Fair enough. I more than understand having been very blunt in my younger years. FWIW, any response to a joke that starts with a “no” may come off as expressing displeasure over the joke.
Not a lecture! Not even a criticism! Just something I had to figure out the hard way in my own life. :). Thanks for sayin!
I downloaded these from archive.org after your post, and have them running on my media server right now.
WOW.
Really puts Star Trek TOS in its context.
The bonus is the ads. I had no idea Wheaties had used its “breakfast of champions” slogan for so long.
Thank you!
PS I very much appreciate the slide whistle player’s virtuoso level playing, especially the “imitation theremin” and the radar sounds.
If you like Dimension X, you might also enjoy X Minus One. It’s also available on archive.org here
Suddenly, I feel the need to go back and rewatch Monster House.
CASH.
I’ve lost it from my room or somewhere in the house to the front door.
I’ve tried dowsing for it, but either I’m not focusing well enough, or I’m misinterpreting something (I’ve used both a set of rods and a pendulum).
I had a set of car keys that I lost a few weeks back. I remember locking my car from inside my house. And yet the keys vanished.
Personally, rather than dowsing, I usually have better luck with making an appeasement to the gremlins, and then looking back the first place I checked: it generally reappears exactly where it was supposed to be if they’re satisfied.
Your house didnt eat anything; all our missing junk has been co-opted and redistributed to the Land of Og:
I loved that book. Patsy rules.
Yeah, she does.
It could just be an infestation of Borrowers/Littles…
Glasses. No one has mentioned glasses. Fortunately regurgitation times have been brief. So far.
The house even eats the glasses I wear when looking for the glasses the house eats.
Borrowers, Littles, gremlins… fuck if I know what to call them, but I definitely believe mischievous little beings are responsible for all the world’s missing minutia that seems to ‘just vanish into thin air.’
Veet Voojagig, was a quiet young student at the University of Maximeglon, who pursued a brilliant academic career studying ancient philology, transformational ethics and the wave harmonic theory of historical perception, and then, after a night of drinking Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters with Zaphod Beeblebrox, became increasingly obsessed with the problem of what had happened to all the biros he’d bought over the past few years.
There followed a long period of painstaking research during which he visited all the major centres of biro loss throughout the galaxy and eventually came up with a quaint little theory which caught the public imagination at the time. Somewhere in the cosmos, he said, along with all the planets inhabited by humanoids, reptiloids, fishoids, walking treeoids and superintelligent shades of the colour blue, there was also a planet entirely given over to biro life forms. And it was to this planet that unattended biros would make thier way, slipping away quietly through wormholes in space to a world where they knew they could enjoy a uniquely biroid lifestyle, responding to highly biro-orientated stimuli, and generally leading the biro equivalent of the good life.
And as theories go this was all very fine and pleasant until Veet Voojagig suddenly claimed to have found this planet, and to have worked there for a while driving a limousine for a family of cheap retractables, whereupon he was taken away, locked up, wrote a book, and was finally sent into tax exile, which is the usual fate reserved for those who are determined to make a fool of themselves in public.
When one day an expedition was sent to the spatial coordinates that Voojagig had claimed for this planet they discovered only a small asteroid inhabited by a solitary old man who claimed repeatedly that nothing was true, though he was later discovered to be lying.
There did however, remain the question of both the mysterious 60,000 Altairian dollars paid yearly into his Brantisvogan bank account, and of course Zaphod Beeblebrox’s highly profitable second-hand biro business.
You see, my place always regurgitates my glasses at the exact time and place I sit down to take a break from looking for them. Under my butt.
That’s how I broke my first and last pair of prescription Ray Bans, a couple months after buying them.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t work retroactively.
Unfortunately. I find it handy. My daughter gave me one and it’s super useful just for confirming that digging in my purse a little more will reward me with keys and I’m not wasting my time fumbling around.