Yes I'm awfully awfully embarrassed. But never mind is what I say.
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Well, bill, you are nothing if not self-absolving of you own foolishness.
See- I told you it was a lot of mesh that's missing from the rubble. The best part of a square mile in fact.
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Yeah, bill, you did say that. And you know, given your unblemished record of "guaranteed 100% wrong", that is the SECOND most compelling reason to believe that there is absolutely no mesh or rebar missing from the rubble.
Right after "living in THIS universe, where matter does not spontaneously vanish".
I notice you didn't have any sensible answers to the question either.
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I notice that for some (typical) reason, you were unable to read, process or understand the first sentence of my post, where I said:
Yes, bill. I know EXACTLY where the 3/4th of a square mile of mesh reinforcing has gone. It has gone nowhere.
That's as "sensible" as it gets, bill. It also happens to be the correct answer.
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What about the '' Find the missing square mile of rebar '' Challenge.
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This "challenge" does not exist. Anywhere except in "Little Billy World".
Do the sexual references get your rocks off then ? I was always uneasy about you following me around. A groupie is one thing but....
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You know, bill, I was a little uncomfortable with that simile myself, when it first occurred to me.
But the more I thought about it, the more "pleasuring yourself in public" came to accurately & concisely describe your activities here.
It has all components of the traditional act:
The single incomprehensible perpetrator.
The innocent bystanders.
The seedy act.
The shock.
The momentary disorientation.
The pause of disbelief. ("He couldn't POSSIBLY be doing THAT, could he ...?")
The instant of recognition.
The averted eyes of the genteel.
The reflexive hoots & hollers. ("Oh damn. Bill's at it again!")
The emergent revulsion.
The influx of the outraged, angry mob.
The more experienced shouting, as they continued by, "if you guys would just ignore him, maybe he'd stop."
In the midst of the mini-maelstrom, you. Grinning vacuously.
Meanwhile, in the gathered crowd, the pummeling about your head & shoulders commences.
Each blow driving you to more incoherent mumblings. More vacuous grinning. More fervent, determined fumblings.
The beatings abate only when they are too much for civilized people to bear.
Or with the arrival of the sheriff (a mod) who pulls the mob off of you.
You are, of course, oblivious to it all.
The sheriff insincerely chastises the mob that they "should attack yes, even this buffoon's arguments, not the buffoon himself".
Finally the slow dispersal of the uneasy mob, dissatisfied with the lack of "frontier justice".
And at the end of the fracas, there you are. Trampled & beaten to a bloody pulp. Claiming victory.
Then, the post-fracas let-down & discussion:
The unanimous condemnation of your public indiscretions.
The regret that we can't think of a civil way to get you to understand the essential seediness of your behavior.
The determination of the dignified to avoid contact with you (aka, "Ignore Feature").
The wringing of hands amongst the town council (i.e., the mods), anguishing over their helplessness to stop this.
The consensus view: "that boy just ain't right in the head! Been that way ever since he was kicked by that mule."
The resignation that "Yep, he'll be doin' it again. Soon."
The perfunctory whack upside the head that the less tolerant citizens casually administer to you daily, in passing.
Your unrepentant addiction to your own compulsion
The inevitable repeat from the beginning.
And the daily call, "Oh damn. Bill's at it again!"
Did I miss anything??
Tom