Dear Fran,
My company cut 15% of its staff in June, another 15% in July. They obviously have gotten a hold of Archimedes lost formula of Inverse Polynomial Barbaric Personal Displacement. Can you calculate how long it is until the workforce is reduced to just me selling office supplies out of a cardboard box?
Dear Fran,
If I think, therefore, I am.
What if I don’t think? Do I then become a state of nothingness?
And what of Newton’s First Law( which he wrote for a Nike Ad): A body in motion stays in motion, A body at rest stays at rest. A body in front of a SDMB becomes must more smarter, yet, mucho morer dense.
Signed,
El Grande Pants
What’s it all about, when you come right down to it, eh? What’s blood but a mass of cells? It’s your soul you should be worried about. Can a doctor help you with that? No he can’t. Unless he is a Soul Doctor. They only exist in remote places though, and you can’t afford the air fare. I can tell by your clothes. They’re vomit-stained.
It’s Superman. See? I warned you about him.
Dear Francesca,
My career lately has been, shall we say, somewhat confined in the past few years. Lately, I’ve been trying to make a comeback, and starred in my last cameo in TV Funhouse as a diner speaker turned hostage by militant Islamic rabbit terrorists.
My agent and I haven’t gotten any calls lately, but the other day I recieved a note from one “Lawrence Tito”. He claims to be doing a comeback show, with late 70s, early 80s sitcom stars. The benefit is plenty of airtime with that hottie of a Suzanne Somers. The drawback is that this “Mr. T” is planning a stunt with myself and my cast member known as “Mr. Farley”, using the two of us as comic relief in a tribute to one “Hannibal”. A Mr. “Face” and Murdoc will be in attendance as well, but will be participants in the skit.
Should I accept this invitation?
Thanks,
John Ritter
I pity da fool!
Francesca, I have a whole basketful of unmatched socks. My husband thinks this is a sign of disorganization. What should I do?
Dear Fran,
In keeping with Shirley Ujest’s line of thought…
I think I am, therefore I am…I think.
What do you make of that?
Teacoffee. It’s a brand new drink. All the bitterness of coffee, with all the murkiness of tea. It’s even got a slight oily film on the top of it. It’s a winner. Get the kettle on. I’ll have a digestive.
What are you trying to tell me here? Are you having security issues? Trying to find your place in the world? Judge not your standing my the amount of advice columns out there. We are legion, and you are regiment. A good regiment though. One of those strong and brave ones who gallently go forth and so on. Possibly on horses.
I could help you with your minesweeper scores, but would it really help you? I mean really? In the short term, I could advise that you always click with both mouse buttons on the squares that are certain to be clear, in order to speadily clear all relevant surrounding squares, but I feel that it wouldn’t help you. I think you’re trying to fail. You don’t want to win, do you? I think you are afraid of the might that such a score brings. It’s a heady, addictive mixture of power and wealth that few men achieve. You have to know how to handle it. Why not start with something smaller? Try tic-tac-toe. Tic tacs are candies here. Try balancing them on your toe. It’s not easy, by any stretch of the imagination. They’re oval and roll off easily.
Just as soon as Archimedes screws you. Watch out for the knitting needles. Incredibly versatile things.
My deer, sweet Shirley, you have fallen into a common trap. The fact that you are thinking does not prove your own existance, it merely proves that a thought exists. As to whether or not you are that thought, I couldn’t possibly say. Perhaps you are thoughts of puppies and daisies, perhaps you are thoughts of unbridled bonobos monkey passion. In which case, I suggest you team up with the Cynical Manservant in the jungle. Perhaps you could serve the tea. Even monkey pimps need tea. Should you stop thinking at any point, you will vanish poof in a cloud of smoke. And if you fall while alone in this jungle with no one around to hear you, I assure you - the trees will be listening.
Then what of those doing the locomotion? It’s a funky dance, and sure to get many at rest into motion. It’s that hypnotic beat, that swaying rhythm that gets you every time. Many people just can’t control themselves, and fling Newton’s First Law aside. They are disrespectful and should be punished. Think on my friend, think on.
Dear Francesca:
What is the basis of your obsession with bonobos monkeys?
Dear Francesca,
I think I should be a rock star. What do you think?
Rose
Dear Fran
How many roads must a man walk down, before you can call him a man?
I don’t have enough data to accurately model satellite insurance large losses for the Lloyds syndicate I am working on today. What shall I do?
pan
You should accept the invitation, but be sure to take along a wooden spoon, a ball of string and some paint. Out of these three things, you may fashion a helicopter and/or boat with which to make good your escape should the situation beome ugly. Incidentally, your fan page is a beauty. Note the classy wallpaper.
What I need to ask you, before we can persue this any further, is why are your unmatched socks in a basket? This is the crux of the matter. Were they randomly strewn about the room, your husband may be forgiven for such accusations, but that fact that they’re in a basket changes everything. Are you keeping them safe? Safe from what? My child, despite what many a poor stand-up comedians will tell you, there is no washing machine monster that eats single socks. You have been cruelly tricked. Reclaim your dignity by scattering the socks about the house, thumbing your nose at the non-existant laundry beast. Dance if you wish.
I was once part of a noble experiment to launch a goat into orbit by firing him out of a PVC plastic cannon. Alas, this bold endeavor came acropper, & there was no launch. Since then , I have been gripped with despair.
I have built spaceguns for Saddam, launched Katuchin Rockets at Hitler’s bunker at the head of the People’s Army, fired on Fort Sumter, and shot my mouth off in bars. Nothing seems to help.
So, I have taken to drink. Unfortunately, what I am drinking is Yoo-Hoo, a bottled chocolate milk-like beverage, & I can’t seem to get a buzz from that.
Tell me, Francesca–are you wearing something tight & sexy?
And, what should I do about my problem?
With something approximating Love on Saturday night,
Bosda
If you are indeed your thoughts, then you are a twisty helix. Do you feel dizzy often? That would be why. Try not to fall on the monkeys.
They raised me. Let us never speak of this again.
You’re thinking of living it large, big house, five cars? What good will it do you? Sure, you’ll be happy. But will you be really happy? I mean really? Remember - only lemons know true happiness. Are they rock stars? No, they are not. Because they don’t have mouths, so they can’t sing. But even if they did, they wouldn’t. Be a rock star; do not be a lemon. Sure you might not be happy, but at least you won’t be a lemon.
Dear Francesca:
I am a single guy in my mid-20’s planning a solo trip to England this September.
So what should I have for lunch today?
Hungrily yours,
Steve
Dear Fran,
Is my invisibility potion working?
Anonymously yours,
Dear Fran
mrs beagledave put way too much miracle-gro in the cucumber garden this summer. Needless to say, we have giant mutant cukes rampaging our backyard.
mrs beagledave seems a bit too “enamored” of the size of said cukes, fondling them more than really necessary …should I be concerned? Is my manhood being threatened by evil produce?
Signed
Melting in the midwest
Dear Fran,
Is it * Right * to buy a Chrysler?
Sincerely,
Dodge Driver in Dodge City
Are we talking metaphorical roads or real roads? You really need to make yourself more clear Kabbes. But I forgive you. I forgive you because you’re my little fluffy bunny aren’t you? Yes you are. Yes you are. Onto the question.
First, a man must walk a circuit of the M25. This is so that anyone with inordinately long legs gets them worn down a bit. Granted, the shorter people will be shorter too, but it’s the principle of the thing. Can’t you see the principle? While performing this walk, being careful to always walk in the direction of oncoming traffic so that when he gets hit it’ll be a dignified full-frontal wallop (it’s character building), that man must meditate on the essence of consciousness. With luck and timing, he will reach the answer while being thrown in a graceful arc through the air by a Mini Metro.
The second walk must be undertaken in the style of John Cleese along the A329M. This is purely for my own amusement.
Finally, he must walk the M4. It will be long and arduous and though rains may come and small children may point and laugh, he must think of how his life can be improved, what he can do for himself and mankind. This road will lead him to my house, where I shall enlighten him. Then he’ll be a man. Aw yeah.
Draw a pretty graph. Play with it on Excel and make it all pretty colours. Make it 3D - that always makes the data look more significant. Except when it refuses to do 3D because it needs more data. Excel is so demanding. I think it’s lonely. Pet it.
Fran, having talked to you so much I feel I can trust you. I have this problem…I can’t really say more…it’s a big problem…what should I do?
Always waiting,
Worried in my town