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"Foolish?"

Mary's mother had 5 daughters, sulu, sala, sele, solo and one other. What was the other called

a) Sule
b) Sili
c) Selo
d) Mary
e) Silo



If you have 4 apples and an orange then you trade 2 of your apples for 3 coconuts but then swap 2 of the coconuts and 1 of your remaining apples for 12 pineapples and give half of your pineapples away in return for 4 strawberries and 6 grapes. If you then traded half your grapes and three quarters of your strawberries for 20 raisins but had to give one third of them away, how many oranges would you have?


What am I? [Riddle]

I am greater than God and more evil than the devil
I am the cause of hunger
I am the wage of a person without a job


Post your answers and lets see who the fools are....

Azul wrote:
> It was either 1 or 4.
> It was layed out in the seasons or something, wasn't it.

no

It was either 1 or 4.
It was layed out in the seasons or something, wasn't it.

47BC yeah.
Not 2003.

gerrid wrote:
> Ah. If people even know how many months there are I will be
> surprised.
> (it's not 12, btw)

*looks at calendar*

Ah. If people even know how many months there are I will be surprised.
(it's not 12, btw)

is the anwser music?

this is hard name all the months of 47BC!!!!

Is it Sound or Noise?
Not sure thats a hard one

Pliskin wrote:
> Another Riddle
>
> You cant see it.
> It never runs out.
> It has 2 hands.
> It kills people without touching them at all.

your shadow?

> Your a bus driver.
> You go to Woking and pick up 12 people, you go to Guilford and drop
> off 3, you go to Knaphill and pick up 4, you go to London and drop off
> 1.
>
> How old is the Bus Driver? (There is no real correct answer.)

as old as he is

Here's a proper riddle.

Never speaking, still awake,
Pleasing most when most I speak,
The Delight of old and young,
Tho' I speak without a Tongue.
Nought but one Thing can confound me,
Many Voices joining round me;
Then I fret, and rave and gabble,
Like the Labourers of Babel.
Now I am a Dog, or Cow,
I can bark, or I can low,
I can bleat, or I can sing,
Like the Warblers of the Spring.
Let the Love-sick Bard complain,
And I mourn the cruel Pain;
Let the happy Swain rejoice,
And I join my helping Voice;
Both are welcome, Grief or Joy,
I with either sport and toy.
Tho' a Lady, I am stout,
Drums and Trumpets bring me out;
Then I clash and roar, and rattle,
Join in all the Din of Battle.
Jove, with all his loudest Thunder,
When I'm vext, can't keep me under;
Yet so tender is my Ear,
That the lowest Voice I fear;
Much I dread the Courtier's Fate,
When his Merit's out of Date,
For I hate a silent Breath,
And a Whisper is my Death.