
But I'm a lurky freakin' weirdo watching this from Belgium, so what in shitting crikey do I know?
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Sun 4 Dec 2011, 19:23,
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I'm *in* Belgium but Irish. Frankly, I've little time for noncery. Nor for chocolate neither.
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Sun 4 Dec 2011, 19:35,
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Some damn good beers. Damn good. Why, I'm hammered right now!
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Sun 4 Dec 2011, 19:46,
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Which, ironically, is a phrase I'm too drunk to be able to utter.
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Sun 4 Dec 2011, 19:52,
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And even if Humpty shell fall frumpty times as awkward again in the beardsboosoloom of all our grand remonstrancers there'll be iggs for the brekkers come to mourn-him, sunny side up with care. So true is it that therewhere's a turnover the tay is wet too and when you think you ketch sight of a hind make sure but you're cocked by a hin.
( ,
Sun 4 Dec 2011, 19:57,
archived)

Allow me to present some similar, but unFinnegary nonsense:
Rather than take for granite that Ace talks straight, a listener must be on guard for an occasional entre nous and me . . . or a long face no see. In a roustabout way, he will maneuver until he selects the ideal phrase for the situation, hitting the nail right on the thumb. The careful conversationalist might try to mix it up with him in a baffle of wits. In quest of this pinochle of success, I have often wrecked my brain for a clowning achievement, but Ace’s chickens always come home to roast. From time to time, Ace will, in a jersksome way, monotonise the conversation with witticisms too humorous to mention. It’s high noon someone beat him at his own game, but I have never done it; cross my eyes and hope to die, he always wins thumbs down.
( ,
Sun 4 Dec 2011, 20:04,
archived)
Rather than take for granite that Ace talks straight, a listener must be on guard for an occasional entre nous and me . . . or a long face no see. In a roustabout way, he will maneuver until he selects the ideal phrase for the situation, hitting the nail right on the thumb. The careful conversationalist might try to mix it up with him in a baffle of wits. In quest of this pinochle of success, I have often wrecked my brain for a clowning achievement, but Ace’s chickens always come home to roast. From time to time, Ace will, in a jersksome way, monotonise the conversation with witticisms too humorous to mention. It’s high noon someone beat him at his own game, but I have never done it; cross my eyes and hope to die, he always wins thumbs down.

is "these shoes are on their last legs".
( ,
Sun 4 Dec 2011, 20:07,
archived)

10 intarnetz to you. I like when jokey idioms we think are mined out yield tittersomeness. I'd put that one in the shoemenders category. You know, the one where we find "Time wounds all heels. I will mend your wayward soles." Etc. Ambigous phonemes for the win.
*Pulls chair over* (His to hers, not vice versa)
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Sun 4 Dec 2011, 20:11,
archived)
*Pulls chair over* (His to hers, not vice versa)

about Hume shooting himself in the foot with his own fork.
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Sun 4 Dec 2011, 20:14,
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You must be a philosopher, no? I could be wrong, as I base this on induction only. Which Hume said was all there was. But at which conclusion he didn't arrive by induction. So his fork-in-the-road bifurcation of possibilities into inductive and valid, or non-inductive and for the fires of sophistry and illusion, was untenable by his own lights. So he shot himself in the foot with his own fork.
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Sun 4 Dec 2011, 20:21,
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