I think Random Thought sounds like Randolph Scott.
Alas poor cosmonaut I knew him. Well, Horatio, I get myself in this situation where I won't leave the house but I bump into my poker buddies walking down the street and we play one quick hand.
Antiques, propane, shampoo. And yes, Protiques, antipain, and real poo. That is what makes a garden grow. Have you asked what a plane does to stay up there? It just goes. It doesn't stop to ask everyone whether they prefer gliding or jetting. Of course, that leads to a lot of ice on your wings, and buds burned off by a late return of frost, but who's fooling who? H. G. Wells was once a thin young man who had a lot of casual sex.