Retractable pincers emerged from the scarred, pitted and somewhat corroded bot, tentatively at first. Then eagerly sniffing the air for hydrocarbons, tasting bacteria and other forms of life. Pseudolife, in some cases. Th monkeys were at it again, hurling their feces and palladium circuitry at the visitors, drawing a line in the poop. When the first robot flew out from the third outermost telemetry house, it angrily buzzed the naked bipeds, biting and stinging its way to information nibbana.
- A chill breeze made gooseflesh of monkey meat, and as a unit, they fled into the foothills of sectors G4 and H4. The pizza delivery dudes never come this far out, fearing for their safety among the calamine arbitrators. Encased in compuserve attache cases, these brethren of the silent road cleared a path before them, seemingly from sheer will.
It was true, though, that all mammals rightly fear these Silent Ones. The more sentient of the local scenery speculated as to whether they were wholly corporeal, and if so, if their origin was biological or otherwise. To attract their attention was to court insanity. It has been so all these thousands of years recorded as history, and surely long before that as well.
They ate bears whole.
Nurse, please help pick up Illogicopedia. It fainted on my freshly cleaned floor.
The real enemy is in this bush! Behold: a giant pulsating gyrating imploding mass of dog feces, from glorious empire, for benefit of glorious people's republic. Faux Cyrillic sepulchre tombstone spiral God is becoming Roger Ebert's zombie, and for just pennies a day it's a hard-knock yellow brick road to ruin and salmon, and then a skeleton, a glorious skeleton whose name is Mr. X, he comes and tells the children nice stories of how Uboa had sex with MissingNo, the resulting cosmic black hole and the further resulting dictator-for-life of the entire earth promotion of Paul Reubens. Don't worry, most of the horses are dead.
What's this Halloween thing I keep hearing about? Do I have to carve my formidable cactus and place mildly threatening things outside my house to scare away the children? Do we all come dressed as sea urchins to greet the night and regularly feed our massive gerbil various confectioneries? I can't be bothered right now, wake me when the town safety check according to the abundance of banana peels has ceased.
Frequent references to ablated falderal was never intended, several butchers aprons later. Never has preemptive strategy caused the renewal of significant digits, nor ought they.
Ah, the sweet smell of burnt toast in the morning. I like my toast how I like my coffee: black and bitter, with no sugar or cream. Not sure why you'd put sugar and cream on toast, though; I prefer eggs, personally. They say I have strange tastes in food, but what would they know? They're just a bunch of brainless squids. Wait a minute, that doesn't smell like toast at all. That smells like--burning flesh! What in the name of the Great Muffin are they doing in that kitchen?
An army of nonsense numbers had been assembled to wage war on the five-and-a-half pliers of reason. They had been fed on the blood of dogs and the wings of cats, and now they had reached their ugly, greasy maturity and completed their training in the many arts of making unpleasant noise. They could replicate the sound of a thousand babies crying or a nillion pianos being walked on by an infinite number of cats; but when confronted with yellow snow, they crumbled into dust. The dust then went on to work for the Bank of Imaginary Numbers.
The mystic deities of AutoTune (and their annoying promoters) wish you a happy rocket science day. May all your rocks and their derivatives grow in abundance. Festivities may also involve rocking the bones. But first let's all sit down and have some lunch. This lettuce does look a little... brown. Though I'm sure these bean sprouts have been washed twice. Bye.
I have the wrench. I've... lost the wrench.
This is lots of text. It is so cool! It's so cool that we are all going to die. We're all going to die! Yes! There's going to be blood and guts and gore and flies and -- oops, wrong queue. We're going to... er... I forgot. Oh yeah, we're going to forget stuff! We're going to go into the garden of remembering and wipe our memories, wash out our brains with bleach! We'll be brainwashed! It's so cool!
I only have it in me to write a decent article every few days or weeks in case everyone hasn't already noticed. --T3 01:55, 11 Ergust 2014 (UTC)
- Mine are even less frequent, and hardly decent. ~ Good tidings! ~ 09:05, 11 Ergust 2014 (UTC)
- Decency is in the eye of the beholder, though indecency is arguably more pleasing to the eye. -− Flyingcat (meow?)fr: 05:02, 21 Ergust 2014 (UTC)
Those with prerequisite skills in falling off a ladder are more than welcome to join the Gentlemen's Diversion Club. Be warned: methods of initiation may lead to unexpected developments (ie. running, shouting).
Yet why was she so earnest for the marshmallows? Perhaps they were lemon-flavoured. But would that taste like cannibalism?
- It's better than a dream to dance by the sea, watching the waves go chaccaron macarron chaccaron macarron aeoiaueoiuaeoiaueoaiue
- Come on girls let's have some fæn
Everybody is so unbelievably annoying. It's just tree fluff all day, and the walruses have tentacles and three heads the better to tuck their granddaughters into bed, except we all know that's wrong because the Bible says so. Soap?
- When your days turn to dark like night,
- The spark is gone that was once alight,
- And you feel there's no end in sight,
- Just remember:
- You spin me right round baby
Gregory Peccary, the nocturnal, gregarious wild swine, stopped by to announce a corporate restructuring. It seems that, while artichokes don't choke, neither does Wichita Falls fall.
Everything below this line is autogrow.
- Period sauce ate the semicolons. They then went on to chew the cats out for terminal sins involving grape juice.
Grunts, hoots and whistles are encouraged, here in the monkey house. Looking for something a bit less cacophonous? Try the lemur house.
- Christianity tastes like wood chips.
Timing is nothing. That is to say, since time does not exist, timing is meaningless.
- Half an idea, but only half. Half a child. A whole child would bring it to more than the correct number, and less than half would be less. 2.5 children, they had said. 2.5 children and...something else. A half-idea, a half-truth, there was not enough of it for him to understand as DXm had a value of 18.104.22.168.22.214.171.124.126.96.36.199.0. He could only see in black and yellow. In between, in the grey area that was not grey but full of vivid, incomprehensible colours, the truth lay there, perhaps dismembered like the body parts in the trash bag that spilled blood over the new Persian carpet, blood and body parts of misunderstood criminals mingling with the barf of thousands of cats. Cats that had never been there. He had not seen them, he had no evidence, they were not there.
- The monitor is old. I remember when it was new, and it replaced the old boxy monitor with the flickering screen. The screen of this one does not flicker. It holds still like a sedated child in a fnord class. There is no box behind it. This is all so new...and yet so old. It has been many years, but it seems like only yesterday that it was new and I resented the newness, the change. Now it is dying. Coloured lines appear sometimes on the right edge of the screen. Truly new monitors are even more hateful, 1900 pixels wide rather than 1600, shortened and widened like a troll's sneering face to be optimal for viewing videos or who knows what, at the expense of their effectiveness for using those things that should constitute their one true purpose... there is nothing we can do about it. An all-encompassing, crushing, impersonal mass of nothingness.
Gematria should be taught in the earliest grades! More and more kids are ignorant today about how the elephant fell again.
Issac Newton once ate 928 pounds of live newts in one sitting.
No, you cannot get high on cat urine.
“The apple doesn't roll against the grain.”
Kahlua, cranberry juice, ginger ale, angostura bitters and maple syrup make a Syphilitic Lumberjack.
Grimace wears glasses now? I thought he could absorb his limbs, not grow extra ones.
The poodle bites. The poodles chews it. Thus begins the pair of ducks that circled through my back yard air space at about 17 feet 3.557 inches today, while bee seeching when the sporkle roves. Sensing another lumpy space incursion, spilling unfortunate pork by-products instead of fresh concrete into gangways and isolated crinkled french fries to the outrage of the city folk. Roofing contractors protested in lines of 8, all the while knowing that theirin lies their inn. Another word, "theremin", evokes a similar etymological frenzy, all the while squawling so-called music over the kudzu infestation.
Can you scream in coloratura soprano? Apparently Tim Whitnall can.
- And then I reversed Satan. But in Soviet Russia, Satan reverses YOU!! And what's more, it reverses itself because the very reversal comes from there...
Everyone thinks I'm referring to a kid who's actually an adult Marvel superhero when in reality I'm thinking of a pizza deliveryman who's actually a massive scribble with limbs. Now that's what I'm talkin' about.
Satan reversed himself. Weeba leeba doong doong.
All's not fair at the county fair. Especially not if the chandelier falls down, unless I can emerge victorious from its smashed and broken pieces during the peak of my operatic aria.
- Well, give me a tuba and I'm a happy bunny.
- Not if you value your arms.
I'm supposed to be doing something else but instead I'm typing text here. This is not a computer, this is really a ten foot noodle with red hair! You've all been lying to me this whole time. And this isn't a wiki, either. This is a cat, and it's made out of water. Yes I'm typing text into a cat but I'm not actually typing, I'm squishing ants. With glitter. Probably scrambled eggs too...no I don't want to eat scrambled eggs, I am scrambled eggs, you retarded idiot! Stop being a stupid retarded rock and be a banana corn instead. What are you doing to me, what's all this water and the fire extinguisher?...I'm supposed to be on fire...this is who I am, I'm not like you...fooblesnit!
- Gringos freshened up at the horse trough. Three days trekking through the piney scrub was dirty work, and the poor horses would just have to make do with hairy guy sweat-infused drinking water. Suddenly, a group of weird little dudes with lab coats and pocket protectors appeared, marching out of the apothecary in rows of pi. The lead geek claimed they were assigned to administer Rorschach tests. Lead gringo was skeptical.
Are you browsing Illogicopedia, or is Illogicopedia browsing you? -- Powers That Bee My Hunter. S.Thompson needs a book-scratch. Two bliddy consciousnesses. Ninon. You cannae touch the pie. It is too high on weed.
- Is a Palin-drome the place where Sarah Palin keeps her wolf-hunting helicopters? Yes.
When first I smelt it, I knew immediately who dealt it. That lousy Japanese-Portuguese Reggie "Smiley" Two-tones was as it again. That dude could hermetically seal huge quantities of noxious fumes within his wiry albeit portly frame for hours. His tactic was to wait for a French translation to come out. That way, he knew that the technology was ripe, and murder was in the air.
- Always remember to use spans. Except when you can't use spans, because you have to use divs, except when you can't use divs, because you have to use...muffins? No, that can't be right. So many muffins everywhere that they can never possibly be right. Ever.
- Yikes! It's eating me!
The tree has fleas - but does the flea have trees? It would freeze the trees and the fleas would sneeze. The sneeze would turn into bright grey cheese, and the cat would sink to its lowly knees. But I do not see it anywhere.
- A wretch with a complexion sallow,
- Quite mentally vacant and fallow,
- Once reported a crime
- Against cause, space and time.
- Beware of Greeks bearing gifts.
Recumbent dynasties sway like willows on a breezy breeze of ketchup.
Piles mass, clumps, cushions of tissue bewildering their captors
With barnacle delights, were-bison notwithsitting.
Cast about, o ye loathsome calumnists.
For nothing will ye find of the Nightland.
Repeat customers are encouraged to go around back. There'll be a woman in her forties wearing a gas station attendant's outfit holding two bricks and a Japanese baby. Tell her "the print shop is out of monkeys". She will turn and scratch her butt. Turn 58 degrees left of the direction her butt is facing and go 127 paces to a bridge. Not a green bridge. A bamboo bridge reinforced (Now all I know is dong. Run. For the LSD barista is coming. Silicon valley is made of Rubber. HUHUHUHUHUH) with magnetic pine cones. Aye, there's the rub.
“Dicks are the toughest nuts to crack.”
I was a
giant scary staple monster gelatinous pink blob with post-traumatic stress disorder once, but then I took shortsightedness to the face and became a sweet potato with anxiety instead. Also, I'm either constantly imagining things or LSD just naturally occurs in my bloodstream. No! No no no! No no no no... *runs off into the distance*
Hope you're flattered. I've only done this one other time, and that was when I recalled Sir Gibbous Jetsam from retirement to lead my Holy Army of the Great Ground Parrot in Auckland, NZ. Back in '76, the Kiwis called in special forces with air support. Those particular ANZACs were no pussies, let me tell you. We only won the day through superior tactics. Exploding geese.
Rebel troops had breached the innermost mid to upper over-hanging outer walls with toothpaste and pine bark mulch attacks. Inhospitable locals had deprived them common courtesies, and persistently spoke only glossalalic in their presence. Many, if not most, were fast reaching the ends of their ropes. Getting a bit loopy. Somewhat bats in the belfry, so to speak. In short, they began an inevitable descent into madness that few had ever survived unhindered by permanent psychic damage.
Bermis, an ancient self hating Jew of tremendous stature and fitness, gathered 70 and 70 again, by two thirds and trebled, rebels who'd developed anti-rebellious leanings together in a secret room with a moose. They followed this dude with few questions and no answers whatsoever. Nothing would have given them greater pleasure than to turn on their fellow attackers of the Keep with their chainsaws and cut the simpering bastards to pieces.
- Torque Smackey strode into Invader Zim's laboratory with all the determination of an rabid armadillo trying to burrow through a steer. Catamounts and catamites prowled the moon's surface in a vain attempt to learn Hungarian. Their instructors, alas, had no space suits, and thus died of exposure to vacuum. In other news, a plateful of voles escaped and is running riot Paris. The army response has been stilted and jovial.
- A cat? Not another cat! I've seen enough cats today to last me nine lives. Stop with the cats, will you? They're driving me up the wall - literally. Chasing me everywhere, covering the floor in cat hair. And making me sneeze, to boot. Obviously I can't block you or anything, but for the love of radioactive apple pie, stop with the cats!!
Patch over one eye, horse over the other. Japanese sculptures ring the rosie, rumple the hump. Crack the windows, let some of that smoke out. Revive with Vivarin!
Volumes of onionized gases proliferate athematically from hither to yon. Egads!
- THE ADMINISTRATION HAS DEEMED THE FOLLOWING COMMENT TO BE HERETICAL, AND CONDEMN THE AUTHOR TO STATUS OF USER TIL DEATH
- Ahem! Excuse me? Is this thing on? OK, I know this is against policies, but I'm going to push my personal agenda anyway, since it's so important to get the word out. We need grass roots activism! We need people in the trenches! This movement will grow, and become as entry by troops! So, hesitate not to join the ranks of the true followers of...
Shazam! And the dirt is here... indefinitely.
Again with the cats? My wife has been bludgeoning me with the cats all morning, and I'm sick of it!
- Tongue got your cat?
- Discounts for insane people are available at the rear corner of the rhombus. All others need not apply.
- Thumb up to the fornicators.
I will kindly lead you back to your lighthouse for the reasonable price of twenty pounds. Well, it's an alright price if it's in pounds, anyway. If it was in kilograms, I would have really felt ripped off.
FOREVER AND EVER OOOH [cowbell noises]
Puppy got dem big ol' floppy ears.
- Never again will the blue treetops burn.
- Never again will the winding wind turn.
- Never again will the seventeenth urn
- Whittle the night away.
- One day in Blockland the reddish block said -
- 'I want a pillow to dirty my head
- I want a cat to put under my bed
- Might I have those someday?'
- Months became pies, cakes became years;
- A long time had passed when the purple block's fears
- Surfaced in green taking all of their ears
- Seventeen fiddles ago.
- Never again will the blockish blocks wail
- Never again will the soapy dog rail
- Never again will the twisted test fail
- While the blocked awning is low.
- Silence. Dusty silence. Silent silence. There is nobody on IRC but me and the air. The empty space. Negative space. The yellow dust fills the air and does not become bananas, or anything, and is not in fact yellow as I have so greatly said but rather colourless. Just sits there like a potato - but no, it is not even a potato, it is nothing. Nothing at all. Not even a block tower.
You did not just say that. You did not just say that! You like bold text, do you? And oranges? Oranges? Everyone knows oranges do not exist. They fell into the black hole in the year 1701 of our lord Fruit Fly. The yellow Bible says so. Do not listen to the blue Bible or the infidel orange vendors, or you will burn in foozle for all of fluffynuts!!!
- We love Morty, and we hope Morty love us.
Goobernutorial candidates for Governor of Legumes Pretending To Be Nuts must register their complaints by February 28 or they will be catapulted over a 12 foot wall and get CPR, administered by nuns.
Raunch is the haunch of the honcho, belittling his smarmy calumnies against the people.
You are the reprobate monkey. Don't grunt or give us the finger. You started it. Now smell this...
We've got someone else, and it turns out that the cat it not a lie. Cuz I haz de grammer. Burt Reynolds is at the deli again... damned guy puts mayonnaise on everything.
- The cat is a lie. But the cake is true. The cake will set you free, because it is the truth. Or maybe it's the other way round. The truth will set you free because it is the...cake? No, that's not right. The set will cake you free because it is the truth pie. No. Sorry, I really suck at this. Can't you get someone else? ...what? You can't? I'm the best at it?? What kind of polyethylene is this, anyway? You have low standards...
Menke sat at the table, grokking borscht as only a false whale can. Images of dousing rods pulsing with earth power, fetid with the stink of corruption, of soil gone dank. It was probably a petit mal which distracted him for 42 seconds.
Right out of seizure, the malignant narcissist emerges. Judicious use of red and black with filigreed brass inlay spelled disaster for approximately 5.9 million people. The implications of additional dimensions to the three dribbled into the sights and sounds beheld by such of those as could see and hear.
The screams of the damned paled and were snuffed by a thing that surpasses cacophony by countless orders of magnitude. The words of men, like "magnitude" and "screams", rung hollow as the millions perished as one.
Triumphant, the Marxists scuttled from their foxholes and warrens, all the while masticating Orwellian tracts. Rent asunder or mortgage the future seemed to be the only choices present to Chum Briap Su. The viscous torment that indulged a Master smelled most foul and dank to the rest of us. Misnomer transpolyethylene.
PURPLE RAIN! PURRRRPLLLLLEEE RAIIIIINNNN! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOO! YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Prancing and mincing. It's the new black, I swear! So, this Butterscotch liqueur ain't bad.
- Shammy done fucked up this time
- by Sedentary Loquation
- Ill-conceived notions of scalawags' invention
- pour vigorously towards fruition,
- AR-15 pointed at their snouts.
- Surely set to three shot burst, no chance for fight or flight
- puts them in the mood to chat.
My diffs are bleeding. You must have tortured them. What have you done?
Sunshine and happy farts. That's how I feel when being violently tackled in a football game. And, like, there's this awful screeching, like stereo lemongrabs.
- Does this need to be archived yet?
Those of you so unfortunate as to be reading this ought to check out Adult Swim, an eight hour block of adult cartoons from 10:00pm to 6:00am, 7 days a week on the Cartoon Channel. You may not like everything they do. I like about 88% of their material. Oh, yeah...they do anime from midnight to 6:00am Saturday mornings. I personally dislike it, but my wife loves it. She especially enjoys watching Inuyasha when I'm making fun of it.
Anyway, this time of year, that ceramic tile is on sale. You know, the one you had your eye on?With the pattern based on the Cthulhu mythos? The one that will awaken that which is dead but cannot die? With the tentacles? Shit, I have to go, my ride is here. So tell Frankie to burn all that styrofoam.
- So it's come to this?
There is nothing. Nothing, that is, but...wait, I forgot. What was I saying? Where are you? Under the window? Yes, that's it, certainly. Everything is green.
Colourless green ideas sleep furiously. They would rather be awake, or perhaps blue. For blue is not green, and awake is not asleep, but black, on the other hand, is white, and indefinite blocks expire.
Yes, I really said that. Trouble is, they expire at infinity. You weren't expecting me to say that, were you? Aww, now you're going to cry. Stop crying. I hate it when you cry. You've got nothing to cry over, you hear? Nothing! You've lost nothing. Nothing of value, that is. You don't know what value is. I've been telling you that for years and you never listen. I suppose I can't blame you, though, seeing as you're nothing but a pair of scissors. Scissors don't have ears.
And they make terrible, terrible wiki editors. You just scrolled down to the bottom of this list of nonsense. But did you actually read it all? Or did you just get bored like I did?
May the force be with you, Number one.
NO YOU DIDN'T, THERE'S ACTUALLY MORE MWHAHHHAAH