deep thoughts and fact-free stories

yestereve, as i soliloquized and ruminated whilst savouring my mug of camel's milk (хормог), i waxed sardonic, bemused by the paradoxical nature of the gifts which at times are granted to us by
our Deity and, perchance, by the happenstance of the folded matrices of this cosmos. for if a man be by thought sundered from even his compatriots, his peers of like nascence and fealty, what nocent jab could him e'er betide by
sojourns and peregrinations to lands far-flung? the dissolution of threat abolishes also fear of that selfsame threat, yes? we fear not the death of the ephemeron, or of the deceased. maim the hostage and disarm the kidnapper.
no device to bandy overproud words has he left. burn the bridge and cross that Rubicon. or, rather, find it burned ere your survey. and be wise enough to perceive yourself enmeshed in this irony, and adopt it as a gift truly.

~ now, i must confess, i will likely be committing a lot of sins here in UB. why, praytell? well, because in mongolian, the word for sin is (romanicized): noogle. and you gotta admit, it's pretty hard to take sin seriously if you call it a noogle.
also, an alert reader alerted us alertly that the word for main/cardinal qualities/attributes is: gol chanaruud. but in prayer you could say: Lord, forgive us our noogles as we also forgive our fellowman HIS noogles. so hamartiology in mongolian
is the study of noogles. noogle-ology, if you will. also, here it is readily observed that any creature possessing an external organ even remotely similar to an udder gets milked. and the milk is then: 1. consumed as a beverage, or 2. fermented
until possessing a volumetric alcohol percentage rivaling the blood of the average citizen of Ireland. then consumed as a beverage (or, alternatively, stored for emergency blood transfusions for Irish tourists). also, the mongolians are a physically
talented bunch of folks. examples include: contortionists. jugglers. and the guy who, despite the ex-soviet bus (motto: pedestrians are great traction!) being crowded with approximately 6 passengers per square foot, STILL manages to attempt to
pickpocket ALL FOUR of my trouser pockets. (i didn't even know about the other two until we hit a bump (okay, so it was a pedestrian) (but man he was good traction) and he was caught in the embarrassing position of having to explain why he was
buried up to his forearms in my two pockets i didn't know i had.) (he said he thought i had an itch.) (so i said, 'well then, lord, not my butt only but also my whole... ') anyway, so now i put honey in my back pockets, just to teach would-be thieves a lesson.
i guess the lesson in all this is, if you see any Irish tourists or thieves in whom you are interested, first check them out to make sure it looks like they have external organs remotely similar to udders. next try to guess their gender. then follow them onto a bus which was manufactured by
Lenin's drinking buddy and which is packed so tightly you lose feeling in your legs. then, discreetly, take the graham crackers out of your wallet. (you will have to ask it back from the guy next to you who stole it five minutes ago while you were busy not feeling
your legs.) next, with great sublety and suavete, dip the graham crackers in the honey in the back pockets of your would-be target individual. if caught, confess your noogles and all will be forgiven. also, i would like to cogently point out that 'Noogle and the Golchanaruud's' would
be a killer name for a rock band.
zif