Ask a Stupid Quetion Get a Stupid Answer

[jimmie]

Speaking of lost minds, are these collected in a lost and found somewhere?

They were, but the lost and found dude lost his mind and, subsequently the lost and found itself.

Speaking of subsequences, what happens before a dude loses his mind?

 

[Livingod]

First, a dude must be out of his mind in order to lose it. Second, since he is out of his mind, he proceeds to do something stupid such as pick up a machete or answer a quetion in this thread. Third, upon sight of this, the dude's mind decides to get out of harm's way by getting as far away from the dude as possible. Fourth, the dude has no idea that his mind is running away and pounds furiously at his keyboard in an attempt to answer the quetion as quickly as possible. (or he is slicing off body parts, either way) Fifth, now that the dude has presses the "Post Quick Reply" button (or cut off his genitals, doesn't matter) he is out of his trance and sees that his mind is gone. Finally, after a fifteen second scream, he comes to realization that he has lost his mind and needs another one. And thus are the events just before a dude loses his mind to the point when he does lose it.

Since the minds' lost-and-found is lost, where can I get myself a new mind? (because as you can tell, I have lost mine)

 

[zoobyshoe]

Since the minds' lost-and-found is lost, where can I get myself a new mind? (because as you can tell, I have lost mine)

Six out of ten lost minds are found and carried away to their nest by the common ant, where their only purpose seems to be decorative. Three of the remaining four are adopted and raised by newts, of all things, probably because minds are amphibious. The remaining one of ten often simply climbs the nearest tree and perches there indefinitely. I don't believe science has determined what they're up to. Anyway, check in some of those places.

Recently when a group of Mexican school kids mistook me for a pinata, hung me from a tree limb, and began swinging at me with a stout broom handle, it occurred to me that by losing my lunch I might fool them into thinking they'd busted me open and released the candy goodness inside.

That would've been kinda mean though, wouldn't it?

 

[Amp1]

Mean that's just the half of it, the water would have run off...where I don't know. The puke would be collected and mixed with jalapenos and searved au graten to some mutt as an hor devour the nastiness.

If the pickadilly circus competed with boarshead ham who would get sliced, dilled or julliened?

 

[jimmy p]

If the pickadilly circus competed with boarshead ham who would get sliced, dilled or julliened?

Oddly enough, neither. They would realize that they are a match made in heaven, get married and have 4 wonderful children.

If milk is left too long in cows is it turned to cheese?

 

[Amp1]

It doesn't curdle or gurgle, slosh or slish but mozzerella and jack thinks it still taste great.

When you clap with one hand, do your fingers pop?

 

[zoobyshoe]

When you clap with one hand, do your fingers pop?

This is the kind of stupid quetion that requires years of meditative deliberation before the spark of an incandescent, epiphanic insight hits you like a medium sized octopus flug from a trebuche on the other side of the moat of your small, insulated worldview and awakens you to the wondrous, sucker-tentacled, or perhaps tentacle-suckered, truth: It is that which that did it so it is that that it is!

Once when I was doing a finger-popping, hand-clapping, finger-licking, eye-popping, bunch of new dance moves I learned in a dream from a Balinese puppeteer with two left eyes, I happened to observe that I had remembered to trim the nails of the toes of one of my feet. That may seem like a good thing, but it meant I'd forgotten to do the other foot. Although it hadn't interferred with things before I noticed, this newfound awareness of being out of balance forced me to syncopate suddenly surging surreptitiously several steps sideways.

Edgar, the quick-witted piano player, saw my dilema and instantly switched to some form of ragtime music or another to cover my off-beat steppin' and jivin'. At that point a polish aviator of my acquaintance burst into the dance hall, as high as a possum with a six tank a day helium habit, and seeing me for the first time since the last time he saw me, bellowed out in my direction "WWHHHAASSSHHHEE EEEUUUUUPPPP ZZOOOOBBBYEEE?"

Lost for words, I shrugged.

What else could anyone have said in that position?

 

[jimmy p]

Well quite frankly, I wouldn't have shrugged my shoulders at that point. I would have broken 4 of my fingers and THEN shrugged my shoulders. However if I were forced at gun point to answer that kind of sick and sadistic quetion, I suppose I could have said "certainly not an earthworm, unless someone were using it to play tennis".

As I was sitting in the darkened corner of the room you were doing the finger-popping, hand-clapping, finger-licking, eye-popping dance. First I was intrigued to find my fingers both being popped and licked, and then pleasantly suprised to find my eyes popping along with my fingers.

After pondering upon this for about 8 weeks without food, sleep or drink, I finally came up with a quetion or two. When was the last time someone did an eye licking dance? And who was responsible for such a contraversial act?

 

[zoobyshoe]

When was the last time someone did an eye licking dance?

I'm surprised a man of your je ne sais quios has never seen the tragi-poetic cinematic masterpiece Last Eye Licking Dance In Paris staring Marmon Blandoh as the middle aged, existentially tubby seducer of the young, existentially well busomed, curly-haired young actress, whom we get to existentially see pretty much buck naked in a scene or two, which is important when you're a young zoobie just turned 18 and allowed to get into such films.

Which is the position I found myself in at the time. Also, I was seated. It was a movie theater, if I recall correctly, and I was surrounded by movie goers. It was dark. I started practising my typing on the head of the gentleman in front of me: aa ss dd ff jj kk ll ;;. He found it soothing, I supposed, since there were no complaints. Perhaps he'd simply passed away, though. I didn't smell anything to that effect. Perhaps I'd have envied him if he had. What a way to go!

Ennit?

 

[jimmy p]

There are many factors to consider here, such as why you missed out such important letters as gg and hh. Also, the fact that that you used the more inferior letters on the second alphabetical row as opposed to the much reknowned QWERTY, or the much scorned ZXCVBNM (scorned for its overuse of consonants). My guess would be that he took this as an insult, as many indigenous peoples of Bognor Regis may well do and in a fit of rage, fell into a coma. Ennit? I think not.

As an avid user of keyboards, I am prone to noticing that I overuse the "e" key. Having being spurned on by your story of soothing cranial typing skills, I conducted research on 117 Sociology students (in case I tapped to hard, it wouldn't matter) and discovered that the reason that "e" is so popular is that it has the most soothing effect on people when typed on their head, regardless of hair or not. I was wondering, can anyone explain this mysterious phenomenon?

 

[zoobyshoe]

I was wondering, can anyone explain this mysterious phenomenon?

"e" generally ends up just anterior to the soprifiform gyrus of the left parietal lobe when cranially typed, stimulating such a surge of bordom that the person is rendered fast asleep within seconds. Unless the typist has shorter fingers whereupon the tapped "e" hits just posterior to said gyrus, resulting in the stimulation of reverse-hearing syndrome, a peculiar experience in which things are heard in reverse. Which is what you'd expect from the name of the syndrome. That's not always the case with syndromes. Some syndromes, like Archer's Left Thumb Syndrome, mis-suggest what they're all about. We'd expect that to have something to do with Archery when, in fact, it is a debilitating reading impairment that developes from trying to read the messages typed on people's heads. These always seem to say "left thumb", and the condition was first described, not by any Doctor Archer, but by Dr. Clarence F. Folletos, who named it after the man whose head most often seemed to have these words typed on it.

Was that too much detail?

 

[jimmy p]

Was that too much detail?

The stupidity of that quetion belies the longevity of the previous answer. There were many theorems which support reasons as to why the general idocy of a quetion is directly linked to the longevity of the previous answer. Unfortunately, when all the leading researchers were presented with the quetion about stupid quetion:detailed previous answer, they were first of all confused as to what the previous answer to that quetion was, and it's length, which is now a known constant, of @. The main concern was that once they had finished coming up with an answer, the posed it to the board, who asked an insanely stupid quetion. Giving that their 5000 page dossier was the previous answer to that quetion, the researchers were infuriated and burned the work.

To keep a balance between my answer and the possible stupidity of the quetion I'm about to ask, how long do you think your answer should be?

 

[jimmie]

Was that too much detail?

Yes.

Speaking of details, what part of the cow gets cut-off first at the slaughter house?

 

[zoobyshoe]

To keep a balance between my answer and the possible stupidity of the quetion I'm about to ask, how long do you think your answer should be?

I like to follow classical guidelines in this sort of thing. Specifically, the wisdom of Squanderus Maximus, the Latin pedant and social critic, who advised that the ratio of anser to quetion should not depart appreciably from the ratio of the length of an oxtail at high noon on the second day of the feast of Jupiter to the weight of a bushel of Carthaginian shoe leather. He thought that a nice ratio. He had his reasons.

Speaking of the ancients, I was recently looking over my boyhood copy of the great Latin General Seizer's account of his military campaigns in Baul, Seizer's Baulic (rhymes with bollock) Wars, and read again those famous opening words, "Greater Baul is divided by zero into three parts, one of which is inhabited by the circle squarers, another by the angle trisectors, and the third of which by the..."

Who remembers who inhabited the third part?

 

[jimmy p]

Who remembers who inhabited the third part?

If I recall correctly, it was an ancient race of isoceles dodecahedronites. A much feared race of people, violent and zealously dedicated to their god, Geometrus.

This discussion of ancient history brings me to other quetions. As we are well aware through the ages, there has always been a favourite drink. Nowadays, we have cola, in the middle ages, there was a concoction made from the horn of a unicorn, in the dark ages there was a sweat mixed with larks droppings. I am having a dinner party in a few days, and have the ingredients to make these delightful potions, but I can't for the life of me remember what the Romans used to drink.

Can you give me the recipe?

 

[zoobyshoe]

Can you give me the recipe?

Start with an amphora or two of common wine. Add three handfuls of yellow ochre Earth from the left bank of the Tiber and three fish heads per litre of liquid, and let sit in the sun two weeks. Now add four cups of the juice of stinging nettles, stir, and pour the contents into several pigs stomachs, hang from the limb of a deciduous tree, and beat the bags for an hour with switches cut from bushes growing outside the Temple of Bacchus. Set the bags on the ground and have them be sat upon for warming by any corpulent peasant women who've had more than three children. Add some pellets of lead, a dash of quicksilver, and the hooves and hide scraps of ruminant animals. Simmer. Decant. Chill. Add a raspberry. Enjoy!

Why couldn't I think of a more Byzantine and disturbing recipe?

 

[jimmy p]

Why couldn't I think of a more Byzantine and disturbing recipe?

I have had my suspicions about you right from the start. You have come across as Byzantinian in the past, however I feel it is a ruse. At first I was awake at night wondering why that answer was not as it should have been. In the brief moments that I slept, I also awoke screaming and in a cold sweat because I felt that my previous quetion and answer were of a mediocre standard, they didn't have the edge. Could it be? They certainly had a level of stupidity, and that helped me reason with myself. It merely states "ask a stupid quetion, get a stupid answer", it doesn't require degrees of stupidity, and therefore my responses were just. Which leads me to you. I spent the day looking through the web and various ancient texts, rubbings and manuscripts in my vault, and nowhere did the word Zoobyshoe, Zooby, or shoe appear in any ancient language, except that of the Minoans. The brush shelter is where Minoan hermits, who pondered on the stupidity in life, lived. You would expect them to be messy, but no. Zooby's of the ancient kind were orderly. So the reason you couldn't think of a Byzantine and disgusting answer is because you are a clean living Minoan Zooby.

Because I spent all of this time in my vault searching for the answer, I have missed a days work and have developed an allergy to dust. Was it worth it?

 

[zoobyshoe]

Because I spent all of this time in my vault searching for the answer, I have missed a days work and have developed an allergy to dust. Was it worth it?

Definitely not since all you uncovered was the forged and false "De Zoobiem Minous", a pseudo-treatise which was created from scratch in the twelfth century to discredit zoobies who were then politically out of favor. I assure you we are, and have always been, quite consistently untidy. Neatness and tidiness amaze and fascinate us, but it's not like we'll ever get the hang of it.

Lately I have been having the strange and uncanny experience of sensing ahead of time what people are going to post at PF. I think perhaps this is the result of a spell someone has place on me, or it could be a side effect of the tooth I had removed a month ago. At any rate, I dislike it since it is not much different that watching a movie and having some jerk who's already seen it exitedly spilling the beans about what's going to happen next.

How do I get it to stop?

 

[Livingod]

Well, it's actually quite easy, first off you... BOO! Didn't see that coming, did you?

Did you see it coming?

 

[zoobyshoe]

Did you see it coming?

No, I'm completely cured, thanks.

How did I know I was going to write that?

 

[jimmy p]

How did I know I was going to write that?

I would say that it were an outer body experience.

Would you have known this is a previous life however?

 

[zoobyshoe]

Would you have known this is a previous life however?

I would have, yes, except no one bothered to E-Mail me.

Apparently last night I was talking loudly in my sleep, for today an irate neighbor knocked on my door with a cassette tape of strange zoobie howls, shrieks, and screams which she said were emanating from my brush shelter in the wee hours.

Taking the tape to analyze more closely, I heard myself saying, in the zoobie tongue, such odd things as "...the weird purple sisterhood gargles with the anxious broth of the third-born tijuana zebra, and paints the dimmer brothers of the marsh wren with salisbury ink, pushing them, Rambo-like, toward the fate of the super-turtle that could not fly..."

and:

"...haircuts don't sing to the scissors, neither do toenail clippers speed the hero-pencil sharpener to the brink of polished cardboard when the need of the carbon fiber eaters is emergent or the whinning of the true blue meter rods has warped the devil notebook to it's maximum extention, in this perpendicular universe..."

and:

"...flank the elders, music elves, for the harsh star rises and unzips all our rubber band balsa planes. The hour of the glazing is at hand, and the cock vanes point to the city of the low rhythms in the land of five sweet treats a night for the polyethelene fairy. Light your pipes, and frown upon the exploding truffles of your unfresh underwear. Rampage delicately with your wispy sequoia smiles, barking not at the metals below gold, nor above aluminum. Goodnight and God speed..."

So, it turned out it was all perfectly clear.

How high can ants count?

 

[Livingod]

If by 'ants' you mean 'teens' and by 'count' you mean 'get', then the sky is the limit (nice pun, huh) but by any chance you don't mean such things, it is the total number of jobs that the ant has. Jobs include but are not limited to:
digging
fighting
enforcing the queen's laws
"personally" servicing the queen ant (i.e. populating)
among others.

What does your quetion have anything to do with the 4 paragraphs you wrote right before it?

(And does the quetion above make grammatical sense?)

 

[zoobyshoe]

What does your quetion have anything to do with the 4 paragraphs you wrote right before it?

Exactly as much as it seems to, depending on the angle of your view and the color temperature of the light with which you illuminate it.

Speaking of jury duty, recently I received about a pound of beeswax in the mail from a beeswax vendor in Anaheim with a cover letter informing me it was a free sample for me to try in my candle making business, sent in the hope I'd find it superior to the beeswax I presently use and would order more from them in the future.

Who among you is spreading the strange rumor I am in the candle making business?

 

[Livingod]

Oh no! You found out! Everyone in PF was conspiring against you. We tried to kill you with beeswax and this pound of beeswax would be the means to do it. "Why send me the murder weapon?" you ask, because wax is too sticky to carry from New York to your brush shelter so we sent it there beforehand.

Am I going to get killed for spilling the beans?

 

[jimmy p]

Am I going to get killed for spilling the beans?

I would most probably say yes, but I don't know what spilling beans has to do with telling everyone zooby has a secret passion for homemade candlelit dinners.

Because we have wax in our ears, how do the bees get it out?

 

[jimmie]

Because we have wax in our ears, how do the bees get it out?

They don't get it out. They put it in there. While you were not conscious. I thought everyone knew that. Bees are busy inside ears. Only hear them when awake.

Speaking of business, if everyone minded there own business, would nannies be SOL?

 

[zoobyshoe]

They don't get it out. They put it in there. While you were not conscious. I thought everyone knew that. Bees are busy inside ears. Only hear them when awake.

Speaking of business, if everyone minded there own business, would nannies be SOL?

That, or they might be YRQ, PXL, FGZ or DDD.

Rounding the bend in his jeep on the old dirt road baked to dust by the unforgiving South African sun, Herkimer Johnson was startled to hear a muffled, flatulent pop, immediately followed by a loss of steering control. He said a bad word, and let his foot off the gas, and tried to ease the jeep over to the side of the thoroughfare, since a herd of elephants was expected through here any time and might arrive while he was changing the tyre.

Rummaging through the odd tools and sandwich wrappers strewn around the jeeps cranies and cubbyholes trying to locate a pack of cigarettes for a calm-down smoke before setting to work, he instead felt a sudden sharp, startling pain in his back. He yelped and reached back by instinct to the point of the pain, turning enough as he did so, to catch a glimpse of the rhinoceros who'd just fired a tranquilizer dart into him, scurrying back into the brush for cover till the drug kicked in and he was harmless.

"Cor!" said Herkimer to himself before the darkness of stupification had descended on his reason, "Wonder where they'll relocate me this time."

Say, where's Math Is Hard been lately?

 

[Livingod]

Probably picking up the beans that I spilled.

(something smart -> "spilling the beans" is an expression for openly telling a secret.)

Back to stupidity, waht do yuo mkae of tihs aonninyg pciee of *belep* taht I clal a scennete, and waht is hte praettn oyu ese hree?

 

[jimmy p]

Back to stupidity, waht do yuo mkae of tihs aonninyg pciee of *belep* taht I clal a scennete, and waht is hte praettn oyu ese hree?

I say it is a darn sight more interesting than cockney rhyming slang. Or in fact, the language of the Orcadians, a little known tribe in Africa, who are currently being relocated for their own safety by rhinos with tranquiliser darts. Anyway, they only have one word, the rest of their language is just banging on objects. This word is "Ngoyliwie". So a sentence would be "Ngoyliwie ngoyliwie ngoyliwie ngoyliwie ngoyliwie ngoyliwie ngoyliwie ngoyliwie ngoyliwie ngoyliwie ngoyliwie ngoyliwie ngoyliwie" which as you can see is quite repetitive and doesn't actually explain much. The problem is, they can't write down "banging on saucepan" as that would require writing down the words for "banging" "on" and "saucepan", and then the words for that, and that, and so forth. Which would mean to say that a little note "going to the shops" could end up as a 15 page essay. So they stick to "Ngoyliwie".

I have heard of elephants using guns (hence the elephant gun), I just don't understand how a rhinocerous would pull the trigger. Can someone explain?

 

[zoobyshoe]

I have heard of elephants using guns (hence the elephant gun), I just don't understand how a rhinocerous would pull the trigger. Can someone explain?

Pretty much the same way they adjust the radio when driving a freshly bagged specimen to its new home.

After the explosion it took a while for the dust to settle. Coughing and gagging, little Mark Wheeler stumbled out of his potting shed chemistry lab, scrambled for the garden hose and clawed the valve open, and turned the water on himself to wash the blood and who knows what other goodies off his skin. "Damn," he swore, "I wish Mum and Dad would make their own meth."

Did Math get all her beans in a row?

 

[jimmy p]

After the explosion it took a while for the dust to settle. Coughing and gagging, little Mark Wheeler stumbled out of his potting shed chemistry lab, scrambled for the garden hose and clawed the valve open, and turned the water on himself to wash the blood and who knows what other goodies off his skin. "Damn," he swore, "I wish Mum and Dad would make their own meth."

Did Math get all her beans in a row?

It depends what kind of order she wanted them in. Rows are so plain nowadays. I would have arranged them in cohorts. Or in cahoots. Which is I'm sure what Roman owls would have done.

Mark Wheeler should have chewed off the valve. Why would he want to wash the goodies off?

 

[Drimar]

So, what have those Roman owls done to you ?

 

[zoobyshoe]

Why would he want to wash the goodies off?

Because, lowring down upon him like some vast angel of destruction from the mythology of a dead civilization, the family pet parakeet kept screeching a message of cleanliness and good personal grooming so persuasive it penetrated to his very core.

OK?

 

[jimmy p]

So, what have those Roman owls done to you ?

The idea is you answer the last poster's stupid quetion before asking a new one

Exactly my point. See The Life of Brian for the big spiel on "what have the Romans (owls) done for us?".

I shall answer zooby's quetion now.

OK?

Well, what is OK nowadays? I'm not ok with OK. Those two letters mean nothing to me. OK is definitely not ok. OK has lost it's OK-like status. It should be changed to make it ok.

What should we change OK to, so that is becomes ok again?