The All-Purpose Getting-To-Know-BBers Questions Thread | Page 37 | Fab Forum | The Beatles Bible

I’d just tell him that he better get to listening to all the Beatles songs that he can manage within the next 24 hours. Perhaps that would be a clue? IDK?

Can you roll your tongue into a U shape?

4or5Magicians said

Ahhh Girl said
Can you roll your tongue into a U shape?

Not only that, but I can manage a sort of upside down shamrock shape.

I can do that too! And I can roll it back to front.

I had a nice, long, firm cherry stem once that I tied into two knots and then untied them.

While living in the dorm during my undergrad days, I bought a jar of cherries and we all sat around one evening to see who could tie the stems into knots. The wife of the academic dean heard about this. She couldn’t believe someone could do it. So, I went to her house to show her. She made me put my hands behind my back. She was amazed! She kept that knotted cherry stem on a shelf in her bookcase for years.

Can’t roll my r’s.

meanmistermustard said

College life was all out party wasn’t it @Ahhh Girl.

It was a religious college run by the Southern Baptist Convention. I’m a little rebel, eh?

meanmistermustard said

And keeping that cherry stem on her bookcase sounds deeply unhygienic.

What? Are you saying I have a dirty mouth? Well, perhaps I do with the way I talk about one certain 72-year-old rock star.

Hopefully all the germs died quickly.

I didnt even know it was Burns Night until my sister mentioned it.

I dont care.

But for those who want to read it here is ‘Address To A Haggis’ which is read out during the night. @Ron Nasty, will you be doing so?

Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face, 

Great chieftain o’ the pudding-race!
Aboon them a’ yet tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy o’a grace
As lang’s my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin was help to mend a mill
In time o’need,
While thro’ your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An’ cut you up wi’ ready sleight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like ony ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin’, rich!

Then, horn for horn, they stretch an’ strive:
Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive,
Till a’ their weel-swall’d kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
Bethankit! hums.

Is there that owre his French ragout
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad make her spew
Wi’ perfect sconner,
Looks down wi’ sneering, scornfu’ view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckles as wither’d rash,
His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash;
His nieve a nit;
Thro’ blody flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread.
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He’ll mak it whissle;
An’ legs an’ arms, an’ hands will sned,
Like taps o’ trissle.

Ye Pow’rs, wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o’ fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu’ prayer
Gie her a haggis!

‘Address To A Haggis‘ by Rabbie Burns