I can't think of a LAME question. What am I gonna do?

gone insane

503'd, eh?

The thread so good you have to start it twice.

A double posting of a pointless thread asking for others not to post pointless threads. Pure art. Yoko Ono would be impressed.

Do you really want a suggestion? Get a brand new 2008 alt account with a first name something like B34dd901, choose the City Chic male avatar, and go to Help Island and show people how to put a cube on your head while doing the geek dance!

And no, haven't been there, haven't done that!

I can set you up with a date with Jig Chippewa. You two are made for each other.

And if you're busy snogging, maybe we'll have a few less inane threads starting up here.

I mean, come on. I'm one of the worst thread-derailers and General Discussers around here, but even *I* am beginning to think that our threads should at least BEGIN with a legitimate question before they descend into degeneracy.

even if you double posted and posted about nothing....

^5 . no more please.

**cringing**
Would she sing about it?

oh, i hope not. *covers my ears*

You'll get over it.. eventually. Until then, who cares?

Sing? Not exactly...http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NANDNspWDJc

Vogon poetry is of course the third worst in the Universe.

The second worst is that of the Azagoths of Kria. During a recitation by their Poet Master Grunthos the Flatulent of his poem "Ode To A Small Lump of Green Putty I Found In My Armpit One Midsummer Morning" four of his audience died of internal haemorrhaging, and the President of the Mid-Galactic Arts Nobbling Council survived by gnawing one of his own legs off. Grunthos is reported to have been "disappointed" by the poem's reception, and was about to embark on a reading of his twelve-book epic entitled My Favourite Bathtime Gurgles when his own major intestine, in a desperate attempt to save life and civilization, leapt straight up through his neck and throttled his brain.

The very worst poetry of all perished along with its creator Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings of Greenbridge, Essex, England in the destruction of the planet Earth.

Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz smiled very slowly. This was done not so much for effect as because he was trying to remember the sequence of muscle movements. He had had a terribly therapeutic yell at his prisoners and was now feeling quite relaxed and ready for a little callousness.

The prisoners sat in Poetry Appreciation Chairs — strapped in. Vogons suffered no illusions as to the regard their works were generally held in. Their early attempts at composition had been part of bludgeoning insistence that they be accepted as a properly evolved and cultured race, but now the only thing that kept them going was sheer bloodymindedness.

The sweat stood out cold on Ford Prefect's brow, and slid round the electrodes strapped to his temples. These were attached to a battery of electronic equipment — imagery intensifiers, rhythmic modulators, alliterative residulators and simile dumpers — all designed to heighten the experience of the poem and make sure that not a single nuance of the poet's thought was lost.

Arthur Dent sat and quivered. He had no idea what he was in for, but he knew that he hadn't liked anything that had happened so far and didn't think things were likely to change.

The Vogon began to read — a fetid little passage of his own devising.

"Oh frettled gruntbuggly ..." he began. Spasms wracked Ford's body — this was worse than ever he'd been prepared for.

"... thy micturations are to me | As plurdled gabbleblotchits on a lurgid bee."

"Aaaaaaarggggghhhhhh!" went Ford Prefect, wrenching his head back as lumps of pain thumped through it. He could dimly see beside him Arthur lolling and rolling in his seat. He clenched his teeth.

"Groop I implore thee," continued the merciless Vogon, "my foonting turlingdromes."

His voice was rising to a horrible pitch of impassioned stridency. "And hooptiously drangle me with crinkly bindlewurdles,| Or I will rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon, see if I don't!"

"Nnnnnnnnnnyyyyyyyuuuuuuurrrrrrrggggggghhhhh!" cried Ford Prefect and threw one final spasm as the electronic enhancement of the last line caught him full blast across the temples. He went limp.

Arthur lolled.

"Now Earthlings ..." whirred the Vogon (he didn't know that Ford Prefect was in fact from a small planet in the vicinity of Betelgeuse, and wouldn't have cared if he had) "I present you with a simple choice! Either die in the vacuum of space, or ..." he paused for melodramatic effect, "tell me how good you thought my poem was!"

He threw himself backwards into a huge leathery bat-shaped seat and watched them. He did the smile again.

Ford was rasping for breath. He rolled his dusty tongue round his parched mouth and moaned.

Arthur said brightly: "Actually I quite liked it."

Ford turned and gaped. Here was an approach that had quite simply not occurred to him.

What

If you are having trouble thinking of a question that isn't really a question about Second Life that makes sense being in a Second Life operated forum that bills itself as a place for questions about Second Life, as opposed to a chat room, you could fill in time and fit in with the crowd by finding some clearly written straightforward requests for information and make a disruptively off-topic reply to reduce the chance the OP will get their question answered,.

You could find a bunch of threads and insult the first person to answer the question, then in a a separate post, thank someone else who just repeats the answer given by the person that answered it first.

You could push the envelope so far as posts having no relevance by posting a discussion that has zero to do with Second Life, such as

1. a personal movie review of a movie that has nothing to do with SL, virtual reality, the internet, etc.

2. ask a question about car repair. get several friends or alts to answer you

3. post about the American Democratic and Republican presidential campaigns.

You could rehash years old tripe from the forums such as writing some posts about Linden Lab being an oligarchy and how the users are being oppressed by the heavy hand of the capitalist masters.

For a lame complaint topic: post about how the jira is incredibly complex, how it is is impossible to login and search for a topic and vote on it.

It darn tootin' better be. My boss is a troll.