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2002.11.24 : 2002.11.30
Saturday, November 30, 2002
Blab. Misreading that bit about
hufflepuffery, a reader asks, with a certain incredulousness:
pufferbellies?
Yes. All in a row.
Blab. Thinking that we actually continue to look for links to
random stories that our readers send us when they're too lazy to send us
links themselves, this helpful reader writes:
The hell story is all over
the place. Here's
one link for you, in case you're still looking for one.
Ah yes, very nice indeed. Unfortunately for the both of us, another reader
sends us an even more ominous ...
[link].
This latter link is to Snopes which, as you might expect, debunks the story
of the thermodynamics of hell. Too bad. It was a good story.
Blab. Rather out of any known context, a reader writes:
My
nipples explode with delight!
We are, of course, happy for you.
Blab. Apparently unhappy with our lack of motivation to find
links for vast amounts of text sent to us by lazy AOL
readers, a reader sends us a link to a small newspaper site and then
orders us around.
now
find it
Let's see. Does this increase our motivation? Let's check ... uh, no,
it does not.
Blab. That misspelling indentured servant of a wealthy but cruel
gentleman writes:
I have bought a dictionary.
Expect nothing but the finest English grammar from now on.
And, presumably, somewhat less punishment from Sir. If that was your goal.
Plop. Well, it's Binge Day III: The Birthday, the subject of
which is a one year old great-nephew (we think), but the madness of which
involves a massive, roiling pack of neighbors and relatives of our sister-in-law,
some of whom are still recovering from Binge Day II: The Family, and some
one whom are new victims.
You have to work? It's Thanksgiving!
What are you, a workaholic?
Yes.
We told Helen that we have to work all day, and we actually do, on some
stuff that was due last week and on which we are in Big Trouble already.
But it does provide a convenient and almost acceptable excuse for anti-sociality.
You should come out and socialize.
There are lots of people here that you know.
Yeah. I will. In a bit.
We find that our ability to socialize with random people, especially large,
chaotic groups of random people, is quite circumscribed these days. We
anticipate a dotage of reclusive, curmudgeonly behavior.
Plurp. Is flummox a verb? The Google
dictionary thinks it is, and potentially transitive to boot. Has anyone
ever flummoxed you? In public?
Come here, my dear, and I
will whisper parts of speech into your tender ear until you beg me to flummox
you.
Yo. Remember Larry Niven's flash
crowds - huge collections of people who would teleport into anyplace
where something interesting was happening? Well, it turns out that it
didn't require such advanced technology.
"A quite sophisticated text
messaging network has sprung up," an "insider" told the Scottish Daily
Record. "If [Prince] William is spotted anywhere in the town then messages
are sent out" on his admirers' cell phones. "It starts off quite small.
The first messages are then forwarded to more girls and so on. It just
has a snowball effect. Informing 100 girls of his movements takes just
seconds." At one bar, the prince had to be moved to a safe location when
more than 100 "lusty ladies," so alerted, suddenly mobbed the place like
cats responding to the sound of a can opener.
Chalk up another life changed by "swarming,"
a behavior that is transforming social, work, military and even political
lives worldwide, especially among the young.
We're sure our readers already swarm regularly. Us? We don't get out much.
 Plurp.
The blue dog
consisted entirely of
flummoxed pufferbellies
arranged by
lazy AOL readers
Friday, November 29, 2002
Blab. We receive a holiday request.
Subj: Dimensional
Warp Generator
I've forwarded this request as I'm
unable to supply the requested items. This is due to the unfortunate circumstance
that when last I observed reality the probability wave collapsed and left
me stranded in this backwater of time. However, you appear to have "connections"
so perhaps you can help this person..
Dorian
------- Start of forwarded message
-------
From: hammill@gte.net ()
subject: DWG Needed! 9755
Hello,
If you are a Time Traveler I am going
to need the following:
1. A modified mind warping Dimensional
Warp Generator # 52 4350a series wrist watch with memory adapter.
2. Reliable carbon based, or silicon
based time transducing capacitor.
I need a reliable source!! Please
only reply if you are reliable. Send a (SEPARATE) email to me at: hornty1@email.com
We
are not alone.
Blab. A reader with a dangerous deer infection writes:
Subj: King Bush
It appears that the Ministry of Truth
is already taking action to "reconfigure the government" and elide laws
that block "effective action". My daughter was stopped today on the Taconic
parkway by "police" dressed in fatigues, as was very
other car. Her car was searched.
The reason given was that there were deer in the area with a dangerous
infection and they wanted to warn hunters not to eat the deer. Last week
it was unconstitutional to perform these kind of searches. No longer, it
seems.
Well, I'm waiting for the full explanation
to arrive. My subscription to King Bush's Ministry of Truth newspaper,
called Pravda, should start soon. I'm sure all will be make clear as soon
as I can get it translated from NewSpeak.
Dorian.
We hope you get cured soon, citizen.
Blab. On the topic of the mercurial Randy
Smith, a reader writes:
Randall B. Smith
At last, photographic evidence of
my long-held belief that Freddie Mercury faked his own death.
L.
And, even more curiously, he's now working for Sun Labs. Who woulda thunk?
Blab. A cheerful reader writes:
"Killing grinning tourists
from Missouri who were standing along Broadway."
Trust me. People from Missouri never
grin. That might imply that life was something other than a painful burden
to be endured until the coming of sweet, sweet death.
Of course, they probably would enjoy
the being killed part. It would justify their beliefs that the universe
was out to get them, and of course it involves sweet, sweet death, always
a popular subject.
L.
For better of worse, the winds were light this year, so Kermit and his
bulbous, helium-filled friends didn't careen through the skies, knocking
down lamp posts and sending grinning Midwesterners to the Bellvue emergency
ward, along with the crack addicts and drive-by shooting victims.
Ah well. There's always next year.
Blab. Here's a surprise.
Whoever's been sending you
blabs plagiarizing my
yet unpublished dictionary left out a bit.
Omigosh! We have a hitherto unknown reader!
Plop. It's Binge Day II: The Family. And we haven't even recovered
from the original Binge Day yet! But it's late evening now and, the loud
and disruptive contingent having departed, the rest of us are cozied up
around the familial TV watching some Muppet movie or other, trying desperately
to digest the several dozen pounds of turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy and
cranberry sauce which constituted our stuffing.
How did gluttony get to be a national tradition, anyhow?
Yow. Have you heard about Star
Wars: Galaxies?
Star Wars: Galaxies is set
in the classic era of the story during the Galaxy-wide war brought about
by the destruction of the first Death Star.
[T]he Mos Eisley spaceport on Tatooine,
where Luke Skywalker first meets Han Solo and Chewbacca in Episode IV,
will take a game character 55 minutes just to walk across, let alone fully
explore.
Coming in December. Could
be cool.
Yow. Now this
is really funny! (Liloia)
Condi: Hu is the new
leader of China.
George: That's what I want
to know.
Condi: That's what I'm telling
you.
George: That's what I'm asking
you. Who is the new leader of China?
Condi:
Yes.
George: I mean the fellow's
name.
Condi: Hu.
George: The guy in China.
Condi: Hu.
Go read the whole thing!
Plurp.
The blue dog
was still recovering from
Binge Day p:
The Blue Dog
Thursday, November 28, 2002
Blab. Our Treasured Reader from yesterday follows our
advice regarding The System cracking down on its reading of Plurp.
I showed 'Sir'. He seemed
impressed by your marvelous teaching method, teaching us young vagrants
spelling.
I got detention too.
Ah. We had the mistaken impression, yesterday, that you were the subject
of an unreasonable school teacher. We hadn't realized that you were, in
fact, the indentured servant of a wealthy but cruel gentleman (in the grand
tradition of the many novels by Anonymous).
We recommend that you buy a dictionary.
Blab. A reader who is likely to be Helen writes:
Don't listen to Steve complain
about family holidays and feasting (that's what it really is!) I
have told him he can stay home in NYC with Christopher and I will go by
myself (sniff) but he says, "nooooooo." So, he has a choice.
She's right, of course. We could choose to never hear the end of
it.
Blab. A reader who is also probably Helen can't be bothered to
send us links to these articles that she found on AOL.
Lizzie Grubman to Be Released
Early
Traffic lights indicative of cultural
shift
So we may never know the enigmatic connection between these two alleged
facts.
Blab. In a nostalgic vein, a reader invites us to an ...
Adventure!
It being a map of the Colossal Cave. If you know what we're talking about,
go there and smile. Otherwise, just skip it. It's too complicated to explain
how wonderful this is.
We will admit to this being our first use of the Internet, to zoop on
over to MIT to play this, and their Really Awful Chess Game. A long time
ago. A really, really long time ago.
Blab. A reader sends us a very long thingie, which is probably
on the Web somewhere, but we're too lazy to look just now, so here it is.
The following is an actual
question given on a Hawaii chemistry mid-term exam.
Bonus Question: Is Hell exothermic
(gives off heat) or endothermic (absorbs heat)?
Most of the students wrote proofs of
their beliefs using Boyle's Law gas cools off when it expands and heats
up when it is compressed) or some variant.
One student, however, wrote the following
:
First, we need to know how
the mass of Hell is changing in time. So we need to know the rate that
souls are moving into Hell and the rate they are leaving. I think that
we can safely assume that once a soul gets to Hell, it will not leave.
Therefore, no souls are leaving.
As for how many souls are entering
Hell, let's look at the different religions that exist in the world today.
Some of these religions state that if you are not a member of their religion,
you will go to Hell. Since there are more than one of these religions and
since people do not belong to more than one religion, we can project that
all souls go to Hell.
With birth and death rates as they
are, we can expect the number of souls in Hell to increase exponentially.
Now, we look at the rate of change
of the volume in Hell because Boyle's Law states that in order for the
temperature and pressure in Hell to stay the same, the volume of Hell has
to expand proportionately as souls are added. This gives two possibilities:
(1) If Hell is expanding at a slower
rate than the rate at which souls enter Hell, then the temperature and
pressure in Hell will increase until all Hell breaks loose.
(2) If Hell is expanding at a rate
faster than the increase of souls in Hell, then the temperature and pressure
will drop until Hell freezes over.
So which is it?
If we accept the postulate given to
me by Teresa during my Freshman year, that "...it will be a cold day in
Hell before I sleep with you", and take into account the fact that I still
have not succeeded in having sexual relations with her, then No. 2 cannot
be true, and thus I am sure that Hell is exothermic and will not freeze.
This student received the only "A".
The argument is fallacious, of course, but funny!
Plop. Some
idiot from the NYT, having recently discovered blogs, laments that
most of the blogs she follows are written by men.
A few months ago I joined
legions of other online narcissists and decided to start a Weblog, one
of those personal Web sites where people spout their thoughts for the world
to read. Within a few days I was browsing through other Weblogs, commonly
called blogs, for inspiration. And within a week, it hit me: the sites
I was visiting were all run by men.
Feh. There are billions of blogs. Many of the blogs we follow are
written by women: Beth, Caterina,
mouse,
rebecca,
Zannah.
We like women. That bozo NYT writer should take responsibility for
her own prejudices.
 Plurp.
British
surgeons say they'll be able to do full
face transplants pretty soon: skin, bone, nose, chin, lips and ears,
everything. We're getting in line right away. We always wanted the face
of Michael Jackson.
But then, so does he.
Plurp.
The blue dog
lost Michael Jackson's nose
in the Colossal Cave
Wednesday, November 27, 2002
Blab. A reader objects to the entire vegetable methodology
from yesterday.
I wanna know the percentage
that think of a carrot WIVVOUT all the 6-related hufflepuffery.
So you'll do that experiment and get back to us? Excellent.
Blab. A disturbingly normal reader writes:
My mind seems to be normal
as well. And as a long-time Plurp reader, I'm a bit ashamed that
I didn't come up with beets.
As well you should be! Between that and your rude normality, we're considering
banning you from Plurp until you mend your ways.
Blab. Not all of our readers are normal.
I guess I'm as non-normal
as the Blue Dog. I chose Rhudabega as well....
- Felis Lynx
Interesting spelling.
Blab. But, as usual, our readers have a limited attention span.
Why a carrot? I hardly ever
think about carrots. Why couldn't it be leek, just like I thought. Guess
I'm just not normal :( -AJL
So you're saying you'd rather take a ... ?
Blab. A feisty reader picks a ...
Google
fight!
 OK,
so look. We asked Google what it thought about Rhudabagah.
Ever helpful, Google asked if we meant Rhudabega.
Sure, we said, so that's what we had the blue dog say yesterday.
Two things were wrong with this. (1) Rhudabega
is a band, and presumably not a veggie; the vegetable turns out to be Rutabaga.
(2) What's this rutabaga stuff anyhow? Clearly, the blue dog meant
canned
beets.
Everything is so corrected; reason and rationality is returned to the
universe.
Blab. Our emotional equilibrium is similarly restored by this
Treasured Reader.
When it said think of a vegetable
FAST NOW NOW I panicked and picked "apple."
So I'm not normal.
-pTang
Or very bright, we fear.
Blab. The System cracks down on a Plurp reader.
I am illegaly reading plurp-
this being school and plurp being 'uneccessary and non-educational'...apparently
Tell your teacher that (a) you have obsessive-compulsive disorder, so it
really is necessary for you to read Plurp, and (b) the words are
spelled illegally and unnecessary, so Plurp is, in
fact, educational.
Let us know how you do.
Rant. Wednesday already? Why are we always the last to know?
Plop. Disaster! Overnight, trillions of tiny, alien
spacecraft descended to Earth, and are currently streaming through
the air, smothering the trees, the ground, seeking surreptitious entry
into car windows and bodily orifices. Trillions? Far more than that. An
inestimable horde.
The tiny craft are cold to the touch, vaguely white, and have the insidious
property of liquefying upon close examination.
Clearly, these craft hold armies of alien nanobots, and their impossibly
large number can mean only one thing: Invasion, and on a massive scale.
So where you gonna go, where you gonna run, where you gonna hide? Nowhere.
Plurp. Once again, the most popular search term in our
gleaming chromium search engine this week?
helen naked pitures
The universe is comforting in its unchanging nature, is it not?
Yak.
You don't sound very good.
Uuhnk.
Are you getting sick?
Dunno.
What do you mean, you don't know?
It's morning. To me, there's not much
difference between sickness and morning.
Yak. Lunchtalk. Ian, we
seem to recall.
Here's a new motto for Sun:
We're the dot in 3.92.
We all thought that was mighty funny, but we also suspected that our friends
at Sun wouldn't share our good humor.
Yow. Oh. My. Gawd. There's a
sushi place just opened up near us that might (a) be good and (b) deliver.
Should this prove to be the case, don't expect to see us outside our apartment
again for several months.
Rant. We hate this time of year. We've just suffered through
two
weeks (well, 1.3, actually) of insane stress at work. Sleepless nights,
outbreaks of excema, an incessant cough, an incipient cold, our very first
case of TMJ ever. Tomorrow, we're having friends over for Binge Day. Friday,
we train down to Maryland, where Helen's sister lives. Saturday is Binge
Day II: The Family. Sunday we train it back here with her mother. Monday
is Binge Day III: The Relatives. Did we mention that we have a backlog
of stressful work we have to get through before then? Well, we do.
It's times like these that make alien abduction look so very attractive.
Plurp.
The blue dog
was about as normal as
Ellen Feiss
Tuesday, November 26, 2002
Blab. Our fact checkers check in.
As E B White said that in
1949, I suspect he was in fact talking about Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and
your very same duck-and-cover drills...
And, complete with links:
I don't think that E.B. "missed
a couple of generations," seeing as the passage you quote was published
in 1949. Incidentally, White
died in 1985.
Please tell me you knew this already
and were just trolling.
We'd love to claim that we were just pulling the wool over your leg, but
that would be a lie. We were lazy. As to E.B. dying, we didn't even know
he was sick.
Blab. Our Missouri reader checks in with this:
Traffic jams, attractive
target for terrorists. And this is different from NYC without the
Olympics how?
It's a quantitative difference that becomes qualitative. Like Missouri
and any place interesting.
Blab. Looking out for what interests us, a reader finds this.
In case you haven't seen
it, here's the Ellen
Feiss Interview.
 Ellen
Feiss is, of course, the stoner high schoolie who did that
great Apple ad that everyone has seen on the Web, but no one has seen
on TV. Here, in its most derivative form, is an
interview with Ellen Feiss herself, about the ad.
I was on Benedryl, my allergy
medication, so I was really out of it anyway. That’s why my eyes were all
red, because I have seasonal allergies. But no one believes me.
And we're like, okaaaay.
Blab. A reader sends us something astonishing!
Is your mind normal?
We would have bet large sums that it was not. But, according to this very
surprising test, it is. How do they do that? Reader are encouraged
to send us their explanations.
Really.
Blab. In case we were wondering, a reader lets us know ...
How to piss
off a cat
Shaving your cat? Yeah, that'll do it, we bet.
Plurp. Other than that, too busy! Fend for yourselves.
Plurp.
The blue dog's
mind wasn't
normal
Monday, November 25, 2002
Blab. It being Monday, we start the day with a rather
sobering thought. Naturally, we promise to abandon sobriety immediately
thereafter.
And this from E B White...
"The city, for the first time in its
long history, is destructible. A single flight of planes no bigger than
a wedge of geese can quickly end this island fantasy, burn the towers,
crumble the bridges, turn the underground passages into lethal chambers,
cremate the millions. The intimation of mortality is part of New York now;
in the sounds of jets overhead, in the black headlines of the latest editions."
"All dwellers in cities must live
with the stubborn fact of annihilation; in New York the fact is somewhat
more concentrated because of the concentration of the city itself, and
because, of all targets, New York has a certain clear priority. In the
mind of whatever perverted dreamer might loose the lightning, New York
must hold a steady, irresistible charm."
Speaking as a perverted dreamer, we definitely find that New York holds
a steady, irresistible charm.
But we think E.B. missed a couple of generations. We grew up with duck-and-cover
drills. As a ten year old, we understood very deeply that cities were destructible,
and with much less than a bunch of planes. We might imagine that the survivors
of Hiroshima and Nagasaki had this same understanding. Later, we learned
that it was not just cities, but countries, continents, the entire surface
ecology of the Earth. The present-day threats to which E.B. alludes, while
quite nasty, are nearly insignificant compared to that.
Blab. So! Enough seriousness! A Treasured Reader gets us back
on track with some good news.
[link]
[link]
It seems that Call of Cthulhu: Dark Corners of the Earth, that first-person
horror game we thought would die on the vine, might yet see life! We're
not going to hold our breath, given that their ship date is still infinitely
far away, but it is reason for hope.
Blab. We are somehow a lightning rod for things like this.
The singing
horsies!
Click on them to make them sing...click
again to make them stop.
Beware...it's addictive!
We must admit: it is remarkable how much fun this is, given the really
tiny amount of control you have over it. We've currently got it reproducing
Gregorian chants, and what could be more fun than that?
 Blab.
The recent incidental appearance of
Little
Billy here in Plurp caused mental stirrings in one of our many
opinionated readers.
Little Billy is a whiny wimp,
you'd do better to have Little
Richy as a reader.
No, it's not the wild musician. It's Richard Sandrak, the oxymoronic Little
Hercules, a ten-year old kid whose parents just might have certain body-image
issues. Maybe.
Blab. An enthusiastic reader suggests:
We can do probability trees!
Can we? In what context? And what will we have once we are done?
Blab. A reader has a reaction to something. Again, we don't know
what, but we really, really, like the reaction.
Odd, very odd... odd indeed
to the point where i am greatly confused and amused at the same time...
odd... very odd.
We will take this, arbitrarily, perhaps, as a global reaction to Plurp.
As such, we take great pride in having elicited it.
Plurp. Via that quaint analog mail service, a reader sends us
a physical post card advertising a chain of stores named Blue
Dog.
No, not that blue dog.
Plurp. Breaking news from CNN.
William
Shatner: Techno-Idiot
We're not sure why they felt it necessary to qualify that.
Yak. Or, as Helen said just tonight:
Pack up those problems in
the old steel truck and fly, baby, fly.
Ya gotta love her. Ya do. It's so multi-layered.
Plop. The US, in its infinite wisdom, has sentenced New York
to be the US candidate
city for the 2012 Olympics.
If the Olympic Committee actually does this, it'll mean years of traffic
jams while they construct all that junk, a fantastic two-for-one terrorist
opportunity during the Olympics themselves, followed by decades of traffic
jams from having things like football games in a stadium in the middle
of (wait for it!) Manhattan.
You know, we leave for a couple of weeks and everybody just gets stupid
on us.
Plurp.
The blue dog,
for the first time in history,
was destructible
Sunday, November 24, 2002
Blab. At some time in the distant past, we seem to have
made some snotty remarks about a lazy "Canadian", probably one that is
also a reader. Anyhow, our less lazy readers respond, this one from "Canada".
Subj: Canadian
Travel Advisory
Hello. Love your blog. Here's
the link my lazy countryman forgot to send you. It's rather a dull
read in itself, but makes an eloquest comment on what Mr. Bush is doing
to the world. (click on "United States")
If you say so. But the referenced page is in some furrin language, and
we can't find any United States link anyway. Fortunately, a less
lazy reader writes:
RE: LAZY
CANADIANS
Yours,
Busily reloading United States Citizen
There we are!
Canada issued a travel advisory
this week urging Canadian citizens born in Iran, Iraq, Libya, Sudan and
Syria to consider avoiding travel to the United States.
The advisory, released by the Canadian
Ministry of Foreign Affairs on Monday, was in response to U.S. legislation
passed after the September 11 attacks authorizing the Immigration and Naturalization
Service to monitor the entry and exit of citizens from those countries.
Such monitoring allows those individuals
to be photographed and fingerprinted.
The United States of America. Now, more than ever.
Blab. Another some-time-ago topic recurs.
On seeing
what you are not seeing...or not?
We refuse to believe that anything we see is real. It's a very comforting
point of view.
Blab. Good news on Harv.
Having lost his utility as
SEC shill for the friends of the President of the United States, a wholly
owned subsidiary of Cheney Pork Findings, LLP, Harv got himself a job as
a blimp for the Thanksgiving parade in New York city.
We'll be watching to see if Harv careens into any lamp posts this year,
knocking them over and killing grinning tourists from Missouri who were
standing along Broadway. Oink!
Blab. A reader asks:
Didja know about the Iowa
Electronic Markets?
Ah, yes. These are "markets" on things like Which party will control
Congress after the next election? In old, pre-millennium parlance,
these were known as bookie joints. But now they're sponsored by
business schools, and they're on the Web and stuff, so they're "markets".
Blab. A reader catches us up on imaginary events.
FilmThreat
has been attacked by crackers, and I don't mean saltines or white boys.
Oh? How can you tell? Looks like just another snotty movie review site
to us. Kinda like Plurp, but with advertising.
Blab. OK. This is complicated. Pay attention.
Your blog was submitted on
your behalf by Satellite Mistress.
You can find the Bloggy Opinions View
on "Plurp" here
at this
link.
Silhouette
Bloggy
Opinions
So, this is a Web site that solicits random people to recommend blogs for
it to review. Here's their erudite review of Plurp.
It is a blog that is more
or less minimalistic in design -- having an unadorned white layout with
a straightforward top banner graphic.
Don’t you just love how people start
their weblog off by saying that they are moderately uncertain about the
whole blogging thing and that they really don’t know what they are going
to type exactly – yet their posts take on the effect of being long anyway?
– Not only that, but it seems that he has kept it going strong for over
two years now… Got to love the human psyche!
There is a lot of reader interaction
going on in the blog, making it worthwhile, fun, and engaging. The caption
contests are creatively amusing, the blue dog along side percept witticism,
as well as the readers’ blab are entertaining features – adds a bit of
amusement and general jovial intrigue. Though the readers’ blab interestingly
enough takes up a good deal of the blogging space, perhaps the title should
be “Plurp and Blab” – a definitive readers’ choice device. Go and get your
two cents in or just simply take a free ride! It’s kind of like Disney
Land… well maybe not, but it is enjoyable nonetheless.
We're probably too close to the subject to comment on this. But we have
to agree that our posts take on the effect of being long anyway
and that it's kind of like Disney Land... well maybe not.
And when you're tired of jovial intrigue, check out their
review of Ian's blog.
Blab. On our ongoing commuting woes, a reader writes:
For those commuters who believe
the
Third Avenue Bridge is God.
(Yes, I used to be a believer too.)
-Morton
Ah. Then we shall dismantle our altar to it forthwith
Blab. Responding to a Plurp entry that was never made,
a reader writes:
The statue: Actually this
was part of a drugstore display for "Young Ladies" underarm products.
The failed sales campaign promoted the ware saying "...so clean, so pure,
so soft even Jesus would kiss you there!!" Circa 1938.
There are so many, oh so many, responses to this that occur to us.
And we shall avoid each and every one. Yes, we will.
Blab. A rhetorical reader asks:
Anybody know where I can
get a 60
foot Lava Lamp?
No. But do you know Randy
Smith?
Blab. A reader tells us what we were all dying to hear.
Wednesday, October 16, 2002
Instead of posting here, I've been
riding my bikes. Check 'em out. The mountain bike is a Soulcraft Option
3 steel hardtail frame built up with XTR components all around and a Marzocchi
Marathon fork up front. The road bike is a Lightspeed Siena titanium frame
built up with Dura Ace components all around, a Reynolds carbon fork, and
lots of other nifty carbon and titanium bits. The entire bike, including
bottle cages, weighs 16 pounds.
We prefer walking. When you're walking, the entire bike, including bottle
cages, weighs 0 pounds.
Yak. What wakes us up at 3 AM?
Helen (screaming):Not
on the carpet! Not on the carpet!
You have to have cats to understand.
Plurp.
The blue dog
was once a thirty-foot
monument involving a lava lamp
and underarm products
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