Please stay off topic!

[John the Ripper 0]

Atragon I've heard that joke a million times and I have no clue, I'm sorry for my fail.

[STSF Kent 0]

If tin whistles are made from tin, what do they make fog horns out of?

 

(extra points if anyone can name the 1960's novelty song that's from)

 

::sigh:: Does Your Chewing Gum Lose Its Flavor On The Bedpost Overnight?

 

((And I assume they must be made out of fog. :D ))

[Atragon9 0]

::sigh:: Does Your Chewing Gum Lose Its Flavor On The Bedpost Overnight?

 

((And I assume they must be made out of fog. :D ))

Yup, that's it, but did you have to use the 'Net to find the answer, smartie?

[STSF Kent 0]

Yup, that's it, but did you have to use the 'Net to find the answer, smartie?

 

Unfortunately not. :D

[JJLexi 0]

I spent Thursday morning bowling in a Turkeys for Turkeys tournament on at a local bowling alley. The gimmick was that for every turkey that you bowl you get a free turkey (for cooking). Unfortunately this year, due to budgetary constraints, they could not afford turkeys, but cornish game hens. I was fortunate enough to bowl 4 turkeys so I got 4 cornish game hens.

 

Now they were able to buy turkeys for the top ten finishers. I finished 6th. They also gave a turkey for the highest game. My 268 was the highest game, which is also tied for my highest game ever, but that's not the point of the story. The point of the story is that now, here I am walking around with 4 cornish game hens and 2 turkeys. I call my in-laws to see if we're in need of more turkey. We're not. So my next trip is to the homeless shelter.

 

So I show up at the homeless shelter with 2 turkeys in hand. I say, "Hey, I won these today at a bowling tournament, I have no need for them, would you like them?" The lady just looks at me straight in the face and says "Its 1 PM, and you're bringing a turkey now? You should have brought this yesterday or early this morning. We have no need for a turkey."

 

....The homeless shelter turned down my turkeys. THEY TURNED DOWN MY TURKEYS! Of all places to turn down a gesture of goodwill, I didn't expect it to be there.

 

So I still have a 2 turkeys that I'm trying to get rid of, and I have to show up for Thanksgiving dinner at 4. It is now past 1 and I still need to take a shower. I can't make it to the food bank and back home and to our dinner location in time (the one nearest to me is home). So I'm at a loss. I'm running out of options here. The homeless shelter has turned me down, the food banks are either closed or too far away. So I just give up, I drive home, and I bring my turkeys and cornish game hens home and shove them in the fridge.

 

So the next day, I call the homeless shelter and say that I have two turkeys. The lady responds "You tried to pawn these off on us yesterday! Just listen to me pal! WE. . .DONT. . . .WANT. . .YOUR. . .TURKEYS!"

 

Wh...whaaaat? That's twice.

 

 

So I call the food bank and the lady there tells me "We already have plenty of turkeys."

 

 

.....I don't know what to think at this point.

 

 

So I call a buddy of mine who's family is short on cash because he's been laid off from one of the local auto shops. He had thanksgiving with his parents, but was more than willing to take a turkey off my hands. And he calls a buddy of his that also got laid off, who is also willing to take a turkey off my hands.

 

So I was able to get rid of the turkeys. And kept the cornish game hens for myself because I love them.

 

So that was my Thanksgiving weekend.

[Leila Kalomi 0]

Homeless people are too rich these days. I once had a similar story with several pairs of new shoes, though I didn't win them at a bowling tournament.

[eagle 0]

Suggest you get with the upper Management of the food banks,and or local charities on this one. I do know around here "Nothing is turned down" as long as it has not perished of course.

[Grom 0]

Homeless people are too rich these days. I once had a similar story with several pairs of new shoes, though I didn't win them at a bowling tournament.

 

I think sometimes our culture confuses poverty (the lack of provision of basic human needs) with lack of American materialism. It's the latter that produces cynicism among potential givers. This shouldn't prevent us from trying to meet the legitimately impoverished among us.

 

Like Eagle, I'm surprised that JJ was turned down. It's hard for me to imagine in my area, where unemployment is well above 13%, that any organization or ministry would turn a good gift like that down. It's cool that JJ was able to find someone to give it to. Many times churches have connections to needy families, as well.

[Sumo 0]

News Reporter: "This Just in.. The beggar on the Highway offramp makes more than you.

Film at 11. "

[John the Ripper 0]

JJLeki, at this moment int time that is the most insane story I have ever heard, that sounds like something from a bad 80s sitcom. Although good for you for going for the game hens over the turkeys, that is the best meat in the world.

[STSF Kent 0]

It's snowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwing!

 

 

 

((Of course it waits to do so until the day I'm taking a long drive. :D Mother nature is a capricious lady indeed.))

[John the Ripper 0]

I know exactly how you feel, when ever I got sick enough to stay home from school it was always right as we got to a long weekend so I couldn't do anything fun.

[will_marx 0]

It's snowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwing!

 

 

 

((Of course it waits to do so until the day I'm taking a long drive. :D Mother nature is a capricious lady indeed.))

 

Nah, that's Murphy laughing at you.

[Leila Kalomi 0]

Oh my, it just snowed yesterday! That's the only time on record that it snowed two consective years! We made snowmen wearing sombreros and holding Dr. Peppers and the neighbors all came to our front yard to take pictures.

[John the Ripper 0]

I almost never snows where I live, and thatnk goodness, I hate the snow (But oddly enough I really like rain).

[will_marx 0]

::prefers snow over rain::

 

To be, or not to be: that is the question:

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,

And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;

No more; and by a sleep to say we end

The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks

That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;

To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,

Must give us pause: there's the respect

That makes calamity of so long life;

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,

The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,

The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,

The insolence of office and the spurns

That patient merit of the unworthy takes,

When he himself might his quietus make

With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,

To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

But that the dread of something after death,

The undiscover'd country from whose bourn

No traveller returns, puzzles the will

And makes us rather bear those ills we have

Than fly to others that we know not of?

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;

And thus the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,

And enterprises of great pith and moment

With this regard their currents turn awry,

And lose the name of action...

 

Wm. Shakespeare, Hamlet, 3/1

[Eva Jaz 0]

::prefers snow over rain::

 

I'll Fedex you the foot of white ^$^%# we're expecting Wednesday then !!

[STSF Kent 0]

::prefers snow over rain::

 

I do also, generally, but it made for a bit of a rough ride. :D

 

To be, or not to be: that is the question:

...

And lose the name of action...

 

Wm. Shakespeare, Hamlet, 3/1

 

If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well

It were done quickly. If the assassination

Could trammel up the consequence and catch

With his surcease success, that but this blow

Might be the be-all and the end-all here,

But here, upon this bank and shoal of time,

We'ld jump the life to come. But in these cases

We still have judgment here that we but teach

Bloody instructions, which being taught return

To plague th'inventor. This even-handed justice

Commends the ingredients of our poisoned chalice

To our own lips. He's here in double trust,

First as I am his kinsman and his subject,

Strong both against the deed; then as his host,

Who should against his murderer shut the door,

Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan

Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been

So clear in his great office that his virtues

Shall plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against

The deep damnation of his taking-off,

And pity, like a naked new-born babe,

Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, horsed

Upon the sightless couriers of the air,

Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye

That tears shall drown the wind. I have no spur

To prick the sides of my intent, but only

Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself

And falls on th'other.

 

Macbeth, I.vii (and from memory, too! :P )

[John the Ripper 0]

Well now I feel sad because I can't quote shakespeare like you guys.. so BLARGLE

[will_marx 0]

Well now I feel sad because I can't quote shakespeare like you guys.. so BLARGLE

 

Well, you got tired of us quoting Monty Python, so...

[John the Ripper 0]

I wasn't getting tired of them I just wanted to know what else you quoted in case the Montey Python quotes did indeed get boring. But yeah I haven't read any of that stuff so I can't join in your quoting.

[JJLexi 0]

Here's some William Blake to switch things up then.

 

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

 

In what distant deeps or skies

Burnt the fire of thine eyes?

On what wings dare he aspire?

What the hand dare sieze the fire?

 

And what shoulder and what art.

Could twist the sinews of thy heart?

And when thy heart began to beat,

What dread hand? And what dread feet?

 

What the hammer? What the chain?

In what furnace was thy brain?

What the anvil? What dread grasp

Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

 

When the stars threw down their spears,

And watered heaven with their tears,

Did he smile his work to see?

Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

 

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

 

--

 

Who knew the STSF was filled with such well read people?

 

(mostly from memory, had to look it up and fix a few words)

Edited December 6, 2009 by JJLexi

[will_marx 0]

Who knew the STSF was filled with such well read people?

 

(mostly from memory, had to look it up and fix a few words)

 

Because we're geeks, and therefore, well read people.

[STSF Kent 0]

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,

The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes

Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,

Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,

Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,

Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,

And seeing that it was a soft October night,

Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

 

And indeed there will be time

For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,

Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;

There will be time, there will be time

To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;

There will be time to murder and create,

And time for all the works and days of hands

That lift and drop a question on your plate;

Time for you and time for me,

And time yet for a hundred indecisions,

And for a hundred visions and revisions,

Before the taking of a toast and tea.

 

In the room the women come and go

Talking of Michelangelo.

 

And indeed there will be time

To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”

Time to turn back and descend the stair,

With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—

[They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]

My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,

My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—

[They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”]

Do I dare

Disturb the universe?

In a minute there is time

For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

 

 

-- from "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T.S Eliot

 

I <3 Eliot. :D Muchly.

 

That being said, would anyone be willing to write me a five-page paper on this poem? Kthnxbai.

 

Finals weeks suck.

[will_marx 0]

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore--

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

"'Tis some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door--

Only this and nothing more."

 

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow;--vainly I had sought to borrow

From my books surcease of sorrow--sorrow for the lost Lenore--

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore--

Nameless here for evermore.

 

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

Thrilled me--filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating

"'Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door--

Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door;

This it is and nothing more."

 

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,

That I scarce was sure I heard you"--here I opened wide the door--

Darkness there and nothing more.

 

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"--

Merely this and nothing more.

 

Back into the chamber turning, all my sour within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping something louder than before.

"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;

Let me see, then, what thereat is and this mystery explore--

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;--

'Tis the wind and nothing more.

 

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he,

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door--

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door--

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

 

Then the ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore--

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

 

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,

Though its answer little meaning--little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door--

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

With such name as "Nevermore."

 

But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only

That one word, as if its soul in that one word he did outpour

Nothing farther then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered--

Till I scarcely more than muttered: "Other friends have flown before--

On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."

Then the bird said "Nevermore."

 

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,

Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster

Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore--

Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore

Of 'Never--nevermore.'"

 

But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;

Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore--

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

 

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;

This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining

On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,

But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er

She shall press, ah, nevermore!

 

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer

Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee--by these angels he hath sent thee

Respite--respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

 

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!--

Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted--

On this home by Horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore--

Is there--is there balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me, I implore!"

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

 

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!

By that Heaven that bends above us--by that God we both adore--

Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,

It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore--

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

 

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting--

"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul has spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken!--quit the bust above my door!

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

 

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming

And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadows on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

Shall be lifted--nevermore!

 

 

I prefer Poe as my poet laureate