Not better or worse; I’m just saying that there is a lot of backstory on Gilligan’s Island that was never revealed to the viewing public.
Then there’s the whole disappering cast members on My Three Sons. That was no mere insurance scam Fred MacMurray was pulling there.
Stranger
You, sir, have a very unusual mind… :eek:
Let’s just say I see past the mundane façade and into the deeply buried conspiracies behind. I know what’s in the case, and it’s no mere terrorist weapon. I was there when they filmed that bomb falling down the chimney during the Gulf War, and we did it with an 8" Lego model. I went through the looking glass, and it in fact was more fun that miniature golf. I stole this book, but I actually put it back before they noticed it was gone. I’d tell you where Eris is and what I did to her when I found her, but I’d have to kil you. Don’t trust the phone company.
Robert Anton Wilson has nothing on me.
Stranger
And let’s not forget the subtle sinister subtext implied in, “Ward, don’t you think you were a little hard on the the Beaver last night?”
Now that’s just silly. It’s clear that Wally and the Beav were conceived by artificial insemination. I don’t think Ward even had a clue as to what sex really was, and as for June, well, let’s just say she was more than just obsessed with vacuuming the carpets, if you catch my drift.
Stranger
Phone Cops, you forgot to mention Phone Cops.
I could not make this shit up if I tried. Well, I could, but it wouldn’t be nearly as audacious as the reality of the current Administration. Hell, The President’s Analyst is really pretty tame in comparison at this point.
I’ll repeat myself: don’t trust the phone company.
Stranger
And if they get caught mud wrestling, it’s the LezClayPool.
(Yes, I did just make lesbian mud wrestling work in the service of a horrible music geek pun. I am the most evil you can fit into a single Doper.)
In the library, with the candlestick.
Regards,
Shodan
And a lot more successful than his first one.
Oh really? :smack:
Okay - perhaps you can tell me what the true, sinister purpose of aglets on shoelaces is.
They give my cats something to chew on.
One of us has to get his sinister meter recalibrated.
No, no…the chewing on aglets is just the start of an entire chain of events which follows silenus through the day, first getting his fringy shoelaces caught under the brake petal, causing him to spin out amusingly at the stop light, then…oh, look, string! Anyway, it all leads to the culimation of the massssttttteeeerrr pllllaaaa…is that…biiirrrdddd. Blert! Blert! Here, birdybirdybirdy! Come land here on this perch of my front paw! I’ll get you my pret…thump Damn glass. Anyway, as I was saying, um, oh yes, the culimation of the master plan to overthrow the overgrown pink ra…cannedfoodcomingcomingcomingcoming!
It’s not that they don’t have a sinister plan for us, but owing to an attention span comperable to an ADHD child who missed his morning Ritalin and just ate a bowl of Sugar Frosted Sugar Bombs with Mountain Dew the schemes never really get off the ground. It’s a good thing, too, or they’d have us all dangling from string.
Stranger
Why are images of Pinky and The Brain going through my head now? 
“Well, I think so, Brain, but I can’t memorize a whole opera in Yiddish.”
Stranger
You don’t have cats, do you?
The reason cats don’t register on your sinister meter is that it’s only calibrated in millisatans. Cats start at kilosatans, and that’s as kittens.