h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

true... mind, I doubt I'd pay for people to make the food... I'd make it myself; thats the fun part anyhow... I've not really done any partys on birthdays etc., for years mind maybe a trouser-themed party... or trouserless-themed party

Kilts all round then

Let us know how you get on making the mould for the chocks

It is, apparently.... Possible to buy commercially made, moulds, for baking confectionary type things, cakes, etc, I guess.... which ar ein the shape of... seriously... and... no I can't recall what I was looking at when I discovered this either probably one of those recomendation E--mails from Amazon or EBay or somewhere

Well I look forward to hearing the results of your research could be fun.

See you sometime tomorrow if you are around, it will be interesting to see how this thread gets back on track.

ahh. track... tracksuits... tracky bottoms... they're so nearly but not quite trouser...

Here we go again see you tomorrow

The basic black (smiths) cod piece isn't really too difficult.

One starts with a square of 1/8 inch steel of a size twice that of the distance from one's belt line to the groin.

Next you cut out a right triangle from any two adjacent corners to the center of the square.

(If you want breathing holes, now is the time to drill them.)

Bend the two edges of the right angles notched together, run a fillet weld down the seam.

Round the corners.

Attach padding to the edges.

Attach straps that run from the bottom corner around the opposite leg to a buckle set on the opposite top corner, and another strap that runs between the two top corners around the beltline.

Simplicity itself, though of course more complex designs are possible.

Sounds simple enough... but I'm guessing I can't just use my box knife or a tennon wood saw, for cutting steel My tool box is most unimpressive. *suddenly wonders, if using the phrase "my toolbox is most unimpressive", is a good, or bad idea, given the contributors to this thread*

I'm still giggling about who sails from Bristol.

Codpieces seem so unnecessary in this day and age. I suppose there might be extremely rare instances of a cricket or baseball hitting you in the crotch, or maybe even a bullet. Trauma centers can do marvelous things, though....

I had to go back a page.... To remind myself of the Bristol refernce.... and Now I'm giglging... again <actually... reminds me of a comment someone from Hootoo made to me, on twitter a day or two back.... about miners and their helmuts. Oh. dear. I don't think I shoudl have mentioned that here

If Santa discovers how naughty the German miner has been, he'll put Kohl in his Helmut.

[ to cross-post in the pun thread]

Oh dear, are we on to helmets now?

This won't end well!

If it ends in the well, some frog-kissing might happen .

well. end. helmut. Oh. I'm going to rinse my brain out with soap.

<-> >->

ahh. yeh... that's the Zappa song, isn't it... from... err... 'them or us'... Frogs, with tiny little lips, etc., etc., ... or... perhaps not I think someone spiked my salad.

No, that's just the cress with its spiky, pointed leaves.

Ahh. I see... all those long long summer days, down by the river.... spotted hankerchief in hand... the gentle waters, ebbing at the bank, and through the reeds... The barely concealed nest by the river bank, and the tiny cries from the signets; Black smoke rising from a nearly extinguished fire, as the willow fronds scarify the waters surface, in teh light breeze... A distant hill, with a lone corpse of trees, demarkating the boundry of the rail line, as the sound draws slowely into the nearfield lens... The parachutes entangled, barely afloat, as the r gentle breeze continues its teasing along the far bank... and the unmistakible sight of wild trousers, roaming free... In their natural abode... flitting carelessly across the fields and furrowed land, to the waters edge, then back off, scurrying again into the isolated tuffs of longer grasses and scant saplings and bushes beyond the limit of the river's domaign.... scarcely a cloud in the sky, as the trousers frollock free, barely creating a sound....