In his grand tour to seek solace for what he deemed his preternatural itch, Panurge visited the spas of the world . Under the patronage of Pantagruel, his entourage comprised Xenomanes the navigator, Canute the archbishop of Cannes, Broomhilda the matriarch of Brest, Walloon of Bedford Stryversant the countdown of Monty Cristo, Jasper John the planter of seedy evacuations, and the farmer who shall remain nameless whose brother had just died. Not to mention the concubines and dancing girls.
As the official organ of the department in charge of the security of the fatherland, mother fucker, we have been assigned the credentials by good god almighty — bow you head and bless yourself — to root into your fundamentals, just to see if there are any hints of deviation.
First off we would like to sound out your frequencies. Could you hum along to this recording of the dispatch of the tattooed man by the hairy woman.
Watch what the webcam shows. He was first on the scene and on her like an amoeba. “If you can’t join ’em, lick ’em,” he said, half in jest, but half not. Join ’em with an em dash and an en space. Lick ’em lickety split, first across the post.
As you may be well aware, all the serious critics of our project have disappeared. We make no bones about it, they were but small potatoes. Those who rooted around have also disappeared. Are there any further questions?
He was busted looking at dirty pictures. He chanced upon the girlie magazines in the gutter outside the maternity ward. He who jeopardized his family jewels now seeks a handout.
GO and catch a falling star,
Get with child a mandrake root,
Tell me where all past years are,
Or who cleft the devil’s foot,
Teach me to hear mermaids singing,
Or to keep off envy’s stinging,
Serves to advance an honest mind.
If thou be’st born to strange sights,
Things invisible to see,
Ride ten thousand days and nights,
Till age snow white hairs on thee,
Thou, when thou return’st, wilt tell me,
All strange wonders that befell thee,
Lives a woman true and fair.
If thou find’st one, let me know,
Such a pilgrimage were sweet;
Yet do not, I would not go,
Though at next door we might meet,
Though she were true, when you met her,
And last, till you write your letter,
False, ere I come, to two, or three.
Harry Nape was born this day in the year of our Lord. He made his fortune in barbers’ shears. His latter years were consumed by his mania to create a robotic barber. His ideas were based on vacuum cleaner technology. Testing on a volunteer sample in Saudia Arabia showed some shortcomings. After consulting the standard texts on phrenology, Nape developed the model that we know today.
Socrates was born ugly. Many sources attest to his awkward physical appearance, and Plato more than once makes reference to it (Theaetetus 143e, Symposium, 215a-c; also Xenophon Symposium 4.19, 5.5-7 and Aristophanes Clouds 362). Socrates was exophthalmic, his eyes bulged out of his head and were not straight but focused sideways. He had a snub nose, which made him resemble a pig, and many sources depict him with a potbelly.
Thirty thousand litres of raw sewage flooded the basement of the Domo Furniture Emporium during World Youth Day last July. Seven thousand portable toilets were emptied en masse after the final mass by the Pope. The mass attracted 800,000 pilgrims, and was conducted on land owned by the Department of National Defence. As is usual in military and religious inquiries, the task of assigning blame is complex. But a committee of elders has put the onus on the Pope him-or-her-self, and imposed a fine of a hoghead of holy water. In default, five qubits of upstream unction.
Ora Lee, I heard her in the wind. The sewer man and his step daughter were stewing in the tub. Last night I caught them laying sod, in contravention of the bylaws. He was telling her a story that can scarcely be believed.
It seems that 32,000 litres of raw sewage flooded the basement of the Domo Furniture Emporium in Toronto during World Youth Day last July. The flood occurred when 7,000 portable toilets were emptied after the final mass by the Pope.
A spokesman for the Pope declined to comment on whether the Pope’s sermon was in any way responsible for the outcome. “He’s just talking figuratively,” said Cardinal Kissinger of Transylvania.
The mass, which attracted 800,000 pilgrims, was conducted on land owned by the Department of National Defence, so the task of assigning blame was complex. But a committee of elders has put the onus on the Pope, and imposed a fine of a hoghead of holy water and an agreement to put his money, for the time being, where his mouth is.