Mugga wugga mum bum wugga wugga

Brownies for those who figure out.

 Uh wugga wuh. Uh wugga wuh.
 Uh wugga wugga wugga.
 Uh wugga wuh uh wugga wuh
 Uh wugga wugga wugga.

Oh, and Googled (or any search-engined) Brownies taste bitter.

Make of it what you will.

Too many fingers. Only one pie.
Na. The other way round.

Speaking of pies,

If you want to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first create the universe.
-Carl Sagan

Somewhere in London. 

By Robert Montgomery


(http://www.robertmontgomery.org/robertmontgomery.org/5.html)

I never thought I should be posting this, but...

...Your Xlnc, and everyone else under Capn' Ted's command,

Drink up me hearties, yo ho.

oh, and to---er, well, somebody/something (and this I expected)

shoo.

The Starling

"No," said the starling; "I can't get out, I can't get out," said the starling.

I do not know why I am so fascinated, so attached to this little passage from Laurence Sterne's 'A sentimental journey through France and Italy'.

It is beautifully written, true, but there is something about the starling that strikes a chord in me. The starling's plaintive cry, "I can't get out," serves as my gtalk status. But, you see, I do not feel (and have never before felt) like a caged bird that wants out but cannot.

No, my cage has a door that I know I can open, should I try just a little harder. Only, I do not dare.