Posted on 01/09/2015 7:26:09 PM PST by RegulatorCountry
An accountant at a New York ad firm leaped to his death because he was hallucinating that the mannequins at his Manhattan office were chasing him, it was claimed today. David Caquais, 43, opened at window at Catch NY on the fourth floor of a building in Manhattan's Garment District and jumped out about 9pm on January 2. The New York Post reports that Mr Caquais screamed 'They're after me! They're after me!' as he ran around his office and attempted to kick out windows.
(Excerpt) Read more at dailymail.co.uk ...
And on another note, in about 15 minutes I will leave to retrieve a Tipton cat from the location where they transformed him into a JohnBoehner-type male...
Sparkle has no clue that she has no power to entice the toms...
Maybe she could learn to make a sound like a can-opener.
She actually has quite a large repertoire of sounds, and is developing more as time goes on. I could discuss with her the sound of a can opener, but I don’t use an electric. I have a Gizmo opener by B&D, but seldom use it. And of course, the cat food cans are pop top...
Hey! That was a good year!
I was in the dark for most of it.
So...
The Tipton is home from his Excellent Adventure, somewhat subdued but otherwise ok, and totally clueless that he is no longer an effectual male, er Tom.
Much like most Republicans in Congress...
Welcome home, Tiptom.... er Tipton...
No, but it can gum up the workings to a slow crawl.
No, but it can gum up the workings to a slow crawl.
.
Every day
should start
this way ...
To Day
Darkness, made the more profound,
By silence, whose husbanded sound,
Has stretched the firmament of stilled air,
Until it almost seems about to tear...
Then worn and tattered threadbare night,
Whose shivering stars have tithed their meager light,
Surrenders to a youthful sun to rouse up all the dew,
As elder brethren go to sleep, all blanketed in blue.
The steaming rocks and hillside pearls are rising,
On slanting golden treads, while songbirds in surprising,
Cheerfulness, unclench their frozen toes,
Before the sunny fireplace that rose.
And I my mind and plans for day compose,
When to my sight an amber-petalled rose,
Has caused all time to stand still in its place,
Until I have completed worship of your face.
NicknamedBob . . . . . . . . October 8, 2005
Is that Grumpy ? It looks like her
No, it’s a fluffy kitten.
Cyrano Jones may think tribbles are an affectation. But in reality or its pretended consequence they are an infestation.
They’re born pregnant and have ten offspring per litter every twelve hours. You do the math.
You’d be better off with ostriches, or even humans.
They’re smaller than ostriches.
Humans? Possibly smarter, too.
Possibly.
Tribbles may be smarter than ostriches. Tribbles are cooler. They were on Stsr Trek. Ostriches never were.
Fluffy Floofy Kitteh !!!!!
Oh you are the best Tax chick. Floofy!
The trouble with Star Trek is it was too unrealistic. The owner of the cafe in the space station, if he’d been any type of capitalist, would have figured out how to fry up the tribble meat and serve it with hot sauce during sporting events like todays buffalo wings - a stupid idea if I’ve ever head of one and one that makes a LOT of money.
(Which is why you should never ask me what I think of your money making ideas.)
Anyway, he would have also said they were solutions for ED (could you imagine a better natural source?) and that would have been the end of the tribble problem.
Oh, they also make great Klingon detecters.
I like your idea of a buffalo wing tribbles.
I just wonder if there is any meat in a tribble or if it is just floof.
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