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BS: The Mother of all BS threads

Amos 31 Oct 09 - 12:17 PM
Little Hawk 31 Oct 09 - 12:21 PM
Amos 31 Oct 09 - 12:27 PM
Little Hawk 31 Oct 09 - 12:30 PM
Janie 31 Oct 09 - 12:45 PM
Acme 31 Oct 09 - 12:58 PM
Janie 31 Oct 09 - 01:53 PM
Rapparee 31 Oct 09 - 01:54 PM
Janie 31 Oct 09 - 01:56 PM
Amos 31 Oct 09 - 01:56 PM
VirginiaTam 31 Oct 09 - 02:02 PM
Rapparee 31 Oct 09 - 02:20 PM
Ed T 31 Oct 09 - 02:24 PM
GUEST,Rapaire 31 Oct 09 - 02:44 PM
VirginiaTam 31 Oct 09 - 02:57 PM
VirginiaTam 31 Oct 09 - 03:13 PM
Ed T 31 Oct 09 - 03:15 PM
Ed T 31 Oct 09 - 03:23 PM
Rapparee 31 Oct 09 - 03:42 PM
Ed T 31 Oct 09 - 03:51 PM
Janie 31 Oct 09 - 03:53 PM
Ed T 31 Oct 09 - 03:54 PM
Little Hawk 31 Oct 09 - 04:18 PM
Ed T 31 Oct 09 - 04:45 PM
Ed T 31 Oct 09 - 06:10 PM
Amos 31 Oct 09 - 07:04 PM
Ed T 31 Oct 09 - 07:06 PM
Ed T 31 Oct 09 - 07:08 PM
Amos 31 Oct 09 - 07:53 PM
Ed T 31 Oct 09 - 07:59 PM
Janie 31 Oct 09 - 08:16 PM
Janie 31 Oct 09 - 08:26 PM
Rapparee 31 Oct 09 - 10:39 PM
Janie 31 Oct 09 - 11:12 PM
Ed T 31 Oct 09 - 11:45 PM
Ed T 31 Oct 09 - 11:55 PM
Ed T 01 Nov 09 - 09:22 AM
Ed T 01 Nov 09 - 09:43 AM
Amos 01 Nov 09 - 09:59 AM
Ed T 01 Nov 09 - 10:20 AM
Ed T 01 Nov 09 - 10:30 AM
Amos 01 Nov 09 - 11:09 AM
Ed T 01 Nov 09 - 11:32 AM
Acme 01 Nov 09 - 12:20 PM
Little Hawk 01 Nov 09 - 01:28 PM
Amos 01 Nov 09 - 01:54 PM
Janie 01 Nov 09 - 02:11 PM
Little Hawk 01 Nov 09 - 02:22 PM
Acme 01 Nov 09 - 05:03 PM
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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 31 Oct 09 - 12:17 PM

There are those who hunger for continuity and completeness, or who will want to refer others to the deathless couplets that have so inspired a whole Kilo of MOABites. For their kind benefit, then, the following is laid out in sequence. A couple of verses from Rapaire have been included in parentheses for continuity.



The Ballad of Thirty Two K



We wuz pushing for thirty-two of K
My messmates on the thread.
We were swollen up, and weak of eye,
And sore and weak of head.
But they handed out the shifting irons,
And the foreman he did say,
"Take out and swing this hammer, Jack,
For the thirty-two of K."

Now some of us took the handcar out
And scooted out ahead,
And some of us stood in that burning sun
And cussed the whole damn thread.
And some of starting shifting track,
And eyeing where it lay,
And moving rock and hammering shocks,
Toward the thirty-two of K.

We were up against a deep shale cut
In the hardest kind of soil.
And the hammers rang and the rounders sang
And the newbies reeled from toil.
And we cut a swath like Gawd's own path
Through that hard adobe clay.
And we doubted hard we would ever see
The thirty-two of K.

(Then Amos found some giant powder
Jist a-sittin' on a tray
And we were afraid, the way he tossed the keg
We'd be blown to thirty-two kay.

But he drilled a hole and rammed it full
Tamped the powder in without a stay
And blew the hardrock all to hell
On the way to thirty-two kay.

We mucked out the rock and mud and all
And before us a vista lay
Of shining mounts and shady vales
Downhill, in thirty-two kay.)

Then it's "Heist that gravel and bed 'er down!"
And "Tap 'er once and stay!"
And the hammers rang as the bright new steel
Lined up for another K.
Rapaire was there, with his chest all bare.
But the Hawk, he stayed away.
And the ties went hard down for every yard
We made toward another K.

Then the steel spikes sang, as the hammers rang
And we locked down another chain
And yard by yard, though the work was hard,
We built, and ne'er complained.
And Still was there, to offer care
When a hammer smashed a toe
And as it came on night, we saw it right,
Where we wuz, and had yet to go.

Come dawn anew, and the whole damn crew
Was there, though it cost them sore.
'Cuz we knew that day'd see us on the way
An' only a few days more.
We could feel it risin' past the dawn's horizon
As the sun clocked out the day;
Swing the hammer down! Sure as Gawd, we're bound
For the thirty-two of K.

There was a hundred and ninety-eight to go,
And that's easy enough to say.
But lining them out in that red-hot sun
Is a different price to pay!
"Come and tap those keys!! Bring your Submit on!"
The Mother cussed, and yelled.
"New posts! New posts" and post we did,
For thirty-two kay, or hell.

All night athat night we sang that lay
As the moon danced through the trees.
Little Hawk even showed up once,
With strange scrapes on his knees.
And a coupla new guys came around,
'Round the middle of the day,
Cuz the din and the drive could not be stayed,
Bound for 32 of Kay.

When the wind came up in the afternoon,
It was 31-9 or bust!
And our hands were scarred from flying grit,
And our eyes were red from dust.
Still we hammered on with what we had
We would not give up the ghost.
We knew somewhere in the gloom ahead
Was the 32 thousandth post.

So we slammed the hammers down again
And we dug the railbed hard.
And we tamped and lined and dug again,
Sweating blood for every yard.
It wasn't love, nor loot, nor dames
That drove us so that day;
'Twas the wild-eyed call of Mom--sweet Mom!
For the thirty-two of Kay.

(Amos dropped down where he stood,
Laying hardbed rail
And I couldn't him out at all
'Cause I was blasting shale.
So the Rounders tossed him in a hole
And stood around to pray
Then shoveled fill on top of the boy
On the road to thirty-two kay.)

At thirty one and eight nineteen
The hands were feeling dry,
There was dust in all their crevices,
And dust filled up the sky.
Then someone hollered "There's a light!"
And damn if it wasn't so!
A single solid golden beam
Pointing straight to the earth below.

Then thunder cracked and the light grew strong,
And a great split opened the land!!
And Amos walked right out of that grave,
With a fifth of rum in his hand!!
There was shouts and hollers from all hands,
Mostly asking for that rum.
ANd the boys were ready to kneel and pray,
If he'd only give them some.

So we finished that fifth and we cinched our belts,
And we turned to the rail once more,
Though our hands were chapped, and our fingers bled,
And our arms and backs were sore.
And as evening came across the land,
The dust stole off with the day.
But we never slowed, not a single hand,
Bound for thirty-two of Kay.

One fifty-nine of empty posts
Haunted us through the mist
As the night moved off and the silver dawn
By sunrise just was kissed.
And through the chill of morning dew
Into the heat of the day
We sweated under ever tie
For the 32 of Kay.

The future line was clear to see
A long and empty line.
And the posts we knew we needed were
One hundred fifty nine.
But not a word of sloth or ire
Had any man to say,
As we slogged along in one desire
Toward the 32 of Kay.

And slow--so slow!--the posts went by
Each with a terrible weight
The empty miles ahead ticked down
TO one hundred fifty eight
And ticked again as each man stood
And had his noble say
One fifty left! We're on the path!
To the 32 of Kay.

The valiant band of MOABites
Posted of many things;
Of cooking sauce and bookmobiles,
The divinity of kings.
Of man o' wars and men of peace
And what was worth the pay;
And what we'd see when we crested o'er
That 32 of Kay.

By dawn next day the Hawk was back,
Riding on his bikey
The scars on both his knees had healed,
If not those on his psyche.
He'd gone to see a guru-man
All balding, fat and gray,
While the rest of, why we just dug on
For the 32 of Kay.

The sun it got to bold Rapaire
So we put him on the shelf;
He'd started calling himself names,
And was quite beside himself.
But he'd made posts of good BS,
In a bold and noble way,
So we let him fall back, and took up the slack,
Bound for 32 of Kay.

(One-sixteen , me lads and lasses!!!
Breath and push, and move your asses!
Dumb or not, guested or hosted
Cheers to she who has often posted!

Onward! Onward! Raise the call,
Bring the dweeb from down the hall!
Bring your cousin, silly bitch,
Just to render MOAB rich!

Bring your banker, tailor, lawyer!
Call a plumber or a sawyer!
One-sixteen!! We're on the way
To reach the fabled next of K!)

The shadows stole along the rails
As the day began to wane.
And each man and woman solemn swore
They'd do it all again
They'd undergo the backbreak work,
The splinters, dust, and pain,
To lay the way to the next of Kay
For the mighty MOAB train.

And as the rugged, ragged thread
Grew longer, post by post,
We smiled, although our fingers bled,
And traded jibes and boasts
We had only ninety-eight to go,
One more long night to haul,
'Til we'd see that shining bullet fly,
The Mother cannon-ball.

So we heisted up and turned back to,
And hauled another span.
Each one who vowed to see it through,
Each woman, and each man,
Though fingers worn and eyes were sore
And lives in shards did lay,
Would post, and post, and post again
For the Thirty Two of Kay.

The count was down to seventy-eight
When the wind began to blow.
The red dust flew to the skies on high
And ruined our hopes below.
The air was thick as an old brick wall
And it slammed our bones with pain.
And we thought we'd never gain a yard,
Or ever post again.

And every hand who could even move
Was huddled behind a rock
As the wind blew through like a hurricane
No hand of man could block.
We was lying low, ducking from that blow,
And we feared we'd starve in the dark.
When through the screaming gloom appeared
A figure, tall and stark.

We heard him scream into that blow,
"Goddam your eyes and all!"
And saw him stagger to the rail,
Stumble, and lurch, and fall.
And we saw him scramble and rise again
And grab the line and cuss,
Hammering down in that screaming squall,
"Gimme 32 Kay, or bust!"

Then that shadow yelled like a fiend from hell
And he grabbed a rail and hauled
While his clothes were shredded and his skin was too,
By the force of that awful squall.
And the hands looked out as that rail went down,
And he hammered it onto the ties.
And they wept to see old Amos win,
Or from wind and dirt in their eyes.

So another chain was laid out true
In the face of that living hell,
And the winds went home, cuz they knew the truth,
They'd been beat, any man could tell.
So the hands crept out as the wind died down
And a couple of chimps joined the fray.
And they all turned to with a post or two,
For the sake of 32 K.

When the toll crept down to sixty-six,
The tired sons of Mother
Were growing faint and querulous
And snapped at one another.
Their tongues were sharp, their tempers frayed,
As might happen the same to you,
And their weary ears were tired of
The number, "32".

They'd done their turn, worked through the night,
And through the follering day.
Their backs were sore, their pants were worn,
And they still weren't all the way.
So you cannot blame those noble folk
For feeling sharp, that way.
They'd earned it all, in the service of
The thirty-two of Kay.

Count thirteen!! The cry rang out,
Up and down that hard-steel line!
We're coming through! Look out below!
We're making up our time!
Tap her and leave her! cried the boss,
Bring down another dray!!
We're slapping steel at a terrible rate
Toward the Thirty-two of K.

Then the sun came up on Saturday
And the crowd began to forming
It was strange to see them out of bed
So early in the morning.
The gang that made the steel rails fly
They didn't much note, or care
They were calling out for rail and spikes
Through the Saturday morning air.

The rails were counting down to home
THey knew they'd see that line!
You could hear it in their steely ring
And see it in their shine.
Why they almost laid themselves out straight
One old hand was heard to say.
As if they knew they were getting close
To the Thirty Two of Kay.

Another tie! Another spike!! Come and bring that hammer down!
And another steel nail found its home
In the cold and wintery ground.
Press on! Press on!! It's coming soon!
The village wives did pray.
As the gang worked down the final slope
To the thirty-two of Kay.

Then from over the mountains, back in the hills
There floated a strange new sound.
A lonesome drifting kind of song,
Like a timberwolf's sad moan.
It floated down from those distant hills
Where we'd spent those sweat-stained days,
And it cried as a ghost might moan, "Make haste!"
"Make the thirty-two of Kay!"\

The citizens watching down below
All froze with a look of fear.
They wondered at that weird cry,
And the children cried in fear.
And the men and women at the rail
Just doubled their speed once more.
For they knew the sound of the MOAB Train
Crossing thirty one five oh four.

They knew the hour was drawing near
When their work would win, or die
And they knew they had to finish that line
Where that mighty train would fly.
For she would not stop, she could not stop
Once she started the long, long grade
That led down from those towering mountain heights
To the Thirty Two of Kay.

Then the last rail settled into its bed.
The bumpers stood like soldiers.
The last sharp spike was hammered in,
And the crew boss yelled, "Now, hold her!"
Then out of the mist and down the grade
Came a blur like the break of day!
As the MOAB engine and ninety cars
Rattled home to Thirty Two Kay.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 31 Oct 09 - 12:21 PM

How much time do you think I have?

And how much time do you have on your hands? One has to wonder.... ;-)


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 31 Oct 09 - 12:27 PM

When epic deeds are done, my lad
ANd epic songs are made,
There are always some who stand apart
And loiter in the shade.
There always a few who fault the harp
Or the poet's manly verse
But their carping never seems to help.
It only makes things worse.
Let he who complains take the burden on
Of crafting the theme and the line
And put in his time in working hard
To ease his plaintive mind.
Your criticisms do not add
A bit, or whit, or jottle,
For there is not stopping the MOAB train
Or the crew that mans the throttle.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 31 Oct 09 - 12:30 PM

LOL! Oh, bravely done, sir, bravely done!


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Janie
Date: 31 Oct 09 - 12:45 PM

And from the peanut gallery comes thundering applause!


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Acme
Date: 31 Oct 09 - 12:58 PM

Impressive!


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Janie
Date: 31 Oct 09 - 01:53 PM

How likely is one to encounter phreds on Halloween night?


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 31 Oct 09 - 01:54 PM

I did it! I got number 32,000! Hurrah for me!


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Janie
Date: 31 Oct 09 - 01:56 PM

What? the 32,000th tick off of your dog?


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 31 Oct 09 - 01:56 PM

And so it begins......



A


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: VirginiaTam
Date: 31 Oct 09 - 02:02 PM

WOW! Amos. That's impressive.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 31 Oct 09 - 02:20 PM

Hey, it works for politicians....


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Ed T
Date: 31 Oct 09 - 02:24 PM

Buffalo wings....Buffalo's don't have wings, nor do Bison. Sorry to burst your bubble.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: GUEST,Rapaire
Date: 31 Oct 09 - 02:44 PM

But you are ignoring Buffalo, New York.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: VirginiaTam
Date: 31 Oct 09 - 02:57 PM

I want to be reincarnated in a hunnert years time to see the Ballad of 32 K hailed as a traditional folk song.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: VirginiaTam
Date: 31 Oct 09 - 03:13 PM

can't believe someone hasn't put in post

312020

I've been waiting.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Ed T
Date: 31 Oct 09 - 03:15 PM

They called them freds
Here in the threads
Where they give you guff 'till ya suffer

When I first posted here
it wasn't smart to be good
So, I posted as bad as I could.

I posted bad typos
With odd blue clinkos
Ignoring unwritten thread 'lore

One called me weird
'Cause just as I feared
Mew folk are suspected as odd

I've been thread-punched by MOAB boys
As , I stole all their joys,
Postin' as much as I could

MOM called me aside
'Cause I was eager inside
to share the web world that I found

I took all their guff
And inside thread stuff
With my faithful chimp at my side

Thread-kicked in the head
I stuck in instead
'Cause I new they weren't better than me

I'm sad and its rough
That you have to be tough
With a gang of MAOB rangytang 'cats

But, stay here I will
Through the good times and swill
And, I like it a lot, as you see

Happy 32, Live to 53


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Ed T
Date: 31 Oct 09 - 03:23 PM

Poets licence;
(New=knew
Mew=New)


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 31 Oct 09 - 03:42 PM

Yeah? Let's SEE that license, rhyme-boy. It better be issued by the International Brotherhood of Poets and Other Poverty-Stricken Folks and stand up to the usual tests. Cuz if it don't...you're gonna be strung up by your iambs, capiche?


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Ed T
Date: 31 Oct 09 - 03:51 PM

I am sorry ,father, for I have sinned.

I did not stay up all night putt'in it together for the 32.
Try and do better next time.

The licence # is OY4U YUR 24A3 34AU   09...Check it out


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Janie
Date: 31 Oct 09 - 03:53 PM

Maybe I should dress up as the freds Galactic OverToad tonight to hand out candy.

Whaddayathink, MOM?


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Ed T
Date: 31 Oct 09 - 03:54 PM

Anyone dressing up as a Weenie on Haloweenie


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 31 Oct 09 - 04:18 PM

My dog is dressed up as a weenie 365 days a year...


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Ed T
Date: 31 Oct 09 - 04:45 PM

I learned most of my rym'in from listening to radio, this poetic song in particular:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AiLgvK1D-WY&feature=related


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Ed T
Date: 31 Oct 09 - 06:10 PM

Come on now MOABs, no time to rest....its a lng way to 33


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 31 Oct 09 - 07:04 PM

I shall wear a costume tonight. I will disguise myself as an aging slightly overweight Yuppie with Hippie leanings and a hippy profile, too. No-one will ever guess my real identity. MWAhahahahahaha...



A


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Ed T
Date: 31 Oct 09 - 07:06 PM

Dont forget the roac clip...Could come in handy....if the weather turns


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Ed T
Date: 31 Oct 09 - 07:08 PM

That's a roach clip...of course....I've now turned my poetic settings off.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 31 Oct 09 - 07:53 PM

Classic marital quotation of the day:

"Don't you try to blame me, just because I did it!!!"

I love being married, I have to say!



A


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Ed T
Date: 31 Oct 09 - 07:59 PM

One marriage partner in the morning....BLah Blah Blah BLah Blah Blah

The other: uh hum, yes....I agree, OK


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Janie
Date: 31 Oct 09 - 08:16 PM

So did my ex-husband, Amos ;^)


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Janie
Date: 31 Oct 09 - 08:26 PM

Anybody want some candy?


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 31 Oct 09 - 10:39 PM

That license number was issued to William Topaz McGonagall, rhyme-boy. The GREAT McGonagall, the Bard of Dundee.

The Geheimenpoetrypolizei are coming for you. They are going to hoist you up by your iambs and read you the entire opus of Julia Moore!! Then, when you are a quivering mass of an unsound Alexadrine, they will kick your crambo until the aisling comes out!


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Janie
Date: 31 Oct 09 - 11:12 PM

Now Rapaire, you don't have to be noble, but at least be nice until Ed has been thoroughly lured in and entrapped.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Ed T
Date: 31 Oct 09 - 11:45 PM

Sorry...firing blanks again Rapaire, eh?

In fact, he was a Scot, badly hooked on haggis .... so, his licence was revoked and reissued.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Ed T
Date: 31 Oct 09 - 11:55 PM

Note
Haggis, the poets drug, is a highly refined version of Haggus, that enhanses poetic thought and writing.

Some folks have privately called it "the poets crack". (Not to be confused with the plumbers crack).


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Ed T
Date: 01 Nov 09 - 09:22 AM

"Get your haggis right here. Chopped heart and lungs boiled in a wee sheep's stomach. Tastes as good as it sounds. Good for what ales you." Groundskeeper Willie, The Simpsons


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Ed T
Date: 01 Nov 09 - 09:43 AM

Could this finest of rhymers, have had wee too much scotch in his haggis
(crack variety) when he went a ploug'in?

Even Stomp'in Tom didn't ryme that much when " tight" on Skinners Pond 'shine....and, especially not when encountering a mouse. (probably wouldn't have sold many songs with that, matey). Though, Tom likely wouldn't have the guts to eat the foul smell'in stuff.

I have it that William Topaz McGonagall's style was fashoned after Roberts. In fact, I have it that they were cousins....William having been willed a kilt frequently worn by Bobby when plough'in...maybe even encountering a mouse. ( Scotch and haggis drool stains are said to still be on it. But, I can'na reveal me sources, for fear of getting a haggis parcel bomb in the mail).

TO A MOUSE, ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST WITH THE PLOUGH, NOVEMBER, 1785 by: Robert Burns

            EE, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie,
            Oh, what a panic's in thy breastie!
            Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
            Wi' bickering brattle!
            I was be laith to rin an' chase thee,
            Wi' murd'ring pattle!
                              
            I'm truly sorry man's dominion
            Has broken Nature's social union,
            An' justifies that ill opinion
            Which makes thee startle
            At me, thy poor, earth-born companion
            An' fellow-mortal!
         
            I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;
            What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
            A daimen-icker in a thrave
            'S a sma' request;
            I'll get a blessin wi' the lave,
            And never miss't!
                        
            Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!
            Its silly wa's the win's are strewin!
            An' naething, now, to big a new ane,
            O' foggage green!
            An' bleak December's winds ensuin,
            Baith snell an' keen!
                  
            Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste,
            An' weary winter comin fast,
            An' cozie here, beneath the blast,
            Thou thought to dwell,
            Till crash! the cruel coulter past
            Out thro' thy cell.
                        
            That wee bit heap o' leaves an stibble,
            Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
            Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble,
            But house or hald,
            To thole the winter's sleety dribble,
            An' cranreuch cauld!
            
            But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
            In proving foresight may be vain:
            The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men
            Gang aft a-gley,
            An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
            For promis'd joy!
                              
            Still thou art blest, compared wi' me!
            The present only toucheth thee:
            But och! I backward cast my e'e,
            On prospects drear!
            An' forward, tho' I cannot see,
            I guess an' fear!


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 01 Nov 09 - 09:59 AM

His shots are blank and blank his look.
Blank the expression, blank the book.
Blank is the blanky by his side
Blank is the sky, when out he rides.
And when in town upon mare's shank
The townfolk yell "Blank blankety blank!"
Yet heaven have we still to thank
For this imaginary friend, so blank.
We know him to be safe, our cobber
'Cuz there just aren't any blank robbers.
Harsh words may bring on blows or spanking,
But never just standing there and blanking.
Let us be grateful and give thanks
Our friend's whole life is filled with blanks.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Ed T
Date: 01 Nov 09 - 10:20 AM

very assonantal:)


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Ed T
Date: 01 Nov 09 - 10:30 AM

He cowered up, blank thought in mind
In focused bovine stare
To fix the rhyme he left behind
In much need of rapaire


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 01 Nov 09 - 11:09 AM

The Great Tragedy of All Hallow's Eve is that so many people invest so much in becoming Someone They Prefer, whether a Princess or an Oreo Cookie or A Brayve Knighte. And then they are lured with sweets into a sugar frenzy unto a deathlike unconsciouness. When they wake up, lo!! Hallow's Day has come, and they are the very same person they were before the whole thing began.

Then they wait a year and do the whole thing over again, like little Hamlet Sisyphi on a turning Hamletster Wheel of Life. Pant, pant,. pant. Strive to Be and fall back. Over and over. I tell you it is a grim scene, and it is a darn good thing we have love, summer and fucking in between, to dull the sharp suffering of this wicked endless loop.


A


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Ed T
Date: 01 Nov 09 - 11:32 AM

Brayve Knight, Princess, Oreo
All came to my door
Seeking hollow candy treats
Asking for no more

Flash ahead to Human land
Next day's treat for thee
Returning to a humping hand
The world of reality

Next year go, repeat the scene
Much like Groundhog Day
Escaping to a mystery place
"A princess for a day"


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Acme
Date: 01 Nov 09 - 12:20 PM

This year I turned off the lights and hid at the back of the house. The one time I turned on lights, to allow my next door neighbor to find her way to my rosemary bush to cut some for the chicken she was roasting, a car pulled up at her house and started to unload kiddos. We had to shout over that no one on our end of the block was doing trick or treat. They loaded up and drove up the block. What ever happened to just walking around in your own neighborhood?

However, were I to do Halloween, I think I'd answer my door as Florence Foster Jenkins. That would scare the bejeezus out of the tots, wouldn't it?


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 01 Nov 09 - 01:28 PM

Ed, that Robert Burns poem about the mouse is a masterpiece! Quite amusing in a way, but it also makes some interesting philosophical points.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Amos
Date: 01 Nov 09 - 01:54 PM

Hawkster, no offense, but most of us memorized that poem in fifth grade, or maybe seventh...



A


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Janie
Date: 01 Nov 09 - 02:11 PM

As best I can remember, the only poem I memorized was "The Highway Man."

Or maybe that was the only poem I had to memorize that I remember?


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 01 Nov 09 - 02:22 PM

Amos, I think I saw it way back then too...and of course I do recall a couple of popular phrases from it that are often quoted, such as: "The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft a-gley"

Be that as it may, this is the first time in perhaps 45 years or more that I have sat down and read the poem in its entirety, and upon re-acquaintance with it, I'm impressed. It's marvelous. ;-)


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Acme
Date: 01 Nov 09 - 05:03 PM

We had to memorize "The New Lazarus" or whatever is the name of the poem that is exerpted on the Statue of Liberty,

Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.
I lift my lamp, beside the golden door!


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Acme
Date: 01 Nov 09 - 05:29 PM

Thought that sounded funny, and probably a halfway decent freudian slip.

The poem is The New Colossus.


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