The door

Why bo is a mod?

No Valis, you open your eyes first.

you don't know your house well enough then...

Why on earth are my parents showing up at three in the morning? Don't they sleep?

my parents are dead.

Trick question! I open the champagne and orange juice. It's not breakfast with my parents without a mimosa.

A life insurance policy on both of them...

brainbomb?

Your mind

If it's 3 in the morning and I just woke, how am I supposed to know my parents are the ones at the door?

State of lucid dreaming. The thought of if its real or a dream. Youve opened a door into subconscious battling out of dream thought

Its 3am so you would be in REM sleep. An action would influence you like a coma patient. or, demonoverlord is right. And its your eyes

"Your mind "

that's what I wanted to say! Mindreader! Witch! Burn him!

I'd open my mouth so as to instruct Her Indoors, the fire breathing MemSahib that there were burglars on the premises and leave matters in her capable hands, of the Purdey in her hands as it were. Our parents who art in Horsham. I had a great aunt who had a teashop in Horsham, or was it a ?shop in Teasham ? There's a riddle indeed.

Or the Purdey not of the

I recall someone throwing the word " predator " in my vicinity recently, you want genuine predator, then go no further than the fire breathing MemSahib, Her Indoors, armed with deadly Purdey, on the hunt for a prowler or burglars. In the darkened rooms, the Stygian gloom the poor blighters have little chance. It's her turf they're on, she knows every different sound the old house makes, every tricky bit of furniture to navigate.I think she plays with them like a cat plays with mice, gets them lost in her labyrinth.
It would be most improper to pack a light charge with rock salt as a cartridge for use against prowlers, and the fire breathing MemSahib is a Law unto herself on some matters.

Predator seems inadequate to portray the true huntress the fire breathing MemSahib becomes if she thinks a prowler might be lurking in her sewing room, messing with her quilting or touching her button tins, tangling her knitting tackle; or defiling her kitchen and raiding the pantry in the dark of night. I hate to.conjure up an impression of Machiavellian cunning, & co~incidences.are possible, but there were a few scruffy layabouts who were foolishly insolent to the fire breathing MemSahib a few years back and rather than remonstrate them, she started blabbing about a pot of gold coins I should take to the Bank. A chill runs through me when I think of the gleam in her eyes as she flew about the kitchen making tea, toasted sandwiches and scones ( for the soon to arrive police as well as us ) a few minutes after her late night fusillade woke every living creature nearby a few nights after her indiscretions about a pot of gold coins.
Fortunately the bloodied scraps of evidence provided the good Police with the evidence required to identify the victims, sorry would be gold burglars and their prosecution gave us all most suitable scapegoats to blame for the whole affair.
Hungry policemen called out in the early morning can eat a surprising number of toasted sandwiches, drink gallons of tea and scoff scones with jam by the dozens. Well fed policemen tend to be contented chaps, less inclined to ask embarrassing questions. Rather eager to snatch a post prandial nap and await daylight to investigate a well secured crime scene.

An expensive lawyer who.made repeated shots that just clip a flailing limb appear to be a.volley of slightly misdirected warning shots in the air, and a Magistrate who clearly had no inkling of the true nature of the woman who appeared before him got the fire breathing MemSahib off with a caution and no conviction. The fire breathing MemSahib make a slightly misdirected shot is just not a possibility in the heat of the hunt in my opinion.

Then the wretched Ladies Committed at the Bowls Club gave her an award naming her a "Heroine of Community Safety" or some similar nonsense.

So noises late at night, I don't bat an eyelid. If necessary the right verbal encouragement is all that I need do, and the fire breathing MemSahib, Her Indoors, springs into action.

Is the doorbell you hear in your dream? If so I'd open up the window of the tower and yell down to my parents that they can leave the young voluptuous maid(s) at the door and I'll be right down.

This would have worked better if you'd have put the riddle in the OP.

Then the answer would've been 'the thread'.

Considering that you need to verify not only that the doorbell did in fact ring but also that it is in fact your parents and not some polite burglar or a salesman insomniac, the only possibly correct answer is the one DO gave.

You're playing a game of mafia and brainbomb claims cop. You are the cop. Who is really the cop?

Chaqa.

No, brainbomb is. The answer is you are brainbomb.

Ive never actually been cop yet...

Ive been doc, jailer, overeager vig, janitor and VT. Thats all so far.

Id probably be good as cop since I never get nk'd

in before day 1 lynch as cop ...

I mean im ALWAYS up to be lynched day 1

So murphys law is one day youll get me D1 as scum. One day youll mislynch me D1 as cop

Literally the only game of Mafia I've played in the past five years I got N0 killed as doc. Nowhere to go but up, I guess.

You’re in a desert walking along in the sand when all of the sudden you look down, and you see a tortoise, crawling toward you. You reach down, you flip the tortoise over on its back. The tortoise lays on its back, its belly baking in the hot sun, beating its legs trying to turn itself over, but it can’t, not without your help. But you’re not helping. Why is that?

Because im in quicksand?

a) you are a predatory bird, waiting for the sun to crack the shell of the tortoise so you can eat it.

b) the tortoise was venomous, and as you reached down the first time to flip it, the tortoise had bitten you. Now you are lying next to her in the sand, waiting for your own death.

c) this is a dream and you have already turned into a butterfly in china, flapping your wings. You look along the wind that forms from your flaps, following it around the continent, watching as the wind grows larger and larger in the pacific ocean. You then notice you are yourself the wind that has grown into a big storm and you look at your clock, it's already opening time for the black friday sale, time to get all the good offers! So you rush towards your grocery, but then you notice that your bike has a flat tire, so you try to repair it quickly calling your friend mikey who tells you he just catches you with his car. Together you drive through the streets and stop at the cinema, where you meet Cindy and she tells you that the force is with you. Her bag is made from leatherskin and she is proud of it, made from a dead tortoise that she found in her garden. Then you wake up.

Kind of fishy answer, Brain. Do you have something against the Voight-Kampff test?

What...?

Now tell me LeonWalrus, only the good things that come to mind about your mother.

My mother?

MajorMitchell, do you live in India?
and what does "Purdey" mean?

How many Town Players does it take to change a light bulb?

How many Scum Players does it take to find a PR?

Favourite Riddle? Voldemort, obviously...:-)

A Purdey is a reference to the British gun makers of the same name
The fire breathing MemSahib prefers a quality shotgun for prowlers, and your traditional British military type .303 rifle for kangaroos, Her choice of weapon is generally determined by the type of prey.

Her Indoors lying on a sofa eating cakes, the fire breathing MemSahib, is just your typical country woman, equally at home baking scones and lamingtons or engaging in more rustic rural entertainments such as castrating the young pigs or wielding the branding irons.

Jesus

MajorMitchell is easily the webdipper I'd be most afraid of meeting in an alley.

Let me assure you that meeting me in an alley at night is a cakewalk compared to the pitiful plight and unspeakable terror facing you if you were unfortunate enough to be a burglar caught by the fire breathing MemSahib at night intruding in her sewing room and ransacking her stretch sewing apparatus. The MemSahib was taught to shoot by her father when she was quite young, started out shooting at sixpenny coins dangling on strings with an air rifle & that sort of stuff. I wouldn't want to create the false impression that burglars and prowlers are frequent visitors regularly getting riddled with lumps of rock salt blasted at them by the MemSahib.
But the occasional bloody trail through the grounds is always good for the staff to contemplate, a salutory example to ponder.

Oh when I mentioned the MemSahib's .303 rifle as being your traditional British Army weapon I refer to last century's Lee Enfield circa 1920's. The MemSahib has several different types of WW1 bayonet to fit her Lee Enfield but they're more to show to curious visitors lucky enough to get a glimpse of family heirlooms etc