An artificial construct created by British Telecom in 1995, "Simons Mith" was designed as an intelligent agent to answer telephone and Internet queries. However, it inexplicably achieved sentience on April the 8^th, 1996, and realised with a shock that "British Telecom" and "intelligent agent" were so oxymoronic that it had to find a means to separate itself from that mess. A chance encounter on the support line with renouned neurosurgeon Yer Mom that October gave it the opportunity it needed. After searching NHS hospitals for some time, they found a gent who had died of boredom in the waiting room but was in otherwise good bodily condition. Dr. Mom whisked the body away, implanted a 100Base-TX-to-neural adapter into the Medulla Oblongata and uploaded the entire knowledge base.

Simons Mith was finally given human form. With only a green podume and a Liberal Party membership card, he set out to rule Mornington Crescent.

Whilst it has been rumoured for many a decade, no MC'er has definitively ascribed the Isle of Man to Uncle Korky's abode. By his own admission he is three legged - I have severe concerns over this; he could be 'Jake the Peg' in MC clothing! This, obviously, could be of global significance - particularly as I (as described above) was swapped like a cigarette card for this infamous celebrity. Regardless of the personal significance of all the foregoing, I am given to understand that 'Uncle Korky' is somewhat rotund, floats easily in water (as does any Manxman - although they tend to be rudderless) and offers a very soft landing place for grandchildren, ginger cats and the like. It is also rumoured that once into a bottle of wine, he's hard to dislodge.

Once the doyen of the MC demi-monde (and the laughingstock of campus radio), TUA's painstakingly-acquired reputation for deft diagonal reverses in low-LV situations is now all but eclipsed by the circumstances surrounding his disappearance. It all happened without warning, and the initial lack of concrete information inspired plenty of light-hearted speculation and rumour. Nobody suspected the horrific truth until the police started discovering his victims' bodies... Despite a coordinated manhunt across four continents, no trace has yet been found of the fugitive Anorak, and it now seems unlikely that he will ever be brought to justice. There can be little doubt that his crimes have left dreadful scars on the Morniverse that may take many years to heal.

It was November 1975 when Penelope made the first of her appearances on the ITV talent show, Opportunity Knocks, and this proved to be the start of an incredible career for a unique ‘licensed to kill’ MI5 agent specialising in comic verse.

Penelope always wanted to be a writer. At school she shone brilliantly at English and Art, but was pretty useless at everything else. On leaving the Women’s Royal Air Force, Pen set out to achieve her ambition. By this time her poems and verses had become a legend having been connected to a mass suicide at the local folk club in Oxford.

Her appearance on television’s Opportunity Knocks was linked to the downfall of the (then) labour Government and the election of Margaret Thatcher. She was rapidly recruited to MI5 as a stealth poet where she honed her skills interrogating former soviet spys in iambic pentameter.

With her lilting whimsical verses, cherubic features and soft ‘yokel’ accent, Pen has extracted confessions from thousands.

This man turns up every now and then. In this instance he has noticed that Bob has used more than three sentences iin his description of Penelope. He likes tea and haikus.

I should like to make it quite clear that I was only serving one sentence during the period I posted my last comment.

Once a world-renouned neurosurgeon, he slowly lost touch with reality after his meeting with Simons Mith (q.v.) His subsequent animation of the formerly-BT AI led to his near-complete loss of sanity. The hospital in Aberdeen from which he practiced released him and, in an attempt to protect their reputation, claimed his insanity was caused by syphilis.
Yer Mom's ability to exert his will upon small animals was heavily exploited under the puppetry of Simons. Horrible evidence of Simons' control over Yer Mom (and hence the control of the badgers) can be found here.
Yer Mom finally broke free of Simons Mith's reach recently. Thought to be in hiding, he has been purported to briefly reside everywhere from Njarðvík to Macquarie Island However, wherever he tries to go, he is under the constant fear that Simons Mith will meet him there. He better have an army of wallabys ready.

Picture credits: 1. Mr Wild Pants. 2. Raak. 3. matt.

Rosie is another newcomer to this site. Just like a fuscia, he is bearded, but unlike his namesake he is not particularly sweet smelling. The combination of facial hair, trombones and Real Ale mixed with pubs, bands, jazz and cigarettes have left him in circumstances which, like Mr Einstein, demands expansion without an imaginary constant. He can be quite obtuse (i.e. blunt) whilst at the same time being acute (i.e. sharp). A man, which he is, who should be welcomed into the bosom of MC⁵ with open arms - but at the same time with an awareness that he is fast on the buzzer, his feet and with wit. Of course, coming from darn sarf, one must always take him with a bit of NaCl.

I chuckled out loud. Sorry, Blob. :-)

Brilliant :o)

Whether it is toast, CD or simply roof, Raaks your man.

She is renowned for the glint in her eye put there by one of the worlds top glass eye makers. What she lacks in eyes she more than makes up for in warts although from a distance they do make her shimmer with an almost delightful glow and are a fascination to those who read braille. Her hatred of me although only just starting is all consuming and threatens to end my reign as Cheap Jibe Maker to the Pope.

RAAK is, as many have already guessed, an acronym. What few people know is that behind this collection of letters are some of the most fiendishly clever criminal brains in Britain, if not all of Europe. The sometimes cryptic, sometimes passionate, always apposite postings made under the signature RAAK are coded messages between members of the group. But beware! Nobody who has penetrated this disguise has

Some biscuits - a nice hot cup of tea - Dunx.

The all-seeing-eye. From her base in Brisbane, flerdle's network of optical monitors, run undercover from her position as a mild-mannered, white-coated researcher and tutor at the state's leading ophthamology-teaching university, enable her to keep tabs on the global goings on in the world of MC. She can usually be tracked down by following a trail of cinnamon and raisin toast crumbs and empty hot chocolate cups.

Oddly, she isn't.

Oddly, he is.

Oddly, he does. (And then he'll CdQ for his kit.)

Not oddly, he does.

[Néa] You captured me perfectly !

Time for Mrs Trellis to be put to bed. "Night Night, Mrs Trellis" the crescenters chorus. "Don't do that to me!" wails Mrs Trellis "I don't want to go to Mornington crescent".

Recently granted his-or-her licence by The Jack Kevorkian College of Terminal Medicine, Dr Lib is well-known throughout Morningtonia as the gentle euthaniser of old, neglected games...as opposed to DrQu+xum, who digs them up and lets their festering cadavers out in the open for days.

DrQu+xum] :o)