There are, stunningly, no complaints to report and/or mock. We blame the bonuses at AIG, of course. Instead, as is our wont, we bring you an important service to science.
Thanks to our honoured proprietor, the taxonomy of 3Bulls! is ever-changing, in accordance with natural law. Recent additions:
Thunderpants
Fishwagon
The Ombirdspersonpantsmoose
We are morbidly curious as to how these chimeras came to be, and so we humbly request that the commentariat engage its collective genius in furtherance of this study. Other suggestions:
Please submit your abstracts below. Papers will be judged on originality of complaints, adherence to the Three Bulls! Style Guide, righteous indignation, and prominence of shiny things.
Due to financial constraints, there will be no prizes. This is just like the real world, only slightly more amusing.
This is one of the biggest problems for a 3B blogger. Because you are writing every day about things that happen to be in the news, readers assume that if something in the news is important enough, failure to blog about it means you don’t care or you’re some kind of fraud. This thinking is magnified when you’re a 3Bull and the news story has legal significance. Yet this may be precisely why you don’t blog about it. Unless you have an automatic ideological position — as many political bloggers do — you can’t just pop out a post. You could put a small block of time into crafting a more thoughtful post, but that would only give it the aura of a legal opinion and you don’t want that. Given the complexity of the text under discussion and the legal issues it generates, it is quite resistant to serious blogging by a law professor. Failure to blog should therefore be read as a sign of the law professor’s distance from partisanship. It is not that we don’t recognize the importance of the matter. It’s that we do.
Demanding that bullets points be indented is just the sort of rigid thinking that I’ve (sadly) learned to expect from the proprietors of this blog.
It’s just a short leap from indentation to indentured servitude, and from there where next shall we go?
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Look, if there aren’t prizes, I’m not commenting.
Plus, the Oms-moose has left his blog unprotected and we’re going to spend all week making a mess of the comment sections. FILTHBOTTERY IS REQUESTED
You know, there just maht be a market for bottled filthbottery.
Kung Pao chicken.
Also.
P.S. I lived in Sunnyside, Queens for a short time back in the early 80’s. There was a lot that sucked about that situation.
But there was a chinese restaurant that had the most awesome Kung Pao chicken evah. So at least I had that, along with running to the 40th and Lowery 7 train platform and trying to squeeze in between the cars with all the other suicide work junkies.
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I ate Chinese food in Brooklyn once. It was a very interesting experience. Not because it was in Brooklyn, but because it was in a Russian ultra-Orthodox Jewish neighbourhood, and was a kosher Chinese joint. The whole experience was a wonder to behold. The Chinese proprietors didn’t know quite what to do with me, like, whether their customers and the kosher inspector would think I was contaminating the place (they didn’t, but how were the Chinese people to know—they were kind of in a perpetually stunned state attempting to comprehend the reason for the existence of the concept of kosher, and they probably had been in this state for years…).
Now why I was there was another slightly amusing story…
I killed a man just to watch him die.
I scaled a fish so I could throw him at Jennifer in response to the fish-symbol…
One day someone refer to “Pantswagon,” and everyone will look around not sure exactly to whom it refers because it encompasses multitudes.
Um, “will.” Sheesh.
Half-assed pantswagon!
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Half-asswagon.
See what I mean? To whom DOESN’T “half-assed pantswagon” apply? “Half-asswagon” even more so.
Thunderpants gives the lie to tigrismus with full-assci fish art. Great.
Okay, fine: it could refer to anyone besides our reigning Thundermuffin, who, if Pinko is to be believed, is all ass. OH NO HE DINT! Yes, indeed he did. Shameful.
I can’t believe anyone would malign Thundernugget that way. I mean other than someone so half-assed that even in the presence of full asscii one would be blinded by the inherent and incalculable difference between ascii and
I can’t go on. I distracted myself thinking about way back when when we first began calling emus what they are, emus, oh yeah- we also called people “learned cucumbers.” How come that didn’t catch on?
It is a pickle.
I found it. We called some slapper “erasmus” a learned cucumber. We also realize it was a magical time because somebody said something nice about us:
It is a smame- it was our bread and butter.
What is a smame?
A smame is a cross between a shame and a meme.
The wingnuttiens are currently smaming themselves whining about President Barry’s overseas proctocol.
This and this and this illustrate the smame in the membrane.
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A smame is a cross between a shame and a meme.
Scarily enough, that’s exactly the definition I came up with. I just hadn’t gotten around to making a comment.
Thus smame itself appears to be a smame, in the sense that it’s a shame that we seem to be unoriginal in defining this meme.
Are there any processes on 3B that don’t end up recursive?
Are there any processes on 3B that don’t end up recursive?
I think that one must define one’s self here. Is recursive good, or bad?
I spent my first years of collecting corporate paychecks writing spaghetti BASIC for Apple II+’s and e’s.
10 A=11
20 A=a+11
30 gosub 40
40 A=a+11
50 return
60 End
Well, that’s all I remember. Course, it was the 80s.
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Run GOB’s program? (y/n)
y
PENUS PENUS PENUS PENUS
PENUS PENUS PENUS PENUS
PENUS PENUS PENUS PENUS
PENUS PENUS PENUS PENUS
PENUS PENUS PENUS PENUS
PENUS PENUS PENUS PENUS
PENUS PENUS PENUS PENUS
Also, the cucumber wolfman?
Whatever happened to that crazy cryptid?
If I had to guess, I’d say he eloped with sink lettuce. But we still have sink lettuce.
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I will not be baited.
I will not be baited.
I will let you know that I am a master baiter, sir. I chum the comment waters with girthy entendres that beg to be nibbled if not swallowed whole.
Also, if I make speak from experience, attempting to perform an archeological expedition into depictions of 3B mythology is a difficult exercise. One must attain the mindset exhibited in the TiBullsian Book of the Munched in order to find the appropriate linguistic terminology that might yield entry into a buried Lettuce Sink or comment vase depicting fertility rituals performed in red athletic costume.
Pinko, hanx for the compliment, by the way.
I call my emuscape “An Emu on a Cliff Overlooking the Ocean with 3 Fish, 2 of Which Are Really Small”.
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