Todays Thought

[thunderlizard]

I am a yellow fly.
I fly way up in the sky.
You cannot see me when the sun shines,
for I am the colour of the sunshine.

My legs are long and green,
hollow so they can't be seen,
I often fill them full of liquid,
and take it home to my Queen.

Ivor Cutler

[Troll]

I see you're back to puppies after your brief flirtation with the Scots.
Is your mind so single track that you cannae do Scottish puppies?

What you mean like:

How did the little Scottish dog feel when he saw a monster?
Terrier-fied!

... naw that's krap

[doodab]

Is your mind so single track that you cannae do Scottish puppies?

Is that how they get that awful noise from those funny bag things? Damn those puppy torturing bastards.

[sasguru]

sasguru had a little puppy
He couldn't stop it gruntin'
He tied it to a 5 bar gate
& kicked it's little c*** in

I see you're back to puppies after your brief flirtation with the Scots.
Is your mind so single track that you cannae do Scottish puppies?

[Troll]

sasguru had a little puppy
He couldn't stop it gruntin'
He tied it to a 5 bar gate
& kicked it's little c*** in

[DaveB]

A one... two-- A one... two... three... four...
Half a bee, philosophically,
Must, ipso facto, half not be.
But half the bee has got to be
Vis a vis, its entity. D'you see?

But can a bee be said to be
Or not to be an entire bee
When half the bee is not a bee
Due to some ancient injury?

Singing...

La dee dee, one two three,
Eric the half a bee.
A B C D E F G,
Eric the half a bee.

Is this wretched demi-bee,
Half-asleep upon my knee,
Some freak from a menagerie?
No! It's Eric the half a bee!

Fiddle de dum, Fiddle de dee,
Eric the half a bee.
Ho ho ho, tee hee hee,
Eric the half a bee.

I love this hive, employee-ee,
Bisected accidentally,
One summer afternoon by me,
I love him carnally.

He loves him carnally,
Semi-carnally.
The end.

Cyril Connelly?
No; semi-carnally!
Oh.

Cyril Connelly.

[Gibbon]

Little Fly,
Thy summer's play
My thoughtless hand
Has brushed away.
Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?

For I dance
And drink, and sing,
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.

If thought is life
And strength and breath
And the want
Of thought is death;

Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live,
Or if I die.

William Blake.