Nah, it lome-aligned a few moments ago.

Ninethly,

Why are you counting, Cruciverbalist? Do you not have a home to go to?

It lome-aligned a few moments ago - that is why it is that I am counting.

You are wasting your time.

If anyone would like to let me in on what is going on in this thread, you'd assuage, oh, about five seconds of wondering.

Counting down from five, then.

PH, why do you insist on going on threads and saying "You're wasting your time"? We know we're wasting our time, that's what ILX is for.

Well look whose come back to roost. What a coup.

"lome-aligned" sounds vaguely drrrrrty.

OK, my attention span just ended.

6/11 messages from the same poster!!

Do not call me PH, if you don't mind. PH is a measure of the acidity or alkalinity of a solution, numerically equal to 7 for neutral solutions, increasing with increasing alkalinity and decreasing with increasing acidity. The pH scale commonly in use ranges from 0 to 14. And please stop counting, Cruciverbalist.

And I thought I was bored.

Pashmina, has recently posed as Pete Wylie and Julian Cope in another thread (linked), so please do not throw stones in glass houses.

psychedelic furs vs. echo and the bunnymen

Tenthly,

if yer going to get yer jollies by being all self-righteous cruciverbalist/plunging hen/anon 6/11, you might get yer facts right first. There are 2 posts from me in that thread, both of which use the same email address. I have no idea who is pretending to be pete wylie (& don't care either)

Actually, I'm above all that, so I don't care, either. I like you Pashmina -- you've got what the American call 'spunk'('spunk' in Britain is sperm and you are not that). You are a leader, like Martin Short.

pashmina so is that

I called you PH, not pH. There's a difference.

eh, whatever...ergh, sorry, stressy day & all that.

(x-post)

WASTE OF SPACE.

(so does RJG)

x-post - Norman, are these silly people friends of yours? Can you make them go away?

I have no idea who this is mark!!

(who is martin short btw?)

American comedian with a big nose. He was in "The Three Amigos" and "Inner Space", IIRC.

Eskimos have 50 words for snow. What is the word one uses to describe recently ejaculated sperm in a state of being transmitted tenderly from mouth to mouth - chiefly enacted by (lesbian) women, occasionally seen in porn magazines? The word is 'Pash'.

Oh fuck off.

Grow up, and stop shashing up the internet with your unsafeness.

Why are you posting under two names?

Actually, I'm not interested. Can't you just be a loser elsewhere?

Calm down, Barry!

"Actually, I'm not interested. Can't you just be a loser elsewhere?"

OK, I will go. I meant no offence. I apologise for the mouth-to-mouth sperm reference - it was meant well. Take care and look after yourself.

No, no, you've got it wrong. Your tedious attention-seeking nonsense is why I want you to leave. Your shock tactics are too lame to notice. Bye!

I think I know the identity of this interloper. Or at least, I have an idea… I can’t be sure, but I think that this Plunging Hen may be my long lost cousin. This is going back a few years but Hen was born the last of 37 children, to my great aunt Milly and uncle Gobble... Family legend has it that Hen was born exactly two minutes to midnight, just like the song, and lightening flickered on the horizon with Hen’s first cheep. I’m a little hazy on the details because it was all hushed up by the family, but over the years I’ve picked up a few scraps of information… apparently Hen was always a problem chick. A loner who never played and rolled in the shit and dust with the other chicks, Hen preferred to sit alone in the shade of the pen and glower, clucking ferociously at any of her peers who came too close. It quickly became clear that Hen was not just an isolationist but a dangerously unstable sociopath. One morning the old rooster Charles the III was found dead in the centre of the coop. His head had been ripped off. Initially we believed Charles had died of natural causes but when Hen started wearing the old boys rotting head as a cape, questions were asked. Of course, the family rallied round Hen, and rejected the gossip and whispers. But when Hen started quoting Revelations from a small upturned sardine tin, with the kind of fervour usually associated with fetishists on a first date, the family naturally began to have doubts. These doubts were made concrete when Hen took the unusual decision to manage Michael Heseltine’s bid for the Tory crown in the early nineties, following Thatcher’s resignation, which Hen, it transpired, had helped engineer. If the family had any doubts as to the state of Hen’s mental stability, these were now shot to fuck. The same afternoon that Hen introduced Tarzan to the clan, with the words, "meet the new Prime Minister of Britain", Hen’s father called up social services and told them he had a live one. The boys came round the next morning, just before daybreak, with nets and a very uncomfortable looking jacket. Hen was strapped in and driven swiftly away. Few saw her go, and those that did were sworn to secrecy. The family explained the disappearance by telling the neighbours they had eaten Hen in a pie. Hen meanwhile was incarcerate in a maximum security coop on the Isle of Wight, where she was one of the first patients to receive pioneering new pecktromatic therapy. The family were told however, that Hen was not making progress. She had taken the news of Heseltine’s leadership defeat very badly and gone into psychiatric remission, clucking that her family had betrayed her and that John Major, Michael Howard, John Redwood and other leading Tories were all going to get what was coming to them as they were merely puppets of her scheming family. The family held a meeting and it was agreed that Hen’s name would never be mentioned again. Records were erased and all Hen’s belongings were burned. That was back in 93 I think, and we have heard nothing since last month, when a telegram from the Isle of Wight arrived advising that Hen has escaped by dressing up as a guard she had killed, pecking the poor chap to death. We have moved pens several times since 1993 and didn’t think Hen would try to track us down but apparently, some wounds do not heal. If I was John Major I’d be calling up security right now.

eleventhly,

OK Markelby, if that's your final word on the matter ...
My lome is aligned, so perhaps you're right and it is finally time I went. It's now down to you to make ilx a better, less attention-seeking place.

I say, wait for me, Cruciverbalist!

Now, if I may offer you some advice before I leave, Mark C, I should very much like to take you to one side, in a brotherly way - rather like Liam Gallagher did to Damon Albarn at the height of Britpop. You can't go around saying that people on this board are pathetic, bitchy, unfunny, attention-seeking nobodys. Well ... of course you can, but it's not kind. In fact, it's beastly, and you won't make any friends that way; and you might even get reported. I've heard about you at FAP's and, believe me, it's simply not enough to be handsome, charming and witty, like you are - you must have charity. Charity is a virtue.

And Martin Short certainly does not have a big nose.

so does barry.