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Post by red dwarf addict on Sept 19, 2004 7:52:49 GMT -5
Some famous people were born on my birthday...
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Post by That English-Edge on Sept 19, 2004 7:54:25 GMT -5
Like Whom
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Post by red dwarf addict on Sept 19, 2004 11:33:33 GMT -5
Cliff Richard, Roger Moore, even the Battle of Hastings was fought on the 14th October!
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Post by Captain Emerald on Sept 19, 2004 13:42:44 GMT -5
No! Not Cliff Richard!!! I could kill the man!!!!! No offence to Cliff fans.
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Post by red dwarf addict on Sept 20, 2004 11:47:16 GMT -5
LOL...but he's probably one of the most famous people ever!
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Post by Captain Emerald on Sept 21, 2004 9:55:36 GMT -5
Unfortunately...
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Post by That English-Edge on Sept 22, 2004 10:35:50 GMT -5
Should we start a new thread and have It for people who want to become Moderators 'cause this ones had 155 replys
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Post by Captain Emerald on Sept 22, 2004 12:12:38 GMT -5
Er, no. Why?
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Post by Sailor Earth on Sept 22, 2004 20:16:06 GMT -5
LOL it's kinda gone slightly OT... slightly being the operative word
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Post by That English-Edge on Sept 23, 2004 12:34:26 GMT -5
Right SE
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Post by red dwarf addict on Sept 24, 2004 11:48:22 GMT -5
So we make another one then or not....
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Post by Sailor Earth on Sept 26, 2004 1:56:23 GMT -5
Eeeh... whatever... LOL! There aren't many people asking to become Mods at the moment anyway...
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Post by red dwarf addict on Sept 26, 2004 13:41:43 GMT -5
No 'cause you've been so gernerous SE. giving everyone MOD positions like that. Not that I'm complaining!
Ah yes, also 14th October is Lister's predicted date of birth, which I'm sure readers of Infinity Welcomes Careful Drivers will know.... ;D
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Post by Captain Emerald on Sept 26, 2004 14:24:06 GMT -5
Wow, cool! ;D ;D ;D
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Post by red dwarf addict on Sept 26, 2004 16:03:56 GMT -5
Yeah that's what I thought, here's the extract (Lister is in the Jupiter mining corporation recruitment centre, Caldicot is the person who's signing him up):
'Date of birth?' 'Unknown.' 'What d'you mean, unknown?' 'I was found.' 'In what why "found"?' 'In a pub. Under the pool table.' Lister paused. 'In a cardboard box.' Caldicott eyed him dubiously. Caldicott spent his entire working day sitting in his immaculate white uniform in the window of the recruitment centre, projecting the Space Corps' corporate image. Which was white and brave, strong and smiling. Once the suckers had signed up, they'd learn the truth soon enough. In the meantime, it was his job to be white and brave, strong and smiling. He looked at the object sitting opposite him, presently working some unspeakable substances from the tracks on the soles of his boots with one of Caldicott's pencils. Four or five gangly, matted plaits dangled from under the fur rimmed leather deerstalker atop a podgy face built for a perpetual smile. Short, fat fingers, the nails blotched white from zinc deficiency, scratched at the gap between the top of green, multi-stained combat trousers and the bottom of a T-shirt, whose original colour was long lost in the mists of time. He looked like a casualty in a catering war: as if all the world's chefs had had a gigantic food fight, and somehow he'd got caught in the middle. If his daughter had brought home this specimen, Caldicott reflected, he would have shot them both without a second's reflection. 'Do you know when you were found?' He smiled whitely. 'Some time in November. 'Fifty five.' 'Well, I need a date of birth for the form. When do you celebrate your birthday?' 'Most of the time, actually.' 'I'll put 1st November, 2155.' 'Not November. I was about six weeks old then. It was probably some time in October.' Caldicott reached for the Tipp-Ex again. 'How about 14th October?' 'Brutal.'
I know I could have shortened that, but hey....
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