Word Processor Help
Howard Hursey
>I have a good DOS word processor that I use for writing fiction
>(XYWrite).
>
>It can really pull in the big bucks because it has a pica courier type
>that all editors will pay an enormous amount of money to look at.
>
>It is a much heavier courier than the windows true type courier new,
>and yet lighter than using the bold attribute on courier new.
>
>In my experince, writers spend too much time thinking about issues
>nobody cares about like characterization and plot structure and not
>enough time thinking about having the right courier type which can
>only be produced by DOS word processors.
>
>Okay... Here's my question. What's the best word processor for
>poetry? Do you need a different one for serious and light verse?
>
>What about the young adult market? What typeface works best?
>
>What do editors think if your pen leaks and you get ink on your hand?
>
>Has anyone ever tried submitting manuscripts with landscape page
>orientation? Does this produce big advances?
>
>Fred
>
Hi, Fred! Welcome to alt.skunks, you frothing newbie moron! First of
all, REAL WRITERS® don't use word processing programs like XYWrite.
Sure, you *could* write a novel using XYWrite, but nobody has ever
done it. After all, theoretically, you *could* get to Chicago in a
Buick, but once again, nobody has ever done it.
Regarding typefaces, REAL WRITERS® use quills. Not just any quills,
either. Only quills from the extinct Fluffy-Butted Growler that
ranged from Salt Lake City to Chicago during its existence (and who
never once went to Chicago in a Buick).
The Fluffy-Butted Growler quill is distinguished by its bold, yet
spidery, ink scratch on genuine parchment. William Faulkner used one
to write "The Sound and the Chicken Soup" and Ernest Hemingway used
one to write "101 Uses for a Dead Bull."
Happy to see you here in alt.skunks, even though you're obviously
hopeless.
H. Ross Pequod
Howard Hursey
>You frothy-eyed spawn of mold! Quills are for the prancing dilettantes
>of pathetic prosody.
>
>Real Writers (tm) bold imaginings can only be recorded by dipping
>their heads in buckets of ink and rubbing their hair on giant folios.
>
>Hah! I spit on your quills, Fluffy-Butted or not!
>
>Fred
Egads, thou wearer of sequins and codpieces overtight! I scornest
thee before the laughing wives of Bath and the Gentlemen of Verona and
the Fruits of the Loom!
Hark! Who givest thee his blessing to utter such words that ringeth
in the ear like the clapper of the great off-key bell of Manchester?
Pray thee be away in an instant and takest thou nickels of oak!
MacBeth and his Cow, Bothy
Fred Willard
Fred Willard
Fred Willard
>Egads, thou wearer of sequins and codpieces overtight! I scornest
>thee before the laughing wives of Bath and the Gentlemen of Verona and
>the Fruits of the Loom!
>
>Hark! Who givest thee his blessing to utter such words that ringeth
>in the ear like the clapper of the great off-key bell of Manchester?
>Pray thee be away in an instant and takest thou nickels of oak!
>
>MacBeth and his Cow, Bothy
Aha, you scurvy quill clutcher, your Manchester clap reveals itself
in your fevered, nickel spitting maunderings.
Perhaps a good sea anemone and a leaking pen in your shirt will slake
your methanic scourge.
Fuzzy the Rat Eater
Steve Birtles
fwillard-wham-ba...@mindspring.com (Fred Willard) wrote:
Hrmph. Didn't expect my Alta Vista search for 'Manchester+clap' to
bring me back to you two babbling maniacs.
SOB
tab one
Steve Birtles wrote:
Perhaps you should have included '+Picadilly', in the search, no STD's to be
found in that part of Manchester!
> SOB
Fred Willard
>>
>Hrmph. Didn't expect my Alta Vista search for 'Manchester+clap' to
>bring me back to you two babbling maniacs.
>
>SOB
Ah. You are at large. Incredible. I thought you had been repossesed by
demons.
Fred
PS if you want a Real Writers (tm) search engine try
http://www.google.com
And don't forget -- Pica Courier, the sign of a true professional/
Fred Willard
>>
>> Hrmph. Didn't expect my Alta Vista search for 'Manchester+clap' to
>> bring me back to you two babbling maniacs.
>>
>> SOB
>
>Perhaps you should have included '+Picadilly', in the search, no STD's to be
>found in that part of Manchester!
>
That's because of the famous Manchester coal tar baths. Nothing
protects better than a good varnish.
tab too
Doug Wyman
fwillard-wham-ba...@mindspring.com (Fred Willard) typed:
>ma...@markbirtles.demon.co.uk (Steve Birtles) wrote:
>
>>>
>>Hrmph. Didn't expect my Alta Vista search for 'Manchester+clap' to
>>bring me back to you two babbling maniacs.
>>
>
>PS if you want a Real Writers (tm) search engine try
>http://www.google.com
>
So, I typed Manchester+clap into the google search, clicked on
I'm feeling lucky and got http://www.infopt.demon.co.uk/molly.htm
Now there is an inspired search machine!
Daddy Doug (back to the web page)
Fred Willard
I checked the link out. Pretty cool!
I've been using Google for a week or so and seem to get many more
relevant hits on it.
Fred
erik ammon
great!! thanx erik
It started a while ago. We flirted often. We'd both say 'Hi', or
'Hello', then we'd just smile at each other and look away as we began
to blush.
I asked her out one day, she could only say maybe.
The next day, she calls me to her desk. She said she'd like to,
but not in a serious way, just casual, just as friends. But, she says,
not with other people, just the two of us, alone.
We go out as friends. We laugh, we talk. We didn't talk much at
first, but as we spend more time together, more time on the phone, we
talk more. We talk more deeply, more intimately.
At the end of our first date, I walked her back to her house. I
told her I'd like to go out again. She said she was surprised I asked.
You see, she didn't eat much of her dinner, and her insecurity thought
i would
n't like her because of that. She said she'd like to. I asked her for
a kiss when we got to her door. She hesitated, and then asked where.
I hesitated- I didn't expect her to ask me that. She said she'd let me
kiss h
er on the cheek. I told her that was just fine. I kissed her gently
good night. Her cheek was so soft and smooth. I felt her on my lips
the whole drive home.
She called me after I got to my apartment. She said I surprised
her. She said she usually does not kiss on the first date.
She wonders what she said to make me think it was more than a
date. She wonders what she did to make me think we were more than just
friends.
She says I'm a perfect gentleman, she says I'm real sweet. She
says she really likes that about me. After all, we are just friends.
But, she wonders why I never tried anything. We sit close, she says,
but not tog
ether. I never try to hold her hand or kiss her. But, I think to
myself, we're just friends! I tell her how hard it was for me to not
try anything. How I wanted to hold her hand. How I wanted to kiss
her. I tell her
sexy and beautiful she looks everyday I see her.
She says my apartment is cold, she asks for a blanket. She
doesn't know I keep it cold hoping she'll want to cuddle up with me.
Lucky fuckin' blanket. In my dreams at night, I cuddle up with her. I
smell her swee
tness all night long on the blanket.
We play truth or dare. She dares me to kiss her hand. Sweet and
soft to my lips, she wraps her hand around mine as I do. Then she
dares me to do it again.
We are , after all, just friends.
In my heart, I know she's using me. I make her feel good when we
talk on the phone. I make her feel happy when I buy her a flower, I
make her feel wanted when I open a door. She knows all I need is to
hear her swe
et voice, her sweet thank you, the sweet phone call just to say
'Hello'. It all keeps me taking her out, it keeps me close to her, it
keeps me loving her.
She says she doesn't want to get involved with anyone now, because
she doesn't want to end up using them while she waits for her ex-fiance
to come around. I just smile at her. I think to myself 'Use me, use
me'.
And she wonders what she did to make me think we were more than
just friends. She wonders what she said to make me think it was more
than just a date.
Steve Birtles
fwillard-wham-ba...@mindspring.com (Fred Willard) wrote:
>ma...@markbirtles.demon.co.uk (Steve Birtles) wrote:
>
>>>
>>Hrmph. Didn't expect my Alta Vista search for 'Manchester+clap' to
>>bring me back to you two babbling maniacs.
>>
>>SOB
>
>Ah. You are at large. Incredible. I thought you had been repossesed by
>demons.
>
>Fred
I am indeed at large (5' 6.5"). I have been allowed out on the
understanding that I keep well away from puffin colonies and
habadashery. One moment of weakness and I am assured I'll find myself
back on the slab with electrodes clamped to my scrotum.
>PS if you want a Real Writers (tm) search engine try
>http://www.google.com
This was surprisingly efficient at providing valuable information on
the Liverpool Super Lamb-Banana. Cheers. Made my day.
>And don't forget -- Pica Courier, the sign of a true professional/
Nonsense. Never getting found out is the sign of a true professional.
Steve Birtles
>On Sat, 16 Jan 1999 18:21:44 GMT,
>fwillard-wham-ba...@mindspring.com (Fred Willard) typed:
>
>>ma...@markbirtles.demon.co.uk (Steve Birtles) wrote:
>>
>>>>
>>>Hrmph. Didn't expect my Alta Vista search for 'Manchester+clap' to
>>>bring me back to you two babbling maniacs.
>>>
>>
>>PS if you want a Real Writers (tm) search engine try
>>http://www.google.com
>>
>So, I typed Manchester+clap into the google search, clicked on
>I'm feeling lucky and got http://www.infopt.demon.co.uk/molly.htm
>Now there is an inspired search machine!
>
> Daddy Doug (back to the web page)
Hmm. I typed Manchester+http://www.infopt.demon.co.uk/molly.htm into
google search, clicked on I'm feeling lucky and got clap. Dame Fortune
is such a bitch.
SOB (back to the penicillin)
Fred Willard
Nonsense, The Chaplain and the Commanding officer are the only people
who can get infected via the web.
Fred
Fred Willard
>On Sat, 16 Jan 1999 18:21:44 GMT,
>fwillard-wham-ba...@mindspring.com (Fred Willard) wrote:
>
>>ma...@markbirtles.demon.co.uk (Steve Birtles) wrote:
>>
>>>>
>>>Hrmph. Didn't expect my Alta Vista search for 'Manchester+clap' to
>>>bring me back to you two babbling maniacs.
>>>
>>>SOB
>>
>>Ah. You are at large. Incredible. I thought you had been repossesed by
>>demons.
>>
>>Fred
>
>I am indeed at large (5' 6.5"). I have been allowed out on the
>understanding that I keep well away from puffin colonies and
>habadashery. One moment of weakness and I am assured I'll find myself
>back on the slab with electrodes clamped to my scrotum.
>
In other words, you were engaged in forced aversion therapy to control
bird bondage with handkerchiefs???
Fred
Howard Hursey
>>>>hhu...@mindspring.com (Howard Hursey) wrote:
>>>>
>>>>>fwillard-wham-ba...@mindspring.com (Fred Willard) wrote:
>>>>>
>>>
>>>MacBeth and his Cow, Bothy
>>
>>Fuzzy the Rat Eater
>
>Hrmph. Didn't expect my Alta Vista search for 'Manchester+clap' to
>bring me back to you two babbling maniacs.
>
>SOB
All Alta Vista searches reveal us two babbling maniacs. It's one of
the most prized features of that search engine.
But what a delightful surprise to find the original Adorable
Englishman® back in alt.skunks!
Jolly good! Pip-pip, cheerio! I say! Forego the mainsail! Shiver
me timbers! Buckle my swash! It's the wrong way to tip a rarey!
The First Earl of Dorsetshiringhamptonwitch
Howard Hursey
>On Mon, 18 Jan 1999 12:38:56 -0600, Gene Royer <ge...@getus.com> wrote:
>
>>> Tell you what though, this aversion therapy doesn't half put you off
>>> ever wanting to clamp electrodes to your scrotum.
>>>
>>> SOB
>>
>>
>>Bah! It ain't that bad.
>>
>>--Geno
>
>YOU!!
>
>Pardon my surprise but I thought you had gone churlishly into that
>good night months ago and had long been turned into extra-chewy chunky
>catfood for the cat that likes a mouthful to last much too long.
>
>Needless to say, I am glad you still exist, so I won't say it.
>
>SOB
>
GENO! Don't encourage him!
HH
Steve Birtles
fwillard-wham-ba...@mindspring.com (Fred Willard) wrote:
>ma...@markbirtles.demon.co.uk (Steve Birtles) wrote:
>
>>On Sat, 16 Jan 1999 18:21:44 GMT,
>>fwillard-wham-ba...@mindspring.com (Fred Willard) wrote:
>>
>>>ma...@markbirtles.demon.co.uk (Steve Birtles) wrote:
>>>
>>>>>
>>>>Hrmph. Didn't expect my Alta Vista search for 'Manchester+clap' to
>>>>bring me back to you two babbling maniacs.
>>>>
>>>>SOB
>>>
>>>Ah. You are at large. Incredible. I thought you had been repossesed by
>>>demons.
>>>
>>>Fred
>>
>>I am indeed at large (5' 6.5"). I have been allowed out on the
>>understanding that I keep well away from puffin colonies and
>>habadashery. One moment of weakness and I am assured I'll find myself
>>back on the slab with electrodes clamped to my scrotum.
>>
>In other words, you were engaged in forced aversion therapy to control
>bird bondage with handkerchiefs???
>
>
>Fred
No, mate, bird bondage with handkerchiefs is old hat. Looks a bit odd
on your head, but anything ludicrous is fashionable these days. innit?
Anything's art, anything's priceless if you tell the toffs it costs
enough and they can't have it yet.
No, this latest hoo-ha was all a big misunderstanding. I've never
molested a seabird in my life, honest.
You know how it is -- you're having a ciggy, watching puffins
shuffling about on the edge of a cliff with a nice collection of fish
hanging out of their beaks and you think "Hang on, those fellas look a
a tad unsteady up there. What if they topple off the edge and plummet
to a horrible death on the rocks below?"
Then I think, "Puffins are diamond geezers, I'd better sort out a
makeshift Puffin-holder before a tragedy occurs.'
Then I think, "Blimey, I hope me prostate's not rotting!" Thoughts
are like that, aren't they? You can be thinking hard about
puffin-holders and you're suddenly reminded of your own mortality.
Anyway, I pull out my emergency habadashery kit, have a bit of a
rummage about and find the very thing -- a huge roll of Velcro. Just
the job. Shove a few bits on the cliff, staple a strip to a puffin,
put the two together and bingo! Secure puffins!
Well, the rest is obvious, innit? There's me holding a few puffins,
having fixed 'em up with their strips, when a freak wind blows in from
the sea, covers me in Velcro, whisks the puffins up and chucks 'em at
me. I'm stood there with a puffin stuck across my chest, another
fastened to my groin and one stuck upside down on my arse, and they're
all giving it plenty of wriggle and squawk.
I do what any bloke'd do if he had puffins stuck all over him. I
start thrashing about, wagging to and fro, trying to shake 'em off.
Just then two blokes on a tandem cycle up and start shouting at me.
Turns out one bloke is the president of the Puffin Protection League,
the other is Dr. Randolph Wattle, author of 'Human Sexuality and
Seabird Temptation'.
They run over to me, rip off the puffins and start thumping me in the
face, shouting 'Pervert!' and 'What sort of man are you, forcing
yourself on puffins!' After a wihile it dawns on me that they think I
was taking saucy liberties with seabirds. I try to explain that
puffins aren't my cup of tea and I was only trying to do my bit for
conservation, but they're both ranting away and beating me up so they
don't listen..
Anyway, they kick me into a three-day coma and hand me over to the
Catholics. I wake up in catacombs, chained to a slab with electrodes
clamped on my scrotum. The bloody Catholics are standing over me,
grinning. One of them holds up a picture of a puffin with the word
'NO!' stamped on it, another one waves a rosary at me and mumbles
something in Latin and someone hits a button. My nadgers light up like
Pearl Harbour and start to crackle, fizz and smoulder. It hurts very,
very much INDEED and I don't care for it one bit, thank you very much.
I'm on that slab four weeks, mate, with a thunderbolt charging through
my gonads every hour, on the hour. Every Catholic in town comes in to
have a go at pressing the button. Some of 'em even bring in their
Jewish friends to show them what they're missing.
I dunno, mate, I was never interested in puffins in *that* way in the
first place -- they look too much like midget French mime-artists for
my liking. Still, I can't even idly contemplate puffin stuffing now
without my bollocks bursting into flames. Seems harsh, very harsh.
Fred Willard
Uh-huh. Right. I've used a variation of this story myself when I was
discovered in a hammock with the buxom young neighbor woman.
"We was just trying to save the sea birds," says I. "And that's my
story and I'm sticking to it."
Skunk-O-Matic
Gene Royer
Steve Birtles wrote:
Fred Willard
>
>Needless to say, I am glad you still exist, so I won't say it.
>
>SOB
Don't. It will only encourage him to continue.
Fred
Fred Willard
>On Sun, 17 Jan 1999 15:43:40 GMT, hhu...@mindspring.com (Howard
>Hursey) wrote:
>
>>ma...@markbirtles.demon.co.uk (Steve Birtles) wrote:
>>
>>>>>>hhu...@mindspring.com (Howard Hursey) wrote:
>>>>>>
>>>>>>>fwillard-wham-ba...@mindspring.com (Fred Willard) wrote:
>>>>>>>
>>>>>
>>>>>MacBeth and his Cow, Bothy
>>>>
>>
>>>>Fuzzy the Rat Eater
>>>
>>>Hrmph. Didn't expect my Alta Vista search for 'Manchester+clap' to
>>>bring me back to you two babbling maniacs.
>>>
>>>SOB
>>
>>All Alta Vista searches reveal us two babbling maniacs. It's one of
>>the most prized features of that search engine.
>>
>>But what a delightful surprise to find the original Adorable
>>Englishman® back in alt.skunks!
>>
>>Jolly good! Pip-pip, cheerio! I say! Forego the mainsail! Shiver
>>me timbers! Buckle my swash! It's the wrong way to tip a rarey!
>>
>>The First Earl of Dorsetshiringhamptonwitch
>
>Whut?
>
>You sure do talk funny, southern boy..Kinda fancy, real nice, heh heh
>heh. Next thing, you be wearin shoes an' takin' baths. Heh heh heh.
>Sheee-it!
>
>Yes, an absolutely splendid evocation of the fog-shrouded shires of
>England, old bean. Spot on! Made me feel quite homesick until I
>remembered I was at home, so I suppose it made me feel quite sick.
>
>You've got hold of the wrong end of the schtick though, matey.
>
>I'm from oop north where we say 'Eh oop!' 'Ee by gum' , 'Ecky thump!',
>"Blimey, I'll go to the foot of our stairs!', 'Flamin' Nora!', 'Sorted
>for 'E's an' whiz, our kid?', 'Ta very much, luv', 'Kinnel!', 'Shurrup
>willya, yer doin' me 'ead in!' 'Did you spill my pint? Right!
>Outside! Now!', "Aye...well...mmm..', 'Get off and milk it!', 'Life's
>bollocks, innit?', 'Give us a chip, y' tight get!', 'Come an' 'ave a
>go if you think you're 'ard enough!!', 'Ooh, lovely!' 'Sod off,
>y'daft bugger!'
>
>Master those starter phrases, cough a lot, get yourself a flat cap and
>a scabby whippet on a piece of string and remember to stare menacingly
>at anyone wearing after-shave and you'll be welcome at any
>working-man's club in the north-west.
>
>SOB
Hey English,
At the British heritage associations in our area (Georgia, USA), we
frequently have pageants celebrating the quaint culture our ancestors
brought with them from the mother country.
They usually feature drunken fat men wearing baseball caps, beating
hell out of each other and yelling such phrases as:
"Looks like it's time for a good pig squealing. Let's hear it boy --
soooo-eeee."
"You got you a pretty mouth."
"I'm going to open me up a giant economy size can of whoop-ass. "
You may want to stage one of these pageants in your own home with
your cat. I hear you've got the cap for it.
Yours for Anglo-Ameircan understanding,
Fuzzy the Rat Eater
Gene Royer
Howard Hursey wrote:
> ma...@markbirtles.demon.co.uk (Steve Birtles) wrote:
>
> >On Mon, 18 Jan 1999 12:38:56 -0600, Gene Royer <ge...@getus.com> wrote:
> >
> >>> Tell you what though, this aversion therapy doesn't half put you off
> >>> ever wanting to clamp electrodes to your scrotum.
> >>>
> >>> SOB
> >>
> >>
> >>Bah! It ain't that bad.
> >>
> >>--Geno
> >
> >YOU!!
> >
> >Pardon my surprise but I thought you had gone churlishly into that
> >good night months ago and had long been turned into extra-chewy chunky
> >catfood for the cat that likes a mouthful to last much too long.
> >
> >Needless to say, I am glad you still exist, so I won't say it.
> >
> >SOB
> >
>
> GENO! Don't encourage him!
>
> HH
Changing his name from Mark to Steve won't protect him from my scrutiny. I
suspect he did it because SOB is much more picturesque than MOB.
As for my *going into that churlishly good night months ago and long been
turned into extra-chewy chunky catfood, HaH! HaH, I say!
So live that when thy summons comes to join that innumberable caravan where
each shall take his place in the silent halls of death; thou go not like the
quarry slave, scourged to his dungeon--but sustained and soothed, approach
thy grave as one who wraps the drapery of his couch about him and lies down
to silent sleep.
That's what I have to say about it even if it isn't original.
And, speaking of cats, I just caught another one in my crab net. I named
her, of course, Nettie.
--Geno<glad to see his the Birtles name on screen>Royer
Howard Hursey
>
>And, speaking of cats, I just caught another one in my crab net. I named
>her, of course, Nettie.
>
>--Geno<glad to see his the Birtles name on screen>Royer
Crab net? You don't catch cats in a dang crab net, Geno! You fly
fish for them.
HH
(If they're over 16 inches, you gotta throw 'em back.)
Howard Hursey
>
>If I wanted a picturesque monogram I'd change my name to Arthur Ronald
>Sebastian Eagleberry. No, I changed because 'Mark' evoked an image of
>a nerdy anal-retentive computing-support technician with greasy hair
>and a sinister penchant for Star Trek, which describes my brother
>perfectly. 'Steve', is much more me: tough yet sensitive, strong yet
>soft, popular yet reviled, rugged yet ragged, attractive yet
>repulsive, tall yet 5' 6.52". Actually, my real name is Brenda.
I say, Brenda, old chap! What ho! Cheerio! Tuppence. Blimey. Cor
blimey. Blimey cor. Bloody blimey cor cheerio, what?
(where was I...oh, yes...)
5' 6.52" in your DREAMS! It's 5' 6.51" -- and you know it!
HH
(Bloodmey cheerio!)
Howard Hursey
>
>A funny thing, though: whenever I don my Bulloch Tractor Co. cap, I
>seem to instantly gain 200lbs of ugly fat, my arse swells to the size
>of a five-door Honda hatchback, my neck becomes bright red and throbs
>with mysterious rage, my teeth fall out, I develop an unpleasant
>speech impediment and drool uncontrollably. I hanker after a hunker
>with a dumb dawg, crave raw meat sucked from the bones of still warm
>squirrels and long to hear some good shit-kickin' music, even though I
>have no idea what it is, nor why I should want to kick shit in the
>first place, finding it preferable to deposit at its final destination
>from the outset. I also find myself gazing speculatively at Dave the
>cat and wondering if he'd look good in a frilly bonnet and gingham
>frock.
>
>It must be a zombie hat, possessed by the trapped tormented soul of a
>Bulloch tractor hillbilly, and will bring horror, fatness, misfortune,
>a very silly accent, and a *really* crap dress-sense to all who wear
>it. Either that or I take far too many cheap, nasty drugs than are
>good for me.
>
>Your friend in civilisation,
>SOB
The magical Bulloch Tractor Co. cap is only one of a set of chapeaux
used in American universities to allow students to virtually
experience other cultures firsthand.
The John Deere® cap would make you feel exactly the same way as does
the Bulloch cap, only colder, since it simulates the virtual
environment and society of Michigan.
The Beefeaters hat makes you feel as if you are dragging around a long
pike (called a "mullet" after the fish), seeking boiled inedible food.
Then there's the Monica Lewinsky beret.
HH
Howard Hursey
>>
>>Then there's the Monica Lewinsky beret.
>>
>>HH
>
>Send me the Monica Lewinsky beret. I can take it. Nothing could taste
>as bad as grits.
>
>In return, I'll send you the Quen Mother bonnet to give you a taste of
>the aristocracy. You might get a taste of the Royal Guards and the
>stables as well.
>
>sob
Ooh, thank you, dearie! I've got on the Queen Mother bonnet as I
write, and I must tell you that I feel perfectly giddy, senseless, and
a bit unbalanced. In fact, I feel the urge to hop in a Jag-U-ar V-12
and go for a merry ride down the M-1 at 160 MPH. Oh, but I can't. My
delightful granddaughter, whatsername, the one who looks so much like
a horse, does that much too often and gets tickets for it and causes
the serfs -- they're still called that, aren't they? -- to make rude
remarks about the monoarchy.
I suppose I'll just have a spot of tea and make a loud fart when
Phillip strolls by.
Cheerio! That's a good lad! Run along, now. Jolly good. Ten-four,
good buddy!
HH
Steve Birtles
Steve Birtles
Steve Birtles
Hursey) wrote:
>GENO! Don't encourage him!
>
>HH
Shurrup willya, yer doin' me 'ead in!
sob
Steve Birtles
>
>
>Howard Hursey wrote:
>
>> ma...@markbirtles.demon.co.uk (Steve Birtles) wrote:
>>
>> >On Mon, 18 Jan 1999 12:38:56 -0600, Gene Royer <ge...@getus.com> wrote:
>> >
>> >>> Tell you what though, this aversion therapy doesn't half put you off
>> >>> ever wanting to clamp electrodes to your scrotum.
>> >>>
>> >>> SOB
>> >>
>> >>
>> >>Bah! It ain't that bad.
>> >>
>> >>--Geno
>> >
>> >YOU!!
>> >
>> >Pardon my surprise but I thought you had gone churlishly into that
>> >good night months ago and had long been turned into extra-chewy chunky
>> >catfood for the cat that likes a mouthful to last much too long.
>> >
>> >Needless to say, I am glad you still exist, so I won't say it.
>> >
>> >SOB
>> >
>>
>> GENO! Don't encourage him!
>>
>> HH
>
>Changing his name from Mark to Steve won't protect him from my scrutiny. I
>suspect he did it because SOB is much more picturesque than MOB.
If I wanted a picturesque monogram I'd change my name to Arthur Ronald
Sebastian Eagleberry. No, I changed because 'Mark' evoked an image of
a nerdy anal-retentive computing-support technician with greasy hair
and a sinister penchant for Star Trek, which describes my brother
perfectly. 'Steve', is much more me: tough yet sensitive, strong yet
soft, popular yet reviled, rugged yet ragged, attractive yet
repulsive, tall yet 5' 6.52". Actually, my real name is Brenda.
>As for my *going into that churlishly good night months ago and long been
>turned into extra-chewy chunky catfood, HaH! HaH, I say!
>
>So live that when thy summons comes to join that innumberable caravan where
>each shall take his place in the silent halls of death; thou go not like the
>quarry slave, scourged to his dungeon--but sustained and soothed, approach
>thy grave as one who wraps the drapery of his couch about him and lies down
>to silent sleep.
>
>That's what I have to say about it even if it isn't original.
You disappoint me. You are an accomplished curmudgeon and I expected
more surly unreasonableness when the time comes to drop off your twig.
I subscribe to the sentiments of the Bard of Avon himself on the
prospect of buying the farm:
"Well I ain't goin' without takin' youse bastards with me, see? Yah!
Verily!" (from 'A Midsummer Night's Massacre' by William 'Ratso'
Shakespeare)
>And, speaking of cats, I just caught another one in my crab net. I named
>her, of course, Nettie.
>--Geno<glad to see his the Birtles name on screen>Royer
Hmm. Your freezer must be well-stocked by now.
I took photographs of Scrotum, Polyp and Dave yesterday for some
reason I cannot recall. Can't have been important. To waste film
perhaps.
Nice to read you again
SOB
Gene Royer
Howard Hursey wrote:
> Gene Royer <ge...@getus.com> wrote:
> >
> >And, speaking of cats, I just caught another one in my crab net. I named
> >her, of course, Nettie.
> >
> >--Geno<glad to see his the Birtles name on screen>Royer
>
> Crab net? You don't catch cats in a dang crab net, Geno! You fly
> fish for them.
>
> HH
> (If they're over 16 inches, you gotta throw 'em back.)
Yes, you do fly fish for them if they are flying like flying fish do. But
his one was on the ground hauling ass like O.J. in a Hertz® commercial. The
vet tells me that she (Nettie) is positive for one of those Feline AIDS
diseases.
Some people just have no shame.
--GenO<positive>Royer
Howard Hursey
>Here, take this Princess Di tiara and ask Nathalie to show you Paris.
>Let her drive.
>
>SOB
Funny you should mention that. My wife and I are thinking of doing
just that. Maybe this summer. Is Manchester in France? Yet?
HH
Nathalie Mège
> Here, take this Princess Di tiara and ask Nathalie to show you Paris.
> Let her drive.
I swear i can do it only with Chateau Yquem in my blood
(better than this bodyguard who had three whiskies before he left the
Ritz)
NM
Nathalie Mège
>
> ma...@markbirtles.demon.co.uk (Steve Birtles) wrote:
>
> >Here, take this Princess Di tiara and ask Nathalie to show you Paris.
> >Let her drive.
> >
>
> Funny you should mention that. My wife and I are thinking of doing
> just that. Maybe this summer.
Yeepppeeee! We should get together with those Brits!
>Is Manchester in France? Yet?
Yep. Except they insist on driving on the wrong side of the road.
NM
Steve Birtles
fwillard-wham-ba...@mindspring.com (Fred Willard) wrote:
>Hey English,
>
>At the British heritage associations in our area (Georgia, USA), we
>frequently have pageants celebrating the quaint culture our ancestors
>brought with them from the mother country.
>
>They usually feature drunken fat men wearing baseball caps, beating
>hell out of each other and yelling such phrases as:
>
>"Looks like it's time for a good pig squealing. Let's hear it boy --
>soooo-eeee."
>
>"You got you a pretty mouth."
>
>"I'm going to open me up a giant economy size can of whoop-ass. "
>
>You may want to stage one of these pageants in your own home with
>your cat. I hear you've got the cap for it.
>
>Yours for Anglo-Ameircan understanding,
>
>Fuzzy the Rat Eater
Indeed, Mr. Rat Eater, I have the requisite cap, bearing the words
'Bulloch Tractor Co.'. It was sent to me by your friend Mr. Hursey,
together with a packet of instant grits and a book entitled 'Frown On
Ponces', signed by a Mr. Fud Withme. I could not put it down for two
days, due to a savage muscle spasm paralysing my fingers.
The package of goods gave me a glimpse of your way of life, you poor
old bugger. I intend to reciprocate by sending a bowler hat, a sack of
dung and a copy of 'My Secret Life As A Muff Diver' by Margaret
Thatcher. Once Mr. Hursey tastes dung, he will never eat grits again.
Cramming one's mouth with large faeces is the only way to get rid of
the taste of grits and freshen the breath.
Steve Birtles
Hursey) wrote:
>ma...@markbirtles.demon.co.uk (Steve Birtles) wrote:
>>
>>If I wanted a picturesque monogram I'd change my name to Arthur Ronald
>>Sebastian Eagleberry. No, I changed because 'Mark' evoked an image of
>>a nerdy anal-retentive computing-support technician with greasy hair
>>and a sinister penchant for Star Trek, which describes my brother
>>perfectly. 'Steve', is much more me: tough yet sensitive, strong yet
>>soft, popular yet reviled, rugged yet ragged, attractive yet
>>repulsive, tall yet 5' 6.52". Actually, my real name is Brenda.
>
>I say, Brenda, old chap! What ho! Cheerio! Tuppence. Blimey. Cor
>blimey. Blimey cor. Bloody blimey cor cheerio, what?
>
>(where was I...oh, yes...)
>
>5' 6.52" in your DREAMS! It's 5' 6.51" -- and you know it!
>
>HH
>(Bloodmey cheerio!)
Excellent, old chap! You've got the lead in 'The Dick Van Dyke Story'.
Now piss off!
Toodle-pip!
ARSE
Steve Birtles
Hursey) wrote:
>ma...@markbirtles.demon.co.uk (Steve Birtles) wrote:
>>
>>A funny thing, though: whenever I don my Bulloch Tractor Co. cap, I
>>seem to instantly gain 200lbs of ugly fat, my arse swells to the size
>>of a five-door Honda hatchback, my neck becomes bright red and throbs
>>with mysterious rage, my teeth fall out, I develop an unpleasant
>>speech impediment and drool uncontrollably. I hanker after a hunker
>>with a dumb dawg, crave raw meat sucked from the bones of still warm
>>squirrels and long to hear some good shit-kickin' music, even though I
>>have no idea what it is, nor why I should want to kick shit in the
>>first place, finding it preferable to deposit at its final destination
>>from the outset. I also find myself gazing speculatively at Dave the
>>cat and wondering if he'd look good in a frilly bonnet and gingham
>>frock.
>>
>>It must be a zombie hat, possessed by the trapped tormented soul of a
>>Bulloch tractor hillbilly, and will bring horror, fatness, misfortune,
>>a very silly accent, and a *really* crap dress-sense to all who wear
>>it. Either that or I take far too many cheap, nasty drugs than are
>>good for me.
>>
>>Your friend in civilisation,
>>SOB
>
>The magical Bulloch Tractor Co. cap is only one of a set of chapeaux
>used in American universities to allow students to virtually
>experience other cultures firsthand.
>
>The John Deere® cap would make you feel exactly the same way as does
>the Bulloch cap, only colder, since it simulates the virtual
>environment and society of Michigan.
>
>The Beefeaters hat makes you feel as if you are dragging around a long
>pike (called a "mullet" after the fish), seeking boiled inedible food.
>
Steve Birtles
Hursey) wrote:
>Ooh, thank you, dearie! I've got on the Queen Mother bonnet as I
>write, and I must tell you that I feel perfectly giddy, senseless, and
>a bit unbalanced. In fact, I feel the urge to hop in a Jag-U-ar V-12
>and go for a merry ride down the M-1 at 160 MPH. Oh, but I can't. My
>delightful granddaughter, whatsername, the one who looks so much like
>a horse, does that much too often and gets tickets for it and causes
>the serfs -- they're still called that, aren't they? -- to make rude
>remarks about the monoarchy.
>
>I suppose I'll just have a spot of tea and make a loud fart when
>Phillip strolls by.
>
>Cheerio! That's a good lad! Run along, now. Jolly good. Ten-four,
>good buddy!
>
>HH
That was just like her, mate. Uncanny. Couldn't tell you apart.
I was going to send you the Richard Branson bobble-hat so you could
sample the Complete Pillock experience, but realised my mistake in
time. So I'm sending you something that you *won't* be used to...