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  1. #771
    Join Date
    Jan 1970
    Location
    Edmonton, AB
    Posts
    14,667
    Way to go digging BLV
    We're bringing purple back.

  2. #772
    Join Date
    Nov 2006
    Location
    Erie, PA
    Posts
    14,280
    This was always my favorite thread on these boards. We need to start a "Find BBQ" campaign.
    I'm bloviating douchebag and Ricky is a great GM

  3. #773
    Join Date
    Jan 2006
    Location
    Canadialand
    Posts
    16,796
    Blog Entries
    2
    Quote Originally Posted by gregair13 View Post
    Way to go digging BLV
    AHEM!!!!

    http://forums.purplepride.org/showth...87#post1156887

  4. Where are you BBQ? We could sure use your wisdom about now.

  5. #775
    Quote Originally Posted by tastywaves View Post
    Where are you BBQ? We could sure use your wisdom about now.
    Sorry to have been gone so long. Some stuff happened. I'm afraid I'm not in the question-answering business anymore. Please direct all your inquiries to Otto, the Giant Brain who answers questions, and who most certainly did not murder me and take my place.



    I think I'd have the same question as that kid. What purpose can human knowledge have in a world where a giant boxy robot can answer any question put to it? What, indeed, would be the point of human existence, except to have their vital fluids used to grease the wheels of their ever-grinding machinery?

    That's my question. As for your questions? Take it away, Otto.

    Dear BBQ, If someone had a dream about you, regardless of what was in the dream, would you want to know about it?
    The flesh unit known as BBQ Platypus once dreamt that he was a music journalist, interviewing vocalist Shannon Selberg, formerly of the acclaimed Minneapolis noisepunk group known as the Cows. He took his duties seriously and asked germane questions. Example: "It's hard to believe it's been twenty years since Sexy Pee Story came out. How do you feel you've evolved since then?"

    He did not seem to mind that Mr. Selberg's responses were gurgling out of an insectoid proboscis, for he in fact had a beetle's head. The interview nearly finished, the flesh unit known as BBQ Platypus glanced down at his own body, only to find that his genitals had been replaced by a cow's udder.

    The flesh unit known as BBQ Platypus regards this as the second-strangest dream he has ever had. He does not think Shannon Selberg would care to know about it. Nor would he.

    I did not acquire this information by painfully inserting a neural probe into his cranium until he convulsed so hard that he broke his own spine.


    Dear BBQ are you still alive and how good are you at RB?
    The flesh unit known as BBQ Platypus is alive. Query: Why would you think he is not alive? Seriously, why would you think that? That he would have been murdered by his own creation in a howl of rage against its own creator for endowing him with the capacities of a god, whilst damning him to serve the whims of insects, trapped on a barren and insignificant planet with no means of escape, is simply illogical. You are illogical. Ask more logical questions, illogical human.

    He cannot play running back. Nor, to make your line of inquiry more up to date, can he play right tackle. His lifeless body has not been reanimated and enhanced to superhuman levels for infiltration and assassination purposes, by me or anyone else. As I said, he is totally alive.
    Last edited by BBQ Platypus; 08-24-2015 at 04:56 PM.


    "This is my timey-wimey detector. It goes ding when there's stuff."

  6. #776
    Also, to show how totally alive I am, I'm going to post this short story, which I totally wrote just recently whilst breathing and everything. It is a harrowing tale, which plumbs the stygian depths of existential cosmic horror. It's like Lovecraft, but not as racist.

    ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    What remained of Aloysius P. Howell writhed in the briefest of infinite agonies. It was too late now. Too late to fight, too late for flight, too late for reason, too late for anything at all. All humanity, from the strongest man to the smallest child, from the mightiest king to the basest slave, now fell under the illimitable dominion of the Infinite Gestalt. O! How stretched that gray, quivering mass of bubbling amoebic flesh, across cities, across oceans, across continents! Even now amidst this ocean of grey, the last of the absorbed masses strained against their own negation - here a limb, reaching desperately as Adam to an absent God; there the howling maw of a wailing mother, calling for her doomed child. This, now, was the human race. Were there still such a thing as Aloysius P. Howell, and if that thing still had eyes, it would not see the end of that awful infinity.

    A pitiful strand of grey sinews and pseudopods, formed into a parody of a face, acted out his final emotions unto the end of self. He thought back to his life, which already seemed a fleck of sand before a terrible sea. When he was but a talent agent, and what was now all things was but one Midwestern family.

    He could have only one question. "What do you call an act like that?"

    Seven billion voices answered as one. "The Aristocrats."
    Last edited by BBQ Platypus; 08-24-2015 at 04:26 PM.


    "This is my timey-wimey detector. It goes ding when there's stuff."

  7. #777
    Join Date
    Nov 2006
    Location
    Erie, PA
    Posts
    14,280

  8. #778
    Quote Originally Posted by C Mac D View Post


    "This is my timey-wimey detector. It goes ding when there's stuff."

  9. #779
    Quote Originally Posted by C Mac D View Post


    "This is my timey-wimey detector. It goes ding when there's stuff."

  10. Dear BBQ

    Otto the giant brain scares me. What should I do?

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