Pulg |
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Tammuz: "Hey, what do you call a dead body dressed in tweed plus-fours, a Pringle sweater, a Tam O'Shanter and brogues with little spikes on the sole?"
Tiamat: "A golf corpse!"
Ishtar: "Watch out for the nineteenth hole!"
Tammuz: "Ew"
Tiamat: "Why did the cremated Yale student have to leave Skull and Bones?"
Ishtar: "His membership had ex-pyred! I've got one - what do you call a dramatic production about the Black Death featuring plenty of cleavage?"
Tammuz: "A boob-onic play!"
Marduk: "What are you idiots all doing?"
Limeylongears |
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Chert the Barbarian and his roguish friend sat across the table from Mordenkainen in the Bella Furyondy restaurant in Greyhawk City.
"I hope you enjoyed your garlic bread", said the archmage. "Now I have something even better for you!"
He gestured to a waiter, who bought over a flat box, opening it to release a delicious odour and reveal a flat disc of dough, covered with tomato sauce and melted cheese. Then, suddenly, it began to speak!
"HORNED SARDINE BARKS DILIGENTLY!"
The jaws of Chert and his companion dropped. "Wha-huh?!"
"PLACARD BABY'S MARBLE APPLE MELTS HAPPINESS STRING YODELS!!"
Chert raised his mighty axe above the dish, shouting "FOUL WITCHERY!", but Mordenkainen simply raised an admonitory eyebrow and shook his head. The small, dark man sitting by the barbarian put a calming hand on his comrade's brawny arm and eased him back onto his seat.
"Mordenkainen, what was that?!", he asked, and the wizard replied:
gran rey de los mono |
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A bike can't stand by itself because it's two tired.
If a clock is hungry does it go back four seconds?
If you've seen one shopping center you've seen the mall.
Does a dyslexic poet write inverse?
I would like to make a philosophy pun, but I Kant.
What did the buffalo say when his son left for college?
Bison.
Is an alligator wearing a vest an investigator?
If Iron Man and the Silver Surfer ever teamed up, would they be alloys?
gran rey de los mono |
A group of three hooligans decided to copy their favorite masked movie characters in order to hide their identities. They each wore a different mask. Their antics were caught on several surveillance cameras, but due to the masks, they remained unidentified. Eventually, however, their luck ran out and they were caught. When brought before the judge, each man was accompanied by their mask. The first one wore a hockey mask, so the judge asked him "How do you plead, Mr. Voorhees?" This drew a snicker from the crowd. When the second man stepped forward, the judge asked him "What is your plea? And please just speak normally, no need to Scream." This drew a few chuckles. Then the third man was brought forward, along with his mask. The judge didn't recognize the character at first, but the bailiff politely informed him it was the mask worn by the character V from V for Vendetta. The judge smiled widely and asked:
Midnight_Angel |
(Not mine, to be honest, but I still like it)
Once upon a time (1/t), pretty little Polly Nomial was strolling across a field of vectors when she came to the edge of a singularly large matrix.
Now Polly was convergent and her mother had made it an absolute condition that she must never enter such an array without her brackets on. Polly, however, who had changed her variables that morning and was feeling particularly badly behaved, ignored this condition on the grounds that it was insufficient and made her way in amongst the complex elements.
Rows and columns enveloped her on all sides. Tangents approached her surface. She became tensor and tensor. Quite suddenly, three branches of a hyperbola touched her at a single point. She oscillated violently, lost all sense of directrix and went completely divergent. As she reached a turning point she tripped over a square root which was protruding from the erf and plunged headlong down a steep gradient. When she was differentiated once more she found herself, apparently alone, in a non-euclidean space.
She was being watched, however. That smooth operator, Curly Pi, was lurking inner product. As his eyes devoured her curvilinear coordinates, a singular expression crossed his face. Was she still convergent, he wondered. He decided to integrate improperly at once.
Hearing a vulgar function behind her, Polly turned round and saw Curly Pi approaching with his power series extrapolated. She could see at once, by his degenerate conic and his dissipative terms, that he was bent on no good.
"Eureka" she gasped.
"Ho, ho," he said. "What a symmetric little Polynomial you are. I can see you're bubbling over with secs".
"O Sir," she protested, "keep away from me. I haven't got my brackets on."
"Calm yourself, my dear," said our suave operator, "your fears are purely imaginary "
"i, i," she thought, "perhaps he's homogenous then?".
"What order are you," the brute demanded.
"Seventeen," replied Polly.
Curly leered. "I suppose you've never been operated on yet?" he asked.
"Of course not", Polly cried indignantly. "I'm absolutely convergent."
"Come, come," said Curly. "Let's off to a decimal place I know and I'll take you to the limit."
"Never," gasped Polly.
"Exchlf," he swore, using the vilest oath he knew. His patience was gone. Coshing her over the coefficient with a log until she was powerless, Curly removed her discontinuities. He stared at her significant places and began to smooth her points of inflexion. Poor Polly. All was up. She felt his hand tending to her asymptotic limit. Her convergence would soon be gone forever.
There was no mercy, for Curly was a heavyside operator. He integrated by parts. He integrated by partial fractions. The complex beast even went all the way around and did a contour integration. What an indignity. To be multiply connected on her first integration. Curly went on operating until he was absolutely and completely orthogonal.
When Polly got home that evening, her mother noticed that she had been truncated in several places. But it was too late to differentiate now. As the months went by, Polly increased monotonically. Finally she generated a small but pathological function which left surds all over the place until she was driven to distraction.
The moral of this sad story is this: If you want to keep your expressions convergent, never allow them a single degree of freedom.
Scintillae |
So Arnold Schwarzenegger's taking up gardening, but I hear he's taken it a step too far and started naming the plants. This one's called La Vista Baby.
Limeylongears |
"I suppose the royalties from 'Smooth Operator' wouldn't last forever, would they?"
"No. Still, her French tent hire business is doing well, which is nice. Look! There's an advertising billboard right over there!"
"Oh yeah. Er... Why is that woman in the rubber thigh boots doing... those things... to that Frenchman with those whips... and those squashes... and that pressure hose... and the corn syrup?"
"Corporate branding. The adverts have to be themed to match the company name,
"Oh."
Limeylongears |
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Zookeeper's songbook.
Hold The Lion.
Lion Eyes.
Giraffe, You Lonesome Tonight?
Instant Llama
Camel Together
Willie the Chimp, Chimpin' Ain't Easy, etc.
Gin and Gnus.
In a Sentimental Moose.
Sittin' on a Duck in the Bay
I'm a Seal Man
The Sound of Seal's Ends
Iguana Know What Love Is.
All in all, you're just another d*ck in the Walrus