Plurp: A weblog that is not updated for weeks at a time with little or no notice

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2002.11.20 : 2002.11.23

Saturday, November 23, 2002
Blab. A confused reader writes:
Where is plurp?
What kind of answer would satisfy?

On a server in London somewhere (we think)?

Right here?

Plurp is not something that has a location?

See? We don't know.

Blab. A kindly reader donates both a theory and a clue. That doesn't happen to us very often.
Humm... the Doom III alpha demo is released on the net, and Steve's Plurp output drops to zero. Coincidence?
Oooh! Doom III. Looks very cool! So, if we don't post here for a while, uh, ...

Blab. Us being gone doesn't save certain readers from the Meme O' Madness.
Gives hey, what?
Sound vaguely British, doesn't it?
Way - gut heaves!
Prithee, turn thy head afore ye spew.

Blab. While we were away doing that "vacation" thing, we received Official Correspondence.
From: Joint Department of Agriculture and Defense Grants department
To: S. White
Subject: Expenses for not_Plurp_writing grant #3240985
Dear Dr. White:
Your expense report for the week ending November 9 has been DENIED. The reasons are:
1: The terms of the grant clearly state that all not_Plurp_writing must be done ON EARTH. Here, the reasons should be obvious. Do you really expect the American taxpayer to subsidize not_Plurp_writing throughout all 100 billion galaxies in our universe, and in an infinite number of other universes? Remember that this is a republican administration.
2: Your excuse for the late filing of form-249850, namely "alien abduction" is not convincing. Why were you abducting aliens in the first place?
We have repeatedly attempted to contact you at the email address you left us: swhite@planet4.star340890.andromeda.com, however our server reports unacceptably long ping times to this url. Thus we are sending a second copy to "blab".
Sincerely,
Grants Administration
Dear Mr. Administration,
We understand the confusion. Those forms were doubtless filed by our evil twin Skippy. We have tied Skippy to the radiator and are scalding him with boiling water as we write. We apologize for the inconvenience.
Sincerely,
Dr. S. White
Ref: not_Plurp_writing grant #3240985

Blab. A reader spins a dubious tale.
No date for runway completion
Minister for Communications and Works Julian Fraser ceded this week that the government is still unsure when the runway extension at the new Terrance B. Lettsome International Airport will be completed. But he did inform legislators that roughly six months of work remains.
Terrance B. Lettsome International Airport. Where do you people come up with this stuff?

Blab. In a similar vein ...
This is what that grouping of chairs under that awning was. I think we must have been some of the first people to drive through the light. The thrill of it.......
--07th Novemberr 2002--
Traffic light switched on
The BVI's first traffic light went into operation Monday. At the commissioning, Chief Minister Ralph O'Neal confessed that he probably wasn't qualified to make remarks he doesn't drive. "But it's not because I couldn't pass the test," he added quickly. "I learned to drive but I never got my license."
Our readers live in a very, very strange world.

Blab. Reaction to the announcement that we are back was mixed. One reader seemed happy about it.
yaay!
We're popular among the Delta Minuses.

Blab. Upon hearing the news, this reader started babbling incoherently.
In what sense?
Then:
Oh, I see.
Then:
Did you hear a noise?
Why, yes, of course we did. Now let's just sit down, right here, OK, and take our nice little pills. There, that's right. Drink plenty of water with that.

Blab. This reader at least had a good time.
Oh my god Steve so much happened while you were gone and everything was all crazy and we got drunk and I think I might have overfed your fish and summoned the Old Ones by accident and I didn't know that we weren't supposed to ride the goat, man - if you don't want us to ride the goat you should leave a sign next time that says something like "don't ride the goat" because if I saw a sign like that, I probably would think twice about riding the goat and all your plants are dead.
Sorry.
Don't worry about it. That happens all the time around here. Do take care of those goat bites, though. They can be pretty nasty.

Blab. We're back.
Who's 'we'?
Why, we are. Of course.

Blab. A reader with a strange fetish writes this.
Hurrah! And lashings of ginger beer were merrily passed
We're not really sure how that works, but we hope no one was seriously injured in the process.

Blab. This reader was just plain bored with the news.
That's nice.
If you're pleased, we're pleased.

Blab. Another reader was at least somewhat more enthusiastic.
Yeah! I'm glad you're back. What happened?
When?

Blab. A reader who reminds us much of ourself flubs the punch line.
20 days with no plurp makes Homer something something
A Greek poet?

Plurp. Most popular local search terms on Plurp in the past three weeks?

helen naked pitures

thanks to j

alien food

anagram

andreas gursky

angelina jolie

backgrounds

backstage

bovine's restaurant

britney

Then ...

helen naked pitures

teenager's mobile

cyc

horseshoe

two birds with one stone

256

ash cleaning

fischer diathermy cabinet

iris chacon

light house

And, most recently ...

helen naked pitures

crayola

zirconium

cats

cheater

dr evgeny podkletnov

favorite fat

friends pictures the t v programme

friends pitures

imani

Which is to say, nothing has changed.

Plurp.
Being back didn't
seem all that very
different
to the blue dog

Friday, November 22, 2002
Blab. And, having been back for more than a few minutes, we feel obliged to relate to you the horrible truth.
Space has a terrible secret.
Do you have stairs in your house?
No, but readers may nonetheless be amused, or frightened, or launched off into psychotic episodes, by what is behind that link. Or not. Or bored. Or turned into runny cooked eggs.
It's hard to tell.

Blab. A reader wonders this.
Was the Blue Dog crushed under the treads of a sentient voting machine?
No. All of the sentient voting machines committed suicide. Wouldn't you?

Blab. A reader projects itself onto the blue dog.
The blue dog was lost in space. Or off being reverential around the unclothed goddess.
We can't help but wondering what unclothed goddess our reader worships.

Blab. An extremely attentive reader writes:
Plurp is my life, so when you fail to post on the weekend, I have no weekend. Please stop failing to post on the weekend. Love, Little Billy.
We love this kind of doting attention to detail. We do! This kind of doting, obsessive, inbred detail.

Blab. An academically impressive reader states this theorem.
No Plurps makes baby Jesus cry
It is a mathematical inevitability.
Blab. A reader writes half of a poem.
It will not do
to spend the next two
years under your bed. Just won't do,
no matter how embarrassed the election makes you.
Get up,
leash that blue puppy,
and get on back.
We foresee a prosperous career with a greeting card company.

Blab. A reader, bereft of capitalization, spelling and grammar, nonetheless writes:
Where my plurp go? Hope you're Ok, and it's just busyness. -AJL
We OK, but busyness was not.

Blab. A reader greatly exaggerates the rumors of our death.
You're not dead, are you? It would make me feel bad if you were.
Imagine how we would feel! Oh. We probably wouldn't. Never mind.

Blab. Similarly, this reader is in the denial phase.
If you were actually dead, David would have said something, right? Right?
Like Osama bin Laden's associates, we expect our blog friends to deny the rumors of our death for many years after our obvious demise, making QuickTime and PhotoShop forgeries as appropriate to convince the world that we are still alive, still reading our readers' mindless email, forever blogging, far beyond any rational benefit to us or whatever cause we pretended to advocate.

Blab. An arithmetically involved reader writes:
I tried 6 at a time, 2 at a time and even alternating one in each cheek at 10 second intervals. I failed.
Don't feel bad. It is difficult. Try 3 at a time in alternative intervals.
(We have no idea what this is about. But 3 seemed like a good number. We try to take care of our readers. Even our compulsive readers.)

Blab. Speaking of which ...
*Click* *Click* *Click* Hmmm....
How kind of you to notice that we were not updating. We wonder how long our reader will sit cyber-shiva upon our actual demise.

Blab. A reader attempts to insult us.
Plurp: A weblog that is not updated for weeks at a time with little or no notice
We do not believe in giving clues to the genetically clueless. It's a religious thing with us.

Blab. Several readers, sharing the same fingers, write:
We are wondering if Steve White is alive still?
We are also wondering if Steve White is a live still. We are told that lab tests will be available next week some time.

Blab. Given recent events, a reader perfectly inverts what actually happened.
Plurp played while Rome burned.
Interestingly, the quote is not Nero fiddled while Rome burned (unless you count cartoons about something else), but rather (and our reader should be proud) Nero played while Rome burned. Even though Google favors the former over the latter by 484 to 25. Or maybe not.
But yeah, pretty much.

Blab. A reader, obsessed with nothingness, yikesifies itself.
Nothing for two weeks! Yikes! I hope everything is okay in Plurpland
Nothing is okay in Plurpland. Come live here. Pay taxes. You'll see.

Blab. A reader jumps to a perfectly sensible conclusion.
I'm sorry you're dead.
So are we. But in our next life, you and we will be dust mites in the same trailer park recliner chair. And, oh, what fun we will have.

Blab. A boring and derivative reader asks:
What hey, gives?
It's enough to make us commit suicide. Is it quite impossible for you to be more creative? If not, could you please stand on your head and scream like a chicken?
Thanks very.

Plurp.
In a previous life,
the blue dog was a dust mite
like little Billy

Thursday, November 21, 2002
Plurp. But, being back after being abducted by aliens for a couple of weeks or so, we're, like, way behind. 480 non-spam emails at work. A few less directed at Plurp, but still quite a few. It may take us several years to catch up. Plus, there's the goat.
So, be kind to us. OK? Good stuff coming. We promise. Well, pretty much.

Wednesday, November 20, 2002
Plurp. So, we're back.

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