Monday, 2 June 2014

You bring the tripe, I'll bring the wine

The Tao Te π

"The π which  cannot be expressed as a ratio of integers is not the π."

In the act of creation, boom! down goes the server. Just because everybody loves π,  π don't necessarily love you.

Therefore, the hypotamoose.

There are always consequences

Like a tea party in a bounce house, Illogicopedia bumbles along, mired in the non-noteworthy, passing lumpy space bits off as Farsi speakers propel their smell into hell. Then this happens. I didn't want to say anything, but the mother spit profusely when she talked. Annoying.

If Lumpy Jake turns

Don't kill him. He's not the Buddha, after all. Nor is he on the road. Worst case, he's a were-turnip. Just ignore him and hope he won't kill you.

It's all about ratios. Or did I misspell rations? Either way, you get what you're issued, and you have to compare it to something. That's how you get the ratio. Or ration.

Once you have the ratio, ask yourself, "Is this circular logic?". If so, unroll it until you see π. 

Monday, 14 April 2014

Consider, if you will, the sweet granny in the picture. She lovingly bakes swastika cookies for local Bund meetings. The look on her face says, "ach! so my friggin' grandson disapproves?"

 I watched a documentary about Mel Gibson this morning. Pitiable wretch. Still, he's rich beyond our dreams, most of us.

I'd like to see him do commercials for reverse mortgages or antipsychotic medications. You don't have to be German to be insane. Mental disorder is no stranger to any race, color or persuasions.

They've been watching again. Looking out the windows surreptitiously this morning, I saw them again. They've gotten to the dog. She doesn't bark when they come around any more. I've been eating more garlic bread.

Thursday, 23 January 2014

Another year of lull has transpired across the time/space matrices of Illogicopedia, and the Pope couldn't be more pleased. The Alpaca Rendezvous Project was a raging success, having raised the collective consciousness of both Uzbekistan and Hoboken, New Jersey.  A gaggle of prigs was installed into the gaps between keystone number 8, and is almost paid for.

It has been determined by the ruling cabal that the crux of the biscuit is the apostrophe. It's not an original thought, but the truth is impossible to ignore. For the first time, biscuit appropriations were sourced to an international committee. Phrased another way, the crux was committed, straight jacket and all. The 911 call that initiated the decruxing was traced to an albino Elvis impersonator who eats Teflon.

The momentum pulled along a variegated melange of role playing games, rhapsodic headbangers, beetles, aquatic mammals, hyenas, faux lesbians and their Republican entourages, rocky road ice cream, polecats and medical supplies.

Ugh. Yet another list. It certainly can get tiresome, as lists accumulate into grommet piles like scum from the underside of inner city sewer grates. As we spin and revolve around Sol, undetected alien presences insinuate themselves into our societies. Their reptilian stamps are on nannies and political consultants alike.

So, our advice to you is to investigate these conspiracies for yourselves, and write articles related to your experiences for submission to Illogicopedia. The act can be liberating, and will certainly lead to mental aberrations.

Lather, rinse, repeat. Repeat.