All of your burning philosophical questions answered

I don't understand....

That is because you are a dick head.


And I mean that in the nicest possible way.

I've been answering questions for a few days now and feel ready to take the leap back to burning philosophical ones. Fire when ready.

This topic was recently unearthed in an archaeological expedition to Milwaukee.

I loved this thread, jes. Got a lot of important questions answered. You are one smart cookie.

May all archeological expeditions be as fruitful.

I adored your straight lines; they were perfect.

May the restaurant of enlightenment serve you a tasty smorgasbord at a reasonable price.

I loved thinking up questions for jes.

May the mantis shrimp never snap one of your fingers off.

Yes. I want to know: Who's responsible?

Responsibility is a difficult question to ponder, and often alcohol or bacon are involved.

Bacon-flavored alcohol does not, so far as I am aware, yet exist. I'll put in for the patent later.

As for responsibility, it is shared, although I actually just suspect the Smurfs.

May you find a wrapper for your used gum whenever you need it.

I thank you for the basting my brain with wisdom. Ratatouille to you and thanks once more.

When a cow laughs, does milk come out of its nose?

Basting is appropriate for this time of year. I thank you for the ratatouille.

Only when you hold it upside-down. Otherwise, it gets cramps, and you probably do, too, so take two of these and not with dairy.

May you trample the correct number of people this Black Friday. No more, and no less.

Why does the sun go on shining? Why does the sea rush to shore? Don't they know, it's the end of the world? It ended when i lost your love.

Is drilling for oil boring?

All I know is, don't let the sun catch you crying. And I'd like to take you on a sea cruise. You know, somewhere beyond the sea. As for love, it is like rain on a dump truck. It cascades and cleanses, and takes away stinky smells, but it leaves streaks on your windshield.

May your lounge chair always recline at the optimal angle for television viewing and snack consumption.

Well, it's no laugh riot, I'll tell ya. It needs more plot and characters, pictures and conversations as Alice Liddell lamented.

May your organs never be harvested while you're in a bath tub.

Oh, great monarch of knowing. I have a question.

I want to win the big lottery--hundreds of millions of dollars. However, I don't wanna buy a ticket unless I'm sure I'll win. How can I be sure?

I await your wisdom.

In life, some things are inevitable. The swallows returning to Capistrano. Your taxes going up, regardless of whoever is in office. And the Lovatts topics not being tagged.

It is also inevitable that eleven guys from Staten Island, often immigrants from Third World island nations, will win the big lotteries. Would you be content with a mere million? Then perhaps you should play, knowing that the really big buckaroonies are going to a buncha guys who can trill their Rs like nobody's business.

Or, chat up a random trilling Staten Islander. How's your trilling?

May you always have enough saltines.

How many roads must a man walk down before he remembers where he parked?