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Author Topic: An intellectually refined thread for those who think this board has gone to hell  (Read 7069 times)

twarga

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You might think it's funny
When your nose is runny
That it tastes like honey
But it's SNOT.

Wrong thread.

There once was a man from Tanzania...  Oh yeah, wrong thread...   :-[
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DodgerLaw

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You might think it's funny
When your nose is runny
That it tastes like honey
But it's SNOT.

And here's an oldie but a goodie:

"If you think it butter, but it's snot, it's Parkay!"

DodgerLaw

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You might think it's funny
When your nose is runny
That it tastes like honey
But it's SNOT.

Wrong thread.

Hard to say. This thread deals with body waste, while the other thread is for poetry. This seems to fit into both categories. In fact the two threads may merge into one big poopy, poetic monster like a DNA experiment gone terribly wrong.

Julie Fern

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but this poetry ca-ca.

LaneSwerver

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but this poetry ca-ca.

A fav of mine:

Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbour know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
"Stay where you are until our backs are turned!"
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of out-door game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, "Good fences make good neighbours."
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
"Why do they make good neighbours? Isn't it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I'd ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That wants it down." I could say "Elves" to him,
But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father's saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, "Good fences make good neighbours."

DodgerLaw

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Okey-dokey, Lane. Are you gettin' all intellectual on us all of a sudden?

YankyKitten

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Isn't that the mending wall by robert frost? Or, a spoof on it?

LaneSwerver

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Isn't that the mending wall by robert frost? Or, a spoof on it?

It's the real one.

YankyKitten

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Sorry, it's been a while.

DodgerLaw

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Poop.