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BS: The Mother of all BS threads

Bee-dubya-ell 15 Feb 19 - 02:07 PM
Rapparee 14 Feb 19 - 05:01 PM
Donuel 14 Feb 19 - 03:49 PM
Rapparee 14 Feb 19 - 03:00 PM
Little Hawk 14 Feb 19 - 01:25 PM
Bee-dubya-ell 14 Feb 19 - 01:05 PM
Rapparee 14 Feb 19 - 12:49 PM
Bee-dubya-ell 14 Feb 19 - 12:34 PM
Donuel 14 Feb 19 - 11:20 AM
Rapparee 14 Feb 19 - 10:33 AM
Donuel 14 Feb 19 - 08:39 AM
Rapparee 13 Feb 19 - 08:48 PM
Bee-dubya-ell 13 Feb 19 - 07:15 PM
Bee-dubya-ell 13 Feb 19 - 10:22 AM
Little Hawk 13 Feb 19 - 01:08 AM
Rapparee 12 Feb 19 - 09:59 PM
Donuel 12 Feb 19 - 09:58 PM
Donuel 12 Feb 19 - 07:24 PM
Donuel 12 Feb 19 - 07:03 PM
Bee-dubya-ell 12 Feb 19 - 02:54 PM
Donuel 12 Feb 19 - 12:54 PM
Little Hawk 12 Feb 19 - 11:43 AM
Little Hawk 12 Feb 19 - 11:41 AM
Donuel 12 Feb 19 - 10:21 AM
Donuel 12 Feb 19 - 09:41 AM
gnu 11 Feb 19 - 05:37 PM
gnu 11 Feb 19 - 05:27 PM
Donuel 11 Feb 19 - 12:22 PM
Rapparee 11 Feb 19 - 12:03 PM
Rapparee 11 Feb 19 - 09:01 AM
Donuel 11 Feb 19 - 07:46 AM
Little Hawk 11 Feb 19 - 03:03 AM
Donuel 11 Feb 19 - 12:12 AM
Rapparee 10 Feb 19 - 10:05 PM
Rapparee 10 Feb 19 - 02:57 PM
Bee-dubya-ell 10 Feb 19 - 12:52 PM
Stilly River Sage 10 Feb 19 - 12:18 PM
Stilly River Sage 09 Feb 19 - 03:59 PM
gnu 09 Feb 19 - 03:32 PM
Rapparee 08 Feb 19 - 08:27 PM
Bee-dubya-ell 08 Feb 19 - 07:49 PM
Donuel 08 Feb 19 - 02:02 PM
Rapparee 08 Feb 19 - 12:47 PM
Rapparee 07 Feb 19 - 10:30 PM
Bee-dubya-ell 07 Feb 19 - 11:19 AM
Donuel 06 Feb 19 - 02:06 PM
Bee-dubya-ell 05 Feb 19 - 12:11 PM
Donuel 05 Feb 19 - 11:04 AM
Rapparee 03 Feb 19 - 10:30 PM
Little Hawk 03 Feb 19 - 09:57 PM

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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Bee-dubya-ell
Date: 15 Feb 19 - 02:07 PM

Mom's on the bottom
Smoke 'em if ya got 'em...

No, wait! That doesn't make a bit of sense! Anyway, Mom's not on the bottom anymore. Now, she's at the top!

Mom's on the top
Hit her with a cow flop...

That doesn't make any sense either, but it gives us 24 hours to come up with something that does.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 14 Feb 19 - 05:01 PM

A Pict Song

Rome never looks where she treads.   
   Always her heavy hooves fall   
On our stomachs, our hearts or our heads;   
   And Rome never heeds when we bawl.   
Her sentries pass on—that is all,
   And we gather behind them in hordes,   
And plot to reconquer the Wall,
   With only our tongues for our swords.

We are the Little Folk—we!
   Too little to love or to hate.   
Leave us alone and you’ll see
   How we can drag down the State!
We are the worm in the wood!
   We are the rot at the root!   
We are the taint in the blood!
   We are the thorn in the foot!

Mistletoe killing an oak—
   Rats gnawing cables in two—
Moths making holes in a cloak—
   How they must love what they do!   
Yes—and we Little Folk too,
   We are busy as they—
Working our works out of view—
   Watch, and you’ll see it some day!

No indeed! We are not strong,
   But we know Peoples that are.   
Yes, and we’ll guide them along
   To smash and destroy you in War!
We shall be slaves just the same?
   Yes, we have always been slaves,
But you—you will die of the shame,
   And then we shall dance on your graves!

       We are the Little Folk, we, etc.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Donuel
Date: 14 Feb 19 - 03:49 PM

Jeesh all these long posts.
I think it is certainly apparent by now that one of the things I enjoy in life is excess. I like things that are excessive. I like excessive behavior. Excessive language. Excessive nonsense. It’s fun. It’s interesting. It’s exciting and suspenseful unlike Keboroxu who is afraid of the weather. I like it when nature is excessive. That’s why I like natural disasters. All these natural disasters that have been going on. I love them. I can’t get enough of them. My all time favorite is the Japanese Tsunami that washed 5,000 Nissan Cubes out to sea. When nature’s going crazy, throwing things around, scaring people and destroying property, I’m a happy guy. I look at it this way, for centuries now man has done everything he can to destroy, defile and interfere with nature. Clear-cutting forests, strip-mining mountains, poisoning the atmosphere, over fishing the oceans, polluting the rivers and lakes. Destroying wetlands and aquifers. So when nature strikes back and smacks man in the head and kicks him in the nuts. I enjoy that. I have absolutely no sympathy for human beings whatsoever. None. And no matter what kind of problem humans are facing whether it’s natural or man made. I always hope it gets worse. Don’t you? Don’t you? Don’t you have a part of you, a part of you that secretly hopes everything gets worse? When you see a big fire on TV, don’t you hope it spreads? Don’t you hope it gets completely out of control and burns down six counties? You don’t root for a fireman, do you? I mean I don’t want him to get hurt or nothin’ but I don’t want him putting out my fire. That’s my fire. That’s nature showing off and having fun. Fires are small disasters tht can go out of control. You know something else I like? Those spring floods in the Midwest. Aren’t they great? Like clockwork. Spring floods now come anytime in the Midwest and now New England. But I’m starting to notice, I’m starting to catch on that every year it’s the same story. Another flood in the same place with the same people on the same man made Houston river. SAME FUCKING PEOPLE! And these people do not move. They will not fucking move. They repaint, put down new carpeting and wallpaper and they move right back into the same fucking house on the flood plain next to the river and then they wonder why grandma’s floating downstream with a parakeet on her head. Fourth time. Again. Fourth fucking time. There’s no learning curve with these people. It’s very hard to feel sorry for them. Every year same people. Same rowboats. Out there paddling around, rescuing a chicken. What kind of a life is that? “Well. Our kids love it here.” Oh, really. What do they got, gills? And while they’re showing all that action on the screen, the announcer is saying to me, “It’s been raining steadily for three months now. The ground can’t hold any more water. The river is cresting higher than it has in two centuries. The levies have washed away” and I just hope it keeps raining, and raining, and raining, and raining, and raining, and raining, and raining, and raining, and raining, and raining, and raining, and raining, and raining, and it rains steadily for five years. And then after that. For ten years it’s cloudy with occasional showers. And the river never returns to its natural banks. It becomes a completely new river. And the borders of three states have to be changed. And all the maps and atlases have to be redrawn and reprinted. And no one’s couch ever completely dries out. For years and years, every time they sit down, there’s always a little squish. “Dan. Linda. Come on in, you guys. Have a seat. Squish, squish.” I like that. I’m an interesting guy. I always hope that no matter how small the original problem is it’s going to grow into bigger and bigger proportions that get completely out of control. And I’ll give you a concrete example. Let’s say a water main breaks in downtown Los Angeles and it floods an electrical substation knocking out all the traffic lights and tying up the entire city and emergency vehicles can’t get through. And at the same time one of those month long global warming heat waves comes along but there’s no air conditioning. There’s no water for sanitation. So measles, cholera, small pox and dysentery break out and thousands of people start dying in the streets. But before they die, parasites eat their brains. And they go completely fucking crazy, and they storm the hospital. But the hospital can’t handle all the casualties. So these people rape all the nurses and set the hospital on fire. And the flames drive them even crazier so they start stabbing social workers and garbage men. And a big wind comes along and the entire city goes up in flames and the people who are still healthy they get mad at the sick people and they start crucifying them. Nailing them to crosses. Trying on their underwear, shit like that. Then everybody smokes crack and PCP and they march on city hall where they burn the mayor at the stake, strangle his wife and take turns sodomizing the statue of Robert Lee. And at this point, at this point it looks like pretty soon things are going to start to get out of control. So everybody panics and tries to leave the city at the same time. And they trample each other to death in the streets by the thousands and wild dogs eat their corpses. And the wild dogs chase the rest of the people down the highway. And one by one the dogs pick off the old fucks and the slow people because they’re in the fast lane where they don’t belong. Get the fuck out of the fast lane if you’re an old fuck, if you’re a slow fuck, get over on the right, get over on the right. And then, the lucky ones, the lucky people who manage to make it all the way outside of town they discover when they get there, the big sparks from the city have lit the suburbs on fire and the suburbs burn uncontrollably. And thousands of identical homes have identical fires with identical smoke killing all the identical soccer moms and their identical kids named Jason and Jennifer. And now. Now the fire spreads to the farmlands and the farmlands burn intensely of 425 degrees creating millions of baked potatoes. And as the farmlands burn. As the farmlands burn. Thousands of barns and farmhouses begin to explode from all hidden methamphetamine labs. And the meth chemicals and opioids run downhill into the rivers and streams where wild animals drink the water and get completely geeked out on speed. So bears and wolves amped up on crank start roaming the countryside looking for people to eat even though they’re not really hungry. Then the fire spreads to the forest. And the forest burn furiously. And hundreds of elves and trolls and fairies come running out of the woods screaming, “Bambi is dead. Bambi is dead!” And he is. He is. Finally. Bambi is dead. Dead. Now, hundreds of regional fires come together into one huge interstate inferno. And all 12 of the western United States are burning out of control except Utah where the Mormons don’t allow fires. And the fires spreads across the Great Plains toasting the wheat, cooking the cattle and producing hamburgers actually. Then it leaps to Mississippi and races through the Southern trailer parks blowing up stills and interrupting lynching’s and killing millions of inbred people. And then it turns northeast and it heads for Washington, D.C. Where Donald Trump can’t decide if it’s an emergency or not. He can’t decide if there was enough raking. He doesn’t know. Wow. Oh it’s hard work. You know. He can’t decide because his cabinet is in prison. So instead he takes a nap. He takes a nap. He puts his empty, fucking brainless head down on the little pillow his mother gave him at Christmas time and he takes a fucking nap! So the fire moves to Philadelphia but it’s a weekend and Philadelphia’s closed on the weekends. So the fire moves to New York City and the people of New York tell the fire to go fuck itself. “Go fuck yourself.” And it does. And it does. So instead it burns down Long Island and Connecticut killing all the rich white assholes and completely destroying their evil Faggoty golf courses. And while all this is going on, Canada burns to the ground but nobody notices. And now the entire North American continent is on fire producing a huge thermal updraft and creating an incendiary cyclonic macro system that forms a hemispheric mega storm breaking down the molecular structure of the atmosphere and actually changing the laws of nature. Fire and water combine. Burning clouds of flaming rain fall upward. Gamma rays and solar winds ignite the ionosphere creating huge clouds of ionized plasma. Bolts of lightning 20 million miles long begin shooting out of the North Pole. And the sky fills up with green shit. And then suddenly the entire fabric of space-time splits in two. A huge crack in the universe opens and all the dead people from the past begin falling through. Babe Ruth. Groucho Marx. Davy Crockett, Tiny Tim, Porky Pig, Hitler, Janis Joplin, Alan Ludden my Uncle Chris, your Uncle Chris. Everybody’s Uncle Chris. An endless stream of para people falling through the crack. And all the dead 'almost people' gather around a heavenly kitchen table. They light up cigarettes and they begin to talk. They talk about how they never got a break. How their parents didn’t love them. How Dr. Phil didn't help, and their children were ungrateful. They talk about how the government screwed them out of money and they just missed out on a big job. They say the Jews own everything, and the blacks get special treatment and how Mexicans and caravans of other immigrants who are one shade darker than themselves took jobs Uncle Chris wouldn't do in a thousand years. And all the hatred and bitterness drips out of these people and forms a big pool of liquid hate. And the pool of liquid hate begins to spin. Round and round it spins, faster and faster. And the faster it spins, the bigger it gets. Faster and faster. Bigger and bigger. Until the whirling pool of hate is HUGE and collapses into a black hole. Just what white bigots feared most. And that's 'kind of' where we are now . :^I


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 14 Feb 19 - 03:00 PM

Little Boy Blue
By Eugene Field

THE little toy dog is covered with dust,        
    But sturdy and staunch he stands;        
The little toy soldier is red with rust,        
    And his musket moulds in his hands.        
Time was when the little toy dog was new,                 
    And the soldier was passing fair;        
And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue        
    Kissed them and put them there.        

"Now don't you go till I come," he said,        
    "And don't you make any noise!"        
So, toddling off to his trundle bed,        
    He dreamt of the pretty toys;        
And, as he was dreaming, an angel song        
    Awakened our Little Boy Blue—        
Oh! the years are many, the years are long,        
    But the little toy friends are true!        

Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,        
    Each in the same old place,        
Awaiting the touch of a little hand,        
    The smile of a little face;        
And they wonder, as waiting the long years through        
    In the dust of that little chair,        
What has become of our Little Boy Blue,        
    Since he kissed them and put them there.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 14 Feb 19 - 01:25 PM

It really is unfortunate that William MacGonagall and Julie Ann Moore never met! They could have married, formed a poetic alliance, and delivered to the grateful world generations of poetic prodigies to this very day. I weep for the opportunity that was lost when these two never met. I may write 50 or so tragic verses about it if I get sufficiently inspired.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Bee-dubya-ell
Date: 14 Feb 19 - 01:05 PM

56 lines of verse and 40 lines of chorus to say, "Our kid died. We're sad." No story. No pathos. No reason to give a shit.

Here's how it's done right:

Little Joe

What will the birds do, mother, in the spring
Will they gather the crumbs around our door
Will they fly from the nest to the top of the tree
And ask why Joe wanders out no more

What will the kitten do, mother, all alone
Will she stray from her frolic for a day
Will she lie on the rug beside my bed
Like she did before I went away

What will Thomas, the old gardener do
When you ask him for flowers for me
Will he give you a rose he has tended with care
The fairest one that lies around the tree

I saw the tears coming to his honest eyes
He said it was the wind that brought ’em there
As he gazed on my cheeks growing paler each day
His hand trembled over my hair

Keep Tag, mother, my little dog
I know that he’ll mourn for me too
Keep him though blind and older he grows
To sleep in the whole summer through

Show him my coat, mother, so he may know
That his master then will be dead
Speak to him kindly and often of Joe
And pat him on his brown shaggy head

And you, dearest mother, shall miss me for a while
But in heaven I shall no larger grow
And any kind angel you meet at the gate
Can take you to your darling Little Joe


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 14 Feb 19 - 12:49 PM

Little Minnie
by Julia Ann Moore
"The Sweet Singer of Michigan"

Come listen to a painful story
A mother is going to tell,
For her heart is over-flowing
For that one she loved so well.
It's of a little infant daughter,
Mild and lovely, bright and fair --
She has left this world forever,
Left this world of grief and care.

Chorus --

Alone, all alone
In the grave yard she is sleeping,
That little one we loved so well --
God her little soul is keeping,
For he doeth all things well.

Oh! how sadly we'll remember,
On a bright and pleasant day --
It was the very last of summer
That her spirit fled away;
Fled away from earth forever,
Gone to dwell with Him above,
Where little angels dwell together
In His everlasting love.

Oh! we miss our little Minnie,
With blue eyes and flaxen hair --
Oh, we loved our little Minnie,
And we miss her every where;
Yes, we miss her at the table
Every morning, noon and night,
While she sat with us together,
For she was our heart's delight.

On the twenty-fifth of August,
Eighteen hundred and seventy-three,
God he called her then to leave us,
And a parting had to be.
As the day it was declining,
The sun was down behind the trees,
Little Minnie she was dying,
Her little soul it had to leave.

Left this world of earthly trouble
And her friends that loved her dear,
Father, mother, sister, brother,
Her place with them is vacant here.
Her little soul is at rest forever
In our Father's heavenly home,
Her little form is sweetly sleeping
In the cold and silent tomb.

Oh! she was our eldest daughter,
She was handsome to behold --
Every one that knew her loved her,
And her age was four years old.
And we miss her merry laughter,
Through the house she used to roam --
That little one, we'll not forget her
In our dear and loving home.

Oh! how oft-times we have kissed her
And caressed her little form --
God of heaven knows we loved her
From the day that she was born.
On a day of independence,
Eighteen hundred and sixty-nine,
God he gave to us a present
Of that little girl so fine.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Bee-dubya-ell
Date: 14 Feb 19 - 12:34 PM

There are many who believe W. T. McGonagall was an unwitting undercover agent for the Vogon Constructor Fleet. While nobody has suggested that he was an actual Vogon, there are some who suspect he was kidnapped as a toddler and raised by Vogons, thereby having the Vogon poetic aesthetic imprinted onto his tender young brain.

There are others who say this theory is total hogwash, that McGonagall was merely a bad poet, and that it was Rod McKuen who was kidnapped by the Vogons.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Donuel
Date: 14 Feb 19 - 11:20 AM

We have our own worst poets in the world than McGonagle.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 14 Feb 19 - 10:33 AM

An Autumn Reverie
By W. T. McGonagall

Alas! Beautiful Summer now hath fled,
And the face of Nature doth seem dead,
And the leaves are withered, and falling off the trees,
By the nipping and chilling autumnal breeze.

The pleasures of the little birds are all fled,
And with the cold many of them will be found dead,
Because the leaves of the trees are scattered in the blast,
And makes the feathered creatures feel downcast.

Because there are no leaves on the trees to shield them from the storm
On a windy, and rainy, cloudy morn;
Which makes their little hearts throb with pain,
By the chilling blast and the pitiless rain.

But still they are more contented than the children of God,
As long as they can pick up a worm from the sod,
Or anything they can get to eat,
Just, for instance, a stale crust of bread or a grain of wheat.

Oh! Think of the little birds in the time of the snow,
Also of the little street waifs, that are driven to and fro,
And trembling in the cold blast, and chilled to the bone,
For the want of food and clothing, and a warm home.

Besides think of the sorrows of the wandering poor,
That are wandering in the cold blast from door to door;
And begging, for Heaven’s sake, a crust of bread,
And alas! Not knowing where to lay their head.

While the rich are well fed and covered from the cold,
While the poor are starving, both young and old;
Alas! It is the case in this boasted Christian land,
Where as the rich are told to be kind to the poor, is God’s command.

Oh! Think of the working man when he’s no work to do,
Who’s got a wife and family, perhaps four or two,
And the father searching for work, and no work can be had,
The thought, I’m sure, ’tis enough to drive the poor man mad.

Because for his wife and family he must feel,
And perhaps the thought thereof will cause him to steal
Bread for his family, that are starving at home,
While the thought thereof makes him sigh heavily and groan.

Alas! The pangs of hunger are very hard to hide,
And few people can their temper control,
Or become reconciled to their fate,
Especially when they cannot find anything to eat.

Oh! Think of the struggles of the poor to make a living,
Because the rich unto them seldom are giving;
Whereas they are told he that giveth to the poor lendeth unto the Lord,
But alas! they rather incline their money to hoard.

Then there’s the little news-vendors in the street,
Running about perhaps with bare feet;
And if the rich chance to see such creatures in the street,
In general they make a sudden retreat.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Donuel
Date: 14 Feb 19 - 08:39 AM

The breathless endless careless
legendary fecklessness
of Shane is no more.
My belief is that he has
turned over a new leaf
Drink is no longer the thief
of all of his days.
The haze has lifted now he clearly sees
how diabetes wanted sugar
He took the Metformine craze
dissolved the Lewy bodies in his brain.
Now only an upstanding man remains


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 13 Feb 19 - 08:48 PM

A Pome by Bill Blake and Me

My mother bore me in the southern wild,
When my mother died I was very young,
A little black thing among the snow,
And did those feet in ancient time
I wander thro' each charter'd street,
My silks and fine array,
How sweet I roam'd from field to field,
To see a World in a Grain of Sand
Hear the voice of the Bard!

(You can do this too! Get a bunch of poems by one poet and use the first line (only!) from some of them. See the above -- it almost makes sense!)


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Bee-dubya-ell
Date: 13 Feb 19 - 07:15 PM

To know our Mom from a single post
This comprehensive bowl of tripe, oh
The whole MOAB from just one dose
And all BS from one small typo.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Bee-dubya-ell
Date: 13 Feb 19 - 10:22 AM

William Blake originally planned on saying something about the transcendent experience of finding MOAB quality BS in a single typographical error, but he was having trouble with the rhyme scheme so he fell back on flowers, eternity, infinity and such happy horse shit.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 13 Feb 19 - 01:08 AM

Amazing! All it takes is a single typo to set in motion a whole string of wacky posts on Mudcat.

Perhaps I should make some more teepees and see if it hoppens again.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 12 Feb 19 - 09:59 PM

Killed the shepherd to pay Peter?


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Donuel
Date: 12 Feb 19 - 09:58 PM

Hey Rapparee, I remembered that profound thing you forgot.
On a different note, after looking at why rivers in India are drying up it made me think of what happened to certain Mezo American cultures that mysteriously vanished. Looking for ancient dry river beds in those areas by Google Earth is my next hobby.

PS

Last Will and Testament: I was a particle in life. In death I prefer to be a wave. I need no tomb stone or urn to concentrate the particles. Everyone else may keep what I gave.
Donuel

ppss
Have you ever played the moab game? You close your eyes and by touch screen or mouse pick a number 0f a thread page and read what Amos and Rap were discussing eons ago.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Donuel
Date: 12 Feb 19 - 07:24 PM

It was upon Trump's insistence that The German Shepard was put down.
Donald tried to sue Peter to pay for it all, and claimed Peter was trying to lower the price with a piss pour conspiracy.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Donuel
Date: 12 Feb 19 - 07:03 PM

Real estate investor Peter Malkin bought the Empire State Building from Donald Trump and a business partner for $57.5 million in 2002. Malkin Holdings, which is run by Peter Malkin and his son Anthony, spearheaded a plan to take Empire State Realty public.

A wall would have saved the ground floor from the King King accident.
Trump robbed Peter to pay for a wall.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Bee-dubya-ell
Date: 12 Feb 19 - 02:54 PM

King King was a giant German Shepherd. He was put down after mistaking the Empire State Building for a giant fire hydrant and drowning everyone on the ground floor.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Donuel
Date: 12 Feb 19 - 12:54 PM

at first I thought you meant MLK


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 12 Feb 19 - 11:43 AM

Ummm...sorry. Typo. That should have read "King Kong". Definitely King Kong, not King King.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 12 Feb 19 - 11:41 AM

Chongo has a plastic figurine of King King mounted on HIS dashboard.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Donuel
Date: 12 Feb 19 - 10:21 AM

Turn back the clock to the civil war
Make the Chief justice Judge Roy Moore
Sitting on the bench
of our court

Deport anyone here who is not white
Pretend that Russia is always right
Let China buy Hawaii
for their port


I don't care if it rains or freezes
As long as the president is like sweet Jesus
WAIT A GOD DAMN MINUTE


DONALD TRuMP ???


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Donuel
Date: 12 Feb 19 - 09:41 AM

I don't care if it quakes or melts down
long as I got my Maga hat on
covering up my hair
that fell out

Through all the trials and tribulations
White house inmates from across our nation
From cells yell, lock her up
in proud shouts


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: gnu
Date: 11 Feb 19 - 05:37 PM

daly.jessup@gmail.com
Journal entry by Daly Jessup — 4 hours ago

Amos Jessup asked me to et everyone know that he's doing well. He has improved at least 75% since the Big Fall, and continues in slowly get better every day. He wants to thank all the people who have so kindly expressed concern and encouragement. He just came back from an assisted walk up the block and back. He's started playing guitar and singing with friends. He feels that through time, he is going to recover 100%.

Love,
Daly


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: gnu
Date: 11 Feb 19 - 05:27 PM

YEEHAW!!!

Facebook..........

Amos Jessup shared a post.
4 hrs ·


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Donuel
Date: 11 Feb 19 - 12:22 PM

Plastic Jesus lyrics © Sony/Donuel Music Publishing LLC

I don't care for government shut downs
Kids taken at the border are not found
All this reminds me of
someone else

I don't care for being not told why
Fires , floods, and hurricanes fill the sky
Putin smiles as polar
ice flows melt

I don't care for my daughters learnin
What Stormy Daniels does for an earnin
draining cheating venom
from a snake

I don't care for cowards like Paul Ryan
Who worked out by keepin up the lyin
and prayed to get out first
for heaven's sake

I don't care for Dick Pecker sleazes
who want to show me Bezo's penis
featured on a front page
in my store

I'm not a prude but I think its rude
when piss tapes play when its time for food
and Mueller shows whats up
and much more

Who is in love and fits like a glove
with Kim Jong Un the great, just because
he killed his family
just for fun?

I don't know but I've been told he runs
hot for his daughter but not for sons
They say he calls her slick
honey bun

bridge - last 8 verses. Note: there is no mention of he who will not be named


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 11 Feb 19 - 12:03 PM

There are two versions of "Plastic Jesus" in the DT.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 11 Feb 19 - 09:01 AM

I was going to post something quite profound but I forgot it.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Donuel
Date: 11 Feb 19 - 07:46 AM

sneak peek:
I don't care for Pecker sleazes
who want to show me Bezo's penis
featured on the front page
at my store...

I would use this
slow introduction version played twice with a coda of the last verse of the SSBanner. Then it goes like a bat outta hell
original:
Plastic Jesus
Billy Idol
I don't care if it
Rains or freezes
As long as I've got my
Plastic Jesus
Ridin' on the dashboard
Of my car
Through my trials
And tribulations
And my travels
Through the nation
With my plastic Jesus
I'll go far
Ridin' down the thoroughfare
With a nose up in the air
A wreck may be ahead
But he don't mind
Trouble comin'
He don't see
He just keeps his eye on me
And any other thing that lies behind
With my plastic Jesus
Goodbye and I'll go far
I said with my plastic Jesus
Sitting on the dashboard of my car
When I'm in a traffic jam
He don't care if I say damn
I can let all my curses roll
'Cause Jesus' plastic doesn't hear
'Cause he has a plastic ear
The man who invented plastic
Saved my soul
With my plastic Jesus
Goodbye and I'll go far
I said with my plastic Jesus
Sitting on the dashboard of my car
An if I weave around at night
Policemen think I'm very tight
They never find my bottle
Though they ask
'Cause plastic Jesus shelters me
For his head comes off you see
He's hollow and I use him like a flask
Woa Woa Woa
Save me
I don't care if it's dark or scary
Long as I got magnetic Mary
Ridin' on the dashboard of my car
I feel that I'm protected amply
I've got the love of the whole damn family
Ridin' on the dashboard of my car
With my plastic Jesus
I said goodbye
And I'll go far
And I said with my plastic Jesus
I said sittin' on the dashboard of my car
When I'm goin' fornicatin'
I've got my ceramic Satan
Sittin' on the dashboard of my car
Women know I'm on the level
Thanks to the wide-eyed stoneware devil
Sneerin' from the dashboard of my car
Songwriters: Ed Rush / George Cromarty
Plastic Jesus lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 11 Feb 19 - 03:03 AM

I am still waiting.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Donuel
Date: 11 Feb 19 - 12:12 AM

Well tomorrow I will care because it rains and freezes despite my trusty plastic Jesus.
The federal gov is delayed for 2 hours tomorrow.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 10 Feb 19 - 10:05 PM

Dammit, the police just called. Again. Mom is down by the docks propositioning sailors. Again.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 10 Feb 19 - 02:57 PM

You didn't lock up the lemon flavoring! And the vanilla's gone! And speaking of gone, so's Mom.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Bee-dubya-ell
Date: 10 Feb 19 - 12:52 PM

Mom's in the kitchen! Lock up the cooking sherry and keep an eye on the vanilla extract!


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Stilly River Sage
Date: 10 Feb 19 - 12:18 PM

MOM is baking this afternoon. The house smells wonderful. NO! Don't eat that without blowing on it, you remember the last time you burned your mouth on the hot raisin filling!


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Stilly River Sage
Date: 09 Feb 19 - 03:59 PM

Rain. It started overnight.

Don, do you suppose you could come up with some witty yet caustic words about Trump to the tune of Plastic Jesus?


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: gnu
Date: 09 Feb 19 - 03:32 PM

What's that noise?


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 08 Feb 19 - 08:27 PM

Mom should be drinking healthy stuff, like Guinness with orange juice or rum and lemon/lime juice. This way she can get the vitamins and minerals she needs to prevent scurvy, rickets, elephantiasis, buruli ulcer, helminthiasis, dracunculus, schistosomiasis, and worse.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Bee-dubya-ell
Date: 08 Feb 19 - 07:49 PM

Yes, the death involved in eating meat and vegetables upsets Mom terribly. That's why she gets all her nutrition from gin and tonic.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Donuel
Date: 08 Feb 19 - 02:02 PM

for Amos


food is violent

Vegans won't eat meat
Living things with eyes
will not be their treat
Pigs feet make them cry

Food is violent
Organic or not
Screams are silent
What ever you've got

I've beaten some eggs
Not a sound was made
I've fried chicken legs
There was no first aid

I've peeled bananas
Potatoes I've mashed
It sounds like torture
the food that I've thrashed

Make a melon ball
slice a tomato
Your food has been mauled
by a commando

I never eat tiger
But I do eat meat
As a good driver
the drive thru's are sweet

Tigers get hungry
In the wild or Zoo
When not caged but free
the new food is you

Food is violence
No matter your mood
You will break silence
When you are the food


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 08 Feb 19 - 12:47 PM

UNH! UNH! UNH! UNH-UNH!

Lordy, I swear, Mom but you get heavier ever day! But now you're back up top! Try to stay there, in your rightful position, even if all that brexit talk and stuff weighs you down.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 07 Feb 19 - 10:30 PM

I'm back from the meeting.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Bee-dubya-ell
Date: 07 Feb 19 - 11:19 AM

That Mom is near the bottom is an absolute outrage!

So let's lift the old heifer to the tip-top of the page!


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Donuel
Date: 06 Feb 19 - 02:06 PM

Wonderful World - with apologies to Sam Cook, James Taylor, Herb Albert and Art Galfunker.


Don't know nothin bout History
Don' know know any biology
I've never read a single book
Don't know nothin bout how to cook
And I care nothin at all bout you
But if Fake News would love me true
What a wonderful world this would be

Don't know nothin bout geography
Don't know any trigonometry
Don't know nothin bout writing a tweet
Don't know how to admit defeat
But I know one and one is two
and if fake News would love true
What a wonderful world this would be

Now I don't claim to be an honest man baby
And I don't try to be cause honest men are all losers baby
And nobody's more special than me

Don't know how to be president
Don't know what I said or what I meant
Don't know nothin bout buildin a wall

Don't know nothin bout nothin at all
Its only me that I've been thinkin of
But if Fake News would give me love
What a wonderful world this would be

What a wonderful
Justice free world this would be
What a wonderful
Wonderful
Wonderful world


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Bee-dubya-ell
Date: 05 Feb 19 - 12:11 PM

In Spanish speaking countries, a Volva would be a female Volvo.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Donuel
Date: 05 Feb 19 - 11:04 AM

Volva is Icelandic to Rap but mycology to me.

I've heard of Mom Jeans but not gay jeans.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Rapparee
Date: 03 Feb 19 - 10:30 PM

AND he is one of those "genus homo" people.


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Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
From: Little Hawk
Date: 03 Feb 19 - 09:57 PM

What you smell is Shane's overheated, baffled, and enraged brain attempting to determine just how badly you have insulted him. Smoke is rising from his ears.


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