pardon me? i don't see what this has to do with this interrogation?

nothing, i'm just calibrating the lie detector.

i never play with my private parts, at most once
a month, when my wife is indisposed.
how was that?

perfect; i guess that was the peak level. thank you, sir.

you're welcome.

after the news team had finally left the hall, he said, "phew, now it is over. by the way, mr. rumsfeld, the answer i gave you before was nonsense, but i didn't want to correct myself in front of the camera."

the baritone is always in love with the soprano but loses her to the tenor every time, because sopranos are totally crazy for men with extremly high voices. and don't hope falsetto singing would work.

With regard to Your letter of April 1st, 2002, I would like to emplore you to feel fiercly criticiced and affronted by my answer. As Your wretched marketing strategy lacks any originality, I consider the effort of excogitating nice slanders, remarks and statements of perfidy, expletives, savage locutions and other attacks against Your sense of honour not to be justified. However, as Your schedule apparently permits the composition of e-mails nobody would like to receive, I would like to invite You to invent suitable contents on your own. If You like, You may also devise threats of psychic and physical violence.

Regards,
nex

"i don't get that. sweet is good, whereas sour, bitter and salty are bad? i mean, that's unfair, three against one."

"but sweet alone would be boring.", i replied, "it's the others that make it interesting in a combination."

"i don't care, i want to be able to sense two more of the sexy tastes. like... like... damnit, i can't imagine a taste that's beyond the scope of my tongue. that would be like imagining four-dimensional objects."

"you do imagine four dimensional swimming pools."

"only in your imagination."

come on, d'n'b producers, FUCK the snare on the 3, give it a break.

he wants to be a multimedia poet. not only using all kinds of media, but also addressing all kinds of senses. he's not synesthetic (the cross sensory stimulation thingy, you know), but he has that idée fixe that he could evolve into a synesthetic being through gluttonous ingestion of geiss and milkdrop. at the moment he is working on a thesis work about smells and tastes in computer games.

Mr. Einstein: "God doesn't play dice with the universe."

Ms. Einstein: "Please, Albert, stop telling God what to do with the universe."