Who is Sting Chameleon?

[Zoetstofzoetje]

I've been doing some googling. This person has been posting the exact same messages all around the internets, eliciting responses to open-ended questions.

So far, no spam, spam-linking, etc. has been involved.

I can only ask: who is this bloke? and why does he do this?

[MOBIUS]

My main question is: Who cares!?

Which is mildly hypocritical, given that I have taken the time to write this...

[MOBIUS]

In fact. Who are you?

[Zoetstofzoetje]

I am (multiple-choice):

A) Your worst nightmare
B) Rumpelstiltskin
C) The mushroom that's growing on your third leg

[MOBIUS]

You are a gnome! It all makes sense now!

[Zoetstofzoetje]

If I'm a gnome, then I'm the tallest gnome on the planet with my 6ft3+!

Never mind who the hell I am, who the hell are you?

[Provost Harrison]

I know your name is unpronouncable to anything but the Dutch tongue...

[MOBIUS]

If I'm a gnome, then I'm the tallest gnome on the planet with my 6ft3+!

Never mind who the hell I am, who the hell are you?

You were the one who said you were Rumpelstiltskin...

[Zoetstofzoetje]

I also said I might be your eczema, so it's all multi-interpretable!

[KrazyHorse]

So, what's your PhD in?

[MOBIUS]

Gnomism, apparently.

[Elok]

If I'm a gnome, then I'm the tallest gnome on the planet with my 6ft3+!

Never mind who the hell I am, who the hell are you?

He's Welsh. They're a sort of gnome with substantial amounts of sheep DNA.

[MOBIUS]

I can't be - I'm taller than Carlos Tevez!

[Zoetstofzoetje]

A Welshman once told me that a sheep won't move if you put the hind legs in boots. It all makes sense now!

[Elok]

I may have told this one before, and it's about Scots, not Welshmen, but here goes.

A Brit decides to have a nice picnic in the Scottish highlands. He gets himself a nice picnic basket full of liver products and blood sausage and whatever, finds a nice hill with a good view, spreads it all out...he's about to dig in when he looks down one side of the hill and sees a Scottish guy, pounding away at a sheep in broad daylight. This, he declares, will not do. So he packs it up and heads over to another hill some distance away. He's unpacked again, about to eat when sure enough, he spots another Scottish guy getting some tender sheep love.

Now he's lost his appetite, so he forgets the whole thing and goes to Edinburgh. He needs a drink to settle himself. So he finds a likely pub and gets a nice, foamy, dark, lukewarm one, just like he loves it. He looks down the bar as he's hoisting the thing to take a swig. And there he sees a one-legged man, sitting on a stool and jerking off. Our Brit friend, understandably, flips out. He hollers for the bartender.

"I go to the highlands for a nice picnic, I'm about to dig in, and I see this hairy Scotsman, shagging a sheep! I pick another spot, there's another one there too, shagging a sheep! You can't take a step in this godforsaken country without seeing someone buggering sheep! And now I come to the bar for a pint, and there's this one-legged man masturbating? What the bloody hell is wrong with this country?"

The bartender sighs, looks him in the eye and says, "Well, ye don' expect a one-legged man to catch a sheep, do ye?"