditas,
Pero son mas pedigueñas
Que las animas benditas.

5 Las muchachas de la villa
No saben ni dar un beso,
Cuando las de Albuquerque
Hasta estiran el pescuezo.

6 Las muchachas Mexicanas
Son lindas como una flor,
Y hablan tan dulcemente
Que encantan de amor.

7 Una cosa me da risa --
Pancho Villa sin camisa.
Ya se van los Carranzistas
Porque vienen los Villistas.

8 Necesita automóvil
Par' hacer la caminata
Al lugar a donde mandó
La convención Zapata.

Subject: RE: .
From: cookster
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 05:20 PM

AYE CARUMBA!!!

Subject: RE: .
From: Rapparee
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 04:47 PM

Omnia Latinum dice, cogito!

Subject: RE: .
From: autolycus
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 04:40 PM

It means you haven't got the Latin, Jeem?






       Ivor

Subject: RE: .
From: cookster
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 03:33 PM

In English please.

Subject: RE: .
From: beardedbruce
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 03:31 PM

for the full text:

Subject: RE: .
From: cookster
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 03:23 PM

WHAT DOES THAT MEAN???

Subject: RE: .
From: Rapparee
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 03:22 PM

As my good ol' buddy Gus once said, "Ego iam errorem puto, quam antea veritatem putabam: utrum recte existimem, a te praesente audire cupio. In. primis summum errorem puto, omnipotentem Deum, in quo una nobis spes est, ex aliqua parte violabilem, aut coinquinabilem, aut corruptibilem credere. Hoc vestram haeresim affirmare scio; non quidem verbis. quibus nunc usus sum: nam et vos interrogati confitemini Deum esse incorruptibilem et omnino. inviolabilem et incoinquinabilem; sed cum coeperitis caetera exponere, cogimini eum corruptibilem, penetrabilem, et coinquinabilem profiteri. Dicitis enim aliam nescio quam gentem tenebrarum adversus Dei regnum rebellasse: Deum autem omnipotentem, cum videret quanta labes et vastitas immineret regnis suis, nisi aliquid adversae genti opponeret, et ei resisteret, misisse hanc virtutem, de cuius commixtione cum malo et tenebrarum gente mundus sit fabricatus. Hinc esse quod hic animae bonae laborant, serviunt, errant, corrumpuntur: ut necessarium haberent liberatorem, qui eas ab errore purgaret, et a commixtione solveret, et a servitute liberaret. Hoc ego nefas puto credere, Deum omnipotentem aliquam adversam gentem timuisse, aut necessitatem esse passum, ut nos in aerumnas praecipitaret."

Ain't it the truth, though? Ain't it the bloody truth!

Subject: RE: .
From: gnu
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 03:17 PM

Well, of course you didn't. I just made it up. But, it's a good rule, eh?

Subject: RE: .
From: cookster
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 02:48 PM

I'm sorry I didn't know.

Subject: RE: .
From: gnu
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 02:45 PM

I never bother with that stuff, but, the fact of the matter is that cookster neglected to read the rules. You cannot "bump" yourself into a milestone post.

Cookster... it's yours, technically, but, really, if you subvert the rules, it's rather shallow, innit? I suggest you award autolycus with an honourary 500 and strive to play a more fair game. It will be so much more rewarding upon true victory.

Remember, it's not whether you win or lose, it's how good you look while playing the game.

Subject: RE: .
From: autolycus
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 02:18 PM

Sorry, that should have read 502 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Yi etc.

That's what happens when the uncon............. oh, bugger - thread-drift, getting valuable.


Wotcha mweand, this is rubbish.




Well, at least it's BRITISH rubbish.





       Ivor

Subject: RE: .
From: autolycus
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 02:16 PM

501 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

    Yi......

    oh, hang, ahem -

    Anyway, this isn't wierd or wired or anything innit?

    It's ubconscious-speak time or even unconscious-speak.

    I reckon the conscious is given too much space.





      Ivor

Subject: RE: .
From: gnu
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 02:15 PM

Wood's that be Navy?

Subject: RE: .
From: cookster
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 02:01 PM

500

Subject: RE: .
From: cookster
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 02:00 PM

499

Subject: RE: .
From: Rapparee
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 01:56 PM

I think LJS has been around more than every four years. I think the number of "o"s in the name varies with the amount of rum taken on board.

Subject: RE: .
From: beardedbruce
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 01:54 PM

Why, GUEST,Loooooooooooooong John Sliver of course! Every 4 years he appears for a few days, then vanishes.

Subject: RE: .
From: cookster
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 01:52 PM

Depemds on who you're talking about.

Subject: RE: .
From: Rapparee
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 01:33 PM

Probably. From what I remember he/she/it is a ghost.

Subject: RE: .
From: Stephen L. Rich
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 01:30 PM

"sounds like it" Are we playing Charades now?

Stephen Lee

Subject: RE: .
From: beardedbruce
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 12:26 PM

Is this the SAME sliver that posted

thread.cfm?threadid=61140#981413


Back in '03? It sounds like it.

Subject: RE: .
From: John Hardly
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 12:25 PM

I suppose I should have posted that in the "Things You've learned on the mudcat" thread. Well, then again, maybe you guys will do so now that I told you.

Subject: RE: .
From: John Hardly
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 12:23 PM

With multiple threads about triskaidekaphobia, many are still unaware of criscodeckaphobia. It's the fear that the cook will spill grease on deck and make it slippery. Like that line from "The Wreck Of The Edmund Fitgerald...

When supper time came the old cook came on deck
Saying fellows it's too rough to feed ya
At 7PM a main hatchway caved in
From the weight of many sailors on high-fat diets.

(that was Lightfoot's first draft. That was before Gordon Lightfoot renamed himself "Gordon Lightfood" and started campaigning throughout Canada for better dietary practices.)

Subject: RE: .
From: John MacKenzie
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 12:20 PM

Long John Saliva more like.
G.

Subject: RE: .
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 12:17 PM

Do you really wear long johns?

Subject: RE: .
From: beardedbruce
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 11:59 AM

A Loooooooooooooong Sliver?





Ouch!

Subject: RE: .
From: GUEST,Loooooooooooooong John Sliver
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 11:57 AM

Wahl, timber me shivers, if it ain't a motley crew! Avast and aroint, all hands aloft! Not since the Giant Squid took me leg off have I seem a more worthless set of landlubberly scupperswabbers! Batten the hatches, quick there! She's blowing a gale from leeward!

More rum all around!

Subject: RE: .
From: cookster
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 11:22 AM

OLOLOLO

Subject: RE: .
From: Peace
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 11:18 AM

LOLOLOL

Subject: RE: .
From: John Hardly
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 11:17 AM

"Not that that's in reference to anyone her."

sexist pig.

Subject: RE: .
From: Peace
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 11:12 AM

Ever notice how the strange threads draw the strange people to them? Not that that's in reference to anyone her.

Subject: RE: .
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 11:04 AM

Considering this thread is suposed to be about nothing...I reckon it is really something!

Subject: RE: .
From: cookster
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 10:52 AM

What they said!!!

Subject: RE: .
From: beardedbruce
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 09:12 AM

NOW I know what they mean by a Service contract!

Subject: RE: .
From: Rapparee
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 09:07 AM

I'd tell you some of the jokes of the tombstone-making and gravedigging trades, but you'd think I was a REAL sicko. Instead, I offer this touching poem:

The Ballad of Blasphemous Bill
Robert W. Service

I took a contract to bury the body
Of blasphemous Bill MacKie,
Whenever, wherever or whatsoever
The manner of death he die --
Whether he die in the light o' day
Or under the peak-faced moon;
In cabin or dance-hall, camp or dive,
Mucklucks or patent shoon;
On velvet tundra or virgin peak,
By glacier, drift or draw;
In muskeg hollow or canyon gloom,
By avalanche, fang or claw;
By battle, murder or sudden wealth,
By pestilence, hooch or lead --
I swore on the Book I would follow and look
Till I found my tombless dead.

For Bill was a dainty kind of cuss,
And his mind was mighty sot
On a dinky patch with flowers and grass
In a civilized bone-yard lot.
And where he died or how he died,
It didn't matter a damn
So long as he had a grave with frills
And a tombstone "epigram".
So I promised him, and he paid the price
In good cheechako coin
(Which the same I blowed in that very night
Down in the Tenderloin).
Then I painted a three-foot slab of pine:
"Here lies poor Bill MacKie",
And I hung it up on my cabin wall
And I waited for Bill to die.

Years passed away, and at last one day
Came a squaw with a story strange,
Of a long-deserted line of traps
'Way back of the Bighorn range;
Of a little hut by the great divide,
And a white man stiff and still,
Lying there by his lonesome self,
And I figured it must be Bill.
So I thought of the contract I'd made with him,
And I took down from the shelf
The swell black box with the silver plate
He'd picked out for hisself;
And I packed it full of grub and "hooch",
And I slung it on the sleigh;
Then I harnessed up my team of dogs
And was off at dawn of day.

You know what it's like in the Yukon wild
When it's sixty-nine below;
When the ice-worms wriggle their purple heads
Through the crust of the pale blue snow;
When the pine-trees crack like little guns
In the silence of the wood,
And the icicles hang down like tusks
Under the parka hood;
When the stove-pipe smoke breaks sudden off,
And the sky is weirdly lit,
And the careless feel of a bit of steel
Burns like a red-hot spit;
When the mercury is a frozen ball,
And the frost-fiend stalks to kill --
Well, it was just like that that day when I
Set out to look for Bill.

Oh, the awful hush that seemed to crush
Me down on every hand,
As I blundered blind with a trail to find
Through that blank and bitter land;
Half dazed, half crazed in the winter wild,
With its grim heart-breaking woes,
And the ruthless strife for a grip on life
That only the sourdough knows!
North by the compass, North I pressed;
River and peak and plain
Passed like a dream I slept to lose
And I waked to dream again.

River and plain and mighty peak --
And who could stand unawed?
As their summits blazed, he could stand undazed
At the foot of the throne of God.
North, aye, North, through a land accurst,
Shunned by the scouring brutes,
And all I heard was my own harsh word
And the whine of the malamutes,
Till at last I came to a cabin squat,
Built in the side of a hill,
And I burst in the door, and there on the floor,
Frozen to death, lay Bill.

Ice, white ice, like a winding-sheet,
Sheathing each smoke-grimed wall;
Ice on the stove-pipe, ice on the bed,
Ice gleaming over all;
Sparkling ice on the dead man's chest,
Glittering ice in his hair,
Ice on his fingers, ice in his heart,
Ice in his glassy stare;
Hard as a log and trussed like a frog,
With his arms and legs outspread.
I gazed at the coffin I'd brought for him,
And I gazed at the gruesome dead,
And at last I spoke: "Bill liked his joke;
But still, goldarn his eyes,
A man had ought to consider his mates
In the way he goes and dies."

Have you ever stood in an Arctic hut
In the shadow of the Pole,
With a little coffin six by three
And a grief you can't control?
Have you ever sat by a frozen corpse
That looks at you with a grin,
And that seems to say: "You may try all day,
But you'll never jam me in"?
I'm not a man of the quitting kind,
But I never felt so blue
As I sat there gazing at that stiff
And studying what I'd do.
Then I rose and I kicked off the husky dogs
That were nosing round about,
And I lit a roaring fire in the stove,
And I started to thaw Bill out.

Well, I thawed and thawed for thirteen days,
But it didn't seem no good;
His arms and legs stuck out like pegs,
As if they was made of wood.
Till at last I said: "It ain't no use --
He's froze too hard to thaw;
He's obstinate, and he won't lie straight,
So I guess I got to -- saw."
So I sawed off poor Bill's arms and legs,
And I laid him snug and straight
In the little coffin he picked hisself,
With the dinky silver plate;
And I came nigh near to shedding a tear
As I nailed him safely down;
Then I stowed him away in my Yukon sleigh,
And I started back to town.

So I buried him as the contract was
In a narrow grave and deep,
And there he's waiting the Great Clean-up,
When the Judgment sluice-heads sweep;
And I smoke my pipe and I meditate
In the light of the Midnight Sun,
And sometimes I wonder if they was,
The awful things I done.
And as I sit and the parson talks,
Expounding of the Law,
I often think of poor old Bill --
And how hard he was to saw.

Subject: RE: .
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 07:26 AM

That joke corpsed didn't it!

Subject: RE: .
From: The Fooles Troupe
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 04:58 AM

No thanks - I'm trying to give them up!

Subject: RE: .
From: Liz the Squeak
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 04:36 AM

Don't mind if I do, thanks!






















Burp.

LTS

Subject: RE: .
From: John MacKenzie
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 03:54 AM

Have a cadaver

Subject: RE: .
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 02:55 AM

No Just a gargantuan error.

Subject: RE: .
From: Stephen L. Rich
Date: 16 Jul 07 - 12:55 AM

If a giant makes a mistake would it be fair to call that a "Fee, Fie, Faux Pas"?

Stephen Lee

Subject: RE: .
From: cookster
Date: 15 Jul 07 - 11:57 PM

Havada cadabra!!!!

Subject: RE: .
From: balladeer
Date: 15 Jul 07 - 11:33 PM

Edelweiss
you greet
you meet
you look happy
too

Subject: RE: .
From: Rapparee
Date: 15 Jul 07 - 10:01 PM

1f u a1n7 l337 u a1n7 5h17.

Subject: RE: .
From: Severn
Date: 15 Jul 07 - 09:57 PM

So which of you guys wants to do the crossword when I'm through with the comica section?