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Merged All the white western peoples are Turkish / Bacon, Sausage are Turkish

You the whole idea is based on: White people are from the steppes (oversimplification but let's run with it!) Turkish people are from the steppes (oversimplification but let's run with it) therefore all white people are Turkish.

Why are we arguing with that flawless logic?
 
P.J. Denyer said:
Is Grampa Turkish too?
Click to expand...
Well, obviously. As the great Turkish bard wrote:

All the world's Turkish, ,
And all the men and women merely Turks;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many Turkish parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the Turkish infant,
Mewling and puking in the Turkish nurse’s arms;
And then the whining Turkish school-boy, with his Turkish satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like Turkish snail
Unwillingly to Turkish school. And then the Turkish lover,
Sighing like Turkish furnace, with a woeful ballad (which is Turkish)
Made to his mistress’ Turkish eyebrow. Then a Turkish soldier,
Full of strange Turkish oaths, and bearded like the Turkish pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation (bubbles are, of course, Turkish)
Even in the Turkish cannon’s mouth. And then the Turkish justice,
In fair round belly with good Turkish capon lin’d,
With eyes severe and beard of formal Turkish cut,
Full of wise Turkish saws and modern Turkish instances;
And so he plays his Turkish part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and Turkish slipper’d pantaloon,
With Turkish spectacles on Turkish nose and Turkish pouch on Turkish side;
His youthful Turkish hose, well sav’d, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly Turkish voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his Turkish sound. Last Turkish scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful Turkish history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything, but still Turkish to the end. And no ghost thereafter. No-one has ghost.
 
junkshop said:
Well, obviously. As the great Turkish bard wrote:

All the world's Turkish, ,
And all the men and women merely Turks;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many Turkish parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the Turkish infant,
Mewling and puking in the Turkish nurse’s arms;
And then the whining Turkish school-boy, with his Turkish satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like Turkish snail
Unwillingly to Turkish school. And then the Turkish lover,
Sighing like Turkish furnace, with a woeful ballad (which is Turkish)
Made to his mistress’ Turkish eyebrow. Then a Turkish soldier,
Full of strange Turkish oaths, and bearded like the Turkish pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation (bubbles are, of course, Turkish)
Even in the Turkish cannon’s mouth. And then the Turkish justice,
In fair round belly with good Turkish capon lin’d,
With eyes severe and beard of formal Turkish cut,
Full of wise Turkish saws and modern Turkish instances;
And so he plays his Turkish part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and Turkish slipper’d pantaloon,
With Turkish spectacles on Turkish nose and Turkish pouch on Turkish side;
His youthful Turkish hose, well sav’d, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly Turkish voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his Turkish sound. Last Turkish scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful Turkish history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything, but still Turkish to the end. And no ghost thereafter. No-one has ghost.
Click to expand...
/thread
 
junkshop said:
Well, obviously. As the great Turkish bard wrote:

All the world's Turkish, ,
And all the men and women merely Turks;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many Turkish parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the Turkish infant,
Mewling and puking in the Turkish nurse’s arms;
And then the whining Turkish school-boy, with his Turkish satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like Turkish snail
Unwillingly to Turkish school. And then the Turkish lover,
Sighing like Turkish furnace, with a woeful ballad (which is Turkish)
Made to his mistress’ Turkish eyebrow. Then a Turkish soldier,
Full of strange Turkish oaths, and bearded like the Turkish pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation (bubbles are, of course, Turkish)
Even in the Turkish cannon’s mouth. And then the Turkish justice,
In fair round belly with good Turkish capon lin’d,
With eyes severe and beard of formal Turkish cut,
Full of wise Turkish saws and modern Turkish instances;
And so he plays his Turkish part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and Turkish slipper’d pantaloon,
With Turkish spectacles on Turkish nose and Turkish pouch on Turkish side;
His youthful Turkish hose, well sav’d, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly Turkish voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his Turkish sound. Last Turkish scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful Turkish history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything, but still Turkish to the end. And no ghost thereafter. No-one has ghost.
Click to expand...

You can't beat a bit of Sturkspeare.
 
junkshop said:
Well, obviously. As the great Turkish bard wrote:

All the world's Turkish, ,
And all the men and women merely Turks;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many Turkish parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the Turkish infant,
Mewling and puking in the Turkish nurse’s arms;
And then the whining Turkish school-boy, with his Turkish satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like Turkish snail
Unwillingly to Turkish school. And then the Turkish lover,
Sighing like Turkish furnace, with a woeful ballad (which is Turkish)
Made to his mistress’ Turkish eyebrow. Then a Turkish soldier,
Full of strange Turkish oaths, and bearded like the Turkish pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation (bubbles are, of course, Turkish)
Even in the Turkish cannon’s mouth. And then the Turkish justice,
In fair round belly with good Turkish capon lin’d,
With eyes severe and beard of formal Turkish cut,
Full of wise Turkish saws and modern Turkish instances;
And so he plays his Turkish part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and Turkish slipper’d pantaloon,
With Turkish spectacles on Turkish nose and Turkish pouch on Turkish side;
His youthful Turkish hose, well sav’d, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly Turkish voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his Turkish sound. Last Turkish scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful Turkish history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything, but still Turkish to the end. And no ghost thereafter. No-one has ghost.
Click to expand...
Should be sung to Rush's Limelight
 
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