Young Axl Rose and Cake Cream in 2022! :D

[Garnabby]

When the show concluded Garnabby mushed his way back to Kitchener, having concluded that both he and the world were much better off for the experience.

---> The Age of Wonder: How the Romantic Generation Discovered the Beauty and Terror of Science.

https://anagram-solver.net/When%20th...oogle_vignette


I really wanted to thus examine the second paragraph above, but, it's almost always thus about either the first, or last, line of a quote; although lately, mostly about the last line. (I'm very picky about what I thus look at, with some good results overall.)

Garnabby was oblivious, intent as he was at both fine tuning his TOE and creating masterful, perfectly-reasoned posts for online gambling forums.

Likely, I can fill an entire forum with my TOE. But, as for posting "real" stuff on the other types of forums, the same sets of persons seem to spend their retirement or whatever lives rehashing old university problems, for hundreds of thousands of points for privileges such as seeing who downvoted an answer. And, so, I never even had the time to get into something as fucked-up. Who could then care less, except the same sets of persons who dominate them, nay, ruin them for the rest of us?

Anyway, as already noted, a few times, my TOE comes down to exclusively the numerals that work in unison, in the sense that the random chance of them working out however is next to zero, and, so, they must be the right ones. One set of for the fine-structure constants, and, the other for the periodic table of the (chemical) elements. Incidentally, came across another strong candidate for the former, after I posted them, almost a year ago, but, I haven't had a chance to see that it works in the same way as the others. Might that other numeral contradict the others, by not similarly fitting in? Not likely, to the extent that I'm not even curious. Certainly, not a matter of anagrams, or gematria.

I guess that PYB, aka ILBK, from the lottery forum that Tasha was on, used those sequences to try to predict the lottery. Other than that, I have no idea why his fixation on mathematical sequences, most of which may be googled by the first few elements of a sequence. Interestingly, his final(?) post was #88 = (-1 + 89) ---> 1/89 ---> 137, with 142, in the sense that the analogous fine-structure constants for the other universe involve 89, and 62.


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[pinchingyourballs]

I guess that PYB, aka ILBK, from the lottery forum that Tasha was on, used those sequences to try to predict the lottery.

Abby Garn reread what she had posted on the r/threebreasts subreddit with smug satisfaction. Little did she know how wrong she was, and how her faulty assumptions -- both in working out the Theory of Everything Bagels and in dealing with people -- would come back to pinch her in the balls. She went for a jog to clear her head so that it might be refilled with more meaningless numbers. Nothing better to do since being fired from the lab. Being distracted, she had forgotten to put on her custom made sports bra for triple breasted women. As she picked up the pace, her middle tit swung up and hit her square on the forehead thus causing a concussion. Damn my big knockers, she cursed, before collapsing on the pavement.

A sharp eyed crow spotted the fallen (in both senses of the word) physicist and swooped down to peck out her eyes. But Abby still had enough of her wits about her to whack it, thus giving the crow a concussion of its own. In addition to forgetting her sports bra, Abby also forgot her jog snack. The crow looked mighty tasty in that moment. Abby shrugged and began at the belly.

Tasha espied all of this from behind a tree, rubbing her hands suggestively.

[pinchingyourballs]

As Tasha watched the failed scientist nosh on urban wildlife, she felt a tap on her shoulder. It was Mike, of her favorite pretend band Cake Cream.

"OMG, Mike from Cake Cream!" she squealed.

"Hiya Tasha. So, I wanted to ask you a favor." Mike rubbed his neck. "Could you, um, maybe could you write about me enjoying a really hearty breakfast of sausage and grits the next time you write a chapter?" Mike blushed shyly because he couldn't believe he was talking to THE Tasha.

"Anything for you, Mike."

"Thanks. By the way, what's going on over there?" He gestured toward the gruesome scene with Abby and the crow.

Tasha shrugged. "I ain't know that ho."

[Garnabby]

The point, of posting up the salient proof of thus things, was to show that claims have to be supported. People like Mickey Crimm went on, for decades, about their gambling prowess and profit, yet they didn't post a single bit of actual proof. On the contrary, more and more comes out to indicate that all of them were a bunch of "frauds". No, Crimm didn't make $500 a day over the last 20 or more years, only to still end up on the road, for the remainder of his wheelchair bound life. And, he can't admit it because he's trapped in the as-fake gambling podcast, and forum, scenes. Me, I never meant to go any further into the details of my stuff, to help them understand it. And, insofar as it being "meaningless", well, nonsense still isn't much of a measure of scientific validity. Then still no acceptance of either relativity, or quantum, science. I did mean to have my own fun with the anagrams with gematria, the numerals in this way, because you can't count on others to make things a lot of fun. Thank you, for your input, and follow-up.

[MisterV]

The point, of posting up the salient proof of thus things, was to show that claims have to be supported...Thank you, for your input, and follow-up.

You're welcome.

[pinchingyourballs]

Due to a mix up in the realm where the gods dwell, our anti-hero Tasha Kentry suddenly found herself living the life of Shonda Rimes, while the erstwhile black female producer of hit TV shows suddenly found herself under a Hialeah Park Casino umbrella walking to work in a Walgreens uniform. How life can change in an instant.

"My dreams of being a real writer have finally come true!" Tasha farted with glee. After taking a bubble bath in Shonda Rimes's bathtub and trying on all of Shonda Rimes's clothing, Tasha called up her old friend Abby.

"Girl I know you been going through some shit," Tasha began sympathetically, "So I'm going to hire you as a production assistant on one of my new shows."

Abby reported to work and was assigned to the task of supplying Judge V. with enough Peruvian flake and other vices to keep him lucid and relaxed enough to film a few episodes of "V's Court" each day, which was a Judge Judy knock-off staring Judge Varnaramachandramurty. And also applying his skin lightening makeup.

"Wow, Judge V is the darkest Indian I've ever seen! It takes two thingies of makeup to get him to look more like a Sicilian," Abby confided to her benefactress Tasha in Tasha's well-appointed office.

"Oh honey, Judge V ain't no Indian and ain't no judge neither. He 110% Ugandan."

"But the things he says about black people online...?" Abby replied in utter confusion.

"Well, them Ugandans be some shit talkers. Best you get back to finding that fucking diva a pair of Thai lady boys." Tasha had no more time for Abby, she had more important things to do, like turning her Axl Rose fan fiction into a modern western series, starring Kevin Costner. Abby was sent on her way to scour the local nail salons and noodle joints for cheap Asian whores.

Whilst riding her bike downtown, Abby came up with a new integer sequence that was not in the oeis. 1, 6, 18, 27, 27, 27, 45, 45, 72, 72, 72, 72, 99, 99, 99, 90, 144, 126, 135, 153, 180, 153, 144, 171, 198, 180, 171, 198, 207, 225, 234, 189, 252, 207, 243, 270, 270, 270, 279, 261, 288, 306, 315, 351, 324, 315, 351, 342, 360, 351, ... This was sure to make all the Cake Cream fan girls cream their cupcake panties.

[MisterV]

Garnabby espied the goings-on between Tasha Kentry and Abby from the comfort of his hydrogen-fueled zeppelin.

"They say hydrogen is our future energy source" mused the Deep Thinker as he freed a rebellious toot from his britches, "and as always I'm two steps ahead of the herd."

Using Secret Tech that only he understood, the wannabe Einstein used his X-Ray Vision device to check out the figures of the two gals down below: "Ugh...I shouldn't have wasted my time. Oh Well, no fuckie fuckie for this Canuckie."

But the man from the North had popped a stiffie: the aroma of his passed gas did it every time: yes, the smart feller was a fart smeller.

Imagining the delights of coitus and the inane nature of pillow talk, the daft Sky Pilot lit up a fag but alas in the process his Marlboro burned through the mylar wall of his airship igniting the hydrogen in a cataclysmic display of wonderfulness.

Tasha Kentry looked up and marveled open-mouthed as the flaming phallus crashed into the Hialeah Park Casino; scores of losers fled, aflame with both fire and untrammeled greed.

"Hey Abby, let's go in the casino and stick our players' cards in empty high limit slots while nobody is lookin'. Last time I tried it I got backroomed."

"Backroomed? What did they do?"

"They pushed me down on a chair, really hard, and I broke my arm. At least I think I did. Or maybe it was just a dream. Hell, I can't really tell any more, I'm just so 'out there' these days."

Abby reached out her grizzled paw to the Nubian and said "BFF, Tasha Kentry...BFF."

Tasha Kentry thanked her and was welcomed; they shook hands and entered the burning casino, players' cards in hand, dancing and singing "One Hundred bottles of beer on the wall..."

[Garnabby]

Oh, my, I meant that (0.26323701129210660443473263524191727569301955230 985997140... ^ 0.263237011292106604434732635241917275693019552309 85997140...) ---> 737_242. But, now I wonder what is (0.2766606222707... ^ 0.2766606222707...). Ha.

Sorry, guys, but, I was having much more fun with my own "miscreation" above, from a bit before, namely, [(0.2766606222707^ 0.2766606222707) * (1961.0691 / 2061.602)] at about 0.6666, and, so, to divide out the 6's, [(0.2766606222707^ 0.2766606222707) / 0.6666] at about (1961.0691 / 2061.602)^-1.

Anyway, I should cut it out with the numerals, for a while.

How do I put it gently? Not even I can make any more of PYB's, aka, ILBK, mindless mathematical machinations. Ha.

[pinchingyourballs]

How do I put it gently? Not even I can make any more of PYB's, aka, ILBK, mindless mathematical machinations.

After the disgraced Dr. Abby Garn finished applying the feisty Ugandan's pancake makeup for the next shooting, she went back to her yellow legal pad to study the anagram that had so vexed her: solving boob licks like a hungry prince. What did it mean, and who had written it on the note that she had found taped to the handlebars of her bike yesterday?

Abby was startled out of her reverie by the Ugandan's butt trumpet blasts. Ever the diva, he had taken to barking orders to the production assistants like a literally figurative barking spider. Maddening, no?

Abby, adept at Morse code, understood that the "judge" wanted a cup of fresh semen rather than water to sip on while he heard the next few cases. Tasha-cum-Shonda had been heavily influenced by the Maury show and most the litigants who came before the robed Ugandan were crass and low class. The plaintiff in the next case was a mononymous man in a penis costume named Nathan, who was suing his ex-wife Karen for custody of their pet axolotl. After that was Quran Nathan, a Walgreens cashier, suing the organizers of the National Blushing Shyly competition for misusing her name and likeness on promotional materials. (The organizers had photoshopped a Hialeah Park Casino umbrella over the hideous handbag she carried everywhere as was required by her religion.) Yawn.

Abby was starting to feel resentful over Tasha's -- literally -- overnight success, while she, Abby, slaved away at menial gopher tasks. Suddenly she had an idea. In the Ugandan's dressing room was a human skull in which he kept his supplies of weed and ayahuasca. Just before she had been fired she had discovered that time travel required not only advanced physics but also a bit of chemistry of the pharmacological variety. If she could just slip into his dressing room and switch out his usual drugs for a little something, this next episode of V's Court would be one that nobody would ever forget.

[MisterV]

How do I put it gently? Not even I can make any more of PYB's, aka, ILBK, mindless mathematical machinations.

The Hoser examined MicroPython, heeding the isnstructions:

"The hclk, pclk1 and pclk2 frequencies are derived from the sysclk frequency using a prescaler (divider). Supported prescalers for hclk are: 1, 2, 4, 8, 16, 64, 128, 256, 512. Supported prescalers for pclk1 and pclk2 are: 1, 2, 4, 8. A prescaler will be chosen to best match the requested frequency.

A sysclk frequency of 8MHz uses the HSE (external crystal) directly and 16MHz uses the HSI (internal oscillator) directly. The higher frequencies use the HSE to drive the PLL (phase locked loop), and then use the output of the PLL."

What was once murky was now obfuscated: good, time to make the Final Move.

The more he stroked and massaged his MicroPython the more data it spewed, much like Ahab getting his first piece of ass after three years at sea.

Not good: the functions were becoming erratic as well as unmanageably copious.

Time to start praying to a god he knew never existed if he hoped to finally pinch a loaf.

"Oh Crepitus, the Roman god of flatulence: I invoke your aid to help move my bowels."

NADA.

"Shit."

No shit.

"Fuck me...less cheese curds next time."

[pinchingyourballs]

...and they all lived happily ever after. The End.

Karen pulled the last page from the typewriter (non-magical) and breathed a sigh of relief. Her second Great American Novel was finally finished and ready to be mailed to Jeff Bezos so that he would publish it on Kindle. Self publishing on Amazon was truly a marvel. She marveled at how Jeff Bezos had the time to transcribe all the paper manuscripts he received to be made into digital books. I mean, there were literally billions of books available on Kindle and virtually no quality checks to make sure it wasn't 99% crap. Where did the man find the time? Karen thought about it for a while, tooted, and concluded that the man must have made 763442 clones of himself. Each clone must have 177458 assistants, each assistant must have 148583 interns, each intern must have 28658 sub-interns, and each sub-intern must have 7442 freelancers performing small editing tasks. Yes, that sounds about right, Karen mused. As Karen tucked her head between her legs to better sniff her toot, she espied a small brown stain growing on the crotch of her sweats. Time to go to Church's Chicken!

[pinchingyourballs]

Meanwhile, back at the luxurious penthouse suite in the James El-Nayyit Center in Riyadh, Axl and the gang enjoyed a halal breakfast before preparing for their next big show. They were to play at the wedding of some Saudi nutsack and his cousin-bride. Both the bride and groom themselves were wonky faced products of cousin marriages and Axl shuddered to imagine the asymmetrical facial horrors of the couples' future 11 children. As motor cycle helmets were not allowed in the inbred kingdom, and nor were exposed tattoos, Axl and his bandmates were forced to play their show wearing chadors. At the end of the 137th song, Axl looked at his watch to see how much longer they had to be there before they could run back to the hotel. Damn it, it was going to be 1.142218538291948472232138657516902864493701003131 59356435335504668721472322023917802986849012865826 23278944103531118273929402305139332599226731683596 18564356871078995894095250185016150771520187852540 60988219540742694005753858817056103958472482859080 28667448555911887161286898486977336205299106188026 22672648734978694595776199881123136976488459232797 95597962747195471374809734258707717945382629699872 31513969742711298604571379618821561076010246102899 53070529964370643400816182695309709797507520512103 03883956895284893326661592197696895632624213122952 21698565048118986539622676147231878449623507349765 23932349514698679037015714678837321158374873196218 63958954455774410857195637479512840730897043548520 70995641532366569134477222179266122260218172199392 63430634687358814373185434677842821459073278247118 12120335613181005792866712558202034865231393421975 95264595980600449582201867740629304660787143251411 38823186365767185767927376327190925966214981648962 07240320580530916056420173581231366840696112301025 13793278532179253923966690595548480237559372191256 95906223598575895522952074512684514287138018609829 65615252901808122434351104963036374876549217029447 75541871943850178048116938814713975066708337914699 15311031473353306159764745384083147019230821245037 18353243327813797418317406470595456269606071769666 97885096825572271433359666993331782048411637308064 30621153065901605661582417687706968045175666668064 21900934229657196964692004010325563868236 more hours!

When they were finally released from musical slavery, the father of the bride gifted the band with several goats, which could be used for fucking, eating, or both. Axl inquired whether the goats could be trained to become slot APs who posted on unmoderated gambling forums.

"Inshallah, only if AP stands for Anal Penetratee," the old man replied.

Everyone shook hands, thanked, welcomed, and sloppy kissed one another before Axl and the gang made it back to the luxurious penthouse suite at the James El-Nayyit Center. They changed into the Sponge Bob Square Pants jammies and fell asleep.

[MisterV]

A camel herder put down the little boy he was fucking in the ass when he saw Cake cream approaching him.

"Sirs, One moment: would you like to help my friends? They are desperate and you look like very capable, manly men."

The bloody little boy in his clutches piped in with "Yes, you'll love it."

Axl was about to say "Fuck off, sand fleas" but he espied a DQ in the distance, and with thoughts of DQ strawberry blizzards in mind he was most receptive to new things.

Pondering the offer Axl passed a small yet incredibly stinky loaf into his Depends; taking this as a good omen he agreed: they all shook hands, spun in circles and fell spastically to the ground in celebratory joy.

In short order Cake Cream agreed to fly from Saudi Arabia to Kiev as Kiev was where their help was needed to "wrestle bear."

They were promised a palace filled with virgins (both sexes) and a garden of earthly delights: how could they refuse?

Axl had wrestled and fucked bare wrestlers while in Greece and had fond memories of the bouts so off they flew to Ukraine, their thoughts filled with images of wrestling swarthy, naked men and then being fed grapes by vestal virgins while ensconced on a throne of pillows.

Upon arrival they were met by burly men who whisked them to an improvised barracks instead of a palace or the usual luxurious penthouse suite: Axl farted loudly in dismay, telling his bandmates "Boys, I don't think we're in kansas any more."

They brayed, stomped, and recited filthy limericks in response: Cake Cream had arrived, confused yet ready to wrestle bare.

Putin had followed their arrival via spy satellite; he clapped his hands together and told his flunkies "So, the West is giving them Cake Cream, eh? UNLEASH THE SHIT BOMBS!"

Nuclear warheads were removed from hundreds of Russian missiles and vats of shit were put in their place; a plethora of excreta headed toward Cake Cream: at that instant Axl had an unbidden thought: he should "expect the unexpected:" how true that was.

[pinchingyourballs]

Tonight was the night that middle-aged virgin Nathan Kentry of Hialeah, Florida was set to lose his virginity. He had finally mustered up the courage to order a hooker from MiamiHookerVacuumAndSewingMachineRepair.com, which was the top store in Miami for ordering hookers AND getting your industrial vacuum or sewing machine repaired by "pros." His particular lady of the night was a an old pro named Tasha, who had serviced 987 miles worth of dicks, possibly a Florida record. She had also repaired 610 vacuums and 377 sewing machines. The plan was to pick her up at the store and take her out to dinner and gambling at Hialeah Park Casino, and from there: straight to his twin bed with matching Moana-themed bedding set.

As Nathan pulled up to the store he saw his "date" getting out of another John's car, a silver Toyota Camry with license plate number FIB233. Curiously, Nathan also drove a silver Toyato Camry, but with license plate number FIB144. Nathan wondered, was Tasha going to freshen up before rendering services to Nathan? As she sauntered over to Nathan's car, the answer to that question clearly materialized as a nope. Nevertheless, Nathan got out of his car to open the passenger door for her. Once inside the cramped car, she let loose a trombone tone of a stinker, quickly filling the car with eggy effluvium.

"I got $89 worth of free play," Nathan bragged to his soon to be conquest, "Ima treat you to some slot action." Then he winked. If Tasha understood the double entendre, she didn't give any indication. Nathan continued driving west down 55th Street before taking a left on Palm Avenue. They passed by a Walgreens on their way to the Casino, and Tasha hunkered down low in the car until they passed it.

"Something wrong, Babe?" Nathan asked.

"I work there too part time. Don't want nobody to see me."

"So, how old are you?" Nathan asked, forgetting that it was impolite to ask a lady her age. But did Tasha really count as a lady?

"34," the grizzled hooker lied glibly.

"As long as you're at least 21," Nathan replied.

When they got to the Casino, Nathan espied a group of 13 of his coworkers from the penis costume factory. Now it was his turn to hide from people he worked with. He had recently lost a bet in humiliating fashion: Nathan had insisted that the average male erect penis length was 8 inches, only to be proven wrong by Google. The average was much closer to 5.

Tasha decided she wanted to play bingo instead of slots, and ever the generous gentleman he bought her 3 cards. She lost, as she always did, and Nathan bought her 2 more cards. She lost again. Nathan bought her 1 more card, hoping she would get the hint. She lost yet again. Nathan opened his wallet again and to his utter horror it contained only a single $1 bill.

[Tasha]

Here young Axl (the time traveling doppelganger, not the amphibian from the swamps of Mexico City) relives his early breakfasts at the orphanage...



Pining for days of yore, Axl hired a crone to berate he and Cake Cream at the breakfast table.

"Eat your motherfucking mush you mealy-mouthed cock-suckers" commanded the middle-aged woman who bore a remarkable resemblance to that Huxstable woman from the Cosby Show.

Axl espied his bowl of mush; the gyrations of the maggots enthralled him, and the syncopated cha-cha dance of the boll weevils brought back fond memories of Times Gone By.

"Oh boy" he thought..."extra protein."

But it was the chunks of cold, gray flesh he'd been served that caught his eye.

"O mistress" queried Axl, "what is this meat you gave us?"

"It is called 'Long Pig.' Eat it, or else."

Axl ate it, but he wondered what ever happened to Andy and Mike: he then espied what appeared to be a tattoo exactly like the one Andy had on his johnson; Axl had speared it on his spork.

"Fuck it" concluded our anti-hero: "They left our luxurious penthouse suite; the world is a dangerous place; serves them right."

He masticated the once turgid member, then let fly a fart of satisfaction.

Axl smiled and asked the crone "Can I have some more?"

I was thinking,"PLEASE tell me long pig isn't pig genitals." I looked up long pig and it's cooked human flesh! Eew!

[pinchingyourballs]

Smart is knowing tomatoes are fruit,
Wise is pointing your butt to toot
in the elevator.

Tasha sat back to admire the "high coo" she had just composed. Time to enter it into the Hialeah Park Casino High Coo Contest promotion. First prize was $20 in free play, second prize, an umbrella. She only hoped she would not have any real competition, but little did she know last night's almost-john, Nathan, was also at this very moment composing his own high coo:

Middle aged virgin
didn't get to sex last night.
Inclement weather.

[MisterV]

My life is horrid

No luck at Bingo, no love

Glad for chicken shacks

[pinchingyourballs]

Tasha's sock puppets
abound online forever,
gives her life meaning.

Wizard of Vegas,
connoisseur of black virgins,
autistic delights.

Cake cream, butter cream,
chocolate frosting with sprinkles,
dessert gives me gas.

Strawberry Blizzard,
my aching butt transforms you
into hot egg farts.




Thank you, thank you.

[pinchingyourballs]

James L Knight Center:
Luxurious penthouse suite,
home of Axl Rose

James L Knight Center:
Center of what? Gravity?
The whole universe?

James L Knight Center:
Tasha rides on a centaur,
the one I sent her.

James L Knight Center:
I gambled every last cent,
ergo I am broke.

James L Knight Center:
I saw a Cake Cream show there,
it sucked major ass.

James L Knight Center:
Center for knight training just
for men named James L.

James L Knight Center:
Hosted a high coo contest
for degenerates.

[Garnabby]

In a different sense, jumping in, nay, leaping, if one has the time, hands-on ability, and financial means (tens of thousands of spare dollars to "hemorrhage"), to set something straight, say, as a matter of life, or death.

Nicely hitting the turning-point, when the mouse comes "squeaking" back to eat the scorpion.


Another real-life "sink, or swim" adventure fraught with wholly unimaginable twists, and turns. Ha.

---> Humanitarian situation during the war in the Donbass

https://anagram-solver.net/Another%2....?partial=true

As such, the population of insurgent-held Donbas had decreased by a third from its pre-war level. Those forced to stay in the region were largely elderly, destitute, or otherwise unable to flee. Schools became greatly diminished, as roughly half of the pre-war population of school-age children had left Donbas.