I've heard that there are eleven dimensions, because the eleventh one is what allows the five superstring theories to be unified. Don't even ask me what that means, I'm just paraphrasing Michio Kaku at this point. I've tried to read about it, but I don't have enough physics knowledge to understand any of it beyond the Science Channel version.
Jumping those jets in the wall would be impossible, unless there was a gap below them, because link doesn't have a jump button, he auto-jumps when he needs to.
If you look at the top the blue circle that says attack changes to jump instants before he jumps. So no, those would be preset points where you would press the "whatever you need to do in this area" button.
Up where we live we've got everything,
We've got a cuckoo and a nightingale,
We've got a shop and chapel and a boozer
And a little jail.
We've got a brain-sick witch and a cricket pitch,
We've got a pump and a duck pond here,
A vicar and a blacksmith and a local idiot
And a brigadier, a frigging brigadier.
Let the caravans come, let the charabancs roll!
Tripping our hills, picking our daffodils
Getting stuck in our holes. We don't care.
We don't mind trippers and scouts and ramblers,
They can come and stand in the rain all day.
They give us money and beer and a right good belly laugh,
Then they go away.
But who pins medals on the chests of our children?
Who pins a rose on our biggest pig's ear?
Who pins a little red poppy on our cenotaph?
A brigadier, a frigging brigadier.
Let the bearded wonders come.
Whether we like or not
They squat in the cottages of our ancestors
Making bloody pottery! We don't care.
We get drunk, we get rowdy,
And we get nicked when the flatfeet come;
How are we judged? By whose almighty
Finger and thumb?
Not by Bacchus's, not by Jupiter's.
Not by Solomon's. We're summonsed to appear
Underneath the beak of his week-a-day worship
A brigadier, a frigging brigadier.
Let the rain-god come, spitter and spat and spout.
At least he's a god who is impartial:
He waggles it about. We don’t care.
On a Sunday when the vicar admonishes our wickedness
Whose "Amen" resounds down the aisle?
Who reads the Sermon on the Mount with a Holy
Ghost of a smile?
Who takes the wine? Who takes the biscuit?
Who brings the plate? Who bends the ear?
Singing of his hopes for a new Jerusalem,
A brigadier, a frigging brigadier.
Let God's pale archangel the Grim Reaper come;
He can hack my bones, he can step upon my gravestone,
He can kiss my bum. I don't care.
If he wants my chimneys, if he wants my acres,
If he wants my trout, if he wants my grouse,
If he wants gold and silver titbits,
He's got the wrong house.
He can rattle my latch, bang my knocker,
There's not one whit of a titbit here;
Go tap with his dainty sickle on the windowpane
Of the brigadier,
The frigging brigadier.
That's an elected official? What a fucking moron. I don't understand how anyone can be so stupid. His main argument was some other scientists also think the emails are bad, therefore it's all been lies since day one. I really liked, "Will you shut up just a second?" He is a horrible representative from the US. This is meant to be one of our leaders and he goes on TV in another country and acts like a little brat, just trying to shout until he gets his way.
The senator is just sitting there giggling like an idiot, and he's doing it in a patronizing way when he has no authority over any actual intellectual. Not even in politics is he well known anywhere but his home state, and I doubt it's because he's made any sort of good name for himself.
The whole transaction was a bit rude actually, but good on the scientist for telling him to shut up and calling him an asshole.
It's the player's fault for putting their reserved column in the centre of the playing field, thus leaving him with two small spaces to fill instead of one large one. Leaving a recessed corner to the reserved column, thus preparing a space for an L-block to be placed for a triple in an emergency while still leaving the remainder of the column available for tetri would also have allowed the player to avoid his sad fate.
I don't know if you guys have this problem, but I have tons of friends who often confuse the concept of 'game over' with killing people, and forget that life isn't some huge video game system that you can reset and start over. It gets pretty hard to remember the difference sometimes.
But, more importantly: Jigglypuff is out to get your fucking soul. It's worse than Dungeons and Dragons.
Comments
Lots of other fun original web Muppet content on their channel.
http://books.google.com/books?id=139bAAAAQAAJ&dq=flatland+edwin+abbott&printsec=frontcover&source=bl&ots=Mr7W_TBHGZ&sig=y8xTTI7w65Vb50A2bs2RB30tXp8&hl=en&ei=Z8wRS5yGHMGOlQfZ2_ygBA&sa=X&oi=book_result&ct=result&resnum=3&ved=0CBsQ6AEwAg#v=onepage&q=&f=true
Riiiight.
Lyrics:
Up where we live we've got everything,
We've got a cuckoo and a nightingale,
We've got a shop and chapel and a boozer
And a little jail.
We've got a brain-sick witch and a cricket pitch,
We've got a pump and a duck pond here,
A vicar and a blacksmith and a local idiot
And a brigadier, a frigging brigadier.
Let the caravans come, let the charabancs roll!
Tripping our hills, picking our daffodils
Getting stuck in our holes. We don't care.
We don't mind trippers and scouts and ramblers,
They can come and stand in the rain all day.
They give us money and beer and a right good belly laugh,
Then they go away.
But who pins medals on the chests of our children?
Who pins a rose on our biggest pig's ear?
Who pins a little red poppy on our cenotaph?
A brigadier, a frigging brigadier.
Let the bearded wonders come.
Whether we like or not
They squat in the cottages of our ancestors
Making bloody pottery! We don't care.
We get drunk, we get rowdy,
And we get nicked when the flatfeet come;
How are we judged? By whose almighty
Finger and thumb?
Not by Bacchus's, not by Jupiter's.
Not by Solomon's. We're summonsed to appear
Underneath the beak of his week-a-day worship
A brigadier, a frigging brigadier.
Let the rain-god come, spitter and spat and spout.
At least he's a god who is impartial:
He waggles it about. We don’t care.
On a Sunday when the vicar admonishes our wickedness
Whose "Amen" resounds down the aisle?
Who reads the Sermon on the Mount with a Holy
Ghost of a smile?
Who takes the wine? Who takes the biscuit?
Who brings the plate? Who bends the ear?
Singing of his hopes for a new Jerusalem,
A brigadier, a frigging brigadier.
Let God's pale archangel the Grim Reaper come;
He can hack my bones, he can step upon my gravestone,
He can kiss my bum. I don't care.
If he wants my chimneys, if he wants my acres,
If he wants my trout, if he wants my grouse,
If he wants gold and silver titbits,
He's got the wrong house.
He can rattle my latch, bang my knocker,
There's not one whit of a titbit here;
Go tap with his dainty sickle on the windowpane
Of the brigadier,
The frigging brigadier.
This senator is an idiot and totally incompetent at debating. He doesn't discuss the science; his arguments are completely hearsay. Ridiculous.
And the scientist wraps it up pretty nicely at the end.
The whole transaction was a bit rude actually, but good on the scientist for telling him to shut up and calling him an asshole.
There. Is. No. PLACE for a square!
I don't know if you guys have this problem, but I have tons of friends who often confuse the concept of 'game over' with killing people, and forget that life isn't some huge video game system that you can reset and start over. It gets pretty hard to remember the difference sometimes.
But, more importantly: Jigglypuff is out to get your fucking soul. It's worse than Dungeons and Dragons.