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HalfMooner
Dingaling
Philippines
15831 Posts |
 Posted - 09/11/2006 : 12:49:32 [Permalink]
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A Pleiadean Bangaroo hops into a bar. She sits at the bar, lays down her credit chip, and orders a shot of brandy. The bartender fills a snifter, and pincers it to the Bangaroo.
The Bangaroo swiftly downs the brandy, peeks into her pouch, and orders another. The bartender complies. This goes on several times in swift succession, the Bangaroo looking into her pouch after each drink.
Signalling curiosity with rolling pincer gestures, the bartender at last asks the Bangaroo, "Pardon my query, but why do you keep looking into your pouch? Do you have a sickly infant in there?"
"Oh, no," replies the Bangaroo. "It's just my personal moderation policy, you see. I keep a hologram of my mate in there. I keep drinking only until he begins to look good."
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“Biology is just physics that has begun to smell bad.” —HalfMooner
Here's a link to Moonscape News, and one to its Archive. |
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HalfMooner
Dingaling
Philippines
15831 Posts |
Posted - 09/11/2006 : 13:13:46 [Permalink]
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A Vegan snow-ape, a Postcanine, a Kulgan centauroid, a Human, a Flammarian, an albino Arcturan with a Saladian gra!thang on its head, a Pleiadean Bangaroo, a green-flippered Dragbakonian swamp beast, a Venusian fire wallaby, a Greater Hrodian Gore, a Cusionian sage-maggot, a Nam, and a Thalamander walk into a bar.
"What's this?" asks the bartender, pincer-gesturing irritated curiosity, "some kind of a joke?"
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“Biology is just physics that has begun to smell bad.” —HalfMooner
Here's a link to Moonscape News, and one to its Archive. |
| Edited by - HalfMooner on 09/11/2006 19:30:40 |
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Dave W.
Info Junkie
USA
26022 Posts |
Posted - 09/11/2006 : 13:44:33 [Permalink]
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A Hasturian shimmies up to the bar in a spaceport. "I have a wager to propose," he says to the bartender.
"Query: what sort of contest, and how much?" the bartender replies.
"I will wager 10 credits that while blindfolded, I can urinate into a one-cc container placed upon the bar." The bartender buzzes with excitement, thumbs the spaceport wager-enforcement pod on the bar, and calls over some other patrons. "To make the challenge more interesting, I will climb onto a barstool, and you can spin it around."
Soon, the 30 or so patrons in the establishment have all thumbed into the wagering system. The Hasturian ties napkins around each of its eyestalks, and with some help climbs on top of a barstool. The bartender, still buzzing, places one of his smallest glasses on the bar some ten feet away and clicks to announce readiness.
One of the patrons begins spinning the barstool, and then the Hasturian begins to urinate from all 600 of his orifices, drenching everything and everyone nearby. Not a single drop lands in the glass. Customers begin to head back to their seats, 10 credits richer. The Hasturian removes the napkins and hops down to the floor, laughing.
"Query!" screeches the bartender. "You have lost over 300 credits, why do you laugh?"
"Because," the Hasturian winks, "I wagered 5,000 credits with the Postcanine in the hallway outside that I could urinate on everyone in here and you'd all be happy about it." |
- Dave W. (Private Msg, EMail)
Evidently, I rock!
Why not question something for a change?
Visit Dave's Psoriasis Info, too. |
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HalfMooner
Dingaling
Philippines
15831 Posts |
Posted - 09/11/2006 : 13:48:18 [Permalink]
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Loved it, Dave!
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“Biology is just physics that has begun to smell bad.” —HalfMooner
Here's a link to Moonscape News, and one to its Archive. |
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Dave W.
Info Junkie
USA
26022 Posts |
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HalfMooner
Dingaling
Philippines
15831 Posts |
Posted - 09/11/2006 : 14:16:38 [Permalink]
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Well, yes, like my own contributions, we've heard it before. But your creative retelling was really special.
And, when I say, "special"...
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“Biology is just physics that has begun to smell bad.” —HalfMooner
Here's a link to Moonscape News, and one to its Archive. |
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HalfMooner
Dingaling
Philippines
15831 Posts |
Posted - 09/11/2006 : 15:05:34 [Permalink]
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A Betelgeusean Hadrosauroid tromps into a bar. He immediately goes over to the bartender, looks down, and asks, "Do you have any grapes?"
The bartender cranes his neck, apologetically flips his pincers, and replies, "I am very sorry, sir. We have no grapes in this establishment."
Shaking his head in disappointment, the Hadrosauroid leaves the bar.
The next evening, the same Hadrosauroid enters the bar again. "Do you have any grapes?" he asks.
"No, sir. As I stated last night, I can provide you with no grapes. Now, is there any drink that I can serve you? Perhaps a fine wine or brandy made from grapes?"
Not replying but mumbling to himself, the Hadrosauroid clomps out of the bar.
The following evening, the Hadrosauroid appears yet again. "Do you have any grapes?"
The bartender has had a rough day, which only adds to the irritation he feels toward this bizarrely persistent visitor. His pincers make menacing throat-cutting movements. "No, you huge, lumbering idiot! I've no grapes for anyone, much less for the likes of you! If you ever return and dare to ask about grapes, I swear I will nail your ugly bill to the end of this bar!" The Hadrosauroid departs in a state of literally crestfallen disappointment.
The bartender is polishing glasses the next evening when he hears the unmistakable thuds of the Hadrosauroid's footsteps. Gritting his mandible-plates, the bartender turns and looks up at the looming creature.
"Do you have any nails?" asks the Hadrosauroid.
Blinking in surprise, the bartender can only answer, "No."
"Do you have any grapes?"
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“Biology is just physics that has begun to smell bad.” —HalfMooner
Here's a link to Moonscape News, and one to its Archive. |
| Edited by - HalfMooner on 09/11/2006 18:41:30 |
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HalfMooner
Dingaling
Philippines
15831 Posts |
Posted - 09/11/2006 : 21:10:19 [Permalink]
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A poshly attired Hubbardian Hobnob walks into a bar, tosses down 20 credits, and demands a double shot of the establishment's best 50-year-old Scotch. Noting that the Hobnob is already a bit unsteady on his feet, the bartender decides that he won't notice a minor substitution, one that will bring a greater profit.
"One moment, sir," the bartender says, gesturing excessively submissive pincer-signals. "I keep the best spirits locked in the rear storage area. I'll return shortly." The bartender goes into the back room and finds an empty bottle of 50-year-old Scotch and its cap in a trash bin. He fills the bottle from the tap on a can of month-old local bourbon, normally served as the house whiskey. As he comes back into view of the Hobnob, the bartender makes a show of "unsealing" the bottle's cap.
"Here you are, sir." He pours the cheap whiskey into a shot glass. "The best old Scotch in this or any other bar."
The Hobnob takes a sip of the whiskey, and instantly spits it out.
"Sirrah, would you cheat me so? This is a cheap, local bourbon, and is a mere month old!" The Hobnob places a flipper over his 20 credits. "I shall not pay for that! Now, bring me some real 50-year-old Scotch!"
"Many apologies, sir!" says the bartender. "We rarely have customers with such a refined sense of taste as your esteemed self. Allow me now to fetch you the real stuff." He goes into the back room again, and this time does the same trick, except he puts real, 20-year-old Scotch into another "50-year" bottle. He returns to the bar, and pours two jiggers of the decent Scotch into a large shot glass.
The Hobnob spits the Scotch onto the bar. He's furious. "This is a 20-year-old Scotch! Do you take me for some tasteless Human? I shall not pay, you villain!"
The bartender now realizes that he has met his match. He gestures widely in the signal of abject surrender. "I humbly beg your pardon, sir. I shall not attempt to deceive you again." He wipes the counter, then reaches under the bar and hauls out a bottle of real 50-year-old Scotch. Pouring a double shot, he pincers it to the Hobnob.
The Hobnob takes a sip, then downs the whole glass. "That's better," he allows.
A very elderly Postcanine has been watching all this from a dark corner of the saloon. He limps over to the bar, and sets his beverage bowl on the counter. He says to the Hobnob, "You indeed have a very remarkably acute sense of taste, sir. Will you do an old dog a favor and tell me the quality of what is in this bowl?"
The Hobnob looks down his proboscis at the Postcanine, but nods. He takes a sip out of the bowl, and spits it out. "This tastes like warm piss!"
"Indeed, sir," says the Postcanine. "And just how old am I?"
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“Biology is just physics that has begun to smell bad.” —HalfMooner
Here's a link to Moonscape News, and one to its Archive. |
| Edited by - HalfMooner on 09/11/2006 22:35:28 |
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HalfMooner
Dingaling
Philippines
15831 Posts |
Posted - 09/12/2006 : 16:04:40 [Permalink]
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Three Orion Equinoids, all professional athletes, trot into a bar. They have a few drinks, and after a bit they are bragging about their athletic skills.
"I've been in 35 races, and won 12 of them," the first Equinoid boasts.
The second Equinoid says, "I've got a better track record than that! I've raced 51 times, and I've won 42 of the races!"
The third Equinoid replies, "Nay, I have you both beat. In my 107 races, I have placed first in 92 of them."
Just then, a greyhound Postcanine comes over and says, "None of you can hold a candle to me! I've raced 408 times, and won 399 of the races!"
The three Equinoids look down at the Postcanine in amazement. "That really is remarkable," says one. "A talking dog!"
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“Biology is just physics that has begun to smell bad.” —HalfMooner
Here's a link to Moonscape News, and one to its Archive. |
| Edited by - HalfMooner on 09/12/2006 16:11:13 |
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HalfMooner
Dingaling
Philippines
15831 Posts |
Posted - 09/12/2006 : 18:26:47 [Permalink]
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A Kulgan centauroid walks unsteadily out of a bar, settles at the curb, and pulls out a newscopy. He reeks of hard spirits, is disheveled, and has a half-empty bottle of cheap bourbon sticking out of one of his saddle-pockets. He begins reading. A patrolling copborg wheels up near the Kulgan. It can detect the Kulgan's alcoholic fumes from meters away. Seeing no infraction, but its experience as a constable giving it reason to expect trouble in the immediate future, the copborg remains in close surveillance mode.
After reading a bit more, the Kulgan looks up to the copborg and asks, "Mr. Constable, what causes arthritis?"
The copborg frowns at the Kulgan. "The most common causes of arthritis are personal indiscipline, a contempt for other entities, socializing with criminals and prostitutes, alcoholic over-consumption, a wayward lifestyle, and inattention to the most basic of hygienic grooming standards."
The Kulgan says, "Oh. I see. Thank you, Mr. Constable." He shrugs, shakes his head sadly, and begins to read once again.
After a moment, the copborg has a change of heart. The Kulgan has been polite, and it has occurred to the copborg that the centauroid may have been driven to drink by the pain of arthritis. "Look, fellow, I'm sorry to have come down on you so hard. I have no idea how bad arthritis must feel. Are you often in pain?"
"Oh, it's not me! I was just reading that the Chief Constable has arthritis."
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“Biology is just physics that has begun to smell bad.” —HalfMooner
Here's a link to Moonscape News, and one to its Archive. |
| Edited by - HalfMooner on 10/29/2006 00:48:11 |
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Dave W.
Info Junkie
USA
26022 Posts |
Posted - 09/12/2006 : 18:40:35 [Permalink]
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A Jompalian is walking home one night from a bar, when he hears a small voice in some bushes.
"Hey, can you help me?" the voice calls. The Jompalian looks closely, and sees a small Valtrupic horngle under the bushes. "Look, I'm not really a horngle. I'm really a Yakeezee sexclone. A Guntoid Anticopulatrist hit me with a transmogrifier. I've discovered that there are enzymes in Jompalian saliva which will reverse the process, so would you do me the favor of kissing me? I'll make it worth your while," and the horngle winks.
The Jompalian smiles, puts the horngle in his pocket, and resumes his walk home.
"Maybe you didn't hear me," comes the small voice from his pocket. "Sexclone. Sex. Clone. You know what that means, right? Come on, give me a kiss and I'll spend a whole week with you."
The Jompalian takes the horngle out of his pocket, smiles at it, and puts her back in his pocket, all without missing a stride.
"Look, I'll do anything if you'll help me out. A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-G."
The Jompalian stops, sighs, and takes the horngle out of his pocket again. "Look, lady," he begins. "I am a professional computer programmer. I don't have time for a girlfriend, but a talking horngle is really cool." |
- Dave W. (Private Msg, EMail)
Evidently, I rock!
Why not question something for a change?
Visit Dave's Psoriasis Info, too. |
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H. Humbert
SFN Die Hard
USA
4574 Posts |
Posted - 09/12/2006 : 19:01:27 [Permalink]
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How many Driphumples does it take to screw up a light bulb? Three!
Get it? 
Wait a minute, I told it wrong. Here, I'm startin' over: How come it takes three Driphumples to screw up a lightbulb? 'Cause they're so darn stupid!
(with apologies to the makers of Raising Arizona) |
"A man is his own easiest dupe, for what he wishes to be true he generally believes to be true." --Demosthenes
"The first principle is that you must not fool yourself - and you are the easiest person to fool." --Richard P. Feynman
"Face facts with dignity." --found inside a fortune cookie |
| Edited by - H. Humbert on 09/12/2006 19:05:28 |
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HalfMooner
Dingaling
Philippines
15831 Posts |
Posted - 09/12/2006 : 19:42:18 [Permalink]
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Two Cosmic Stringfellows walk into a bar. The bartender takes one look at the pair, signals dismissal with his pincers, and says, "Get out of here! We don't serve your kind!"
The two depart the bar, and sit on the sidewalk, leaning dejectedly against the building. At last, one of the Stingfellows says to the other, "Ropert, old boy, I've figured out how I can get back into that bar!"
"What's your plan, Cordie?"
"Watch and learn." Cordie twists, turns, forms loops and dives his bitter ends through the bights, all the time deliberately rubbing himself raw against the rough sidewalk. Finally, he pulls on his ends, and walks jauntily into the bar.
"Say, you look familiar somehow," the bartender clicks his pincers in suspicion. "You're not one of those Cosmic Stringfellows, are you?"
"No," says Cordie. "I'm a frayed knot."
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“Biology is just physics that has begun to smell bad.” —HalfMooner
Here's a link to Moonscape News, and one to its Archive. |
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HalfMooner
Dingaling
Philippines
15831 Posts |
Posted - 09/12/2006 : 19:52:35 [Permalink]
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quote:
Originally posted by H. Humbert
How many Driphumples does it take to screw up a light bulb? Three!
Get it?
Wait a minute, I told it wrong. Here, I'm startin' over: How come it takes three Driphumples to screw up a lightbulb? 'Cause they're so darn stupid!
(with apologies to the makers of Raising Arizona)
That was hilarious when John Goodman told it, too!
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“Biology is just physics that has begun to smell bad.” —HalfMooner
Here's a link to Moonscape News, and one to its Archive. |
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HalfMooner
Dingaling
Philippines
15831 Posts |
Posted - 09/13/2006 : 18:04:46 [Permalink]
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A Kulgan centauroid walks into a bar. It's dance night. The symphonium player has turned up the volume to a roar and is laying down some heavy syncopated Orion vibes with a funky melody.
After he gets a beer at the bar, the Kulgan looks around as he taps a hoof to the loud music. He sees an attractive young Kulgan mare across the room. Impressed, the Kulgan crosses the room. The Kulgan mare is wearing tight, sequined, red velvet pants covering her equine legs, and on her upper torso, a narrow, translucent pink tube-top with the name, "Patt" embroidered upon it.
"Hi, would you dance with me, Patt?" asks the Kulgan stallion.
"No, I hate this music, and even if I loved it, I'd never dance with the likes of you!" she snarls.
"I'm sorry, but I think you did not hear me clearly," the Kulgan replies, raising his voice a notch. "What I said was: 'My, those pants make you look fat.'"
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| Edited by - HalfMooner on 09/13/2006 18:21:34 |
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