Anonymous@inmet.UUCP (12/10/83)
#N:inmet:7700002:000:193 inmet!Anonymous Dec 6 12:46:00 1983 I sing you a song of a sleek, slimy seal Who slithers and slides through the slippery sands. She's warm as can be and I love her for real But I must hold her flippers, for seals have no hands.
art@godot.UUCP (Art Medlar) (01/16/85)
SPARKOMATIC
I like to travel
It's so much more fun than standing still.
The trees go by
With hundreds of tiny frogs
Into the furnace
Of the past.
>Art Medlarnessus@mit-eddie.UUCP (Doug Alan) (04/12/85)
Everybody loves you and hates me They hate me because I am ugly Because I live in their cereal boxes And under their sinks They spray me with poison And trap me with scents They love you because you float on the wind -- I have to crawl Your colorful wings hide your six scaly legs And your creepy antennas They love you because you suck the juices from their manicured flowers They love you so much... They'll stick a pin through your heart Ha! I'll still be alive When you're just a painful longing in withered hearts -Doug Alan
ibyf@ihlpa.UUCP (Scott) (01/09/86)
Oh Freddled Gruntbuggly, thy nacturations are to me As plurdled Gabbleblotchits in a lurgid bee Groop! I implore thee, my foonting Turlingdromes and hooptiously drangle me with crinkly Bindlewurdles or I will rend thee in the Gobberwarts with my Blurglecruncheon, see if I don't! Gashee Morphousite, thou expungiest quoopisk Bleem miserable Venchit! Bleem forever mestinglish asunder frapt Fripping lyshus Wimbgunts, awhilst moongrovenly kormzibs Gerond withoutitude form into formless Bloit, why not then? Moose.
paul@vcvax1.UUCP (paul) (01/10/86)
> Oh Freddled Gruntbuggly, thy nacturations are to me ...
This sounds to me like the Vogon Captain's favorite poetry
from Infocom's Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy game.
This is a wonderful game -- but why don't you give them (and
Douglas Adams) credit???
Paul Kleppner
VenturCom, Inc.
{harvard,mit-eddie}!cybvax0!vcvax1!venixbarth@tellab1.UUCP (Barth Richards) (01/10/86)
In article <996@ihlpa.UUCP> ibyf@ihlpa.UUCP (Scott) writes: >Oh Freddled Gruntbuggly, thy nacturations are to me ^ that's MICTURATIONS_______| >As plurdled Gabbleblotchits in a lurgid bee >Groop! I implore thee, my foonting Turlingdromes >and hooptiously drangle me with crinkly Bindlewurdles >or I will rend thee in the Gobberwarts >with my Blurglecruncheon, see if I don't! > >Gashee Morphousite, thou expungiest quoopisk >Bleem miserable Venchit! Bleem forever mestinglish asunder frapt >Fripping lyshus Wimbgunts, awhilst moongrovenly kormzibs >Gerond withoutitude form into formless Bloit, why not then? Moose. Where did the second verse come from? Was it in one of Douglas Adams' obscure unpublished notebooks, or did it just spill from the deep dark recesses of your own mind? Barth Richards Tellabs, Inc. Lisle, IL "Vogon poetry is the third worst poetry in the universe." -THE HITCHHIKER'S GUIDE TO THE GALAXY
hsu@eneevax.UUCP (Dave Hsu) (01/11/86)
In article <165@vcvax1.UUCP> paul@vcvax1.UUCP (paul) writes: >> Oh Freddled Gruntbuggly, thy nacturations are to me ... > >This sounds to me like the Vogon Captain's favorite poetry >from Infocom's Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy game. >This is a wonderful game -- but why don't you give them (and >Douglas Adams) credit??? > >Paul Kleppner (we missed the original posting) Actually, the words came from the TV show. Can't recall if they were in the radio show, though. -dave -- David Hsu Communication & Signal Processing Lab, EE Department <disclaimer> University of Maryland, College Park, MD 20742 hsu@eneevax.umd.edu {seismo,allegra}!umcp-cs!eneevax!hsu CF522@UMDD.BITNET And then there were none.
dturner@imagen.UUCP (Alai) (01/13/86)
> Oh Freddled Gruntbuggly, thy nacturations are to me > As plurdled Gabbleblotchits in a lurgid bee > Groop! I implore thee, my foonting Turlingdromes > and hooptiously drangle me with crinkly Bindlewurdles > or I will rend thee in the Gobberwarts > with my Blurglecruncheon, see if I don't! > > Gashee Morphousite, thou expungiest quoopisk > Bleem miserable Venchit! Bleem forever mestinglish asunder frapt > Fripping lyshus Wimbgunts, awhilst moongrovenly kormzibs > Gerond withoutitude form into formless Bloit, why not then? Moose. aagaagagagagagagaaaaggggagagagagagggaaggaaggagaaga that man is a vogon !!!!!! the dead swans lie in the stagnet pool , or how about : zen and the art of going to the lavorty ? -- If you push somthing hard enough it will fall over -fud's first law . Name: David Turner Mail: 6259 Rainbow dr. San Jose , Ca 95129 AT&T: (408) 725-1974 UUCP: ...{decvax,ucbvax}!decwrl!imagen!dturner
ibyf@ihlpa.UUCP (Scott) (01/13/86)
> In article <165@vcvax1.UUCP> paul@vcvax1.UUCP (paul) writes: > >> Oh Freddled Gruntbuggly, thy nacturations are to me ... > >This sounds to me like the Vogon Captain's favorite poetry > >from Infocom's Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy game. > >Paul Kleppner > > (we missed the original posting) > Actually, the words came from the TV show. Can't recall if they > -dave > -- > David Hsu Communication & Signal Processing Lab, EE Department ACTUALLY the words came from the game!!! signed, the original poster of the article!!!!
thoth@tellab3.UUCP (Marcus Hall) (01/14/86)
Also from THHGTTG: Ode to a Small Lump of Green Putty I Found in my Armpit One Midsummer Morning Putty. Putty. Putty. Green Putty -- Grutty Peen. Grarmpitutty -- Morning! Pridsummer -- Grorning Utty! Discovery ..... Oh. Putty? ..... Armpit? Armpit ..... Putty. Not even a particularly Nice shade of green. Zin and the Art of going to the Lavatory. Ralax mind Relax body Relax bowels Relax. Do not fall over. You are a cloud. You are raining. Do not rain Whilst train Is standing at a station. Move with the wind. Apologise where necessary. And By: Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings 37 Wasp Villas Green Bridge Essex GB10 1LL The dead swans lay in the stagnant pool. They lay, they rotted. They turned Around occasionally. Bits of flesh dropped off them from Time to time. And sank into the pool's mire. They also smelt a great deal. This scrolled across on the book during the discussion of poetry on the TV version. marcus hall ..!ihnp4!tellab1!tellab2!thoth
ar563303@sjuvax.UUCP (rowley) (02/12/86)
*** REPLACE THIS LINE WITH YOUR MESSAGE *** Untitled (I haven't submitted to this net in a while so feel free to comment) A nation in stagnation... riding the waves of conformity with slow,silent erosion We need a new diversity breaking through the barriers imposed by a media-induced society and rising to a new dawn of freedom The hypnotic litany of "wanna get,gotta buy" holds millions in thrall before the unblinking cathode-ray eye... The wheel has come full-circle as freedoms are curtailed not by government but by the governed and the hype to which they are subject... Can any hell be worse than that of a people who have lost their essence? Freedom and creativity have been voluntarily put by the wayside as B-grade movie stars rule over a jaded world made in Japan... Spare me from the rhetoric of sameness and "normalcy" for you have made it bad enough... A revolution is in order not with guns or money but with the best of old and new in synthesis to bring color back to a dull humanity Our "modern-day utopia" is a bare-faced lie concocted by old men in business suits looking to get the rest and the best of everything as they rape our wildlands and poison us with toxic wastes in the name of progress... The warmongers fattening htemselves with the lifeblood of our nation... Spare me from all these things and reserve me a place in the wilds if there are any left by the time I finish...
ahr@ariel.UUCP (T.A.ROOLAART) (07/14/86)
A Poem by Ton Roolaart::
- 1 -
BBBBlllluuuurrrrrrrreeeedddd TTTThhhhoooouuuugggghhhhttttssss
(October 24, 1983)
_I_n_j_e_c_t_i_o_n_s _o_n _a_n_x_i_e_t_y _s_t_i_n_g _m_y _m_i_n_d
_R_e_l_i_e_f _o_h _d_i_s_t_a_n_t _r_e_l_i_e_f
_l_i_e_s _i_n _a _s_e_a _c_o_l_o_r_e_d _w_i_t_h
_a_l_l _s_p_e_c_i_e_s _o_f _l_i_f_e
_C_a_l_m_n_e_s_s _p_a_s_s_e_s _m_e _b_y _a_n_d
_I _h_a_v_e _b_u_t _l_i_t_t_l_e _l_e_f_t _t_o _b_r_e_a_t_h
_C_a_n'_t _y_o_u _s_e_e - _C_a_n'_t _y_o_u _t_o_u_c_h _m_e
_I _h_o_p_e _i_n _s_t_r_a_n_g_e _c_o_l_o_r_s
_I _f_e_e_l _w_i_t_h _a_b_s_t_r_a_c_t _s_t_r_o_k_e_s _o_f _a _b_r_u_s_h
_I _l_i_s_t_e_n _t_h_r_o_u_g_h _e_c_h_o_i_n_g
_c_h_a_m_b_e_r_s _o_f _f_a_l_s_e _i_m_p_r_e_s_s_i_o_n_s
_I _t_a_l_k _n_o_t _o_f _f_a_n_t_a_s_y _b_u_t _o_f
_F_a_r _f_a_d_e_d _s_h_a_d_e_s _o_f _b_l_u_e
_D_i_f_f_u_s_i_n_g _t_h_e _c_o_l_o_r_s _o_f _m_y _w_o_r_l_d
_I'_l_l _s_p_l_a_s_h _l_i_g_h_t _o_n _m_y _p_a_t_h
_L_o_o_k_i_n_g _f_o_r _t_h_a_t _o_n_e _p_a_i_n_t_i_n_g
_T_h_a_t _w_i_l_l _r_e_m_e_d_y _m_y _s_o_u_l