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Umm... isn't that one of the things got flenting banned from French society back in the mid 18th? and caused Belgium to eventually start taxing the livin'hell out of any imports that could conceivably be used as flenting wax. |
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The phrase "Belgian waffles"(orig."Belgium waffles") had nothing to do with confection... or at least not "confection" in the normal sense. |
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with three separate parliaments, there is bound to be more waffling... |
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Well that was it wun'nit: they couldn't outright ban it since the sordid practice (which gave old Haversham nightmares as well it should) was all the rage with the aristocracy; best they could do was to tax it out of the reach of the common man. |
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Historically Belgium suffered rather greatly on the diplomatic front during that time period; ceding vast tracts of land in the North Africas to basically whoever wanted it, and it was then that Luxembourg broke away, establishing itself as a "wax free" haven. |
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But at least there were no more fatal wardrobe incidents suffered by hansom drivers, ships' helmsmen and maitre d's. |
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//ceding vast tracts of land in the North Africas to basically whoever wanted it// |
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Except the indigenous population, of course. |
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pre-girded loins now available in matching his and hers, and a choice of polyester, lurex or teak. But one, get two free.. |
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Unsolicited testimonials available. |
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\\great huge tracts of land in the North Africas\\
Somewhat ... ahhh... *light* land, as Lord Salisbury
put it. Dry wit, that. |
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Anyway, until 1908, even the Belgians didn't claim
that the
Belgian Congo belonged to Belgium --
it was claimed as personal property by one man. |
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Gentlemen and gentlewomen, I have no idea what
the French or (for goodness' sake) the Belgians do
with flenting wax, and frankly I'm quite sure I don't
want to. All I can say is that Boffo would not be at
all pleased with the direction this discussion is
heading in. |
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Well, you would say that wouldn't you, considering the interest you have in Rentisham stock. Meanwhile historians are reasonably sure it was Boffo who introduced flenting to the French. Sadly the translator was a bit dyslexic. |
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//Anyway, until 1908, even the Belgians didn't claim that the Belgian Congo belonged to Belgium -- it was claimed as personal property by one man.// |
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That would be Fred Belgian. He never even went there; he just bribed the map printers. |
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It was my understanding that F. Beauregard Belgian
intended to use his
ill-gotten Congo property to start a Waffle Cow plantation
and thus corner the very lucrative textured rawhide
market, but that the entire venture collapsed when the
African climate proved inconducive to methane dirigibles. |
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//historians are reasonably sure it was Boffo who
introduced flenting to the French.// |
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I have just returned from a meeting with the
archivist at Rentishams. He was not happy to be
awoken at this hour. |
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Not only did he reassure me that Guy was no
friend of the garlic-eater, but he also showed me
a transcript of his conversation with Armand
Fallières, following the Incident (need I say more?)
of October 1908. |
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It reads, in clear sepia-and-white: "Le jour quand
nous exporterons le wax de flenting au france,
mon petit grenool, is le jour quand mes testicles
sera utilizee pour les balles de ping-pong par
Florence Rosignol. Je vous souhait bonjour,
monsieur." |
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I trust, therefore, that we can lay this scurrilous
rumour to rest once and for all. |
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//this scurrilous rumour// A straw man: no one
believes that story any more. The rumor everyone
credits is the one about Lord Raglan and the
regimental goat. |
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According to the only publicly available historical records I
was able to steal, the French have _never_ flented. |
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The only documented flentological activity ever to take
place on French soil was carried out as a desperate
measure of survival by Bolshevik revolutionaries marching
to Petrograd under the leadership of Aleksandr Krymov.
After losing their way in a sudden blizzard on August 21st,
1971, the column was forced to winter in a machine
shop behind the third-best brothel in Agincourt, where the
only sustenance to be had was a small can of Rentisham's
Grade B and a complete collection of Pravda back-
issues. For three grueling days they sang moody Russian
love ballads to keep morale low and passed the dented tub
of precious wax from hand to frostbitten hand. On the
morning of the fourth day, Krymov discovered an outdated
map that the french machinists had folded and stuffed
under the base of a four-dimensionial extruder to keep the
ancient machine from wobbling. With renewed vigor and
mildly irritated bowels, the revolutionaries resumed their
bitter march. |
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//a small can of Rentisham's Grade B// Thank
goodness nobody had tried to use it. "Rentisham's
Grade B" was actually produced by the innocuously
named "Ministry of Various Affairs" as an all-
purpose blasting gel for use by PoWs. |
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Guy ("Boffo") Rentisham was the only person at
Rentisham's to know of this, and he set up a
complete production line for "Grade B" to sustain
the ruse. Of course, every tin of Grade B that left
the factory was delivered to the Ministry outpost
in Runswick, where it was emptied and re-filled
with explosive before being packed into Red Cross
parcels and distributed to the PoW camps. |
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The only flaw in the plan was that nobody thought
to tell the PoWs that their "Rentisham's Grade B"
would, in reality, flent stuff from here to eternity.
Ironically, Boffo's brother lost an elbow as a result,
though he never held this against Boffo. |
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//brother lost an elbow as a result, though he never held this against Boffo.// |
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Well, of course he couldn't hold it against him, he'd lost it. I am, of course, going to regret this enormously, but do you mean to say that he just lost the elbow and not any other part of the arm? |
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The other twelve pieces of his arm were quickly located.
They were
tastefully mounted in a felt-lined display case and kept at
Rentisham Manor until May of 1719, whereupon they were
moved
to an undisclosed location to prevent capture by Zee
Germanz. |
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Part of the confusion may be due to the existence of
the French false cognate "flenter", which of course has
nothing to do with "flenting" in the English sense (the
English verb coming from the Middle High German
"flentzen", "to perform (an activity)", and the French
verb being derived from the Latin "flentere", "to
surrender in a cowardly or shameful fashion; to
collaborate"). |
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I think you have the wrong century there... Are you
sure you're not thinking of Geoffrick
Rentisqueshamme? He was an early pioneer of
waterwheel-driven bread-kneading equipment and,
in later life, developed the hands-free bassoon. |
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I think you'll find that most loins are girded these days.
Pre-girded lions on the other hand... |
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//Pre-girded lions on the other hand...// |
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I read that as pre-girdled lions the first time... |
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Quite, Dr Bob - I, very much like the next man prefer my loins as God intended them, and should, on the occasion it be appropriate to gird them, then I quite prefer to gird them in the privacy of my own home. That I might so inherit the loins of someone else who might have had them girded for their own private usage is not a transaction I would enthusiastically countenance, nor one I would wish to be so connected via broker or agency. I realise the "conveniance" argument is one to be made by those of an Atlantic persuasion, but I fear such modern dalliances need not find succour nor purchase 'pon these sweet and God-fearing shores. And long may it be so. |
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// I think you have the wrong century there... // |
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So sorry, old man, must have my dates a bit muddled.
Shirley, Boffo's brother's exploding elbow was in 1179. At
Jacob's Ford, wasn't it? |
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//At Jacob's Ford, wasn't it?// |
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Huh? I'm sure it was a Reliant Robin, are you sure it was a Ford? |
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Gratuitous Reliant Robin link.. |
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// I, very much like the next man prefer my loins as God intended them // |
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Unless, [z_t] "the next man" (and we use the word 'man' advisedly) is [MB]'s recidivistic reprobate sibling Sturton, in which case we suspect you would be inclined to radically alter your views immediately. |
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Or possibly try hormone therapy. Or radical surgery. |
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//Shirley, Boffo's brother's exploding elbow was in
1179. At Jacob's Ford, wasn't it?// I think we're at
angry dolphins here, [Alterother]. |
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You may be confounding three unrelated events: |
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1) Boffo Rentisham's brother (Stubby) losing an
elbow in 1943, from one of the "special" tins of
flenting wax distributed to PoWs during the latter
half of WWII. |
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2) King Baldwin IV (known to some as "The
Bouffant King"), whose elbow was shot off by a
primitive cannon in 1179. |
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3) Jacob's Creek - a rather upstart brand of
unaccountably popular wine. |
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As far as I'm aware, Stubby was not closely related
to King B.IV, and I very much doubt that he would
have drunk Jacob's Creek, mostly on account of
his having been dead* for several years before the
brand was created. |
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(*Stubby's death was not related to the loss of his
elbow - an injury which he bore with good humour
and equanimity to the end. He had entertained,
for several decades, the notion that starlings were
able to fly only as the result of a force-field
capable of nullifying gravity. It was this delusion
which led to his being found, with a surprised look
on his face, at the base of Beachy Head,
surrounded by a tethered mass of dead and dying
starlings.) |
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If only he'd used nuthatches, he might have survived
the jump. But of course, Stubby had no way of
knowing this, having permitted his membership in
the Royal Society for Quasilogical Research (and
thus, his subscription to the Society's quinquennial
journal) to lapse owing to a dispute over the
existence of so-called "Canadians". |
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// a dispute over the existence of so-called "Canadians". // |
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That's so sad. Despite irrefutable evidence to the contrary, even today there are some who cling stubbornly to the irrational belief that there is intelligent life North of the 49th Parallel. |
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Admittedly some of the higher mammalian fauna of the region do appear to exhibit a semblance of intelligence; but their behaviour is demonstrably instinctive; if you put a loudspeaker on their dam and play the sound of trickling water, they will pile more branches on it in an attempt to stem the "leak". Their lodges, too, are amazingly sophisticated; but it's all instinct, like weaver birds and termites. |
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The conclusive proof was, of course, the discovery of large numbers of empty Molson cans, indicating that some creature or creatures were actually prepared to drink the filthy stuff; if any other evidence was needed, that was it. |
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The reports that "human-like" language have been heard in the area are also specious. Careful analysis of audio recordings has established that the odd noises are not a "language" at all, but a species of incomprehensible random gibberish, known as "french". |
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a) Empty beer cans are often used in place of twine when rummaging around in the bush, to retrace steps. |
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As an aside, while warm beer is available north of the 49th parallel, it's usually only served to hungover teenagers for breakfast, with cold pizza and a complementary traffic cone. |
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b) that's not french, it's the weakened babbling of foolhardy american tourists, caught outdoors during the vampire blackflies' midsummer romp. Don't ask, but more importantly don't go north of 50 during July without a backup flamethrower. |
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c) thanks for the headsup on the loudspeakers... that would explain last summer and the Borg will be receiving a bill for all the superfluous sheds. |
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d) almost a quarter of Rentisham's "Old Foghorn" output goes to Canada, having been distributed by the HBC since the mid 19th century... so where did Stubby think it was headed for ? |
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Re: the alleged lack of // intelligent life North of the 49th
Parallel. // |
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So the Borg will not refute the assertion that there is
intelligent life at, say, the 45th? That's either very
generous of them, or a laughably obvious oversight, given
their repeated aspersions concerning the intellectual
capacity of their most valued adversary, [The Alterother]. |
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(Of course, now that I've given you that intel, I suppose I
should be expecting another marker round.) |
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