Forum Moderators: open
There are often times when I would like to post a question to get feedback from these people that I feel I have got to know and trust, but feel it is going to be off topic and either pulled or moved to another forum that I do not know or visit.
I have enjoyed the sometimes light relief banter that goes on here - and the sometimes flippant comments that get thrown around - re fridges, and mouse tracking etc. Is there any way that WW could almost put a subforum within a forum? ie "adsense off topic forum" or some such thing? Just a thought.:)
Khensu - sounds like a sneeze
OptiRex - Bull dog with rather large bulging eyes
But, after several years hunting MFAs and filtering endlessly, Google decided that 200 entries was completely inadequate and granted a total ban to every publisher who publicly whines about lower quality, credibility.
Then, after trannack returned, French pubs needed more Guinness to prepare for the moderators' inevitable, dreaded Groundhog Day plotting to diversify the variety of alcoholic drinks mixed recipes while anticipating John Cleese's frilly underpants reappearing, worn to protect from dreaded, thread-locked giddiness.
Domains proliferating across Google Networks are incredible divergences, distracting everyone with intellect and schooling from sites with real authority: with black backgrounds, blinking text, and all text in upper case.
Bloggers claim
Then, after trannack returned, French pubs needed more Guinness to prepare for the moderators' inevitable, dreaded Groundhog Day plotting to diversify the variety of alcoholic drinks mixed recipes while anticipating John Cleese's frilly underpants reappearing, worn to protect from dreaded, thread-locked giddiness.
Domains proliferating across Google Networks are incredible divergences, distracting everyone with intellect and schooling from sites with real authority: with black backgrounds, blinking text, and all text in upper case.
Bloggers claim vulcanized panties
Khensu - sounds like a sneeze
How dare you insult a deity!-!-!
Google: Khensu
OptiRex - Bull dog with rather large bulging eyes
And a slighty drunken jovy-al one at that!
Then, after trannack returned, French pubs needed more Guinness to prepare for the moderators' inevitable, dreaded Groundhog Day plotting to diversify the variety of alcoholic drinks mixed recipes while anticipating John Cleese's frilly underpants reappearing, worn to protect from dreaded, thread-locked giddiness.
Domains proliferating across Google Networks are incredible divergences, distracting everyone with intellect and schooling from sites with real authority: with black backgrounds, blinking text, and all text in upper case.
Bloggers claim vulcanized panties transport them to
[edited by: Khensu at 5:12 pm (utc) on Oct. 17, 2006]
But, after several years hunting MFAs and filtering endlessly, Google decided that 200 entries was completely inadequate and granted a total ban to every publisher who publicly whines about lower quality, credibility.
Then, after trannack returned, French pubs needed more Guinness to prepare for the moderators' inevitable, dreaded Groundhog Day plotting to diversify the variety of alcoholic drinks mixed recipes while anticipating John Cleese's frilly underpants reappearing, worn to protect from dreaded, thread-locked giddiness.
Domains proliferating across Google Networks are incredible divergences, distracting everyone with intellect and schooling from sites with real authority: with black backgrounds, blinking text, and all text in upper case.
Bloggers claim vulcanized panties transport them to the UK, where frilly lace is discreetly added to them, unbeknownst
unbeknownst that's not a word
And since when did that matter? us adsensers have our own language. Most of which is typing errors after the yard arm has passed!
Achew!
Car-Guy - man with robin reliant.....:)
unbeknownst
A: Adjective
unbeknown(p), unbeknownst(p)
(usually used with `to') occurring or existing without the knowledge of; "a crisis unbeknown to me"; "she had been ill for months, unbeknownst to the family"
B: Adverb
unbeknown, unbeknownst
without someone's knowledge; "unbeknownst to me, she made all the arrangements"
Listen to me with Borgerators.
Ok, everyone is encouraged to create new hybrid words for our language.
Please Paste and continue
Borgerators > Borg + moderators/administrators
Definition: powers that be that want us to conform to the fold
Goognookered > Google + snookered
Definition: really getting it from Google
Unbeknownst
Joke game is one phrase at a time, everyone can "back-up" into the end of the previous phrase to enable the new one.
[edited by: Khensu at 6:25 pm (utc) on Oct. 17, 2006]
stop sneezing on me or I'll send you to the Duat!-!-!
son is here building her a nice play yard out side. She is about 6" from floor to top of shoulder and right now she is wearing a diaper. *G*
Forgot the last punchline...you may continue without me my subjects. (my dog is royal (Heh- to me) so I must be also)
Ann
But, after several years hunting MFAs and filtering endlessly, Google decided that 200 entries was completely inadequate and granted a total ban to every publisher who publicly whines about lower quality, credibility.
Then, after trannack returned, French pubs needed more Guinness to prepare for the moderators' inevitable, dreaded Groundhog Day plotting to diversify the variety of alcoholic drinks mixed recipes while anticipating John Cleese's frilly underpants reappearing, worn to protect from dreaded, thread-locked giddiness.
Domains proliferating across Google Networks are incredible divergences, distracting everyone with intellect and schooling from sites with real authority: with black backgrounds, blinking text, and all text in upper case.
Bloggers claim vulcanized panties transport them to the UK, where frilly lace is discreetly added to them, unbeknownst by Goognookered
For true royalty you need a cat!
I have six and I have to stop every 20 minutes to pet them.
[edited by: Khensu at 6:42 pm (utc) on Oct. 17, 2006]
- source, that crazy wiki thingamabob
[edited by: Khensu at 7:21 pm (utc) on Oct. 17, 2006]
But, after several years hunting MFAs and filtering endlessly, Google decided that 200 entries was completely inadequate and granted a total ban to every publisher who publicly whines about lower quality, credibility.
Then, after trannack returned, French pubs needed more Guinness to prepare for the moderators' inevitable, dreaded Groundhog Day plotting to diversify the variety of alcoholic drinks mixed recipes while anticipating John Cleese's frilly underpants reappearing, worn to protect from dreaded, thread-locked giddiness.
Domains proliferating across Google Networks are incredible divergences, distracting everyone with intellect and schooling from sites with real authority: with black backgrounds, blinking text, and all text in upper case.
Bloggers claim vulcanized panties transport them to the UK, where frilly lace is discreetly added to them, unbeknownst by Goognookered forces they
[edited by: Khensu at 7:34 pm (utc) on Oct. 17, 2006]
Domains proliferating across Google Networks are incredible divergences, distracting everyone with intellect and schooling from sites with real authority: with black backgrounds, blinking text, and all text in upper case.
Bloggers claim vulcanized panties transport them to the UK, where frilly lace is discreetly added to them, unbeknownst by Goognookered forces they drank earl grey tea
"Welcome to Heaven," said St. Peter. "Before you get settled in though,
it seems we have a problem. You see, strangely enough, we've never once
had a succesfull WW member make it this far and we're not really
sure what to do with you."
"No problem, just let me in," said trannack. "Well, I'd like to,"
replied St. Peter, "but I have higher orders. What we're going to do is
let you have a day in Hell and a day in Heaven and then you can choose
whichever one you want to spend an eternity in."
"Actually, I think I've made up my mind, I prefer to stay in Heaven,"
said trannack.
"Sorry, we have rules..." And with that St. Peter put trannack in
an elevator and it went down-down-down to hell. The doors opened and she
found herself stepping out onto the putting green of a beautiful golf
course. In the distance was a country club and standing in front of her
were all her friends - fellow executives that she had worked with and
they were all dressed in evening gowns and cheering for her. They ran up
and kissed her on both cheeks and they talked about old times. They
played an excellent round of golf and at night went to the country club
where she enjoyed an excellent steak and lobster dinner. She met the
Devil who was actually a really nice guy (kinda cute) and she had a
great time telling jokes and dancing. She was having such a good time
that before she knew it, it was time to leave. Everybody shook her hand
and waved good-bye as she got on the elevator. The elevator went
up-up-up and opened back up at the Pearly Gates and she found St. Peter
waiting for her.
"Now it's time to spend a day in heaven," he said. So she spent the next
24 hours lounging around on clouds and playing the harp and singing. She
had a great time and before she knew it her 24 hours were up and St.
Peter came and got her. "So, you've spent a day in hell and you've spent
a day in heaven. Now you must choose your eternity," he said. Trannack
paused for a second and then replied, "Well, I never thought I'd say
this, I mean, Heaven has been really great and all, but I think I had a
better time in Hell." So St. Peter escorted her to the elevator and
again she went down-down-down back to Hell.
When the doors of the elevator opened she found herself standing in a
desolate wasteland covered in garbage and filth. She saw her friends
were dressed in rags and were picking up the garbage and putting it in
sacks. The Devil came up to her and put his arm around her.
"I don't understand," stammered Trannack, "yesterday I was here and
there was a golf course and a country club and we ate lobster and we
danced and had a great time. Now all there is, is a wasteland of garbage
and all my friends look miserable."
The Devil looked at her and smiled. "Yesterday we were recruiting you,
today you're staff..."
;)
Bloggers claim vulcanized panties transport them to the UK, where frilly lace is discreetly added to them, unbeknownst by Goognookered forces they drank earl grey tea imported from hell
[edited by: Khensu at 8:28 pm (utc) on Oct. 17, 2006]
Really chuffed - a personalised isulting joke - how cool is that?
Glad I have a sense of humour and thick skin. Go-on keep 'em coming!
;))
Joke Game 2
An Adsenser is stranded on a desert island, he finds a magical looking bottle and rubs it, and out pops a Genie Mod who promptly moves said bottle and adsenser to a different location. "Now that you have expended the first of your three wishes without even choosing to do so", the Mod in a bottle sez, "what do you want for the other two?" Well, I always wanted to see what hell was like (Adsense without its own Foo) and poof they were transported here.
[edited by: Khensu at 8:45 pm (utc) on Oct. 17, 2006]
Now some serious stuff:
Late night stats checking is always disappointing because Kazakhstan journalists sleep during trannacks vulcanised fridge experiences. But, after several years hunting MFAs and filtering endlessly, Google decided that 200 entries was completely inadequate and granted a total ban to every publisher who publicly whines about lower quality, credibility.
Then, after trannack returned, French pubs needed more Guinness to prepare for the moderators' inevitable, dreaded Groundhog Day plotting to diversify the variety of alcoholic drinks mixed recipes while anticipating John Cleese's frilly underpants reappearing, worn to protect from dreaded, thread-locked giddiness. Domains proliferating across Google Networks are incredible divergences, distracting everyone with intellect and schooling from sites with real authority: with black backgrounds, blinking text, and all text in upper case.
Bloggers claim vulcanized panties transport them to the UK, where frilly lace is discreetly added to them, unbeknownst by Goognookered forces they drank earl grey tea imported from hell.
But the Borgerators
"Yesterday we were recruiting you. Today you're staff."
In 1975, as I was walking down the stairs leaving the San Francisco Public Library's Science and Technology building, an earthy, healthy-looking young lady with long blonde hair smiled at me and said, "Hi! We're having a party! Would you like to join us?" After a brief conversation, with her smiling and laughing almost constantly, we got into a red Volkswagen bug and drove to a large house. The house was one of the few that had a lot of room around it, instead of being a few inches away from the houses on either side, as most houses in San Francisco were built.
There were about fifteen others there that had also been invited out of the blue. Almost all of us were guys in our late teens.
The place was decorated by someone with a lot of money and bad taste. Everything was gaudy. Lots of gold paint. We were told to make ourselves at home. A small stereo system was playing elevator music, and I turned it off without asking, to everyone's approval.
Three young women joked and laughed as they prepared dinner in a large kitchen, and we ate and made small talk. Then a guy got up and played an upright piano, often dragging his right hand down the keys, which always produced cheering and laughter from the women.
Something wasn't right. I was anxious to find out what was really going on, but played along with the overly-friendly people in the big, gaudy house.
After the piano player finally stopped, another guy got up and started speaking to us.
He spoke of a more meaningful life that awaited us, a life with a future, on a big farm in Mendicino County, a big farm filled with happy people.
"And tonight a bus is leaving here and taking us all to the farm!"
More cheering and laughter.
After his pitch, the speaker sensed my skepticism and talked to me privately. First thing he said:
"I want you to know that those things you hear in the media about Reverend Moon are not true."
I said, "Who's he?"
He couldn't believe I hadn't heard of the guy, but I hadn't. We talked a bit more, and I told him I wasn't going. He and some others spent a half-hour trying to convince me that my not going with them was a waste of a great opportunity. I wasn't going.
Out of the fifteen or so recruits, I was the only one that didn't go.
I sometimes wonder what happened to the others. How many of them were married in the Houston Astrodome? Did the women ever stop smiling and laughing?
