Date: 21 Nov 88 15:19:11 PST (Monday)
Subject: Life 3.T
----------------------------------------------------
I have a full-size map of the world.
At the bottom it says "1 inch = 1 inch".
I hardly ever unroll it.
I'm writing an unauthorized autobiography.
I went down the street to the 24-hour grocery.
When I got there, the guy was locking the front door.
I said, "Hey, the sign says you're open 24-hours."
He said, "Yea, but not in a row."
My neighbor has a circular driveway...he can't get out.
----------------------------------------------------
As an anecdote, I was visiting a friend in Boston about 5 years ago and he
could not get his car out of the parking spot because the cars in front and
behind him were on his bumper. So the standard tactic was to just hit the gas
and push the cars away until there was enough space to pull out! (And
Bostonians complain about insurance rates at least as much as we do).
----------------------------------------------------
[Whatever the content of the encoded text below, I personally guarantee it
contains nothing that exceeds the bounds of Decency, Taste, or Good Judgement. Moderator]
The following article appeared in the Tuesday, November 15, 1988 edition
of the San Diego Tribune:
"Warnings about a rapidly spreading computer virus have been issued to students
of California State University at Northridge following reports that the virus
is disrupting functions of certain computers. 'In general, this thing is
spreading like mad,' said Chris Sales, the university's computer center consultant.
'It originated in West Germany, found its way aprw- urbx ny27 ny08urbx lr28
pn07 pn08 dx19 dx20 dx22 ag08 sk04 sk12 la99 rd99 urbx . . . (That's the
report as it moved on today's Associated Press computerized news wire.)"
----------------------------------------------------
I just finished reading Mo Udall's book TOO FUNNY TO BE PRESIDENT. (He is,
too). If you are interested in humor and/or politics, this should be required reading.
One event that he relates took place when campaigns weren't as down and dirty
- just embarassing.
During one of Nixon's campaigns for the presidency, his theme was "Nixon's
the one!" One evening when Nixon was appearing at a hotel to give a speech,
a group of obviously pregnant women showed up holding those signs.
----------------------------------------------------
Sorry guys, but there is now definitive, undeniable proof that Elvis is,
indeed, dead. He was registered to vote in Chicago.
There's bad news and good news out of Chicago.
The bad news is that Mayor Harold Washington died.
The good news, is that he can still vote.
----------------------------------------------------
On the Unix newsgroup, rec.humor, there was a discusion of a dirty campaign:
Anybody remember the story of the southern politician who won by calling
his oponent an extravert? I dimly remember hearing about it a long time
ago but don't remember any details. I've already asked in misc.politics,
but no one there took my question seriously.
Yes, and that the opponent's sister was a Thesbian and his brother was a
practicing something or another
Ah, yes. It was Claude Pepper, the semi-embalmed Congressman from
Florida. His opponent's wife was described as a "noted thespian from
wicked New York". The candidate was accused of practicing nepotism with
his young nephew. Yes, it really did happen.
No, he called his opponent "an avowed heterosexual", or something
similar, which the majority of voters misconstrued (as expected).
What he actually called his opponent (among other things) was an admitted
homo sapiens. He also used the terms thespian and and extrovert, as someone
else has already pointed out. Was this Claude Pepper saying this or was it
directed at Pepper?
he also said that his opponent emulated older boys at the playground and
that once he exasperated his very own sister.
----------------------------------------------------
] From: cs504aa@unm-la.UUCP (David Barts)
] Newsgroups: rec.humor
] Subject: Mad's Guaranteed Effective All-Occasion Non-Slanderous Political Smear Speech
] Organization: University of New Mexico - Los Alamos
]
] [Several months ago, requests were coming over rec.humor for the text of
] this speech. Here it is. Enjoy!]
Mad's Guaranteed Effective
All-Occasion Non-Slanderous
Political Smear Speech
by Bill Garvin
My fellow citizens, it is an honor and a pleasure to be here today.
My opponent has openly admitted he feels an affinity toward your city,
but I happen to *like* this area. It might be a salubrious place to
him, but to me it is one of the nation's most delightful garden spots.
When I embarked upon this political campaign I hoped that it could
be conducted on a high level and that my opponent would be willing
to stick to the issues. Unfortunately, he has decided to be tractable
instead -- to indulge in unequivocal language, to eschew the use
of outright lies in his speeches, and even to make repeated veracious
statements about me.
At first, I tried to ignore these scrupulous, unvarnished fidelities.
Now I do so no longer. *If my opponent wants a fight, he's going to
get one!*
It might be instructive to start with his background. My friends,
have you ever accidentally dislodged a rock on the ground and seen
what was underneath? Well, exploring my opponent's background
is dissimilar. All the slime and filth and corruption you could possibly
imagine, even in your wildest dreams, are glaringly nonexistent in
this man's life. And even during his childhood!
Let us take a very quick look at that childhood: It is a known fact
that, on a number of occasions, he emulated older boys at a certain
playground. It is also known that his parents not only permitted him
to masticate excessively in their presence, but even urged him to
do so. Most explicable of all, this man who poses as a paragon of
virtue exacerbated his own sister while they were both teenagers!
I ask you, my fellow Americans: is this the kind of person we want
in public office to set an example for our youth? Of course, it's
not surprising that he should have such a typically pristine background
-- no, not when you consider the other members of his family:
His female relatives put on a constant pose of purity and innocence,
and claim they are inscrutable, yet every one of them has taken part
in hortatory activities.
The men in the family are likewise completely amenable to moral suasion.
My opponent's second cousin is a Mormon.
His uncle was a flagrant heterosexual.
His sister, who has always been obsessed by sects, once worked as
a proselyte outside a church.
His father was secretly chagrined at least a dozen times by matters
of a pecuniary nature.
His youngest brother wrote an essay extolling the virtues of being
a homo sapiens.
His great-aunt expired from a degenerative disease.
His nephew subscribes to a phonographic magazine.
His wife was a thespian before their marriage and even performed the
act in front of paying customers.
And his own mother had to resign from a women's organization in her
later years because she was an admitted sexagenarian.
Now what shall we say of the man himself?
I can tell you in solemn truth that he is the very antithesis of political
radicalism, economic irresponsibility, and personal depravity. His
own record *proves* that he has frequently discountenanced treasonable,
un-American philosophies and has perpetrated many overt acts as well.
He perambulated his infant son on the street.
He practiced nepotism with his uncle and first cousin.
He attempted to interest a 13-year-old girl in philately.
He participated in a seance at a private residence where, among other
odd goings-on, there was incense.
He has declared himself in favor of more homogeneity on college campuses.
He has advocated social intercourse in mixed company -- and has taken
part in such gatherings himself.
He has been deliberately averse to crime in our streets.
He has urged our Protestant and Jewish citizens to develop more catholic
tastes.
Last summer he committed a piscatorial act on a boat that was flying
the American flag.
Finally, at a time when we must be on our guard against all foreign
isms, he has cooly announced his belief in altruism -- and his fervent
hope that some day this entire nation will be altruistic!
I beg you, my friends, to oppose this man whose life and work and
ideas are so openly and avowedly compatible with our American way
of life. A vote for him would be a vote for the perpetuation of everything
we hold dear.
The facts are clear; the record speaks for itself.
Do your duty.
----------------------------------------------------
Hear about the computer scientist who died while washing his hair in the shower?
The instructions on the shampoo bottle read:
Lather.
Rinse.
Repeat.
----------------------------------------------------
The editorial from the Pasadena/Altadena Weekly, Nov. 10, 1988, by Jim Laris
Real Food For Real Rabbits
Now that the elections are over, we can turn to more serious matters.
Like why were salad bars ever invented?
I just don't get it. Why would anyone ever want to go to all the trouble
of building a salad when you can just ask the waiter for one and it will
magically appear at your table in two minutes? Oh, I know. It's more individualistic
if you build your own.
So why aren't there bread bars - with 21 kinds of grains like wheat and
rye and pumper and nickel. They could have those little Indian stone pot
things and you could grind your own flour, and then they could have a wall
of ovens where you could bake your own loaves, and some turkey could pocket a quick $9.95.
And why aren't there more of those quirky sandwich bars that never really
caught on? You could have king-size faily jars of mayonnaise, mustard, ketchup,
bowls of relish, onions and all sorts of assorted meats and cheeses and pickles
and wow, they might even combine it with a bread bar and a salad bar and
people could eat lunch for six hours and lose their jobs and die of terminal belly-belching.
OK, I'm exaggerating. But every time I have gone to a salad bar, I've
been disappointed. (Except for that time I picked up that aerobics instructor
right by the thousand island dressing.) Yup, I always THINK I'm going to
like eating at one of these salad places. It always looks so dang clean
and everything is usually so fresh and healthy, and there are beads of water
on the lettuce and even the tomatoes look good.
So I get in line and start loading up my plate ... my chilled plate.
And I know the same thing that happens to me every time is going to happen
to me again. And it does. I start piling up stuff just because it's there
and I don't want to pass it up because I already paid for it. I do it every
time. I have no will power. I don't even have any won't power.
I take the silver tongs and put a big glob of lettuce on the plate, and
then I meander up the aisle and put on the regular kind of stuff like radishes
and carrots and onions, and then I get a little bolder and slop on a few
beets and let the red juice run all over the lettuce, the plate, the counter, and my shirt.
Then I walk on and start getting salad-bar crazy. I put on things like
squash and cheese and pickled cucumbers and garbanzo beans and lima beans
and green beans and my plate starts to get HEAVY. That's when I know I've
become an addict. When the heaviness of the plate enters my consciousness.
I know I'm in trouble.
So I keep walking. (I have to keep walking. There's a 55-year old woman
with a crazed look in her eye and 17 pounds of sprouts on her plate nudging
me onward.) I hold my big, heavy plate and I keep walking. Then I get to
the outer space section of the salad bar. I start putting stuff on now that
only aliens would eat - like sardines and pasta salad, bacon bits and potato
salad, three-bean salad and four-mold Jell-O. I mean, that plate is now
so high they could put a construction elevator on it. I'm thinking seriously
of asking someone to help me hold one end of the plate up. (I sure don't
want to get another plate. I don't want anyone to thnk I'm a pig.)
And then on top of this Matterhorn of munchies I decide to just add a
few of - well you know what, don't you. You all do it. I'm no different.
I'm normal. Like you're normal. OK. OK. I put on six different kinds
of DEVILED EGGS! I just can't help myself. I see those half slices of eggs
with that yellow stuff inside and I just keep piling 'em on. Sometimes the
eggs have red stuff or other weird colored stuffings. I don't care. If
it's a deviled egg, I know it wants to be on my plate. (Do deviled eggs have magnets?)
Anyway, I finally get to the end of the bar with my barbell - I mean,
my salad plate. Now it's time for the really disgusting part ... putting
salad dressing on that mess. Jeez, my stomach is pretty strong. I can eat
red hots and Hostess cupcakes with Dr. Pepper, but this is too much to ask.
So I look at the eight options for dressing. And I decide on French. So
I ladle that orange stuff all over the mountain and I wonder if Arnold Schwarzennegger
would like to joing me. (I don't even know what that means!)
OK. I'm at the end of the line. I go up to the cashier and start to
give her my $6.95 and she casually says, "What kind of soup and muffins would
you like?" And I look up ahead and there are two more lines branching out
with 76 types of muffins and my head gets light and I stumble onward and
pick out the two LARGEST muffins I have ever seen. (At first I thought they
were meatloafs.) One of 'em has blueberries in it, the other pumpkin bits.
I sort of cradle both the muffins up against my chest as they lean on the plate.
Then I look for the soup. It's not hard to find. It's always in those
over-sized black kettles. And I put some kind of soup that has big chunks
of something in it in a bowl and walk on.
I walk on to the beverage section. I try to decide which health drink
I can tolerate. Finally, I pick apple/cinnamon juice with a twist of lemon.
I pray nobody I know sees my decision.
Finally, finally, I get it all on my plate and trudge off to the dining
room. I put the plate and the bowl and the drink down and my arms shoot
up from lack of plate pressure and I sit down and sigh. And I look at what
I have built. I sort of poke at a few orange-covered objects and determine
that they're just innocent olives who drowned in salad dressing. And I eat
them. And I wonder why salad bars were ever invented.
Probably because they're so non-fattening.
----------------------------------------------------
So the Juilliard String Quartet were the artists-in-residence at
a prestigious college for women. One young lovely found herself
attending so many concerts, auditing so many seminars, frequenting
the cafeteria at the times they ate. Eventually the musicians
noticed her and became a little friendly with her, then a little
more, etc. Finally the first violinist invited her up to his room.
Looking at his library, she saw books on the history of violin
music, the interpretation of Schubert, the life of Paganini, the
technique of violin playing, etc. Nothing else.
"Is this _all_ you do?" she asked. "Don't you have any other
interests?" "Young lady," he replied, "music is my whole life,
my very existence. There _is_ nothing else."
She concluded that this man was too narrow for her and sadly
took her leave. But she continued to attend the quartet's musical
events.
Soon, as happens in these fables, the second violinist took an
interest in her. O rapture! Short-lived, though, for when she
went up to his room it was the same story. Violin playing,
famous violinists, violin technique. Even the _lamps_ were
violin-shaped. "Don't you have any, er, 'outside' interests?"
she pleaded. "My dear woman," he answered, "there is _only_
music. The violin is my whole reason for existence." She
quickly excused herself, vowing to stop this hopeless pursuit
and to go meet some football players, or something.
But she continued as a string-quartet groupie, and soon the
cellist invited her to his room. She almost refused, but gave
it one more try. Bingo! On his kitchen table was the latest
issue of "Psychology Today." In his library were "The Inter-
pretation of Dreams," "Three Case Histories," and other books
by the great master. On his mantel was a bust of Sigmund
himself! Finally somebody with some interests besides music!
She could hardly believe her good fortune.
"You mean you think there's more to life than just strings?"
she asked.
"Oh, yes," he replied, "I'm a Freud nut!"
--
Henry Cate III [cate3@netcom.com]
The Life collection maintainer, selections of humor from the internet
From: "Patrick Ryan" [p.ryan@uws.edu.au]
"Honour thy father" does not mean repeat his mistakes.
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