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BS: The Mother of all BS threads

Amos 12 Oct 10 - 08:39 PM
Eiseley 13 Oct 10 - 12:05 AM
Rapparee 13 Oct 10 - 12:18 AM
Rapparee 13 Oct 10 - 10:56 AM
Rapparee 13 Oct 10 - 11:00 AM
Acme 13 Oct 10 - 01:00 PM
gnu 13 Oct 10 - 01:23 PM
Eiseley 13 Oct 10 - 01:28 PM
Amos 13 Oct 10 - 02:00 PM
Rapparee 13 Oct 10 - 02:26 PM
Amos 13 Oct 10 - 02:35 PM
Eiseley 13 Oct 10 - 03:15 PM
Acme 13 Oct 10 - 03:35 PM
Amos 13 Oct 10 - 03:42 PM
gnu 13 Oct 10 - 05:35 PM
Little Hawk 13 Oct 10 - 06:18 PM
Rapparee 13 Oct 10 - 06:30 PM
Little Hawk 13 Oct 10 - 06:50 PM
Acme 13 Oct 10 - 06:54 PM
Amos 13 Oct 10 - 08:30 PM
Rapparee 13 Oct 10 - 08:50 PM
Amos 13 Oct 10 - 10:46 PM
Rapparee 14 Oct 10 - 10:32 AM
Little Hawk 14 Oct 10 - 10:46 AM
Acme 14 Oct 10 - 11:30 AM
MMario 14 Oct 10 - 11:43 AM
Little Hawk 14 Oct 10 - 12:00 PM
Amos 14 Oct 10 - 12:21 PM
Rapparee 14 Oct 10 - 02:23 PM
Rapparee 14 Oct 10 - 07:37 PM
Amos 14 Oct 10 - 11:58 PM
Little Hawk 15 Oct 10 - 08:51 AM
Acme 15 Oct 10 - 10:10 AM
Little Hawk 15 Oct 10 - 10:27 AM
MMario 15 Oct 10 - 11:31 AM
Little Hawk 15 Oct 10 - 11:34 AM
Amos 15 Oct 10 - 11:35 AM
Little Hawk 15 Oct 10 - 11:56 AM
GUEST,Blind DRunk in Blind River 15 Oct 10 - 12:00 PM
Rapparee 15 Oct 10 - 12:14 PM
Acme 15 Oct 10 - 12:51 PM
Amos 15 Oct 10 - 12:56 PM
GUEST,Blind DRunk in Blind River 15 Oct 10 - 01:08 PM
Rapparee 15 Oct 10 - 01:23 PM
Eiseley 15 Oct 10 - 02:35 PM
Rapparee 15 Oct 10 - 02:49 PM
Little Hawk 15 Oct 10 - 04:17 PM
gnu 15 Oct 10 - 04:56 PM
Rapparee 15 Oct 10 - 05:10 PM
Rapparee 15 Oct 10 - 07:16 PM
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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: 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: 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: 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 - 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: 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: 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: 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: 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: 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 - 02:35 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: 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: 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: 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: 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: 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: 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 - 06:50 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: 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: 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: 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 - 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: 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: 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: 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: 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: 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: 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: 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: 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: 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: 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: 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 - 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: MMario
Date: 15 Oct 10 - 11:31 AM

Can one be specist without prejudices? Doesn;t the former imply the latter?


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 15 Oct 10 - 11:34 AM

No. One cannot be specist without prejudice. One can, however, be prejudiced without specism. Prejudice against jazz, for instance, is not specism.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 15 Oct 10 - 11:35 AM

If he started a re-education campaign in the Hovel, I think he would end up mounted on the wall, or perhaps serving as a rug.


A


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 15 Oct 10 - 11:56 AM

Or the Hovel would end up as a smoking, bullet-riddled ruin with bodies strewn hither and yon, and Chongo would have to file a full report with the local constabulary and then pick up his reward for rendering a valuable public service. ;-)


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: GUEST,Blind DRunk in Blind River
Date: 15 Oct 10 - 12:00 PM

I pity youse peple talkin' about a fippin' goddam monkey all the time when you cold be talkin' about wet T-shirt girls or beer.

I seen this girl at the Iron Horse last night and she could of cut glass with them things. No word of a lie, eh?

- Shane


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 15 Oct 10 - 12:14 PM

Peeking through the window again, eh, Shame? Everyone knows that no business in town will let you in its doors. I understand that you're even banned from the sewage treatment plant because of your stink.

The Legion Hovel is not a violent place nor is violence implied. There have been a few mistakes, like the recent explosion of the beer car by the cops, but it has been ten or twelve days since the last fight and that was just a slap-face thing between Ancient Amos (not our Amos) and Surly Bob. Each slapped the other at the same time, not hard, and then0 they passed out together on the floor. It was a lovely sight, like two kittens snuggling together, as long as the kittens were wearing lead-weighted gloves. And the bullet holes are reliques from years and years ago, back when the place was REALLY part of The Wild West. So if you ever were to visit, don't mind the machine guns and pistols -- they wear them now only for show.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Acme
Date: 15 Oct 10 - 12:51 PM

MOM is so excited! Look who's on the playbill for the Saturday concert down at the Womens' Hovel Annex annual fall concert series. Her old friend Flo.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 15 Oct 10 - 12:56 PM

Oh....oh...dear...I don't know if I can handle this woman...she makes me feel faint...oh...dear....gakkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!! (Furball sounds continue while Amos exists stage right).


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: GUEST,Blind DRunk in Blind River
Date: 15 Oct 10 - 01:08 PM

One thing fer sure...she don't need no flippin' vibrator to hit the high notes, eh? Flip me. Un beeeleeeevable! We do not have no women like this in North Ontario. Leastwayes, I don't think so.

- Shane


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 15 Oct 10 - 01:23 PM

Nope, Shame, they've got you. Remember the "accident" you had with that sledge hammer? That's why you're a soprano, young "man".


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Eiseley
Date: 15 Oct 10 - 02:35 PM

No way, Stilly! My brother has a CD of Florence Foster Jenkins that he forced us to listen to last Thanksgiving---until we all jumped on him and made him turn it off. Here is more about this paragon of tunelessness.

Eiseley


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 15 Oct 10 - 02:49 PM

According to The Grande Archives, she had a three-day engagement at The Hovel back in June, 19-something (the ink is beer-blurred). She was apparently very much appreciated, as the rat and cockroach populations became non-existent for years thereafter, which saved the floorboards from more bullet holes.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 15 Oct 10 - 04:17 PM

That's an amazing story, Eisley. She appears to have been the William MacGonagall of opera. It's amazing where sheer self-belief and determination can take people of little talent, and that could be a lesson for all of us. ;-)


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: gnu
Date: 15 Oct 10 - 04:56 PM

Sure is for me.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 15 Oct 10 - 05:10 PM

Sheer guts and determination and perseverance, that's all it takes even with a total lack of talent. Of course, she could also afford to underwrite her own concerts. That helps too.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 15 Oct 10 - 07:16 PM

Blood.

         Blood was everywhere, it seemed. Mostly it was inside of us, which was fortunate or things would have been awfully messy, like it was when someone got cut and blood would leak out. Then you had to plug up the leak with a band-aid or a cork or something, because if someone lost too much blood they could die or worse.

        Blood, we learned in school, was the thing that carried oxygen and stuff to your body. Well, we really learned that something called hemoglobin worked with iron to attach oxygen to the iron and the iron was carried in the arteries all over the body, and the oxygen was released wherever it was needed. Then the blood came back through the veins to pick up another load of oxygen.

        "Blood," Tony observed, "is just liquid rust."

        Blood was the key, though, to Tony's plan to win the Great Stillman's Run Road Race. Tony had done a lot of research at the library, even reading a couple of books completely through, and they didn't even have many pictures and did have little tiny type. So after he understood about blood carrying oxygen, he figured that the more oxygen that could be carried by the blood the better someone could run. And the better they could run, the better the chance that they would win the race.

        Blood, he decided, was key and the blood he chose was mine. I was amazed and awed and awfully outraged when he told me.

        "Blood!? You want to pump someone's blood into me so I can run faster?" I asked him, unbelievingly.

        "Blood is key to winning," he replied. "But we don't have to pump someone else's blood into you, although I did consider using a greyhound's blood, because they can run awfully fast. But I decided that it wouldn't be necessary, that all we had to do was to improve the amount of oxygen your own blood carried. Besides, I don't know where to get a greyhound."

        "Bloody good of you," I muttered.

        "Blood is made up of hemoglobin and iron," Tony started.

        "Blood is made up of that and a lot of other things," I replied.

        "Blood," he continued unperturbed, "uses iron to carry the oxygen. So if we increase the amount of iron in your blood, you'll carry more oxygen. The more oxygen, the faster you'll run. The faster you run, the sooner you'll cross the finish line and win the prize and make us filthy rich, or at least pretty wealthy."

        "Why, pray tell, me?" I asked.

        "Because as the oldest you are the tallest and therefore have the longest legs," he replied. "Even though I, or even Ted, can outrun you now, you'll be able to really fly along when you've had enough iron and the oxygen is really flowing in your veins."

        "So how do I get this iron? Eat a car or something?"

        "No. Ted checked on that, and all you have to do is to eat liver and broccoli and kale and spinach and stuff like that."

        "Oh," I replied, underwhelmed with the whole idea. Little Did I Know Then!

        So I ate foods with iron in them. Spinach. Kale. Broccoli. Kale. Spinach. And lots and lots and lots and lots and lots of liver.

        Tony kept trying to stick pins in me to see if my blood was red enough. He said that if there was plenty of iron in my blood it would be really, really, really red, especially if it came from an artery. Luckily, I was able to prevent him from doing this, but I had to watch him all the time!

        Even in church. One Sunday he managed to stick a pin in me as I was sitting down in the pew. After I yelled he was embarrassed to have done it, what with all of the dogs that started to howl and all. And since we were sitting pretty far up front he couldn't pass it off as the organ, either.

        Training commenced. Naturally we wanted to keep it secret so that nobody would know about how fast I was going to able to run ? and most importantly, why I was going to be able to go so fast. So we trained in the Swamp.

        Ted and Tony laid out a track for me to run on, clearing away most of the thorn bushes, nettles, cockle burrs, poison ivy, poison oak, poison sumac, deadly nightshade, jimson weed and pansies for what they said was a kilometer, at least. I paced it off and told them that it was only maybe a hundred feet long, but they said that they had measured in meters and that I had measured in feet and since meters were more scientific they were right. Besides, at the end of the track was a great big boulder that not even all three of us could move. They said that it was good that we couldn't move it, because if I got going really fast it would stop me before I could run into the quicksand pool behind it.

        Being good brothers, they even filled in most of the rattlesnake, water mocassin, copperhead, and coral snake holes along the track.

        And so I ran and ate and ate and ran. Tony found a stopwatch somewhere and timed me. He kept detailed records of my time, and found that sometimes I ran faster than at other times. He decided that the better times were caused by my intake of iron-bearing foods, and pretty soon I was even eating spinach for breakfast!

        Actually, I was getting pretty sick of a diet of liver, spinach, kale and broccoli. One day I had a small ice cream cone and Tony got really mad, even though I paid for it with my own money. That evening I found some hard stuff in my dinner, which turned out to be pieces of rusty nails and wire. Tony explained that he'd put it there to make up for the damage I'd done with the ice cream cone.

        All too soon, according to Tony and Ted, and none too soon according to me, it was the weekend before the great race.   We went out to the Swamp for one last weekend of intensive practice, and Martha came along so that we could show her how well we were doing. She'd put up all of the money we'd bet on the race, and she wanted to see the "sure thing" we told her was going to win.

        We ate lunch ? they ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but I had to eat cold, leftover liver and a spinach salad.

        It must have been this last little bit of iron food that finally did it.

        Lunch was over. I got into the starting position at the beginning of the track.

        "BANG!!" shouted Ted, his water pistol pointed to the sky.

        I took off like a rocket. Everything looked blurred, I was going so fast. Faster, faster, faster ? and then everything looked gray! I decided that I had finally gone so fast that all of the colors of light had been left behind!

        I was going so fast that it didn't even feel like I was moving. I wasn't going so fast, though, that pain was outstripped.

        And there was pain! All along the front of my body. And the gray color of light seemed to be sort of wrinkled and hard.

        Voices reached me. Martha, Tony, and Ted's voices.

        "Gee, he's right up against that rock," someone said.

        "Yeah. I wonder why he doesn't move away from it," someone else said.

        "Maybe he's hurt?"

        "Maybe he's dead?"

        "Maybe he's stupid?"

        "Sure is neat the way he keeps his feet off the ground like that, though. Wonder why he doesn't fall?"

        Off the ground? I too wondered why, if that was the case, I didn't fall.

        "What time is it?"

        "What does your watch say? And don't say, 'Tick tock tick tock, either!"

        "I dunno. The hands are moving funny."

        "Look at that piece of wire!"

        "Neat! It's sticking to the rock like Mike is!"

        "Hey, I bet that rock's a big magnet! Or at least part of it is! That's why the wire stuck to it!"

        "Cool! Look out while I toss this old car gear at it!" And something big and heavy flew above my head and stuck to the rock.

        "How come Mike sticks to the rock? He's not metal."

        "His head must be solid steel!"

        "Maybe. Hey! Mike! Are you okay?" Tony yelled.

        "Mm mstck t mrk," I replied. It was hard to talk with my mouth held firmly against the rock.

        "Huh?" said Ted, puzzlement in his voice.

        "I think he said 'I'm stuck to the rock'," said Martha.

        "Hey, Mike!" said Tony. "If you're stuck to the rock, paw the ground once." And he laughed and Ted and Martha laughed too.

        After a few minutes, they stopped laughing. They grabbed me and tried to pull me off the rock. They grunted and groaned and made horrible working sounds, but I just stuck there. Finally, I could feel them pulling on my belt, which was elastic and which must have stretched and stretched and then broke, as the next thing was the sound of three people sitting down very suddenly.

        For a few minutes there was quiet, and I knew that they were thinking. So was I, for that matter. I was thinking about what I was going to do to Tony and Ted if I ever got unstuck from the rock.

        Suddenly, I heard Ted and Tony jump up. I could tell it was them because I heard the hollow sounds of their heads hitting a tree branch.

        "It's the iron in his blood!" shouted Tony.

        "The rock's a big magnet!" shouted Ted.

        "Let's pry him off!" they shouted together. And lickety-split, they were poking at me with a long pole, trying to jam it under me to pry me loose.

        They did get it under me a bit, but when they pulled on it it broke, and from the corner of my eye I could see them sit down suddenly again.

        There they sat, Martha, Tony and Ted, eyeing each other, knowing that they had to get me loose from the rock because Mom might notice if four of us left and only three returned home. At the very least she'd notice that I wasn't at supper.

        Finally, Ted said, "We've got to demagnetize the rock. It's holding him too strongly to do anything else."

        "What will do that?" questioned Tony.

        "Well," said Ted, "I read that if you wrap a big coil of copper wire around a magnet and run an electric current through it you can demagnetize the magnet."

        "Nah," replied Tony. "We don't have any copper wire. And no electricity here. That won't work."

        I was relieved, because knowing them as I did I would probably have been electrocuted.

        They thought some more.

        "I know!" said Tony. "I read that a magnet will demagnetize if you get it real hot!"

        "Great idea!" agreed Ted. And I could hear them gathering sticks and feel them tossing them around my feet.

        "Mike!" Ted shouted, even though I was only a couple of feet away. "We're going to build a big fire and that will demagnetize the rock and free you! It'll only take a few minutes!"

        "NO!" I managed to scream. "DON'T!"

        "Ah, guys," Martha interjected, "you know, you might not only demagnetize the rock. You might burn Mike up doing it, you know."

        "Oh, yeah. We never thought of that," Ted and Tony said together.

        "So, then, I guess we'll just have to leave him hanging there, huh?" questioned Ted.

        "Guess so," Tony agreed. "Well, so long, Mike! We're going on home! Hang in there!" And he laughed.

        "Oh, wait a minute," Martha said, disgustedly. "Try hammering on the rock and see if that will demagnetize it. After all, hammering on a piece of iron in a certain way will make it a magnet, so hammering on it sort of at random should unmagnet it."

        The next second they had all picked up rocks and were pounding enthusiastically on the big rock that was holding me.

        They pounded and pounded. Bits of rock were flying everywhere. When they'd pounded one rock into little pieces they picked up another and kept pounding.

        Martha pounded the base of the rock and up as high as she could reach. Ted stood on Tony's shoulders and they both pounded as high as they could reach that way.

        They pounded the bottom, middle, and top of the rock. They pounded their hands sometimes. Lots of times they pounded me.

        Nothing much happened to free me, though.

        Finally, they all stopped pounding and moved back a little to assess the situation (which means that they were out of breath and wanted to take a break). Tony picked up a pebble and, in frustration, threw it as hard as he could at the big rock.

        The pebble hit near the top. I could feel something happening inside the rock. Then, with a loud CRACK! it fell into many little stones.

        With a muffled THUD! I fell to the ground. With a fairly loud CLANG! the gear that had been stuck above my head hit it, bounced, and rolled away.

        "Ow!" I said. "Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!" You see, the little rocks were still magnets and they were now throwing themselves at me ? and sticking.

        Quickly I moved away, and after I got about fifty yards from them the barrage stopped.

        As we walked home, I picked off little rocks and flipped them away. As we walked home Tony enthused about his new plan to win the race: put a giant magnet at the finish line and I wouldn't have to run at all!

        I quietly and firmly suggested to him that if anyone was going to be in the race, it wasn't going to be me. Even if my legs were the longest. Besides, I was very sick of kale, liver, broccoli, and spinach ? even Mom could only cook them so many ways!

        We got home just in time to wash up for supper ? which was spinach, kale, broccoli, and liver. Except for me ? Mom had very thoughtfully made me a hot dog.


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