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Spacecraft Could Crash Land On M4 Corridor Quite a dramatic headline, but the report on the telly said debris could land anywhere between the South of England and the Falkland Isles Oh, and the report in the link says that that distance is 200km, unless they mean a 12,000 x 200km area, but I suppose the M4 corridor makes for a dramatic headline If I go for a walk, I shall keep me ears and eyes open, and take a brolly
Quote from: Just One More on January 14, 2012, 06:50:17 AM Spacecraft Could Crash Land On M4 Corridor Quite a dramatic headline, but the report on the telly said debris could land anywhere between the South of England and the Falkland Isles Oh, and the report in the link says that that distance is 200km, unless they mean a 12,000 x 200km area, but I suppose the M4 corridor makes for a dramatic headline If I go for a walk, I shall keep me ears and eyes open, and take a brollySlough!
Quote from: Barman on January 14, 2012, 08:09:56 AMQuote from: Just One More on January 14, 2012, 06:50:17 AM Spacecraft Could Crash Land On M4 Corridor Quite a dramatic headline, but the report on the telly said debris could land anywhere between the South of England and the Falkland Isles Oh, and the report in the link says that that distance is 200km, unless they mean a 12,000 x 200km area, but I suppose the M4 corridor makes for a dramatic headline If I go for a walk, I shall keep me ears and eyes open, and take a brollySlough! Do we take that to mean that you believe that the spacecraft in question is sloughing off it's outer surface as it descends?
Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough!It isn't fit for humans now,There isn't grass to graze a cow.Swarm over, Death!Come, bombs and blow to smithereensThose air -conditioned, bright canteens,Tinned fruit, tinned meat, tinned milk, tinned beans,Tinned minds, tinned breath.Mess up the mess they call a town-A house for ninety-seven downAnd once a week a half a crownFor twenty years.And get that man with double chinWho'll always cheat and always win,Who washes his repulsive skinIn women's tears:And smash his desk of polished oakAnd smash his hands so used to strokeAnd stop his boring dirty jokeAnd make him yell.But spare the bald young clerks who addThe profits of the stinking cad;It's not their fault that they are mad,They've tasted Hell.It's not their fault they do not knowThe birdsong from the radio,It's not their fault they often goTo MaidenheadAnd talk of sport and makes of carsIn various bogus-Tudor barsAnd daren't look up and see the starsBut belch instead.In labour-saving homes, with careTheir wives frizz out peroxide hairAnd dry it in synthetic airAnd paint their nails.Come, friendly bombs and fall on SloughTo get it ready for the plough.The cabbages are coming now;The earth exhales.
its
There's nowt wrong wiv my goolies.
Quote from: Snoopy on January 15, 2012, 04:34:14 PMThere's nowt wrong wiv my goolies. Often licked, rarely beaten.
Deffo wasn't the Captain's fault then