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 barber’s shears. His latter years were devoted to developing robotic hair clippers. His original ideas were based on robotic vacuum cleaners. 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.
In a culture that worshipped male beauty, Socrates had the misfortune of being born incredibly ugly. Many of our ancient sources attest to his rather 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, meaning that 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.
In the mid-20th century the so-called Shrine circuses became both popular and numerous. A Shrine circus is a specially contracted group of circus acts brought together by a promoter or booking agent, usually to appear in an arena-type building. Sometimes the group will be contracted for a full season to play a series of cities, in the manner of the tent shows. Frequently, however, the acts and performers are assembled only for one city’s exhibition; these shows are usually known by the names of the local organizations that sponsor them, often Shrine clubs. When referring to any specific show, showpeople are likely to call it by the name of the sponsor, but when referring to the entire field of such exhibitions, they usually call them Shrine shows.
Xenomanes the navigator was a Barbarian by birth, although there was Greek on the spindle side and a Roman on the distaff. He was always scratching his head like a monkey with cirrhosis and babbling under his breath like a crustacean. Yet here was the man who in proud liege to King Knute learned to ski with a toboggan on each foot. And by the king’s daughter in holy wedlock sired the man who first put his head into a lion’s mouth and saved a shilling on a barber. When he, Xenomanes, returned to north Africa, he barbecued a slug of wildebeests in homage to the three fates, the four farts, the five senses that are thereby aroused, the six packs, and the seven maids a-milking.