The New Sudoku Players' Forum

[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."

"Anything! Scrambled eggs, bacon
Or a box of big bugs’ broken wings."
"The One Rule I've never forsaken
Is constraints aren't for Lords of the Rings."

"Crossover the road with caution
A diagonal route may be best.
Travel in(g) pairs for ablution
And don't leave the house while undressed."

45 rules of life in the Guardian

[/quote]

[ikea-spokesperson]

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,
Buddies in no way ambivalent.
Bilocal we see them transform.

"A magic cell'll save us from harm."
(Backtracking a bit to inform them)
With a group hug and oodles of charm
And a big double brandy to warm them.


A deadly pattern of blasts rocked the building.
Broken Ikea chairs on the floor

[ikea-spokesperson]

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."
"The One Rule I've never forsaken
Is constraints aren't for Lords of the Rings."

"Crossover the road with caution
A diagonal route may be best.
Travel in(g) pairs for ablution
And don't leave the house while undressed."

45 rules of life in the Guardian
Rule K9, go to Ikea more often.

[MCC]

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,
Buddies in no way ambivalent.
Bilocal we see them transform.

"A magic cell'll save us from harm."
(Backtracking a bit to inform them)
With a group hug and oodles of charm
And a big double brandy to warm them.


A deadly pattern of blasts rocked the building.
Broken Ikea chairs on the floor
Forced digital tv's along the x-wing

[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."
"The One Rule I've never forsaken
Is constraints aren't for Lords of the Rings."

"Crossover the road with caution
A diagonal route may be best.
Travel in(g) pairs for ablution
And don't leave the house while undressed."

45 rules of life in the Guardian
Rule K9, go to Ikea more often.
With your buddy, the Swedish comedienne

[ikea-spokesperson]

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,
Buddies in no way ambivalent.
Bilocal we see them transform.

"A magic cell'll save us from harm."
(Backtracking a bit to inform them)
With a group hug and oodles of charm
And a big double brandy to warm them.


A deadly pattern of blasts rocked the building.
Broken Ikea chairs on the floor
Forced digital tv's along the x-wing
"We're now house-less - not druggies, just poor"

[ikea-spokesperson]

[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."
"The One Rule I've never forsaken
Is constraints aren't for Lords of the Rings."

"Crossover the road with caution
A diagonal route may be best.
Travel in(g) pairs for ablution
And don't leave the house while undressed."

45 rules of life in the Guardian
Rule K9, go to Ikea more often.
With your buddy, the Swedish comedienne
Hint of moose poo!? "My hair it'll soften."

[MCC]

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,
Buddies in no way ambivalent.
Bilocal we see them transform.

"A magic cell'll save us from harm."
(Backtracking a bit to inform them)
With a group hug and oodles of charm
And a big double brandy to warm them.


A deadly pattern of blasts rocked the building.
Broken Ikea chairs on the floor
Forced digital tv's along the x-wing
"We're now house-less - not druggies, just poor"

A fifth-columnist from IKEA

[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."
"The One Rule I've never forsaken
Is constraints aren't for Lords of the Rings."

"Crossover the road with caution
A diagonal route may be best.
Travel in(g) pairs for ablution
And don't leave the house while undressed."

45 rules of life in the Guardian
Rule K9, go to Ikea more often.
With your buddy, the Swedish comedienne
Hint of moose poo!? "My hair it'll soften."

Eureka! This strange dream, it's fugu

[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?"

"They're mathematically equivalent
Of perfect canonical form,
Buddies in no way ambivalent.
Bilocal we see them transform.

"A magic cell'll save us from harm."
(Backtracking a bit to inform them)
With a group hug and oodles of charm
And a big double brandy to warm them.


A deadly pattern of blasts rocked the building.
Broken Ikea chairs on the floor
Forced digital tv's along the x-wing
"We're now house-less - not druggies, just poor"

A fifth-columnist from IKEA
Unmasked in a move most invalid

[/quote]

[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."

"Anything! Scrambled eggs, bacon
Or a box of big bugs’ broken wings."
"The One Rule I've never forsaken
Is constraints aren't for Lords of the Rings."

"Crossover the road with caution
A diagonal route may be best.
Travel in(g) pairs for ablution
And don't leave the house while undressed."

45 rules of life in the Guardian
Rule K9, go to Ikea more often.
With your buddy, the Swedish comedienne
Hint of moose poo!? "My hair it'll soften."

Eureka! This strange dream, it's fugu
Sashimi can make you go goo-goo

[/quote]

[MCC]

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,
Buddies in no way ambivalent.
Bilocal we see them transform.

"A magic cell'll save us from harm."
(Backtracking a bit to inform them)
With a group hug and oodles of charm
And a big double brandy to warm them.


A deadly pattern of blasts rocked the building.
Broken Ikea chairs on the floor
Forced digital tv's along the x-wing
"We're now house-less - not druggies, just poor"

A fifth-columnist from IKEA
Unmasked in a move most invalid
Escaped throught backdoor on a rhea

[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."
"The One Rule I've never forsaken
Is constraints aren't for Lords of the Rings."

"Crossover the road with caution
A diagonal route may be best.
Travel in(g) pairs for ablution
And don't leave the house while undressed."

45 rules of life in the Guardian
Rule K9, go to Ikea more often.
With your buddy, the Swedish comedienne
Hint of moose poo!? "My hair it'll soften."

Eureka! This strange dream, it's fugu
Sashimi can make you go goo-goo;
Unhinged; loopy. Like mister Magoo

[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,
Buddies in no way ambivalent.
Bilocal we see them transform.

"A magic cell'll save us from harm."
(Backtracking a bit to inform them)
With a group hug and oodles of charm
And a big double brandy to warm them.


A deadly pattern of blasts rocked the building.
Broken Ikea chairs on the floor
Forced digital tv's along the x-wing
"We're now house-less - not druggies, just poor"

A fifth-columnist from IKEA
Unmasked in a move most invalid
Escaped through backdoor on a rhea
Trying to track down a tuna fish salad.

[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,
Or sashimi, I beg, I implore it."

"Anything! Scrambled eggs, bacon
Or a box of big bugs’ broken wings."
"The One Rule I've never forsaken
Is constraints aren't for Lords of the Rings."

"Crossover the road with caution
A diagonal route may be best.
Travel in(g) pairs for ablution
And don't leave the house while undressed."

45 rules of life in the Guardian
Rule K9, go to Ikea more often.
With your buddy, the Swedish comedienne
Hint of moose poo!? "My hair it'll soften."

Eureka! This strange dream, it's fugu
Sashimi can make you go goo-goo;
Unhinged; loopy. Like mister Magoo
When he’s smoking that killer weed you grew.