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Originally posted by Organa:
I have theories, but is anyone really sure?
Does anyone else have any other theories?

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There's always one person in the office-usually the most innocent-looking one-who hoards all the pens. I think it's a compulsive thing.I can always count on her to have about 50 in her drawer. When my good ones go missing,though, I always find them in the doctor's lab coats. It's funny how obsessive I become about my favorite pens-I will hunt them down mercilessly. I even put silly putty in my boss' lab coat pocket once so he couldn't steal any more.

My lab likes to use pencils so good pencils are always running off. So are the decent Sharpies (ie, the ones that actually write on eppie tubes). I haven't tried to actually track them down...rummaging through other people's bench space is very scary around here.

nope, not OUR dept.

WE keep OUR notes in other ways

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Originally posted by THEM:
"Zwilnik - THEY have to use something to write their notes about Nayt with "

nope, not OUR dept.

WE keep OUR notes in other ways

the Dept. of Missing Socks takes care of Missing Pens

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Problem is, after I steal them, they don't work as well

in the UK they go to Scotland, anything to get as far away from England and those teeth.

in Canada they go to Quebec, its all because they want to annoy the Fake French.

in Europe, where ever is farthest from France, can you blame them, I mean France ick, a lot of them do end up in Switzerland tho, they get nice cushy jobs in those banks where all the stolen Nazi gold is hoarded.

Russia, Siberia, its that simple, if theyre missing then it must be because theyre disloyal to whatever party is currently in control, I think its currently the Liberal democrats, ,

in Greece they end up in this old abandoned Munitions locker near Old man Smiths Deli (I call him smith because I cannot spoell his greek name)

In Israel they get lost going to Tel Avive and usually just die in the desert

In the Middle east, they get their clips cut off for being heathen Infidels.

in Africa, they hide out in the savannahs raising Gazells that is until theyre eaten by the Lions and Grizzly bears that roam there

in India, they just get lost in the shuffle and end up in France, dazed, confused and ver nausious, the nausia doesnt set in till they realize that theyre in France.

all the lost pens from SE Asia end up in the Tibetan tunnels where old confuscious looking people teach them Kung Fu, so that they can later wander the great American west fighting for Justice

all the chinese pens end up in either freak shows in Viet nam, or in Cleveland.

In Japan the lost Pens end up in the fishing villages of the Northern island mostly because they like to watch the ladies dive for shell fish wearing nothing but a pair of goggles and a loincloth.

lost Pens in Australia end up in Wilfred Brimleys oatmeal, the poor things dont stand a chance, consequently, its not the oat fiber thats doing all that good for him, its the pens exoskeletons

in Hawaii, pens who are lost usually end up being saccrificed to the Volcano gods, namely because the lastic as it melts creates a nice seal in the bottom

in South America theyre usually killed by Coke Feinds who like to use teir hollowed out carcasses for their habit,

and lastly the Pens lost in Mexico, , end up in the USA working in restaurants

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One of these (the one Arthur now came across) supposedly relates the experiences of one Veet Voojagig, a quiet young student at the University of Maximegalon, who pursued a brilliant academic career studying ancient philology, transformational ethics and the wave harmonic theory of historical perception, and then, after a night of drinking Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters with Zaphod Beeblebrox, became increasingly obsessed with the problem of what had happened to all the biros he'd bought over the past few years. There followed a long period of painstaking research during which he visited all the major centres of biro loss throughout the galaxy and eventually came up with a quaint little theory which quite caught the public imagination at the time. Somewhere in the cosmos, he said, along with all the planets inhabited by humanoids, reptiloids, fishoids, walking treeoids and superintelligent shades of the colour blue, there was also a planet entirely given over to biro life forms. And it was to this planet that unattended biros would make their way, slipping away quietly through wormholes in space to a world where they knew they could enjoy a uniquely biroid lifestyle, responding to highly biro-oriented stimuli, and generally leading the biro equivalent of the good life. And as theories go this was all very fine and pleasant until Veet Voojagig suddenly claimed to have found this planet, and to have worked there for a while driving a limousine for a family of cheap green retractables, whereupon he was taken away, locked up, wrote a book, and was finally sent into tax exile, which is the usual fate reserved for those who are determined to make a fool of themselves in public. When one day an expedition was sent to the spatial coordinates that Voojagig had claimed for this planet they discovered only a small asteroid inhabited by a solitary old man who claimed repeatedly that nothing was true, though he was later discovered to be lying. There did, however, remain the question of both the mysterious 60,000 Altairan dollars paid yearly into his Brantisvogan bank account, and of course Zaphod Beeblebrox's highly profitable second-hand biro business. Arthur read this, and put the book down.

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"Great! I got a trig mid-term tomorrow and I'm being chased by Guido, the killer pimp!"

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Originally posted by spungo:
Yes, quite. A certain Charlie-Brown-related person on this thread should have recognised the above passage and known this already...

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They go in my pocket.

Then when there are too many in my pocket, I quit wearing thattpiece of clothing.

Eventually that clothing gets thrown into the laundry.

In the laundry these poor pens that have been stuffed into a pocket and locked in a closet for a long time get a little antsy and begin torrid love affairs with socks that feel they are no longer appreciated by their mates.

Eventually, the pens and socks run off together and breed lint behind the dryer.

Really, I have 83 pens in a pair of pants at home and I don't know where they came from.

Once a lady came up to me in public and I thought she was going to say nice things about my eyes, but she didn't, she asked, "Are those 83 pens in your pocket, Colonel Panic, or are you just glad to see me?"

Pens can be mischeivous little boogers, can't they?

I guess I'm just a fountain pen of knowledge today.

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Spike: Adding Immature flava since June 2002

Actually, we have a strange disparity at home. I don't lose pens. Not permanently, anyhow - I do misplace them under junk, but no more than that. I've lost them at school/university, though, from leaving them behind or dropping them, but that is my fault.

But my dad is forever losing pens. Actually, it's funny, I don't recall him losing any for some time now. But anyhow - he used to buy biros - Staedtler actually - in boxes of about 20, and one by one they would all vanish. And I still cannot comprehend where they go to. Maybe if we moved the sofa, we'd find a hippy commune of a couple of hundred ball-point pens, I don't know. But I am truly mystified how that many pens can all disappear, into nowhere.

At work, right next to the keyboard here on my desk, is my pen. And it isn't going anywhere. I did lose my first pen here - I guess that someone used it during a discussion and accidentally walked off with it.

Maybe I'm just so bountiful in goodness and kindness to all the little pens that they love to be My servants, and not run away... ;)
Who knows?

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Ha!!!!!! Great name-you're a genius
I guess it's not safe here anymore, Nayt.

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Hence the reason i don't post as much anymore, THEY are on to me........
Nayt