The two put together have an IQ over 150. The wheel’s spinning but the hamster’s dead. There she sits, Finite State Automaton at its best. There’s nothing wrong with you that couldn’t be cured with a little Prozac and a polo mallet. — Woody Allen They must have done a clean boot on him. Thick as a brick / whale omelette. Thick as pig dung and twice as smelly. Thinks “Private Enterprise” means owning a personal starship. Thinks a permutation is a medical procedure. Thinks at 5 baud. Thinks cellular phones are carbon-based life forms. Thinks E=MC^2 is a rap star. Thinks everyone else is entitled to his opinion, like it or not. thinks in lower case and types accordingly Thinks like a boar hog looks at a wristwatch. Thinks male zebras are the ones with the black stripes. Three chickens short of a henhouse. Three miracles shy of being where he thinks he’s at. Three-bag/coyote ugly. (Ask your mommy to explain.) Throws his rod and reel off the bridge when casting. Too dumb to be bothered when publically displaying her ignorance. Too many birds on her antenna. Too many jokers and not enough aces in his deck. Too many stop bits in his transmissions. Too much yardage between the goal posts. Too pointless to even be called a pinhead. Took the little bus to school. Top paddock is full of rocks. Toys in the attic. Train of thought derailed / still boarding at the station.