Well, that pretty much explains the cause of the 'quake.

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Did you know?

The Quakers in Pennsylvania were the descendants of the first southward wave of emigrees form Canada, the survivors of the Early Canadiana Earthquake zones.

Well... I thought about that, too. But I think it would look much better on a Hallmark card.

this is a girl after my heart's design... she introduces herself and she is already thinking about the score.

It's the Tiger Cubs over the Mongoloid Chicken Sandwiches, on the top of the seventh at halftime.

You just can't top a chick like that.

"What percentage of your income do you spend every payday?"

This question is asked in a very ambiguous way.

Because the income period is not defined. And because it is not clear that the income is meant to be the amount of the pay after deductions, or what.

So each pay day one could spend 0.0001% of his income, and still spend all of his pay cheque, if we are to understand his income to be that over his entire lifetime.

At least seven, I would say. Six won't be enough to cover the entire lot.

Do you have regular deductions from your paycheque that go straight into a 401K account at a sperm bank or a cryogenic ovum repository?

How many generations up do you have men with exclusively gay mating habits in your lineage?

Do you play with your food, and then sit on it, then chunk-fart it out through your mouth? If you do, then our New York nouveau-siss fashion design studio would be interested in talking to you.

Do you wipe with your left hand, or with your right? (In my family we use paper, btw.)

Do you know how to operate a computer, other than using it for a footrest?

How many of your immediate relatives have life-time subscriptions to cryogenic preservation? How many have that only for a limited time, before their money runs out to support this expensive but fun habit?

If a swordfish had a knife-fight with a hammer-head Wilson whale in a tuxedo, which do you think would win the fight? After how many rounds? By a knock-out, or on decision? This question earns partial points for partially wrong answers, as judged by an impartial jury.

What about other important questions? Like:

If you ran over my pet, would you tell me?
Your pet and I have had a relationship behind your back as long as you and I have been dating. Would I not tell you otherwise unless it was not true?

What are you deathly allergic to?
Stupid quesions, that's what.

What are your phobias?
My greatest fear is fear itself. I have nothing else to fear but fear. So I guess I have one phobia, and it is a classic case of phobophobia.

What are your thoughts on cheating?
Are you asking me to play Monopoly, or play orgasm? Because Faking = Cheating.

Does he know where I buried the bodies?
In the bottom of the Potomac. That was a dead give-away.

Hehe.

"Questions sixty seven and sixty eight!!" -- a great song by a seventies band, "Chicago". This song is very long, boring, and not well done, but the ending is the cry included in the quote, and that is so well done, that it saves the whole entire song.

It fits the beat well -- there is only one way of chanting this line, and it fits with the basic underlying backbeat. A miracle!!

Mended1, you are not made of Shoobie. I'm willing to put money on that. Because if you drop a shoobie, because nobody catchy, then it will pop, and if it pop, then noone can mend it. And if you mend it, then you can still easily bend it.

So... to make a long discussion short... I bet you're not a shoobie. Coz you seem mended, but not bended. It's in your name even.

P.s. To be completely honest, I haven't the foggiest what the heck I am talking about. I learned this from Peter Tosh in the seventies.

Apparently all that ever happened to me happened in the seventies.

Well, there was nothing dysfunctional about the standing of it, you're right. You coulda pitcha tent on it to house a kangaroo herd for the night in the torrential rain of Western Australian territory. Around the same latitude as Aberdeen or Didjabringsomebeer.

I quit facebook, too. My face is an open book, and my sandwitches are open face... my books open where I marked the place by inserting there a sandwitch.

My life circle therefore is complete... I need no more props any more to feel complete.

Buddha, eat yer heart out.

I'm so real, that it's almost unreal.

I am on Wickedpaedia, under the entry "Inexplicable world miracles that happened by mistake, and for no apparent rhyme or reason." I'm the seventh entry from the bottom.

You don't need a Milf, man. What you need is Hilf. (*Maerz!!!)

"No Milf Today", by the Hermann's Her Mitts.

Let's suppose you are right and Mikey is saying "be thankful for what you have." The poster has misery, pain, loneliness, and he is near suicidal.

I would not thank fate or providence for being so lucky as to have all that.

What I was trying to say is... oh, never mind. I'll never get this Mikey-thing. Never. Ever. It is abhorrable to me, if anything. It is something so far removed from my emotional world order... if someone else is suffering, that does not matter at all, and this someone else must be shamed, and ashame of himself, because he is not suffering from the same thing as Mikey. No suffering is suffering, unless it's Mikey's suffering.

I think this is more what Mikey was trying to say.

I think the universe is one big yellow pill of sexual stimulation for some bigger beings.

That's what i think these days. Those days I used to think we were part of a team in an intergalactic competition, pushing for the longest and stinkiest passing of a constipated movement.

The possibilities of what to think are virtually endless.

Einstein said, I think, once, that "the boundaries of imagination are only laid where the power of imagination cannot extend any farther beyond." Very true.

Out of curiousity... was this happening during your first or second marriage?

I am only asking because I hate it when it can be ambiguous. The whole trust of the statement can get misinterpreted if not all the pertinent facts are given.

Like every woman who had multiple sons I ever dated kept saying "but my son..." or something. I had to tell them, "Judy, you have seven sons, to me it's not obvious at all which you refer to when you say "my son". Please delineate him from the gang, separate him from the herd, as heard, because if I am to listen, I want to understand, not just hear the rumble of a lot words pronounced at random."

The last time I heard a woman say that was on one of those phone-dating things, back in the last century, a few years ago, and I responded in kind, giving my telefon nummer or street address, I can't remember which, but I do remember that I had to answer an awful long list of quesions at the station, and some questions were asked several times, over and over.

So I don't buy that talk, lady, any more, than I buy Eskimo pies. (It's the same as a regular one... 3.141567356... I got ripped off big time, when I ordered 100 of those on the TV shopping channel).

Instead of this funny talk, be a man, and put your mouth where your loving is.

Funny... for me it goes back to my childhood, back to Mammy and Daddy. To Saturday nights, when they had put me to bed and they thought I was sound asleep.

As if a child could soundly sleep whith whips cracking and chains rattling.

So... I don't know if it's appropriate to say "dom" or "sub" is pornographic. To me they are terms of loving, endearment and warmth.

The terms of a happy childhood.

You know, you crushed me. You would look so good in one of those boxes!! A box planted full of beautiful violets or lillies of he valley. You would be the most fragrant beauty among those jewels of nature's own behest for us.

In fact, I never told you this, but now I can; I was hot on your trail because you would fit in so well with my apartment's decor. You know, when you buy a huge mirror or a magnificent Standing Harp, for your living room, and it fits there like Michelangelo's Pieta in the Basilica of St. Peter. I knew you would look good here, but you never said yes... so yes, this is a sad, sad thing, but I roll my eyes and I breethe deep, and I scratch my ankle, blink slowly, and I learn to live with it.