The New Sudoku Players' Forum

[mikejapan]

"Born?" That's not southern English again, is it?

[MCC]

I'm a Londoner born and bred - My father's from Scotland, my mother's from London her mother was a cockney

"Why, Sir, you find no man, at all intellectual, who is willing to leave London. No, Sir, when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford."
— Samuel Johnson

Boswell and Johnson were discussing whether or not Boswell's affection for London would wear thin should he choose to live there, as opposed to the zest he felt on his occasional visits. (Boswell lived in Scotland, and visited only periodically. Some people are surprised to learn that Boswell and Johnson were far from inseparable over the last twenty years of Johnson's life, the period Boswell knew him.)

This discussion happened on September 20, 1777, and Johnson, someone who hated to spend time alone, was always going out and enjoying what London had to offer.

MCC

[mikejapan]

The girls who all wore simple colours,
Mini-skirts, mini-cols, mini-cuffs,
Claiming those audacious rumours
Were just lies spread by sad, single toughs.

Ariadne resented the inference
That she'd interacted last night.
“These marks aren't bad Bingo’s big imprints,
They’re the site of a big bed bug’s bite!”

"My unit's infested with termites!
Elimination's called for, but how?
They've got pincers! Don't turn off the BUG lites!
See that monster! The size of a cow!"

"I'm your man!" came a voice from the backdoor
"I am the law! Of leftovers? None!"
I’ll fix these big BUGs you’ve got trapped, or
By your thread I will chain up each one!

So the candidates, Ariadne and Mark
A locked pair? who knows? Just wait and see.
Tried and erred on the floor in the dark.
He claimed innie. "No, outie!", cried she.

"I'd call that a conflict of interest,"
She blushed, with advanced colouring,
And fished out her patterned print dress.
"A remote pair we'll stay. Just a fling!"

Their eyes were locked, set in their sockets,
Like the 3D Medusa of legend.
Then a hidden sub set off some rockets
Guess our number's up - Is it the end?

"Equivalence!" Mark states, "that's the answer.
We'll write to the PM at once.
This cluster of gems should entrance her."
"She's a he. You're in error! You dunce!"

"What, bivalue? I’d never have guessed,
For he seems so effeminate

[mikejapan]

Mark, a candidate for President, who
Hatched a plot to knock off his opponent
Using one cluster bomb, maybe two,
To create a more opportune moment.

He fixed a long fuse to the table
To eliminate his foe was the plan.
The locked pair he thought would be able
To constrain that blockhead with elan.

With deadly intentions in mind,
Implications of which may seem valid,
He lay on the floor (he reclined)
Digit poised to depress, face quite palid.

He was locked in a chain of destruction,
But he blocked the fear from his brain,
And made a quick box line reduction
By brute force the boxed bomb to constrain.

But an explosion blasted the rows
And columns 'to jigsaw size pieces.
When Jellyfish fired in salvoes,
They made the floor as slippy as grease is.

To walkthrough the mess was a mission,
But his Colt 45 ruled the day.
He’d stacked boxes of live ammunition
A bivalue universal grave for his prey.

In the band of his boxers he'd hidden
A gun, or just pleased to see me?
“Are you hinting,” she said, “Or just kiddin’?
"My pinned digit ? It's as plain as can be."

”Changing subject,” he said. “Trebor's tables,
Lines and columns like Towers of Babels,
(Those old symbols from biblical fables)
Numbered not in "Anne of Green Gables."

“I haven’t a clue what you’re on about,
Please throw me a bone, or bit

[emm]

The girls who all wore simple colours,
Mini-skirts, mini-cols, mini-cuffs,
Claiming those audacious rumours
Were just lies spread by sad, single toughs.

Ariadne resented the inference
That she'd interacted last night.
“These marks aren't bad Bingo’s big imprints,
They’re the site of a big bed bug’s bite!”

"My unit's infested with termites!
Elimination's called for, but how?
They've got pincers! Don't turn off the BUG lites!
See that monster! The size of a cow!"

"I'm your man!" came a voice from the backdoor
"I am the law! Of leftovers? None!"
I’ll fix these big BUGs you’ve got trapped, or
By your thread I will chain up each one!

So the candidates, Ariadne and Mark
A locked pair? who knows? Just wait and see.
Tried and erred on the floor in the dark.
He claimed innie. "No, outie!", cried she.

"I'd call that a conflict of interest,"
She blushed, with advanced colouring,
And fished out her patterned print dress.
"A remote pair we'll stay. Just a fling!"

Their eyes were locked, set in their sockets,
Like the 3D Medusa of legend.
Then a hidden sub set off some rockets
Guess our number's up - Is it the end?

"Equivalence!" Mark states, "that's the answer.
We'll write to the PM at once.
This cluster of gems should entrance her."
"She's a he. You're in error! You dunce!"

"What, bivalue? I’d never have guessed,
For he seems so effeminate and
What’s that aligned pair on her chest

[emm]

Mark, a candidate for President, who
Hatched a plot to knock off his opponent
Using one cluster bomb, maybe two,
To create a more opportune moment.

He fixed a long fuse to the table
To eliminate his foe was the plan.
The locked pair he thought would be able
To constrain that blockhead with elan.

With deadly intentions in mind,
Implications of which may seem valid,
He lay on the floor (he reclined)
Digit poised to depress, face quite palid.

He was locked in a chain of destruction,
But he blocked the fear from his brain,
And made a quick box line reduction
By brute force the boxed bomb to constrain.

But an explosion blasted the rows
And columns 'to jigsaw size pieces.
When Jellyfish fired in salvoes,
They made the floor as slippy as grease is.

To walkthrough the mess was a mission,
But his Colt 45 ruled the day.
He’d stacked boxes of live ammunition
A bivalue universal grave for his prey.

In the band of his boxers he'd hidden
A gun, or just pleased to see me?
“Are you hinting,” she said, “Or just kiddin’?
"My pinned digit ? It's as plain as can be."

”Changing subject,” he said. “Trebor's tables,
Lines and columns like Towers of Babels,
(Those old symbols from biblical fables)
Numbered not in "Anne of Green Gables."

“I haven’t a clue what you’re on about,
Please throw me a bone, or bit
Of seafood, like the fin of a trout,

[mikejapan]

Mark, a candidate for President, who
Hatched a plot to knock off his opponent
Using one cluster bomb, maybe two,
To create a more opportune moment.

He fixed a long fuse to the table
To eliminate his foe was the plan.
The locked pair he thought would be able
To constrain that blockhead with elan.

With deadly intentions in mind,
Implications of which may seem valid,
He lay on the floor (he reclined)
Digit poised to depress, face quite palid.

He was locked in a chain of destruction,
But he blocked the fear from his brain,
And made a quick box line reduction
By brute force the boxed bomb to constrain.

But an explosion blasted the rows
And columns 'to jigsaw size pieces.
When Jellyfish fired in salvoes,
They made the floor as slippy as grease is.

To walkthrough the mess was a mission,
But his Colt 45 ruled the day.
He’d stacked boxes of live ammunition
A bivalue universal grave for his prey.

In the band of his boxers he'd hidden
A gun, or just pleased to see me?
“Are you hinting,” she said, “Or just kiddin’?
"My pinned digit ? It's as plain as can be."

”Changing subject,” he said. “Trebor's tables,
Lines and columns like Towers of Babels,
(Those old symbols from biblical fables)
Numbered not in "Anne of Green Gables."

“I haven’t a clue what you’re on about,
Please throw me a bone, or bit
Of seafood, like the fin of a trout,
Or sashimi, I beg, I implore it."

[mikejapan]

The girls who all wore simple colours,
Mini-skirts, mini-cols, mini-cuffs,
Claiming those audacious rumours
Were just lies spread by sad, single toughs.

Ariadne resented the inference
That she'd interacted last night.
“These marks aren't bad Bingo’s big imprints,
They’re the site of a big bed bug’s bite!”

"My unit's infested with termites!
Elimination's called for, but how?
They've got pincers! Don't turn off the BUG lites!
See that monster! The size of a cow!"

"I'm your man!" came a voice from the backdoor
"I am the law! Of leftovers? None!"
I’ll fix these big BUGs you’ve got trapped, or
By your thread I will chain up each one!

So the candidates, Ariadne and Mark
A locked pair? who knows? Just wait and see.
Tried and erred on the floor in the dark.
He claimed innie. "No, outie!", cried she.

"I'd call that a conflict of interest,"
She blushed, with advanced colouring,
And fished out her patterned print dress.
"A remote pair we'll stay. Just a fling!"

Their eyes were locked, set in their sockets,
Like the 3D Medusa of legend.
Then a hidden sub set off some rockets
Guess our number's up - Is it the end?

"Equivalence!" Mark states, "that's the answer.
We'll write to the PM at once.
This cluster of gems should entrance her."
"She's a he. You're in error! You dunce!"

"What, bivalue? I’d never have guessed,
For he seems so effeminate and
What’s that aligned pair on her chest
And why the girlie headband?"

[MCC]

Since mike seems reluctant to start a new verse.

The girls who all wore simple colours,
Mini-skirts, mini-cols, mini-cuffs,
Claiming those audacious rumours
Were just lies spread by sad, single toughs.

Ariadne resented the inference
That she'd interacted last night.
“These marks aren't bad Bingo’s big imprints,
They’re the site of a big bed bug’s bite!”

"My unit's infested with termites!
Elimination's called for, but how?
They've got pincers! Don't turn off the BUG lites!
See that monster! The size of a cow!"

"I'm your man!" came a voice from the backdoor
"I am the law! Of leftovers? None!"
I’ll fix these big BUGs you’ve got trapped, or
By your thread I will chain up each one!

So the candidates, Ariadne and Mark
A locked pair? who knows? Just wait and see.
Tried and erred on the floor in the dark.
He claimed innie. "No, outie!", cried she.

"I'd call that a conflict of interest,"
She blushed, with advanced colouring,
And fished out her patterned print dress.
"A remote pair we'll stay. Just a fling!"

Their eyes were locked, set in their sockets,
Like the 3D Medusa of legend.
Then a hidden sub set off some rockets
Guess our number's up - Is it the end?

"Equivalence!" Mark states, "that's the answer.
We'll write to the PM at once.
This cluster of gems should entrance her."
"She's a he. You're in error! You dunce!"

"What, bivalue? I’d never have guessed,
For he seems so effeminate and
What’s that aligned pair on her chest
And why the girlie headband?"

"They're mathematically equivalent"

[MCC]

Mark, a candidate for President, who
Hatched a plot to knock off his opponent
Using one cluster bomb, maybe two,
To create a more opportune moment.

He fixed a long fuse to the table
To eliminate his foe was the plan.
The locked pair he thought would be able
To constrain that blockhead with elan.

With deadly intentions in mind,
Implications of which may seem valid,
He lay on the floor (he reclined)
Digit poised to depress, face quite palid.

He was locked in a chain of destruction,
But he blocked the fear from his brain,
And made a quick box line reduction
By brute force the boxed bomb to constrain.

But an explosion blasted the rows
And columns 'to jigsaw size pieces.
When Jellyfish fired in salvoes,
They made the floor as slippy as grease is.

To walkthrough the mess was a mission,
But his Colt 45 ruled the day.
He’d stacked boxes of live ammunition
A bivalue universal grave for his prey.

In the band of his boxers he'd hidden
A gun, or just pleased to see me?
“Are you hinting,” she said, “Or just kiddin’?
"My pinned digit ? It's as plain as can be."

”Changing subject,” he said. “Trebor's tables,
Lines and columns like Towers of Babels,
(Those old symbols from biblical fables)
Numbered not in "Anne of Green Gables."

“I haven’t a clue what you’re on about,
Please throw me a bone, or bit
Of seafood, like the fin of a trout,
Or sashimi, I beg, I implore it."

"Anything! Scrambled eggs and bacon".

[mikejapan]

Me? I try not to post two lines in a row and as I had posted the last line of the previous verse, it wasn't my turn.

[emm]

The girls who all wore simple colours,
Mini-skirts, mini-cols, mini-cuffs,
Claiming those audacious rumours
Were just lies spread by sad, single toughs.

Ariadne resented the inference
That she'd interacted last night.
“These marks aren't bad Bingo’s big imprints,
They’re the site of a big bed bug’s bite!”

"My unit's infested with termites!
Elimination's called for, but how?
They've got pincers! Don't turn off the BUG lites!
See that monster! The size of a cow!"

"I'm your man!" came a voice from the backdoor
"I am the law! Of leftovers? None!"
I’ll fix these big BUGs you’ve got trapped, or
By your thread I will chain up each one!

So the candidates, Ariadne and Mark
A locked pair? who knows? Just wait and see.
Tried and erred on the floor in the dark.
He claimed innie. "No, outie!", cried she.

"I'd call that a conflict of interest,"
She blushed, with advanced colouring,
And fished out her patterned print dress.
"A remote pair we'll stay. Just a fling!"

Their eyes were locked, set in their sockets,
Like the 3D Medusa of legend.
Then a hidden sub set off some rockets
Guess our number's up - Is it the end?

"Equivalence!" Mark states, "that's the answer.
We'll write to the PM at once.
This cluster of gems should entrance her."
"She's a he. You're in error! You dunce!"

"What, bivalue? I’d never have guessed,
For he seems so effeminate and
What’s that aligned pair on her chest
And why the girlie headband?"

"They're mathematically equivalent
Of perfect canonical form,

[emm]

[quote="MCC"]

Mark, a candidate for President, who
Hatched a plot to knock off his opponent
Using one cluster bomb, maybe two,
To create a more opportune moment.

He fixed a long fuse to the table
To eliminate his foe was the plan.
The locked pair he thought would be able
To constrain that blockhead with elan.

With deadly intentions in mind,
Implications of which may seem valid,
He lay on the floor (he reclined)
Digit poised to depress, face quite palid.

He was locked in a chain of destruction,
But he blocked the fear from his brain,
And made a quick box line reduction
By brute force the boxed bomb to constrain.

But an explosion blasted the rows
And columns 'to jigsaw size pieces.
When Jellyfish fired in salvoes,
They made the floor as slippy as grease is.

To walkthrough the mess was a mission,
But his Colt 45 ruled the day.
He’d stacked boxes of live ammunition
A bivalue universal grave for his prey.

In the band of his boxers he'd hidden
A gun, or just pleased to see me?
“Are you hinting,” she said, “Or just kiddin’?
"My pinned digit ? It's as plain as can be."

”Changing subject,” he said. “Trebor's tables,
Lines and columns like Towers of Babels,
(Those old symbols from biblical fables)
Numbered not in "Anne of Green Gables."

“I haven’t a clue what you’re on about,
Please throw me a bone, or bit
Of seafood, like the fin of a trout,
Or sashimi, I beg, I implore it."

"Anything! Scrambled eggs, bacon
Or a box of big bugs’ broken wings

,

[mikejapan]

Eh? What happened to Mike Barker's two lines?

[Mike Barker]

No one seemed to be picking up the thread and I was worried I had led it to a dead end so I figured I'd let someone else try their hand. The beats were marginal anyway.