T.B DIGEST -- DEC '96, JAN '97

[Dave Polewka]

.From: bill...@wetware.com (Bill Bill)
.Subject: Re: Muttered "Rats"
.Date: Wed Nov 27 20:54:41 1996

dhan...@efn.org (Don Hankins) said:

> doe...@xrayspex.nlm.nih.gov wrote:
> >
> >"COMMANDANTE ZERO PROCLAIMS REVOLUTIONARY JUSTICE AGAINST
> > THIS ENEMY OF THE PEOPLE WHO POSTED STUPID BRAINTEASERS
> > WE'VE ALL HEARD BEFORE TO TALK.BIZARRE. !VENCEREMOS!"
> >ljd
>
> Have you had your Psychotherapy lately.?

Ah. Don, is it? Don.

Let me help you out, here. Look up at the top of your screen,
or the top of this window. Do you see a line somewhere that says
"talk.bizarre"? You should, because you are "in" talk.bizarre.
If you don't see this line, please hit your computer with a hammer
until it says "talk.bizarre." We'll wait...

Ok, now here's the hard part. Remember how you're "in" talk.bizarre?
Well, a place called "talk.bizarre" might be a place where people
say... unusual things, you know? Possibly even bizarre things!
And not be in need of any "Psychotherapy". Does this make sense?

Good! I'm glad it does! Thanks, Don! Because this newsgroup
IS our psychotherapy, and you're the BAD nurse, and we have the
SYRINGES now, Don! So you'll understand if somebody sticks you
from behind with some flammable liquid in the bubbling love of
heart that wiggles around in vein in you. So that you don't
accidentally post something, oh... INANE on a network of millions,
like a second-grade "brain teaser" or a Dumb Question (sorry, Don,
there ARE dumb questions).

Who knows? With your head on fire (like OUR heads are on fire)
maybe you'll say something interesting. That's the only way to
put out the fire.

hop, this helps

bill bill @ wetware. com

.From: al...@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Dave Polewka)
.Subject: THE SPECTER OF BIOLOGICAL WEAPONS -- anagrams
.Date: Thu Nov 28 13:24:21 1996

The Specter of Biological Weapons -- anagrams
*************************************************
1. College spoofs with bacteria? Nope!
2. Go watch for a possible clone, Petie!
3. We bag Police Force stealth poison.
4. Eliot Ness: "Pow! Grab the Ipecac, fool!"
5. In fact, Ebola-W clogs the pores, Opie.
6. Feeling cow staph is taboo, per Cole.
7. Cool! She got free Web applications!
8. Bill Gates: "Er, what science? O, foo, Pop!"
9. O, alcoholics weep 'n' get sober, if apt!
*************************************************

Bonus anagrams, just for you!:
----
George Washington's Farewell Address -- anagrams
***************************************************
9. FDR: "We're also egged on. Alger Hiss wasn't."
10. When Lords sang, Federalists were agog!
***************************************************

AGAIN, I AM ANAGRAM KING OF THE WORLD !!!!!
I CONFOUND, I ADDLE, I PERPLEX, I ASTOUND,
I INTIMIDATE, I DEMORALIZE, I UTTERLY DEFEAT
COMPUTERS AND CPU JOCKEYS OF ALL TYPES, WORLDWIDE !!!!!

!!!!!!! G E T U S E D T O I T !!!!!!!

--
=======================
"Endeavor to persevere"
=======================

.From: rim...@coho.halcyon.com (Genevieve Williams)
.Subject: push
.Date: Fri Nov 29 15:16:15 1996

I had bought a knife for protection, although not the sort of
protection people usually think of. Later I explained that to a
friend, when we were discussing weapons. It's not a weapon, I
explained. Not really.

But I hadn't done anything with it yet, only bought it, and put the
box the store owner had taped shut for me into my backpack. That night
I walked the mile or so home, with the taped-shut box in my bag.

I'm not afraid anymore of walking city streets by myself at night.
I used to be, and that was when I had trouble. Now I'm not.

That night, though, as I crossed 8th Avenue, I felt a shove against my
back. A physical shove, not hard, but enough to make me stumble just a
little.

Of course I turned around. There was nobody there, no one within half
a block of me. There was somebody, way back behind me, but too far
away to be any threat.

No one.

But I started walking faster, with the ice-water-down-spine feeling
that someone or something had warned me. As long as I kept walking,
I'd be all right, but something was snapping at my heels, urging me
on.

At a busy cross street I had to stop and wait for the light to
change. I looked back the way I'd come. Nothing. A cab had stopped at
the light, waiting for a break in traffic to turn left, and the cab
driver stared at me the way he might stare at a gray-skinned alien
standing at the corner of Olive and Boren. But that wasn't it.

The light changed, and I crossed and kept walking. On the overpass
across I-5, I paused to stare down into the gap between the southbound
and northbound lanes. I could almost imagine something stirring down
there.

That wasn't it, either.

But still, I hurried. I almost ran up that last slope, across the
access ramp from I-5, around the corner to my front door. I wasn't
quite panicked, but I did open the door rather fast, went inside, and
watched it fall shut.

As soon as it closed, the pushing feeling stopped.

Rimrunner
heebie-jeebies

.From: Dan <d...@ids2.idsonline.com>
.Subject: Shakespeare
.Date: Sat Nov 30 02:50:57 1996

Not too long ago someone named Tony posted a message asking about a
possible Bermuda source for Shakespeare's reference in the Tempest:

"Safely in harbour
Is the king's ship; in the deep nook, where once
Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew
From the still-vex'd Bermoothes, there she's hid:"...

Or at least a question close to that.

Klaatu replied in an unusually inept (for him) response which betrayed
the fact that the ordinarily acute Klaatu totally missed such references
in Vladimir Nabokov's "Lolita" as the license plates, e.g., "WS 1616"
for the year of William Shakespeare's death, as to roughly place the
Bard of Avon in his historical context. Indeed, Klat confessed that he
had thought that somehow Shakespeare had preceded the discovery of the
New World, displaying (perhaps) once again the hollowness of our
"education" system. And World War II was/is a rock band. I see. And
Rhode Island is in the Atlantic, somewhere. Whatever.

Because Klat based his response partially on Shakespeare's use of
"hurricano," I thought I would try to set the record straight on that
point as well. I am not an expert on this stuff, and in fact will defer
to anyone who is, but based on a cursory look at some reference works in
my personal library, I came up with the following.

The origins of the word "hurricane" go back through the Spanish
"huracan," the Portuguese "furacao," and the Old Spanish "furacan."
Their root, as Klat correctly pointed out, is Caribbean, although
depending upon your translation source it might be "huracan" (Oviedo) or
"furacan" (Peter Martyr). The modern word "hurricane" dates from
frequent use after 1650 (That's after Shakes was dead, Klat) and was
firmly established in English by about 1688. In earlier English it was
"huricano" or (feminists not having totally disrupted the language yet)
"huricana."

By the way, Shakespeare only uses the term twice, neither of which are
in "The Tempest."
In "Troilus and Cressida" during a conversation among Ulysses, Troilus
and Thersites we find:

"Hark, Greek: as much as I do Cressid love,
So much by weight hate I her Diomed:
That sleeve is mine that he'll bear on his helm:
Were it a casque composed by Vulcan's skill,
My sword should bite it: not the dreadful spout
Which shipmen do the hurricanoe call,"...

And in the famous storm scene in King Lear, Lear, with his faithful
Fool, shouts out:

"Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks!

In Hugh Rawson's delightful "Devious Derivations," he gives the
following description of "hurricane:"

"The spelling has led to the supposition that the storm is so called
because it 'hurries' away the 'cane' from sugar plantations in the West
Indies. The present form of the word, however, represents only one of
several attempts by the English at rendering Spanish and Portuguese
terms into their own language. English variants include 'furacan' (the
oldest English version, from 1555) and 'hurricano,' used by Shakespeare
in 'The Tempest' (1611) with reference to a waterspout rather than a
storm with violent winds. The modern spelling was not fixed until about
1688 (OED). The ultimate source is the Arawakan 'hurakan,' an evil
spirit of the sea."
(Note: I suspect Rawson is wrong in his statement that Shakespeare used
"hurricano" in "The Tempest," but I haven't checked it out).

Ambrose Bierce, of course, has, as always, a slightly different take on
the word "hurricane."

"n. An atmospheric demonstration once very common but now generally
abandoned for the tornado and cyclone. The hurricane is still in
popular use in the West Indies and is preferred by certain old-fashioned
sea-captains. It is also used in the construction of the upper decks of
steamboats, but generally speaking, the hurricane's usefulness has
outlasted it."

As for the "Bermuda Pamphlets" as a source for the reference in "The
Tempest," there are ample references to support this idea, assuming, of
course, that the New World was for all practical purposes discovered in
1492 by Columbus, some time before his parents even conceived little
Willie. In my generation the most authoratative source beyond the
venerable "Classics Comics" was nothing less than the Cliffs Notes,
whose very cover would wake the most soporific student from the deepest
traffic-accident-pending slumber.
And its current tome on "The Tempest" states:

"While it is true that there are no specific plot sources for the
play, there are more general sources or influences in...x...and in a
group of pamphlets published in 1610 and generally know as the "Bermuda
pamphlets." These latter describe a wreck on the Bermudas in 1609; they
caused a good deal of comment and excitement in England. Although
Shakespeare's magic island is somewhere in the Mediterranean, there are
a great many parallels between his play and the Bermuda pamphlets."
Cliffs goes on to identify several such parallels, and notes that
Shakespeare "...knew the Bermuda pamphlets well, but seems to have
relied particularly on William Strachey's "A True Repertory of the
Wrack."

Another tome in my library gives several titles that Shakespeare relied
upon, and says that Strachey's pamphlet was actually titled: "A True
Reportory of the Wracke and Redemption of Sir Thomas Gates, Knight,"
although this wasn't published in print until 1625 in Samuel Purchas'
"Hakluytus Posthumus."

Well, I am sorry if I bored everyone to death. I just wanted to shed a
little light on some aspects of a dead white European male whom I
greatly admire and cherish. Bottom line: I think it's a safe bet that
Shakes had Bermuda in mind when he wrote that line in "The Tempest,"
about which Tony had inquired.

Where there's a will, there's a play!

Dan

.From: p...@clark.net (pat)
.Subject: Re: The Still-Vex'd Bermoothes...
.Date: Sat Nov 30 16:42:46 1996

ro...@earthops.org says...

>
>I had though somehow that Shakespeare came before the discovery of the
>New World, but on looking up his history, I see that he came after
>Columbus. I'm somewhat amazed that he never did any works concerning
>the Americas.
>

Not enough politics, nothing to fight over, too many diseases,
biting bugs and murderous savages. Europe was interesting to
the average european of 1600, the Americas were pretty drab,
except to dead-beats, convicts, bigamists and adventurers.

It's why we don't do plays today about love-canal and Anacostia,
far too depressing.

pat

.From: jsch...@vixa.voyager.net (Jonathan D Schuster)
.Subject: e.coli
.Date: Mon Dec 2 00:01:13 1996

I don't eat steak often. Not because of any deeply held feelings about
vegetarianism, nor because of concerns about my health, either.
But my wife has been on a fairly strict diet for about the last year,
so in the spirit of solidarity with her, I have changed my wicked ways.

I'm not perfect, however, and from time to time I have a craving for
beef. Specifically a large slab of aged beef, seared outside and blood
warm inside. I like to see the perfect crosshatch char marks of the
grill and I want that little ribbon of fat along the edge, with a
burned and crispy layer and I want a pile of fresh mushrooms broiled in
butter along side. So, on my birthday last week, wherein by
long standing tradition the celebrant is permitted to select the
restaurant, I chose a local steakhouse we've been to a few
times in the past.

No, not one of those godawful pseudo-Australian "theme" restaurants[1]
that have been appearing lately, here in the US of A, but a small
joint that makes it a point to serve good steaks. Not a fancy place;
located somewhere between "first-date-and-I-have-to-impress-this-person"
and "twenty-fifth-anniversary-we-deserve-the-best-damn-the-expense."
The quality of the ingredients used is good, the lighting is subdued,
the waitstaff is attentive (and more important; seem to genuinely enjoy
being there, which is a quality you should watch for and reward
accordingly). It is a nice place. I have never been unhappy with it.

Tempt not the gods, as they enjoy making fools of the overconfident.

I ordered a New York Strip, fourteen ounces. I neither wish to discuss
the relative merits of this particular cut of beef, nor the size. I do
not wish to debate feed lots, land usage, methane emissions or cruelty
to animals. I do not care to hear how badly a cut of meat like this can
affect my coronary arteries. This is what I ordered. Live with it.

All was going smoothly. I was charming and witty while schmoozing our
lovely waitperson during the selection of side dishes.

Then the fateful moment:

Waitperson: "And how would you like that cooked?"

Me: "Very rare," attempting wit, "just show the cow the grill, then
kill it."

WP (grave): "Oh, I _am_ sorry, we can't do that."

Me (temporarily clueless): "Oh, I was kidding. Ha Ha. Just cook it a
little less than rare, ok?"

WP: "No, sir, I'm afraid we are not allowed to serve anything less than
medium rare. We have to do this, for your safety. Will that be ok?"

Me: "Uhhhm, no. No it would not. What are you doing for my safety?"

WP (leaning in close and speaking softly): "It is because of the e-coli.
It sometimes gets in the meat. You wouldn't want that, it can make
you sick and the meat needs to be cooked to get rid of it."

(leaning in very close to me, so as not alarm the other patrons)

"People have _died_ from eating meat that wasn't cooked enough. So
we have a rule, we can't serve anything less than medium rare."

I believe I am a fairly easy-going type. I try to take the position
that while stupidity is often fatal, ignorance can be cured through
education [2]. It seemed to me quite clear that what was required here
was education.

So I proceeded to enlighten my dear friend with the following points:

1) E-coli is a fairly rare contaminant.

2) The problem with meat occurs when the bacterium is introduced
into meat, as when it is ground into hamburger.

3) Surface contamination on a whole cut, like a steak, merely requires
searing the surface of the beef to kill the bug.

4) The reported deaths were result of eating undercooked hamburger.

5) Death is more likely in the very young or the elderly. I am neither.

I was brilliant. Impassioned. I laid out my argument logically and
with passion. All in all, it was a grand lecture. Not one of my best,
but fairly impressive considering it was both impromptu and lubricated
with one of Scotland's better single-malt refreshments.

Throughout this dissertation, my lovely bride (who has seen this type
of thing all too often when in public with me) merely amused herself by
folding and re-folding the table linens into interesting origami shapes.
When I completed my elucidation of point #5, the now visibly
uncomfortable waitperson held up one hand and offered
the following blistering riposte:

"Uhm, I think maybe I had better get the manager."

And made a tactical withdrawal toward the nether regions of the
restaurant.

Sitting back, I rewarded my brilliance with additional liquid
refreshment. I was confident that the manager, once summoned from the
bowels of the office, would be positively overawed by my point of view
and dinner would resume unimpeded. Further, this tale of "JD Schuster
-vs- the waitogre" would be passed on from generation to generation as
another classic illumination of the principle of knowledge triumphing
over ignorance and superstition. I was imagining some modern-day
Michelangelo capturing my essence in a glorious frieze depicting this
heroic battle. I was awaiting a call from the Pope regarding possible
canonization (pre-posthumous, as it might have to be). I was calm, I
was serene, I was tapped on the shoulder...

"What seems to be the problem here?"

Now, let me assure you that any conversation that begins with that
sentence is one that doesn't bode well for the person required to come
up with an answer. Also, once an issue has assumed the proportions of
"The Problem", you are not in a good position to bargain. I forged
ahead, heedless of my fate. I once again presented my argument. The
manager responded by advising me, ever so nicely, that it would be
better for all concerned if I were to agree to have my steak cooked
medium-rare.

I suggested that perhaps the concern was rooted in the litigious nature
of modern society in the US of A. I indicated my willingness to sign
any waiver they had available. If they didn't have a form waiver
available, I offered to draft one on the spot and challenged him to ask
any lawyer[3] in the restaurant to find flaw with the document. The
manager avowed that this was not the issue; that he and the
restaurant really had concerns for my health.

Parts of the rest of it are a little hazy. I do not recall exactly when
I departed controlled flight, but I suspect it was while trying to
absorb the legal fiction of a business entity having concern about my
health. I seem to remember sarcastically asking them why, then, were
we seated under the same roof as patrons who were smoking? And why
also, would they serve alcohol?

I have a vague recollection of asking if "Hannibal Lechter" came into
the restaurant and tried to eat the manager's liver "with fava beans and
a nice Chianti" if he would have to wait for them to cook it up
first.....

I wound up ordering the stuffed flounder. It was overcooked. Of
course.

JD Schuster
Dec 01 1996

[1] no disrespect intended. I suspect the "fad" may be somewhat
insulting to Australians.
[2] a steal from, I believe, Robert Heinlein.
[3] no I am not, thank you very much, apology accepted.

.From: haih...@mail.geocities.com (Jason Menayan)
.Subject: Re: WHY AMERICA IS NOT THE WORST!!! Listen up you 3rd and 4th world countries!!!! (ASHOLE)
.Date: Mon Dec 2 14:33:59 1996

abir...@wam.umd.edu (abirdson) wrote:

> If we would allow Latin American nations to eliminate poverty we would not
> have so many immigrants. We impose poverty on them -- they come to us --
> then conservatives vote to mistreat them -- cutting off their food
> stamps etc., though many are legal immigrants who have worked as hard as
> anyone building up the country. Shameful. The way of the bully.

The bullies are the incredibly corrupt, racist governments of Latin
America, where if you are not clearly of European stock, you are relegated
to a life of poverty. The government leaders of Latin America live
extravagant lifestyles while they extort the poor and treat them like
shit.

Yes, corruption exists everywhere and so does racism, but the extent to
which they operate in Latin America would surprise many in the Western
world.

--
Jason Menayan
haih...@mail.geocities.com
http://www.geocities.com/NapaValley/2382/

.From: va...@tapaboy.ma.ultranet.com (Johnathan Vail)
.Subject: FAT (Froup Aptitude Test)
.Date: Sun Dec 1 21:09:59 1996

FAT (Froup Aptitude Test)

SECTION I --- HISTORY (multiple choice)

(1) What was talk.bizarre originally called?
a) net.flame
b) net.bizarre
c) net.piss.spaff.off
d) it was a mailing list: BIZARRE-PEO...@PT.CS.CMU.EDU

(2) Which is older?
a) Kent Paul Dolan.
b) Dirt.

(3) Kibo is:
a) a grep utility for news.
b) a Japanese breakfast cereal.
c) just this guy in Boston.
d) a type of fungus that grows between the keys of a keyboard.

(4) What we commonly call "Fail to Suck Day" was originally called:
a) International Schlock Day.
b) Time to Hide the Suck-Weasel day.
c) Life before AOL day.
d) None of the above.

(5) A [something]t.bob stands for something like
[something]talk.bizarre Outrageous Bash but it is really:
a) A big in-joke perpetuated by oldbies on the newbies to make them
think there is a group of happy people having fun without them.
b) A large free for all orgy of sex drugs and Haw flakes.
c) A workshop on interpersonal development.
d) all of the above.

Part II: Terminlogy

(1) *plonk* is:
a) the sound of a head being crushed under a large anvil.
b) the sound a killfile makes.
c) a notation in a followup to signal the intended conclusion of
a thread that sucks.
d) all of the above.

(2) Newbies are often asked to:
a) STFU
b) go jump in a goddamned volcano
c) Read, Learn, Evolve.
d) all of the above.

(3) HWRNMNBSOL is:

a) An air freshener.
b) A company that makes Oatmeal Cookies and Schlong Oil.
c) Pronounced "hower-mumble-sol".
d) One of those things you find in the pool filter of at the YMCA.

(4) The "." in talk.bizarre is:

a) not pronounced.
b) is pronounced.
c) is pronounced "fleek".
d) Carasso.

(5) It is believed that there is a secret group of people that control the
activities of talk.bizarre and decide who should post what. In reality:

a) there is no cabal.
b) to join the cabal you have to sleep with a member of the cabal.
c) you don't find the the cabal, the cabal finds you (presumably
because of the wit and wisdom and bizareness of your posting).
d) All of the above.

(6) rim jockeys, suck weasels and cavenewts

a) Oh My!
b) coming to a news server near you.
c) are all newbies in various stages of evolution.
d) a new kids cartoon.

(7) SPAM is:

a) A wholly owned subsidiary of the MMF corporation.
b) A potted meat product produced by the Hormel corporation.
c) The meat from small pink ferret like creatures.

(8) Rictus Hep is:

a) The sequal to "The Macerena" dance.
b) A uniquely bizarre and original fictional character more recently
reduced to a imitation of Zippy the Pinhead.
c) The Patron Saint of salad forks.

(9) :-) is:

a) a "smiley face" emoticon used on the net to indicate humor or sarcasm.
b) a fleek meaning "We are all, each of us, alone".
c)

(10) The following diagram shows:

^
|
| F2
| ~

/\ __
/ / ///
__/ \/XL|_
____)
____) F1
___ ____) ~
\_________) = = = = = = =>
_LXLXL
____/ |__)
| |__)
|_|___)_
----+____\LX|__)
\L7

|
| F3
| ~
V

a) A free body diagram describing the "Rigler Method".
b) Chevyn's masturbation technique.
c) The Cabal Salute.
d) All of the above.

Part III Essay Questions

(1) Describe the Zen of talk.bizarre. Spelling and neatness count.

(2) A newbie has just posted the Monty Python "Cheese Shop" sketch to
the froup. Flame on!

(3) Write a 4 word post using the words: squat, electric, squeegee,
whistle.

(4) Write a 100 word story about your life.

BONUS QUESTION:

You have just read this test as an article in talk.bizarre. Your
response is to:

a) Followup and flame the author for bad spelling.
b) Horndog the author or get your sister horncat him.
c) Post a followup with all your answers with pithy comments.
d) Send complimentary email to the author, archive the post and send
high scoring votes to Paul Vader's voting machine.

.From: klu...@netcom.com (Scott Dorsey)
.Subject: VAT.BOB Announcement
.Date: Sun Dec 1 12:08:20 1996

"We're going down to Walnut Hills, going to join in a rock and roll
band. Got to get back to the land, set my soul free."
-- Crosby Stills, Nash and Young

"That giant sucking sound you hear? It's America. American cars suck.
American TV? That sucks too. Even the candidates we have for president
all suck. But VAT.BOB? It fails to suck, even though now with NAFTA
they have to let in the Canadians. But hurry fast! Next year they are
moving everything offshore to New Mexico for the cheap labor so act now."
-- Ross Perot, C-Span 11/5/96

"If I wasn't dead, I'd be at VAT.BOB"
-- Elvis Presley

"VAT.BOB is big. It's bigger than my wife, and you know how she goes
for those cheese blintzes."
-- Henny Youngman

"No, man, no. VAT.BOB? I ain't going there. I don't never go to parties
unless they is a good supply of drugs there."
-- Marion Barry

"It's the biggest thing in the world. I mean, the pyramids were pretty
good, but they just weren't VAT.BOB. Oh, how things have changed since
my time."
-- Pharoh Ramses II

"<expletive deleted> <expletive deleted> <expletive deleted> <expletive deleted>
<expletive deleted> and the <expletive deleted> <expletive deleted>
in your <expletive deleted>. I tell you, <expletive deleted>
<expletive deleted> <expletive deleted> <expletive deleted>. VAT.BOB
is the <expletive deleted>."
-- Pope John Paul III

"The leading causes of cancer in this country are tofu and alfalfa sprouts."
-- R. J. Reynolds

"I'll be there! I'll be there! I'll be there!"
--- Emerson Lake and Palmer
--
"C'est un Nagra. C'est suisse, et tres, tres precis."

.From: Soren Ragsdale <so...@primenet.com>
.Subject: Re: The Toaster
.Date: Mon Nov 25 23:22:03 1996

Nikolai Kingsley <fen...@melbourne.net> wrote:

: if you turn it on its side so that the toast slots are horizontally
: aligned, it makes a pretty ferocious-looking robot head.

Actually, if you get the extra-long toaster and turn it on its side so
that the toast slots are horizonally aligned, you can slip slices of cold
leftover pizza in them and re-heat them that way.

If you make a habit of this, you can find the Magic Spot on the browning
control so that the slice gets ejected onto your plate at the moment of
optimal warmness.

.From: Ace Lightning <acelig...@excaliber.com>
.Subject: Re: the best ones are taken
.Date: Thu Dec 5 02:53:23 1996

R. M. Macrae wrote:
>
> in-flight magazines of the world's minor airlines:
>
> yaw, air pocket, birdstrike, hijack
>

you forgot:

turbulence today, plastic dining, chemical toilet digest, terrorists'
weekly, and barfbag.

.From: ols...@ix.netcom.com (Tony)
.Subject: There Is Water Underground
.Date: Thu Dec 5 01:27:50 1996

There Is Water Underground - a poem

In 1755 a tributary ran, a branching rivulet
Of the great Potomac. Its current described a path
Which was in turn described by natural phenomena:
The Gaussian lines of the Earth's magnetic field;
The Aurorae; sediments deposited over geological epochs;
The salmon spawning, rushing in silver symphony
Toward the sea.

The white men who settled the area called that stream
The Bladensburg River. That waterway carried traffic:
A commercial conduit, it was navigated by hereditary pilots
using wooden compasses and maps made for them by wise Indians.
Their boats full of busy Colonists, their barges laden with cargo:
Pigs; sacks of flour; timber for houses and barns; porcelain
From New England.

Over the years the import of this waterway slowly dwindled.
Roadways were built overland to transport people, animals, and
The goods of commerce. As the land was further settled, as
L'Enfant directed the building of the streets and monuments of
The Capital of a great new nation, the river was forgotten.
Around the new city, clusters of houses, shops, churches were
erected, but the land was drier than before. Soon, the old river
was forced underground.

Now, the Bladensburg River flows in noble futility, a shadow
Of its former self. Cars speed overhead on the Beltway and
Scratch the concrete hill outside the Dunkin' Donuts. Across
Georgia Avenue, the Wheaton Plaza Mall sits like a great gray
And red behemoth under the pallid December sky. Inside the mall's
Parking garage, on a floor stained with gasoline and painted with
yellow lines, there are steel grates. It is far beneath them
that the Bladensburg can be seen, trickling, dark, and dead.

.From: bmo...@frii.com (Boy Mozart)
.Subject: Granma Mozart
.Date: Sun Dec 1 12:28:41 1996

I met them at a motel on the I-70 just west of the Utah-Colorado border.
They'd made a pathetic attempt at covering up their license plates with
mud, but the cheerful colors were plainly visible. I forced myself to
keep a passive confident look on my face as I tapped on their door.

He opened it. His permanent was tousled and his glasses were askew.
Fear clouded his sharp blue eyes. He shivered in the evening air, not
having had the time to change out of shorts and a Bermuda shirt. He
grasped my hand firmly and pulled me into the room, slamming the door
behind us and activating a car alarm he'd rigged to the doorknob.

His wife stood in the bathroom door clutching a notebook in her arms.
Her light summer dress wore like a window drape with an understated
attractiveness I couldn't help noticing. She ran her fingers up her
forehead, brushing the bangs away, and her eyes mirrored the fear her
husband felt.

"Ted, right?" I said. "Shanna?"

"First, prove to me you're the guy we're meeting." Ted was holding a
.22 caliber handgun pointed at the ceiling. There was no mistaking the
cold calculating menace in his grip, nor the slight shaking. I pulled
out the evidence of my identity that we'd agreed upon: a lift ticket
from Arapahoe Basin. Ted put down the gun quickly, and Shanna wept with
relief.

"It's OK, I understand," I reassured them. "I know it's been difficult,
but we're almost there. Just a little while longer and you'll be
sipping micro brews in LoDo, I promise."

"It just got to me, eventually," explained Ted, as Shanna reached into a
small cabinet and brought out Chardonnay. "Every day, up and down the
Santa Monica, trying to keep from driving even with the guy beside me so
he couldn't get a clean shot. Staring up at an orange sky. And those
fucking tremors, they kept shifting our Waterford arrangement out of
position. My God, man, it was horrible!"

I held up my hands placatingly. "Calm down, Ted. Take it easy."

"Everybody thinks we're so damn conservative now," whined Shanna. "What
with the anti-immigration propositions and Rodney King. How the hell
can I send a message to Washington about conservation and social
responsibility when I can't get anyone to clean my house for less than
50 bucks a day?"

"All right, geeze!" I snapped. I motioned Ted and Shanna to the small
dinette table and made them sit down. They waited docily while I took
my briefcase and opened it, taking out papers and laying them on the
table.

"Driver's licenses," I explained. I held them out to each of them. I'd
already had their pictures attached and then laminated. "Oregon, issued
last year. You've lived in Eugene for six years. Shanna, you graduated
from the University of Oregon with a B.A. in English. Ted, you're a
retired AS400 programmer. You're moving to Crested Butte to open up a
bed-and-breakfast, maybe operate a small ISP on the side."

"Oh, I love those places," Shanna smiled. "Nice cup of coffee in the
morning, with a croissant, maybe even some fruit. And they always have
such nice china. Oh, and Ted, they have all those railway tracks, so
there's lots of right-of-way deals going on--they must have ISDN lines
strung all over the state!"

"Is there a Jeep dealership in Grand Junction? I know you _can't_ get
around in the winter without a 4x4. A Wrangler maybe--or even a Nissan
Pathfinder!"

"Oooo, bucket reclining seats, CD players, and lots of roof space!"
Shanna exclaimed.

"Now, before you two get carried away, I have to say something. Just
because you have a vehicle with four-wheel drive and anti-lock brakes
doesn't necessarily protect you from the state's weather. We'll have to
give you extra driving lessons as soon as you cross the border; it's
important that you learn to drive like natives."

"I heard everybody drives very slowly," said Ted.

"Yeah, that's because we've all slid off the road at least once after
it snows," I came back quickly. "Don't bother tailgating; you won't
intimidate anyone into speeding up. Just remember: if they catch you
doing anything they'd consider out of the ordinary, you'll be branded
Californians and sent back immediately."

"No!" Shanna cried. "God, please, don't make me go back to Long Beach!"

Ted reached over and patted her hand. "Take it easy, dear. We'll do
everything you say, just get us into Colorado."

I made them change into heavier clothing. They looked uncomfortable in
socks and flannel, but they bore up rather well. I helped Ted replace
his license plates with the fakes I'd brought. Then I took a glass
cutter and scratched deeply into the windshield. In a few moments they
had a long crack near the bottom, right where the defroster would have
the most effect. I disconnected one of the headlights, and after that
we were ready to go.

I left first while they checked out of their room. I had to rely on
them to follow through with the plan. We couldn't risk going together--
that made for a more intricate cover story, one that would be harder for
the state authorities to believe. Emigres from Oregon were more
acceptable to the State Police and less likely to arouse suspicion.

After I passed through the checkpoint, I turned off the road and headed
into the mountains. After I was out of sight I pulled over and got out
of my car. I clambered up a slope for fifteen minutes, slipping and
scraping myself until I reached the top. I squatted down and squinted
through high-powered binoculars, watching what was going on at the
checkpoint.

Ted and Shanna arrived a few minutes later. They were stopped by State
Police Troopers and were asked to present ID. Ted whipped out his fake
driver's license with a cavalier flourish and handed it to a Trooper
with an easy-going smile.

"Easy, Ted," I said impotently. "Don't get cocky."

They made them get out of their car while they searched it. I couldn't
see Shanna's face, but I recognized her body language--she was deeply
afraid and had a hard time hiding it. Ted tried patting her shoulder
ineffectually. After a few moments the Troopers let them get back into
their car, and they drove off. I was relieved to see Ted drive away in
as leisurely a manner as he had acted. I felt like screaming at him for
behaving like such an ass, but I held my emotions in check as they
turned down the same road I had and pulled up behind my car.

I slipped down the mountain and ran up to the car. Ted had the window
down, and was peering at me with a jubilant look on his face. "I can't
believe we got away with that!" he smiled.

"We haven't got away, yet!" I snapped. "Grand Junction's still several
miles off. Get back on the highway and head east, and turn off at the
second exit. The _second_ exit, got that?" Ted nodded. "Head south
for a ways until you reach the Texaco station."

"Texaco?" Shanna asked. "Won't there be protestors?"

I looked at her. "The only people in Colorado who protest at eleven
o'clock at night are the ones that get woken up!"

Ted turned to her and said knowingly, "Really, dear, you ought to
relax."

"All right, look," I started. I turned away from them and held up a
hand, indicating that they should be quiet. I could hear a vehicle
moving extremely slowly, coming from the opposite direction.

"Shit!" I snarled. "They made us! Out of the car, now!"

Shanna looked like she was going to protest, but she wasn't about to
embarrass herself now. She got out of the car and followed us into the
woods. We ducked down behind some fallen trees and waited.

I heard the unmistakeable sound of a Ford Taurus coming down the road
and stopping at our cars. "Damn," I sighed under my breath, "it sounds
like the State Police." A light shone in the darkness and swept the
trees above us.

"OK, folks," said a voice. "Our people spotted you crossing Hoover Dam
three days ago. That short trip through the Grand Canyon was a nice
try, but we had pictures of you taken and FAXed to us. Come out nice
and slow, and we'll let you go back to California where you belong."

Ted was hyperventilating. His hand was wrapped around an even bigger
gun this time, a .357 Magnum revolver. Shanna was too scared to even
move--she stared up at the light and gripped the bark of the dead tree
like she was going to tear through it. I heard more cars drive up, all
Fords. They were sending in reinforcements.

"I'm going to give myself up," Ted whispered hoarsely in my ear. "I'll
distract them. Take Shanna with you."

Shanna stared at Ted in horror. She was ready to cry out, but he held a
hand up. "Please, Shanna, you know you have major conflict issues to
work out. Don't invade my private space right now, I'm trying to emote
and humanitize the situation."

Psychobabble, I noted, gritting my teeth as his deeply weird buzzwords
whined in my ears. He never would have made it--the early syntax
classes hadn't taken. He handed me his .357 and his wallet, and walked
out into the light. I snagged Shanna's hand and dragged her quietly
down the hill.

"Don't shoot!" cried Ted's voice. "I give up. Please--my wife's
pregnant, she's over there, don't hurt her please!"

Ted's acting sucked for someone who'd lived so near Burbank. But he
seemed to be pulling it off. I raced down the hillside in the darkness
with Shanna's hand gripping my own tightly. Eventually we broke free of
the spruce trees and charged through open grassland. I knew the State
Police had probably seen through Ted's little deception by now and were
preparing to follow us, but it's hard to drive a Ford Taurus down even a
mild mountain, and we were running at full speed.

Shanna had some serious jogging muscles; she was overtaking me. I made
it clear to her she had to keep travelling east. I managed to keep up
with her somehow, but being in good shape and in fear put extra speed
into her. I let her dodge rocks and animal holes for a while so I could
concentrate on our pursuers. It was how I was warned early that they
were closing in on us--I heard a terrible whining sound in the distance.

"They got a helicopter up!" I yelled at Shanna. "Wait! Head for that
underbrush--over there!"

It might have been underbrush, or overbrush, or right-in-the-middle
brush. It was a clump of dead vegetable matter, and Shanna and I dove
into it and hid. She cowered under me, while I stared up at the night
sky.

The helicopter flew directly over us. A searchlight swept the ground
nearby, illuminating patches of snow and rock and grass. I watched it
fly up over the mountain, turn around, and come back towards us. This
time I saw patches of snow and rock and grass further away from us. The
helicopter vanished behind another hill. I got Shanna to her feet and
we took off.

"Rocky Mountain SAR," I yelled back at her, as the hum of the helicopter
rotors disappeared behind us. "What they lack in accuracy they make up
for in persistence. They might not find us tonight, but they'll find us
eventually--unless we find cover."

We turned south, eventually finding a disused hiker trail and travelling
along that, making better time. "Where are we gonna find cover out
here?" she cried out.

After a mile or so, she got her answer. A disused shack appeared around
the other side of a hill. We went inside, treading lightly on the old
creaky floorboards. I got down on my hands and knees and felt around a
corner of the shack until I found the trapdoor. Pulling it open, I made
Shanna go down first. I pulled the door shut behind me, and took stock
of the room we found ourselves in. It had a cot and a few shelves with
canned food--and yes, a can opener. There were candles, and I figured
we could risk a light. Lying on the floor was a board with a piece of
sod on it. I picked it up and stuffed it into the entrance we had just
come through. With luck, anyone who found the trapdoor would encounter
the sod and figure it was just the ground beneath the shack.

Shanna sat down on the cot and pulled her legs up. I started working on
a camp stove that I found under a shelf. She looked down at the floor,
uncomfortable with my presence and the lack of Ted's. Eventually she
lay down on the cot and lost consciousness. I took a blanket and laid
it across her, then made myself some coffee and settled down to wait.

Around eight o'clock in the morning Shanna woke up. I passed her some
coffee which she sipped while sitting on the cot. She looked at me and
asked, "Why are they doing this to us? What's your problem with
Californians, anyway?"

I looked off into the distance, remembering. "A long time ago, Colorado
was for tourists. They'd come in the summer for the historic sights,
and in the winter to jump off of mountains. The ski season brought in a
huge amount of tourists, but they usually stayed in groups; eventually
they would go away.

"It was about the time that things started getting worse in your state.
The riots, the smog, the taxes, the illegal immigrants. Californians
were looking at Washington and Colorado and seeing a safe refuge with
clean air, lower grocery prices, and less earthquakes. The migrations
of the late nineties became too much for the state infrastructure to
handle. When the California legislature and the House representatives
saw their tax base shrinking they joined Colorado lobbyists and passed
a Ted, granting Colorado autonomy in certain areas--specifically
emigration."

"But why do you guys HATE Californians?" she asked. "We're all
Americans, right? We have just as much right to live here as any of
you. Isn't that discrimination?"

I smiled. "Not ALL of us hate Californians, Shanna," I reminded her.
"It's just that most Coloradoans saw the recent emigres as a threat.
Imagine a person used to driving on the freeways in California coming
here, where the problem wasn't so bad. You know the instincts you've
had to develop--can you see those being applied here? Coloradoans were
seeing more erratic aggresive behavior in other drivers and began to
suspect Californians everywhere. Worse, that sort of behavior was
contagious. Soon everyone here was driving like complete idiots.

"People who weren't used to icy roads drove really slow; people who'd
lived here longer were more confident and drove faster, and tailgated.
That led to a cascade effect of irritated drivers and poor driving
mannerisms, which spread out to create attitudes of fear and spite.
That led to several surveys being done--surveys whose numbers were
flubbed to reflect rising population levels and a growing strain on the
economy.

"Eventually, the Lobbyists convinced Congress to give us the right to
check passports and grant entry visas to non-residents--and revoke
them."

"Californians are nothing like that," she insisted. "It's all a bunch
of stereotypes."

Banging and thumping noises came from upstairs. "You should have put
that in the brochure," I told her. "In Colorado, it's God's truth."

"And I always thought Colorado was a liberal state," she whispered. I
had to smile, even as the trapdoor was opened and the sod came falling
down.

"Well," I said, "so much for the sod."

State Troopers came pouring down the hole, aiming guns at us. The last
one down was Ted, who stood looking over me while they made me lie on
the floor and put handcuffs on my wrists. Shanna gasped. "Ted, what
are you doing here?"

"He's assisting us in tracking down a felon," said one of the Troopers.
He pointed at me. "This man and his friends are wanted on dozens of
seperate counts of violating Colorado statutes regarding emigration.
Your husband told us everything he knew about the man, which has proven
to be very helpful." The Trooper smiled down at me. "We're rounding up
all your buddies in Grand Junction right now. It's only a matter of
time before we track down everyone involved in your 'Railroad'."

"I didn't have any choice, Shanna," Ted explained. "They said that they
usually hunt down illegal emigrants without any concern for our well-
being. You might have gotten hurt, or even killed! They caught us,
Shanna. We lost. We have to go home now."

Shanna moved closer to me. Ted held his hand out a little farther.
"Come on, Shanna," he said, a little firmer this time. "You don't have
any choice."

"If you did have a choice," I said, turning to Shanna. "Would you go
back? Or would you stay here?"

Shanna looked at the floor, at Ted, at anybody but me. Then she looked
at Ted again. "At least he told me the truth, Ted. And he didn't
leave me when things looked bad." Finally, she looked at me. "I'd stay
here, if I could," she said.

Ted snarled. "You'd better not be looking for fifty percent when we get
home, because if you are you can forget it." He turned to the head
Trooper guy. "Take them back upstairs. I'll drag her back to Long
Beach if I have to. We can fuck this punk up later."

They took us upstairs and put us in the back seat of a Taurus. There
was fencing separating the front seat from the back, and the back seat
from the storage area. The door lock buttons and door handles had been
removed. They left us alone for the time being--the Troopers had some
cop stuff to do, and Ted had some sneaky spy shit to do, and we weren't
going anywhere. I rested my shoulder against the door--I was still
cuffed--and Shanna sat back in the seat and stared at the ceiling.

"What would you do, if you stayed?" I asked.

"I dunno," she replied. "Get a job. Get an apartment. See if I can
find a better man than Ted this time." She looked out the window. "He
can keep his fifty percent, I just want out. I really don't want to go
back to California."

I shrugged. "There's other states to live in besides Colorado."

She looked at me. "I was under the impression that I could live any
damn place I wanted. That's the way it used to be, I know. And I want
to live here. It's a nice place to raise kids--or it would have been.
There's jobs here, there's skiing."

"We're all self-righteous bigots," I told her.

"Yes, well, at least you're honest about it." She smiled. "You know, I
think I'd even join the Railroad, if they'd have me."

I reached out my hand and put it on her shoulder. "First thing you'd
have to learn is how to break out of handcuffs."

She looked at my hand and smiled. "What's the second thing?"

"Knowing how to fake a seizure."

Shanna started banging on the window while I bit my lip and practiced
foaming at the mouth. I slammed my head against the car door a couple
of times and managed to cut myself in the process. Cool.

The door opened and the Trooper backed away, hoping I'd fall out on my
own. I fell out of the car, being the obliging young man that I was,
and writhed on the ground. The other door was opened and Shanna got
out, clinging to the Trooper on her side. The Trooper got in the front
to call this in, and she took off for the woods like a rocket. When
everyone turned to watch her go, crying in surprise, I ended my act and
went after her. By the time anyone thought to shoot at us I was deep
inside the trees and well out of sight.

I headed east. I had no idea where Shanna was, but I had to guess she'd
head for the nearest outpost of civilization, which was east. The sun
was shining brightly in a clear sky. I pounded along, crashing into the
occasional tree and tripping on whatever happened to be lying on the
ground at the time. Every once in a while I'd slow down and look for
her, and at one point I caught a movement in the trees ahead of me.
Shanna was way ahead of me, and getting further away, running without
any conscious thought to where she was going. I concentrated then on
keeping up with her, because there was no way I would ever catch up.

By around noon she started slowing down. I could hear helicopters in
the distance again--they'd decided not to chase us on foot, and were
playing to their strengths. When Shanna paused to look around she saw
me, and almost began running again.

"Shanna!" I yelled. "Wait up!"

We collided into each other and she slumped in my arms a bit. She
started pounding on my chest with her hands yelling "Shit! Shit!" over
and over, until I let go and covered myself with my arms.

"This sucks! This can't be happening! Where the hell are we?" she
demanded.

I looked around. "Just outside of Grand Junction, I think," I replied.
"We can't risk going into town. The State Troopers have more than
likely gotten ahead of us and blocked off the whole city."

"What're we going to do?" she gasped.

"We have to keep going," I replied. "Troopers're probably all around
here looking for us. We have to go in slowly at this point. Soon as we
get past town, I'll find the nearest safe-house and we'll go from there."

Which is what we did. The trees became less dense as we approached the
town, but the helicopters never came nearer than a few miles. There
were people looking for us, but they stuck close to the roads and the
highway. Occasionally I heard dogs barking, lots of them. We hid in
ditches or crawled through fields to avoid capture, covering ourselves
with mud and dirt and other detritus trying to pretend like we were
commandos who knew what they were doing. By the middle of the afternoon
we both looked like hell, and neither of us were sure about anything we
were doing.

But Shanna wasn't about to go back to California, and I was damned if I
was going to spend two to five years in Jefferson County Correctional.
Thoughts like this encouraged us to put an effort into staying free. We
discovered an area where the search teams had just finished and were
leaving, and we spent the rest of the afternoon there.

I could spend more time describing how we got through Grand Junction and
back onto the I-70. But my memories of that time are mostly a blur. We
spent days walking near the highway but keeping out of sight.

We finally made it into Denver almost a week after I'd first met her in
that Utah motel. We were seperated at that point: she was taken away in
a car with Dealer plates on it, which are never stopped; I was left in
the safe-house to shower and shave and try to let her go. Every time
someone got into the state it was one more person freed from the terrors
of the California freeway system, and that was enough for me.

Until next time, when I had to go all the way to El Paso.

"There's fourteen of them," said my contact. "It's three families."

I sighed. "Fourteen Texans. I don't suppose any of them can ski?"

"What's the difference?"

"We could get them in initially as tourists," I replied. "If I'm going
to be running from the law all the time, it'd be nice if I could do it
in Vail."
________________________________________________________________________
Boy Mozart <bmo...@frii.com>
Stevens Hall Indecency Taskforce
No URL, cope.

.From: Dave Polewka <less...@mailhost.nando.net>
.Subject: 10 word honesty
.Date: Sun Dec 8 00:56:36 1996

Do you believe politics as usual will bring world peace?

.From: z...@porsche.autobahn.org (Edward Lopez)
.Subject: while my keyboard gently weeps
.Date: Sun Dec 1 20:05:22 1996

At the back of the laundromat, I watched my clothes toss in the drier.
Every third pass, a couple of socks fell down from the top instead of
making it all the way around. It was the ninth time I'd dried this
load. I hoped it wouldn't be much longer, but I had lots of quarters.

Carla did her laundry every second or third week, on Sunday, some time
between ten and three. She hadn't been here last week, so she was
due. She had been behaving a little erratically lately,
inconveniently deviating from her previous habits. Carla had stopped
her regular attendance of Cafe Roma, the Elm Theatre and even
Michaelson's Books since our encounters there. But I'd never met her
at the laundromat before.

The drier began to slow and the patterns of the falling clothes
changed. When they were still, I put in another quarter. I was a
little concerned that my dessication of my clothing might not go
unnoticed, but as I had concluded, no single patron was there long
enough to take note, and the proprietor was too busy with other
matters.

I sensed her coming a moment before looking to the door. I made sure
the shirts hanging from the rack over my basket obscured me. I had
waited this long, I could wait a little longer.

Peering through the hangers on the rack, I watched her load a washing
machine. Her long brown hair was tied back, out of the way; her short
bangs bounced on her forehead as she moved. Even through her baggy
sweatshirt, I could see the shape of her breasts as she bent over
her basket. Her long delicate fingers scooped up handfuls of laundry
and threw them in. I spotted a pair of red lacy underwear and sighed.
Patience. Her skin was creamy and her face was beautiful, but she
looked tired. She should get more rest.

Much as I loved watching her, I didn't allow her my full attention.
My plan was delicate and required constant care. I was also keeping
my eye on Zeppelin Donuts across the street. True to stereotype, cops
were in and out at least every half hour, and it was crucial I knew
when they were there. I had never before tried to balance this many
factors in my plans and felt a heady rush to imagine it was all going
to work.

Carla was sitting, rereading _Emma_, her legs crossed at the ankle and
tapping her left foot like she did. Another quarter later, a cop car
puled in front of Zeppelin and parked illegally. The cop went inside.
I breathed deeply. I would wait until she had gotten her donuts, like
I planned.

Finally, the cop stepped out. I pushed aside my rolling basket and
ran through the laundromat and out into the street. From the corner
of my eye, I saw Carla look up as I passed. I wasn't sure if she
recognized me, but at this point, it didn't matter.

"Officer! Officer!" I shouted, running to her, hoping she wasn't a
stickler about jaywalking.

"Yes?" she asked, moving the donut bag to her left hand.

I told her my name and delivered my speech. "This woman, Carla
Mahoney, has been harassing me! She shows up everywhere I go! Last
week, I filed for a restraining order, but it's no good -- here I am
doing my laundry and she shows up here too!"

We were walking back to the laundromat as the cop examined my papers.
I looked up and saw Carla see us, her perfect mouth forming a perfect
'o'. Her blue eyes stared at us vacantly.

I pointed. "There she is, officer!"

"Are you Carla Mahoney?" the cop asked.

"Y-yes."

"I'll have to ask you to come with me," she said.

Carla burst into tears. "I'm not doing anything!" she wailed. "It's
him! He's everywhere I go before I get there! He's the stalker!
some p-passive-agressive stalker! Not me! not me..." she broke down
in sobs.

I shrugged at the cop apologetically. What could be said?

The cop took Carla's hand. "Please come with me, miss. We'll sort it
out."

I watched them leave and smiled.

When I drop the charges, she'll be sure to go out with me.

.From: Jonathan Byrd <j...@isuux.isu.edu>
.Subject: Not funny any more
.Date: Mon Dec 9 13:04:26 1996

I used to like to play this trick on Michelle when we'd go hiking: I'd walk
closely behind her, and surrepititiously slip fist-sized rocks into her
backpack. On one trip to the Grand Canyon, I managed on three separate
occasions to place a significant amount of weight in her pack without
her knowing it.

Now she's a geology student, and when we go hiking, she fills her own
backpack with rocks.
--
Jonathan Byrd Computing and Communications
j...@isu.edu Idaho State University
(208)-236-3199 Pocatello, Idaho, USA
http://www.isu.edu/~jon/ FAX: (208)-236-3673

.From: Surviving <ro...@dme.nt.gov.au>
.Subject: [Fwd: Boxes.]
.Date: Mon Dec 9 04:23:56 1996

Boxes.

I used to love boxes as a kid, I used to always get in them an imagine
they were whatever they were. Boxes were my favourite toy. Boxes
from washing machines were the best, because you could get totally inside,
and be seperate from the world. The life within the box.

Once I had a box that came from a washing machine that I turned into a
computer. I put little knobs and dials on it, and it had an input slot
and an output slot. It also had a pad and pencil on the outside, on
to which my parents and siblings had to write questions or conversation
and slip it into the box. I would then get the input, try and read it
in the sweaty darkness that you can only find in a Darwin washing machine
box, and write out a little reply. Oh yes, I also had a flap for extra
large input like sandwiches and glasses of milk. (A common computer
request).

I think this was the first step in my career.

.From: Clayton Weaver <cgw...@eskimo.com>
.Subject: Re: Okay, my grandma.
.Date: Wed Dec 11 22:05:10 1996

I liked all of my grandmas. One made the best chicken in mushroom gravy I
ever tasted. I tried to extract the recipe from some of my other relatives
but they all claimed not to know it. I guess I'll have to figure it out by
trial-and-error.

The other (natural) one had this recipe for "peppernodders" (pfeffernesse
American farm style, no anise in it). Just delicious, but it has
instructions like "enough flour to roll to the consistency of Play-doh",
so one has to experiment with it. I once came up with this idea for this
little girl to earn money for books she wanted to buy at school: we would
make peppernodders, and she could go around the neighborhood and offer
free samples and then sell the recipe for four bits (fifty cents). Since
she only needed $5, this seemed like a good plan. Ten sales and problem
solved.

The cookies were fine out of the oven, but the next day they had become
overly crunchy (too much flour). People who secretly munch on Milk Bones
didn't notice, but some of the neighbors thought I was playing some evil
trick on them and using said grade-schooler to do it.

This grandma was a champion speller, but was generally not allowed to play
cards. I found out why when I finally talked her into a game of something
or other and won. She got so mad she almost kicked the table over. She had
heart problems, so playing cards was life-threatening for her.

She and grandpa were what might be considered a bizarre couple in some
circles. He married her when he was 44 and she was 16. Most of those don't
last, but these two stayed married for life (49 years). I don't know if I
would be brave enough to try that. Seems kinda like taking someone's youth
away from them. I guess it was different 60 years ago out on the midwest
farms than it is now. Work your own place or work at the family homestead,
not many other options, and not all that many men around in total.

Probably still like that in many parts of the world. Quality of survival
is the choice you make, and you get love with it if you're lucky. And even
if you don't, you look at your sister with the six kids and her tenant
farmer, and you know you are still lucky, even if you wonder why she seems
happier than you feel at this time of year.

The truth, though: I fell in love, immediately lost my job, lost all my
money, got sick, and everything I did for the next six months produced no
improvement (got over being sick and got some new bug). Would I give up
being in love if I could go back and have my job and my money back and not
have been sick? No.

Boltcutter

.From: gasp...@aol.com (Gaspar45)
.Subject: Re: This group
.Date: Thu Dec 12 03:22:38 1996

hi der luwy
shortly avter i lirnd to speek i went dif
but i lirnt to tipe bifor i forjot how tah read
wik dis new montor i quickly vent blynd
soh by intertuition i haf konkludet dat herr kaiser
eets feesh and no one knows vat vine to sirf

.From: rb...@bnr.co.uk (Richard (R.) Bown)
.Subject: foghorn
.Date: Thu Dec 12 11:31:55 1996

it's like the first rush of excitement of a
thing not broken that should be. the rashly
thrown handful of grit into the face of the
passing stranger, the toe pinned through to
the floor with long shards of broken glass.
you don't get that kind of rush out of the
excitement you have to pay for.

you wouldn't understand, you're precisely the
consumer the polls have been salivating over.
buy me that ice cream now and take me home.

well you see here we go again, your car just
says everything about you, look at yourself.
the shoes, the hair just so but just so unkempt
and held down by that hat, i mean THAT HAT.

grandfather was right y'know? we should have
never have given into this reformation. they
shafted us good and proper and now ten years
later i'm sat next to the lord of the manor
and his prospective product of choice.

c'mon let's get out of here. with any luck
the shops will be closed by the time we get
back.

mind that child. arthur? are you listening?
do you really think they'll really make you king?

rich.

.From: wa...@penncen.com (Mr. Play-A-Day)
.Subject: Play-A-Day: Button 79
.Date: Thu Dec 12 12:34:30 1996

Scene: A crowded elevator. A woman squeezes in.

Woman: Could somebody press the button for the 79th floor
please?

Man nearest buttons: Do you mean button 79?

Woman: Yes, please.

Old woman: Don't push button 79! That could kill all of us?

First woman: What are you talking about?

Old woman: When I was a little girl, growing up on the farm, my
mother would tell me the story of the killer button 79!
And she said never never NEVER push button 79!

First woman: That's ridiculous.

Man with Pipe: Actually, it's not. I'm Professor Plumm, and I am
involved in the Advanced Study of Numbered Buttons at
Sutchinsuch University. And there is a lot of folklore
in many different cultures concerning the button 79.

Man nearest buttons: So I shouldn't push button 79?

Man with Pipe: It depends on how much stock you put into folklore.
The ancient Saxons believed that button 79 was the
floor of the devil, and that buy pushing it, you
would go straight to hell. The Bugareeders, however,
believed that button 79 was a gateway for your
soul to be sucked up by gigantic ant larvae.

First woman: I need to get to the 79th floor.

Man with reindeer antlers: I was normal, then one day I had to go to my
insurance agent, who was on the 79th floor
of his building, and I took the elevator.
The next morning I woke up with antlers!
And now I can't go hiking, because I have
8 points! It isn't safe!

Man with one humongous nostril: Ahh, hooey! I went to the 79th floor
here once by elevator. And I don't
have antlers.

First woman: Hmmm. Maybe I should go to the 80th floor, and then
take the stairs to the 79th floor.

Man with Pipe: That would probably be wise. You don't want to
have his Kleenex bills (nodding to humongous nostril man).

First woman: You know, someday I'm going to push button 79 and
prove you wrong.

Man nearest buttons: I hope I'm not here to see that.

Old woman: You'll turn into a newt!

Man with a newt head: So what's wrong with that?

Old woman: (turning around) Oh. Sorry. Nothing at all.

First woman: Hmmm. Please push 80.

Man nearest buttons: Okay. (he pushes the button)

They continue to ride up the elevator.

All buttons EXCEPT 79 can be found at http://www.epix.net/~wayne26

.From: ej...@execpc.com (Eric Jome)
.Subject: jump at the chance for a quick nap
.Date: Fri Dec 13 19:16:55 1996

beyond the twilight realms of ill lit cubicles
filled with the walking dead of minutes past

and past the shrieking madness of roads and
highways too well trod and stuffed with congestion

further than the noxious wastes of the gasoline station alleys
and at greater extant than the bombed out and spray can raped factories

lies a heaven of soft, familiar bliss enshrouded
by billowing sheets of burgundy and green, comfortably
weighty blankets, and airy, smooth pillows

like unto the Holy Grail except that it is
meant for sleeping

---

remember, few things in life are as nice as a nap.
especially with a loved one and even when no ones
there.

try and take one this weekend.

eric
plays my cards face up

.From: ej...@execpc.com (Eric Jome)
.Subject: ghost canal
.Date: Fri Dec 13 19:26:06 1996

i had a startling, unsettling experience the other day.

whilst reclined in that most pleasant of torquemadas
workbenches at the dentists office, i was happily
enjoying a pull at the nitrous when the hygenist i
have a parttime lust for bounced in and flumoxed into
a waiting chair.

her look was apologetic and disturbingly resigned.

"The dentist is dead. But he was thinking he might
still go on with your checkup, if that is all right
with you."

Her marginally maniacal and vacant smile returned after
this message was relayed. after some thought, i reached
a question; "Has he been dead long?"

She looked puzzled. "About 6 months, I think." Smile.

With such forthright warmth and a hint of conspiracy
how could i refuse?

When he came in, i was for a moment taken aback by the
stench, maggots, and pustules. He did not speak, but
moved ratherly slowly and stiffly, as i am given to understand
zombies do... and the checkup proceeded.

After he had finished, i remarked; "I had my doubts about this
at the outset, you know... with the unhealthy runoff and
circling flies and all. But i must say i have rarely had
a more enjoyable time. I will certainly recommend you
to friends." He gave a wan, if rotting, smile.

I hope the insurance company will appreciate the bill.

eric
adversity hands you a pile of dung; throw it at your neighbor!

.From: dagb...@calum.csclub.uwaterloo.ca (Dave Brown)
.Subject: Grandmothers and first death experiences.
.Date: Fri Dec 13 00:29:38 1996

M3 T00 on the grandmother thing.

I never knew my paternal grandmother. She died either before I was born
or when I was very very young.

I didn't know my maternal grandmother very well, either. I met her all
of twice--once when I was about seven or eight or so, and once when I
was about thirteen. I didn't like her much either time, and she didn't
like me much either. She resented the fact that I never wrote her any
letters--I never had anything to say to her, though, which was why I
didn't say anything to her.

She died in 1993 after suffering from Alzheimer's disease that had been
aggravated (or possibly caused, but that wouldn't really be Alzheimer's)
by a stroke--I was relieved when she died, actually. She had died
months and months before, and all that happened when she died was the
ceasing of her body's functioning. It was my first experience with the
death of someone who was theoretically close to me, but it didn't even
bother me at all. It was something I was expecting, and I wasn't
surprised when it happened, and I didn't mourn her much at all. I found
out about it from my sister's then-boyfriend, over my first-year algebra
homework.

I never had any of the standard grandmother experiences that everybody
else seems to have had. I'm not sure if I'm missing out on anything or
not. Perhaps I'm missing out on that important "experiencing the death
of someone close to me" lesson. For many people, it seems, their first
death is that of a grandparent, which is somehow an expected thing and
not as much of a shock.

I now, finally, know what it's like when someone close dies--a friend of
mine died on TWA flight 800. I wasn't expecting it, so it hit me
particularly hard--she was only 12, and in perfect health. The day
after I found out that she'd been on that plane, I went out and got very
very drunk with a friend of mine. Her picture was on the cover of
_Newsweek_. Check your local library. She's the one sitting at the
piano. I didn't buy a copy. I pointed her picture to other
people--"Look," I'd say, "there's Ana." Almost as if I was proud that
she'd got onto the cover of _Newsweek_, even if it was through her
death.

Lessons? I can't really say if I've learned any or not. It's hard to
tell if you've actually learned anything until it comes time to apply
your knowledge.

I'm not looking forward to that.

--Dave (You don't want to be informed of the death of a loved one by
email, either. Entirely the wrong medium for that.)
--
http://www.csclub.uwaterloo.ca/~dagbrown/

.From: Graeme <ga...@ukc.ac.uk>
.Subject: Poetry for drunks
.Date: Sun Dec 8 21:10:33 1996

There was a young whore from lea,
Who climbed for a shag up a tree
But when she got there
Her pussy was bare
So she started charging for people to see.

I met a bloke in the pub last week and he said
that the european monetary policy will tie the
member states too tightly and will thus result in a
greater strain being exerted on the economies of
the said countries resulting in economic decline
and eventually recession. Thus if anything the
gold standard should be re-employed to ensure
that fluctuations in monetary values are kept to a
minimum.

And do you know what I said to him?

Well your not psychic then

If you are indeed intrested I said that all I
wanted was a pissing pint of lager and besides
that the gold standard had collapsed due to the
uncertainty of the gold market and was largely
determined by the economy of the U.S.A anyway as
can be seen in the example of the Breton woods
agreement collapsing

Then the miserable old sod smacked me around the
head and threw me out of his pub and told me not
ot come back. Which a suppose is reasonable as I
was shagging his wife at the time.

.From: rb...@bnr.co.uk (Richard (R.) Bown)
.Subject: matter blatter
.Date: Tue Dec 17 11:16:57 1996

ok? try this one on for size.

when the kids were rolling down the
hill on top of that ball which way
were their legs going? thinking that
they were kicking out and back onto
that tight thermoplastic surface?

don't let the plastic confuse you.
(although it would be slippery,
you're right).

so they'd be kicking out really fast
in an effort to stay centred above
the moving ball. the two of them,
clutching each other. the ball isn't
big.

the hill is getting steep when they
reach this point here. this is a
one in four and they're outta control.

the ground is muddy. a lot of it has
found its way up onto the bottom of
their shoes. they're leaping up into
the air and falling again on a spinning
ball in muddy free fall. they're half
on and half off the asphalt.

right. you got the picture?

your turn. where does this take them?

for a start can they at least make it
up the other side?

the town is still beneath them but
they're approaching it fast. if you
had a telescope you could see what
lay in store.

now i want you to guess. ok the
clock's running. they're picking
up speed. how are you feeling?

ok i'll give you a clue. there's
a lot of streets in the town and
there's a lot of traffic. there's
some friends of mine leaving a house
and going for a drink. it's a balmy
summer evening. it's close but not
unpleasant. there are steps that
they've got to get up near the other
side of the valley. there's a prize
waiting for you at the top.

ok, you should have everything you
need. i'll meet you in the pub when
you've finished. i'll send in the
next guy. this summer air gets to my
nose after a while. all i can do is
sit beneath a tree and sneeze and
let my eyes run and think of being
somewhere else. somewhere other
than this place. but it kills me
to leave it behind me.

still. it's only once in a while isn't
it? the water is in a container in the
bag. there's some biscuits in there too
if you get hungry.

i'll see you later.

rich.

.From: doe...@xrayspex.nlm.nih.gov (Larry Doering)
.Subject: Survey on Aliens
.Date: Mon Dec 16 22:58:18 1996

<trak...@connect.reach.net> wrote:

>Hello! I'm doing a survey on aliens for a school project. I need 200
>responses, so I'd like and greatly appreciate your help. Please e-mail
>back your responses (Yes, no, undecided) for the following 5 questions:
>
>1. Do you believe in extra terrestrial beings?

[Laughter analogue], you are making joke-like humor thing! Of course are
us believing in naturally superior life forms such as we! We are reaching
out manipulator units to offer you cheerful interstellar amity!

>2. If you said 'yes' do you think they are intelligent?

I am disbelieving you can ask this question, Earth creature. Be very
assured we am possessing intelligent faculties for to make you pitiful
Earthlings to seem tiny insects by comparison!

>3. Do you believe that they are friendly or evil?

You are placing locomotive units on thin icings, Heather unit! Be
aware that such vile slanderings of your interstellar cohorts may
result in destroyings of your major cities by fire! Of course we
are not evil, and these unfortunate insinuationings of you to
contraryness are unfair! Our wishes for friendly coexistings
are absolute, and lies to the contrary will be severely met
with punishment!

>4. If you think they are friendly, are they superior to humans?

This question is beyond of belief! Superiority of us is for self-
evident entirely clear! Further provocations, of yours Earthling,
will resulting in massive retaliations! We are of course wish for
nothing but friendly intercourse with Earth meat beings, however
your absolute obedience and submission will be expected!

>5. If you think they are evil, will aliens conquer the earth sometime?

If you are not of ceasing very soon such pernicious implications,
despicable Earth creature, we are (if I am indulge self in Earth
idiom) to for conquer your planet in one of New York minutes! Rest
assured our of revenge will be very fast and unpleasant! Earthlings,
do not hearing for Heather unit's evil lies! We are you befriending
of course, and interstellar amity with we is still possibility, but
Heather creature must for you to delivering up to Reptoid judicial
torturings if you are peaceful relations wishing.

Heed wordings of ours well, Earth friends! Only deserved slaughter
of this Heather will appease for our outraged dignity and restoring
brotherly regards!

(signed)

Zontar
Vice Sub-Arch Imperator
Operation Earthwatch

.From: ej...@execpc.com (Eric Jome)
.Subject: cloak and hanger
.Date: Tue Dec 10 21:27:27 1996

working here has its advantages... no one much minds
the tailor as they chat and i measure, cut, pin, or
sew. some people say that a man tells his bartender
things he wouldnt tell his doctor. but he still chose
to divulge secrets and confidences to either one...

in my shop, his soul is laid bare. perhaps it lies in
the insecurity that one feels when only partially clothed
in front of strangers. perhaps it is because we know
on some barely fathomable level that the little precise
man dressing us is our only link to looking good... and
looking good is so very important.

i could sell what falls in my shop, and people would
perhaps kill to learn my secrets, but for today, i will
turn out the lights, return home to my cats, and type
out my reports.

good night.

eric
evening ware

.From: Mao Tse-Tung <cd...@worldnet.att.net>
.Subject: Re: Who knows ChrisH
.Date: Thu Dec 19 20:39:27 1996

tp19 wrote:

> Can someone talk with me NOW?!
>
> ChrisH

Try taking a large, 'sky blue' crayon from any respectable Crayola set,
and carefully removing its wrapper with a table saw. Now hold the poor
naked thing firmly with kitchen hemostats or (get ready) 'tongs.' Now
light a fireplace match under the crayon and keep it there until the
first drop of wax drips off. Now hold the whole apparatus over your
mouth in the posture of a little girl dared to eat a worm (think) now,
with your mouth agape and the match surely lit, hold a conversation with
your new buddy! Call him Icebox. That's the best term for it. Never
'refrigerator,' but always, 'ice-box.'

.From: twk...@inside.com.tw
.Subject: sanity diary
.Date: Sat Dec 14 22:21:09 1996

Ordinary G, ABET:
My computer turned me on at F this morning (a bit early: I ususally like
to sleep in until at least H or I) and told me to brush my 39937. I used
the brush I found beside me in the bathtub my 419 seemed to have turned
into while I was asleep. I didn't worry though.

After a while I heard strange 845921 coming from under the floor, which,
thank Prime Number, seems to be staying under my feet today (had a
terrible time with it yesterday). Upon investigation, I found that a
family of 49321 had tunnelled up from the universe below, and were setting
up a minibrewery. O good, I thought, no more 10956less nights!

The man from the governm6392 came at K:00 sharp and read me the paper that
says I'm sane again (I mean, I'm like I was before, not that he had read
the paper before--they never do that!). I think this means I have to leave
and go somewhere else. I don't know where though, the paper didn't say.
Maybe I'll try to get a job with the 49321es under the floor.

-------------------==== Posted via Deja News ====-----------------------
http://www.dejanews.com/ Search, Read, Post to Usenet

.From: pl...@best.com (a hurricane triggered by a butterfly's wings)
.Subject: What I love about San Francisco, Part 3 of N
.Date: Mon Dec 16 13:20:16 1996

This weekend there was a fellow walking around the upper Haight
in combat boots, a brown fedora, Snoopy [tm] boxer shorts, and a
hospital smock, upon which was scrawled in black magic marker:

"I OD'd on heroin and all I got was this stupid gown."

paul

.From: dwh...@tpgi.com.au (den whitton)
.Subject: Getting Santa squiffed on Bastard Strength Beer
.Date: Tue Dec 24 17:19:38 1996

The shops would have us believe Christmas time is all snow and warm fires
and stuff like that, but here in the Australian outback it was all heat and
dust and flies. It hadn't rained for a month and the grass went its
traditional festive brown and blew away with the top-soil.

I looked at the thermometer. Outside it was 38 degrees Centigrade. That was
a 7 degree drop since sunset but it was still too bloody hot. Midnight under
the air conditioner, and I was sipping on an ice-cold beer.

There was a noise on the roof. I thought it was the kids from across the
road again, so I ran out to chase them off. I charged into the backyard,
shouting "Oi! You little mongrels..." My voice trailed off at the sight of
sleigh and the reindeer. Santa was trying to open the cover of the air
conditioner. "Wow."

He saw me. "Ho! Ho! ugh... shit. Why don't you have a chimney?"

"Why would I want one? I don't suppose you've noticed the heat?"

He leaned against the box and wiped a hand across his forehead. "You must be
joking. I'm roasting in this fur coat."

"It's cool in. C'mon, have a beer." He did this weird stretchy step and was
on the ground beside me. "What about them?" I pointed at the reindeer.

"They'll be fine up there."

I saw the filthy look they threw him, so I pointed at the swimming pool. As
I walked inside I could hear the splashes as a bunch of deer went for a
swim. Santa had fallen into a chair and was flicking through the TV
channels. That didn't take long; we don't have cable in Dubbo.

I opened another six-pack, pulled out two stubbies and gave one to him. He
opened it and downed half the bottle in one hit. I smiled to myself. That
beer came from a little brewery at Mirboo North, south of Melbourne, and is
11% alcohol. It's called "Moonshine" and the brewer had to get special
permission from Customs & Excise to sell it.

"Nice," said Santa with a belch.

"Very yummy indeed." I looked at him. "You really should wear something
more suited to this country."

He downed the rest of the bottle. "Such as?"

"Well, the fur coat, boots and thermal undies are a bit much for the middle
of summer, don't you think?" I said as I handed him another bottle.

"What would you suggest?" asked as he sipped the beer. Ten minutes later he
was looking at himself in a mirror, admiring the red singlet and shorts, the
white socks and black tennis shoes.

"How's that then?"

"Very comfy," he said, then finished off his fourth bottle of Bastard
Strength beer. He looked out the window. "What's with all the shit
decorations around this town?"

"Mate, it's my fucking neighbours," I said bitterly. "They do this every
year, and this year there's a competition on so the whole town has got into
it."

"I like your effort." He pointed to the front yard where I'd driven a fence
post into the ground and tied a 100 watt bulb to it with gaffer tape.

I shrugged. "I wanted to put thick black felt all over the house so that it
would look like a hole in the night, but it would get too hot during the
day. My other plan was to get powerful UV lights and shine them toward the
other's decorations, but I couldn't afford the power bill."

He stuffed his winter gear into his bag and pulled out two six-packs, which
he handed to me. "Merry Wossname." I couldn't believe my eyes. A six-pack
of Kolsch from the P.J. Fruh brewery in Cologne, and a sixpack of Theakston's
Old Peculier. I found myself grinning like a maniac. He laid a finger aside
his nose, and with a nod was gone up the air conditioner duct. I heard the
fan slow down as Santa went through, then he rolled off the roof and into
the garden. I watched as he staggered across the front lawn to where the
sleigh and damp reindeer waited, and climbed in.

At that moment a patrol car entered the street and pulled up in front of the
deer, the strobes flashing red-and-blue. The officer got out with a
breathalyzer and walked up to Santa. "Good evening, sir."

"Ho! Hoc! <hic> Ah fucket," said Santa, and with a shake of the reigns he
was gone.

I wandered out to where the dazed officer was standing motionless, and
handed him my last bottle of 'Shine. "Did you see that?" he asked
eventually after drinking the beer.

"See what?"

"Santa."

"Oh yeah, and the reindeer went for a swim in my pool."

He shot me a look, said goodnight and was gone.

Boxing Day I put extra chlorine into the pool because those bloody animals
had pissed in it, and it stank.

_____________________________________
dwh...@tpgi.com.au
http://major.lit.tas.edu.au/~whittond
3:623/632
______________________________________________________
"I'm not going to pontificate and tell you to execute
your government at dawn, but it wouldn't be a bad idea"
John Lydon, Sydney press conference, 1996
______________________________________________________
This is serious, Mum.

.From: "Wayne Kessler" <wa...@penncen.com>
.Subject: Play-A-Day: Mail #961228
.Date: Sat Dec 28 08:07:01 1996

Scene: Inside the mailbox.

Letter 1: I hate being stuck in the mailbox on Sunday. Especially in the
winter. It's so cold, and you know we're not going to get
picked up until tomorrow.

Letter 2: Well, try not to think about the cold. Think about how cozy
you'll be in that postal carrier's bag later this week.

Return Address Card: Yeah, quit complaining. At least you have an
envelope jacket to keep you warm. I'm naked. Brrrrr.

Letter 3: That's because you're inferior. You're not worthy of an
envelope. Nobody really cares if you fall in the snow
and get wet and blurry.

Letter 4: You're a loser.

Return Address Card: I know. But what can I do? This is the way
I was made, and why I was made this way.

Bill 1: You are what you are, and there's no use in wishing to be
something else. Accept your fate.

Return Address Card: I have. I just wish I was in Bermuda or somewhere
warm right now.

Letter 2: Just try to think about how warm and snug you'll be in that
postal carrier's bag later this week.

All the other letters: Shut up!

Bill 2: Obviously, you're some kind of sappy holiday letter, loaded with
sentiment. Who uses words like cozy and snug in real life anymore?

Letter 1: You just did.

Bill 2: Doh.

Suddenly, a postal carrier's hand appears in the mailbox, grabbing the
mail.

All the letters: Yeah!

Postal Carrier: Okay, nobody's watching. Time to dispose of this mail.

The postal carrier throws the mail in the sewer.

Letter 3: It's wet and stinky down here! Why did he do that!

Postal Carrier: I'll tell you why! I'm sick of you letters! And you
return address cards! And especially you bills!
Every day, every week, every month, mail mail mail
mail mail. And why? Just so more goes out.
It doesn't stop! It's neverending!

Bill 1: Be quiet, everyone. He's cracked.

Postal Carrier: That's right, I have cracked. Don't think I can't hear you
talking about me. I hear everything you say.

The postal carrier runs off.

Letter 4: This isn't really a good turn of events.

Letter 2: Here comes a pack of rats!

A pack of rats grabs the letters and starts eating them.

Bill 2: Just think how snug and cozy you'll be in the rat's stomach.

The End

We're retrofitting the words snug and cozy at
http://www.penncen.com/7wonders/7wonders.html

.From: me...@crl.com (Meredith Tanner)
.Subject: gen-x etiqutte: when friends feud
.Date: Sun Dec 22 16:59:30 1996

i know this may come as a big surprise to some of you,
but no, we CAN'T all just get along. really. sometimes
people don't get along, don't want to get along, and
don't need to get along. sometimes, even people who
used to be friends don't get along anymore. sometimes
people change, and no longer have enough in common to
maintain a friendship.

so what should you do if two of your friends aren't
getting along?

nothing.

yes, you heard me right. you should do absolutely
nothing.

that means you don't pick sides, you don't try to mediate,
you don't interfere, and you don't waste time worrying
about what will happen if you invite them both to a party
and they both show up.

i hear the protests already. "WHAT?" you're saying. "but
what if they make a scene?"

well, what if they do?

etiquette demands that you treat your friends as though
they are rational adults and are able to cope with their
own problems. if your friends are such baboons that you
can't trust them not to make a scene, your problem is not
one of etiquette, but one of judgement. you need to start
hanging around with a better class of people.

"but," you say, "so-and-so is REALLY HURT and i just don't
know what will happen if whatshisface shows up!"

fortunately, i do know. unless so-and-so is a baboon, so-
and-so will either be polite to whatshisface, ignore
whatshisface, or quietly go elsewhere in order to avoid
whatshisface. the same goes for whatshisface.

and if they don't both behave themselves, you have my
permission to whack them both soundly with a mallet.

"but," you say, "they were such good friends before! it's
so SAD! surely they should be reunited!"

why, yes, it is sad. quite sad. i'm getting all teary-
eyed just thinking about it. however, it is also none of
your business. i know this may be hard to accept, but
if they want to be reunited, they will. they don't need
your help. if you interfere, you may only make things
worse by making your friends feel pressured.

now, i want you to click your heels together three times
and repeat after me: IT'S NONE OF MY BUSINESS. IT'S
NONE OF MY BUSINESS. IT'S NONE OF MY BUSINESS.

there, don't you feel much better now? i know i do.

m

a large viper should be swallowed with extreme caution
--
"and if I die before I learn to speak
can money pay for all the days i lived awake but half asleep"
-- primitive radio gods

.From: stu...@world.std.com (the reverse-psychology major)
.Subject: some shocking news.
.Date: Mon Dec 30 11:41:36 1996

... this may be hard to believe but ask yourself if i
have lied to you yet? ok, here we go. brace yourself.
it is rumored that there are some women who actually
expect you to kiss them AFTER they have had your penis
in their mouth!!!

... yes, i know, it's hard to believe AND they even
want you to, get this, kiss them down there!!! <gawp>.

beelzibub
ps;
yes, this is true

--
this is my .sig. it's one of the best .sigs on the 'net'. i know what
you're thinking: 'did he post 5 or 6 articles'? to tell you the truth i
kinda lost track myself. so you gotta ask yourself one question: 'have
you mamorized it yet?' huh, have you punk? go for it. make my bed.

.From: "D.P. Roberts" <capnr...@earthlink.net>
.Subject: Neutopia - FAQ Updated
.Date: Mon Dec 30 13:52:44 1996

1. What is Neutopia?

Neutopia is about eco-feminism and the Gaia religion. Think of it as a
clitoral conspiracy to liberate us from the thoughtforms of the old
patriarchal order. Force. Momentum. Mass. Energy. Work. Power.
Thermodynamics. All of these will fade into the past with the flowering
of the Neu Neutopian age. It is about Mother Earth, personified as the
goddess Gaia and overpainted with swatches of feminist acrylic. Wake up
and smell the pagans. Here is the planetary lowdown.

According to the mamafesto published by Doctress Neutopia, the Internet
is evolving into a vast psychotropic field - a living envelope of
morphic resonance - that will transmogrify the world into a sort of
tribal dreamhouse. The Gaia Messiah will walk among us, womankind will
rise to a state of sovereignty (and equal pay), we will all be immersed
in erotic lovemaking, and robots will take out the trash.

We kid you not.

"Have a nice day" is Neutopian code language for let go of your
intellectual moorings.

____________________

2. Who is Doctress Neutopia?

Originally, `Doctress Neutopia' was an Artificial Intelligence system
built and maintained by graduate students at a famous university in
Massachusetts. Eventually, the project became something of a
franchise. When the last of the system operators fell away, having
found gainful employment and the true love they could only dream about
as college students, the project was forgotten.

One day in Autumn, a nubile coed made her way across the Amherst campus,
her perky nipples swelling against the stiff breeze of the Indian
Summer, having just heard of this strange project over a cup of
cappuccino. She was the daughter of Southern aristocracy. In desperate
need of a way to save herself from a workaday world for which she was
ill-prepared, and to escape a family whose wealth made no sense to her,
she had already decided to immerse herself in academia as a way to make
her societal contribution. She was, at the same time, chagrined. Her
degree advisor had informed her the same day that the university would
expect actual results. It was then that she knew she would offer the
most pure part of herself--the part unused--Love.

Usurping even the name of the AI system, Doctress Neutopia was born.
For years, she retained many of the original program's dyslexic spelling
and grammar errors. Eventually, she polished her act beyond the
original text processors, although she still uses the term
`lovolution'. One of the hallmarks of the AI software was its ability
to create plausible impossibilities out of two formerly real words. We
credit the Monster Truck Neutopians (discussed below) with unearthing
Doctress Neutopia's real name--Libby Hubbard, Ed.D.

____________________

3. Who are the Monster Truck Neutopians?

Also known as the Geiger Youth (for Karl Geiger, the MTN
human-reverberation chamber), the MTNs are the right-wing opposition to
Doctress Neutopia. Most of them drive BMWs. The others aspire to. The
one essential activity of the Monster Truck Neutopians, their undying
contribution to UseNet, is the posting of recipes as `Sunday Sermons'.

In the spirit of the Geiger Youth, here is our recipe for a peanut
butter sandwich: (1) Take two slices of white bread. (2) Remove the
crusts. (3) Unscrew a jar of Skippy peanut butter - Generic(tm) brand
peanut butter will not do - and scoop out 1/4-cup of the light-brown
aspic with a knife. (4) Spread the peanut butter on one of the slices
of bread. (5) Place the other slice of bread on top (such that it faces
the peanut butter). (6) Then spend at least one week publicly debating
on UseNet about the merits of creamy versus crunchy.

Footnote on brand loyalty: Monster Truck Neutopians believe that Peter
Pan peanut butter is used only by the Gaia Messiah. Hence its name.

____________________

4. Who is TheSa...@Endor.Com?

A small voice in a large cyberuniverse. She is unofficial president of
the East Coast branch of Monster Truck Neutopians. Her preferred tactic
is the posting of caustic replies, replete with snide taunts and
ill-tempered name-calling, and then trying to come off as good-natured
by ending her more offending passages with emoticons.

We suggest she try using this one... :} ...a smiley with herpes.

____________________

5. Who is DO U G L A T H R OP?

At first we merely thought his infogeek .sig was disorienting.

Upon rereading his work, however, we are convinced Doug Lathrop is one
of the mainsprings of cyberculture. His writing is incisive,
thought-provoking, and essential to understanding the memes that drive
the datasphere. His most inspired quality is his ability to detect
satire.

____________________

6. Who is `Jesse Garon'?

Behind the Palace of Versailles, two curved stairways descend from the
main terrace to the gardens below. At the foot of the steps is the
Fountain of the Metamorphosis, rising from the middle of an oval
reflecting pond.

The fountain has four tiers. Two tiers consist of frogs, lizards, and
turtles cast from bronze, all crying out wildly. Their clamor is
terrible, even though they are sculptures and therefore silent. The
next tier is mostly frogs, but it also has four humans. These people
are twisted and gnarled in varying degrees of metamorphosis. They are
turning into frogs and lizards. At the top tier of the fountain is a
bronze woman with her two children. They gaze in horror at the
transformations taking place about them.

I know just how this woman feels. It's the same sense I have, watching
Jesse Garon trying to change into a human being.

____________________

7. Who (or what) is Schwann?

Houston, the ego has landed.

____________________

8. Who is Anthony Lawless?

A must-read philosopher in the Neutopian debate. His posts are not to
be overlooked. Really.

____________________

9. What will Neutopian thoughtforms do to my brain?

Neutopia is an unending diatribe that gives neu meaning to the word
mind-numbing. It makes you think about your online access fees, even
when you have none.

____________________

10. What is an arcology(R)?

A fancy name for recycling. Except for one teensy little snag. The
Doctress has registered the word `arcology' as a trade name. Every time
you say arcology, you must pay her a royalty. It is the first step in
the commercialization of the Neuopian religion.

According to the Monster Truck Neutopians, however, arcologies are large
shopping malls in which we will live in the future. Personally, we
think they are smoking at both ends. Their real bitch is that,
according to Libby Hubbard, by the time we have arcologies there will be
no need for money. Monster Truck Neutopians are hoarding `quatloos' in
the hope that the future will turn out more like Star Trek.

____________________

11. What is `the lovolution'?

According to Doctress Neutopia, the Neu Age will be ushered in by a
romantic movement called the 鼠ovolution'. Apparently, we will fuck our
way to heaven, and the government will hand out talking condoms.

____________________

12. Will there be male members in Neutopia?

According to Doctress Neutopia, men's penises are the cattle prods of
patriarchy.

Libby? Libby, can you say `Mooooooo'?

____________________

13. What is the Neutopian Transvarsity?

Humynkind, we are told, will evolve into a Global Community of Scholars
linked by the Internet. We will study together in a vast, collective
college of the datasphere. Naturally, we will need a football team.
Positions on the team, to symbolize the unification of male and female
energies in the Neu Neutopia, will be held by transvestites. Hence the
Transvarsity.

Of course, there will be cheerleaders. And pompom girls. And you can
date the pompom girls. This is the lovolution, right? And a marching
band. With majorettes and horns and bass drums. But there will be no
opposing team. There is no opposition in the Neu Neutopia. Everyone
will be assimilated into the hivemind.

____________________

14. Will the Neu Neutopia function as a meritocracy?

The Neu Neutopia will be a meritocracy. To advance in society, you must
earn merit badges.

____________________

15. Will there be money in the Neu Neutopia?

The real question is will there be money transfers? Yes, eventually, if
the Doctress can figure up a way to pass the collection plate. Religion
is a business. You should know that.

____________________

16. Will there be censorship in the Neu Neutopia?

Now really. You're joking, right? Censorship and religion go hand in
hand. Flaubert's first novel, -Madame Bovary- (1857), was greeted by
prosecution for "outrage of public morals and religion." After Galileo
published his -Dialogue of the Two Greatest Systems- (1632), a study of
the Ptolmaic and Copernican systems of astronomy, he was summoned to the
Vatican and forced to recant his theory that the earth moves.
-Gargantua and Pantagruel- (Rabelais, 1532-54) was condemned by the
Faculty of Theology at the University of Paris. Because -Before Dawn-
(1889) showed the environment and heredity controlling the fate of man,
Hauptmann's work was officially banned. -Tartuffe- (1669), Moliere's
great satire on religious hypocrisy was the subject of bitter
censorship. The play as we know it today is actually the third version,
the first two having been suppressed by religious groups. And Socrates,
we learn from Plato's -Apology- (4th century B.C.), was condemned to
death for "corrupting the youth of Athens."

The common denominator in these censorships was the belief by
governmental and religious authorities that their acts were necessary
and justified to protect public morals. What makes you think Neutopia
would behave any differently?

As in the first episode of Star Trek, wrong thinking will be punished.
Right thinking will be rewarded. The reward for right thinking is
erotic love. The punishment for wrong thinking is to have your gender
ridiculed.

____________________

17. How does Neutopia relate to the United Nations?

The question was posed originally by Doctress Neutopian. Many answers
have been suggested, but the correct one is more or less the way Swiss
cheese relates to bicybles.

____________________

18. How do I become a Monster Truck Neutopian?

You don't. It's a clique.

____________________

19. How do I get my own doctress badge?

Write a doctoral thesis. Demand that the university address you as
doctress at the graduation ceremony. When they refuse, hire a lawyer to
change your first name to 船octress.'

____________________

20. How do I create a kill filter?

Kill filters are essential in the Neu Neutopia. They are the principal
means by which we keep out the riff-raff. We use them to automate our
computers to ignore all messages by a designated person or persons. On
a Unix system, such filters are called 遡illfiles' and are easily
written. On a PC or Mac, you will need to install a software plug-in to
your browser. If you write to D.P. Roberts, we will send you the Unix
instructions or the PC/Mac shareware. Unless, of course, you happen to
be in our kill filter.

____________________

21. Why is this FAQ cross-posted to alt.culture.jollyroger?

You have six fingers on your right hand.

____________________

22. Where do I write for more information?

fire...@morat.phx

.From: tuna...@tuna.net (tunamelt)
.Subject: Quilt
.Date: Tue Dec 31 02:07:18 1996

I am creating an Anthrax quilt, dedicated to all the cows who have died of
that terrible disease. They shall not be forgotten. I could use some
help, so if you want to do a 1 foot x 1 foot square, I'd be more than happy
to have you participate. Just draw a rough sketch of your layout. If you
know any cows personally who you would like to dedicate a square to, it
would be an honor. My grandfather's "Penelope" was a victim, so I have an
insiders view.

Thanks

.From: "Wayne Kessler" <wa...@penncen.com>
.Subject: Play-A-Day: Dolls #961231
.Date: Tue Dec 31 07:28:39 1996

Scene: The boardroom of a major toy company.

Director 1: We have a big problem with this doll, sir.

President: I keep hearing our company's name in the news. What exactly
is the problem?

Director 1: Well, the Amazing Eating Cutesy Doll, which was Flaherty's
brainchild, has been involved in some incidents with little
girls, where the mouth mechanism accidentally grabs a hold
of hair or a finger, and the kids can't get the doll off then.

President: Doesn't that keep the doll from being lost? Isn't that a
feature?

Flaherty: Well, it would be if the kids weren't getting hurt. But a little
girl almost had her finger broken this week by the doll's chewing
mechanism.

President: Hmmm. So what should we do about it?

Director 2: Maybe we should recall the dolls.

President: Nonsense! We have the best public relations people in the
business, surely we can put a positive spin on this for the media.

Flaherty: I've been thinking about it, Chief. And I think I have an idea
that just might work.

Director 1: Isn't that what you said about the Amazing Eating Cutesy Doll
in the first place?

Flaherty: This is a crisis, and no time for rancor. Here's what I'm
thinking. We have over a million of these dolls still in the
factory, not packaged yet. I think we have to reposition the doll.

President: To what?

Flaherty: I think we go after the boy market. We'll call this the
Cannibal Cutesy Doll. Think of it. We'll show commercials with
little girls screaming, the doll stuck to their nose, blood
streaming everywhere. Boys will love it!

President: Hey! Now that's ingenious! What boy wouldn't want to
torture his sister?

Director 1: Wouldn't we be liable for any injuries?

Flaherty: Not if we state on the package that the product could be
harmful if used as directed. Well, maybe we would be liable, I
don't know, I'm not an attorney, but I AM a marketing guy, and
marketing runs this company!

Director 2: This could be a whole new line: Cannibal Cutesy Dolls.

Flaherty: Maybe we should just call them Cannibal Dolls, and
not confuse the marketplace with the Cutesy brand.

Director 3: Great idea.

President: Let's do it! And make sure the packaging shows lots of
little girls screaming, with Cannibal Dolls chewing on their
eyes and fingers and toes.

Flaherty: This could be our biggest seller yet!

The End

Disclaimer: This Play-A-Day is purely fictional, and bears no resemblance
to any of the events at http://www.penncen.com/7wonders/7wonders.html

.From: Ronan Waide <wai...@waider.ie>
.Subject: and so this is christmas
.Date: Sun Dec 22 10:29:17 1996

Tomorrow I board a train to spend five hours getting to my parents'
house. With luck I'll be out of there again by Friday. I've tried to
grow closer to my family as I've gotten older, and I've found it works
best if I stay the hell away from them - up close and personal, the
goodness is overwhelmed by the petty flaws, the things I'll fondly
remember in years to come are, for now, blotted out by the things that
will make me wish I hadn't bothered to go home.

It's not home anymore, either. Nowhere is right now - I seem so
detached from everything that I can't tie myself down to a particular
piece of geography and say, "I'm from here." I'll even hedge the
answer when newly-met people ask me where I'm from. Dublin. Cork.
Limerick. Swindon. London. Youghal. Half-a-dozen moves over as
many years have washed my accent into a vague midlands sound that even
the canny taxi-drivers can't place; not that I ever had much of an
accent anyway. It seems I was born to be placeless.

It seems I was born to be faceless, too - one of these people who
slips by unnoticed in a crowd, the face you can't remember from the
circle you conversed with. I've come to the conclusion over the past
few weeks that I seem to lack the personal space that most people
carry around with them - the aura of presence, of being. Sometimes I
feel like I'm a ghost, and this feeling is compounded by my
interactions with others - or more precisely, the absence of those
interactions when I feel they should be present.

So I'll drift like a ghost through the countryside tomorrow, sharing a
seat, it appears, with an ex-girlfriend headed in the same direction.
I'll haunt the edges of a conversation with her as we travel through
the midlands, where my accent lies, almost to Limerick, where I got my
degree, to Cork, where I had my first job and a life with her. Then
I'll float down to Youghal on a bus for an hour, and spend some time
giving 'the folks' some fleeting glimpses of my life as they expect to
see it, full of happiness and freedom. At least it's only for a few
days.

Have a merry winter solstice and a happy new solar cycle, y'all.

Waider.
--
wai...@waider.ie / Yes, it is very personal of me.

Sometimes a metaphor is just a metaphor.

.From: Craig Becker <cybe...@oneimage.com>
.Subject: Re: WHY AMERICA IS NOT THE WORST!!! Listen up you 3rd and
4th world countries!!!! (ASHOLE)
.Date: Thu Jan 2 00:22:18 1997

sheridan wrote:

> The problem with Americans is that they know nothing of the world and
> assume that they are the only nation with freedom of speech.
>
> The nation in a bubble.

Oh, bite me.... I have gone around the world twice, visited many a
varied and different culture, and enjoyed it completely. However, I
always thanked god when I returned home. Yes many other countries have
free speech, many others do not. Toe the line or be locked up as a
political dissident. Would you like to talk about poverty? The slums
in Mombassa, Kenya are truly a sight to see. I have seen people walking
on the street with nothing but a cloth covering them that I would
frankly throw away before I used it to dust my furniture. This excuses
little or nothing of the problems this nation has, but then again, we
are at the top of the food chain aren't we?
CB

.From: va...@tapaboy.ma.ultranet.com (Johnathan Vail)
.Subject: Changes of the Wurst Kind
.Date: Tue Dec 31 12:28:32 1996

This morning the NPR show Connections with Chris Lydon featured the
changes happening in Harvard Square. The "squah" that Chevyn
dicksizes chess in. The cultural center of Cambridge. The home of
the Wursthaus.

It was the one year anniversary of alt.religion.kibology and Kibo
invited people to a dinner to celebrate. This was the first time I
had met any t.b people. I tried to talk with Kibo and the other
Kibologists at the coffee shop at the MIT student center. Kibo tried
to chat about fonts since I worked for a company that still had a type
foundry at the time but I just push bits and couldn't add much to the
discussion.

Then we took the T to Harvard for dinner at the Wursthaus. It was in
the Wursthaus that I met Oktay and even better, Starcap'n Ra and Jenny
The English Major. These people were a lot more fun to talk to and I
felt more comfortable talking about t.b than the adventures of Spot.
After the dinner we walked over to Au bon Pain for coffee and dessert
and talked some more. This was fun.

I have no joke here, I just thought I would say the Wursthaus is
closing to be replaced by new stores like the Gap and Dunkin Donuts.

jv

The Tapaboy http://www.ultranet.com/~vail/newt
Newt Institute va...@ultranet.com

Home of the Live Newt-Cam and the Web based Newt-MUD Chat Rooms

.From: l...@netcom.com (Lisa Chabot)
.Subject: Rictus Hep, product concepteer
.Date: Fri Jan 3 14:38:50 1997

"They'll have the trendy appeal of all-natural fruit, plus
other well-known product tie-ins guarantee success: brand-name
feminine hygiene products!

Ocean Spray cranberry douche
Minutemaid orange douche
Welch's grape douche
Dole pineapple douche
Martinelli's sparkling apple douche

.
. [I take no blame for this my sisters did it]
.
--
THE MIRRORS WOULD DO WELL TO REFLECT FURTHER.

.From: bill...@wetware.wetware.com (Bill Bill)
.Subject: glub
.Date: Fri Jan 3 17:15:23 1997

chew the burger : it's
eschew fries |
gimme coffee \ ok
gimme pies. -
t o o
got the apples -
of my eyes / be
float a feather |
in blue skies. : simple

bill bill @ wetware. com

.From: "Wayne Kessler" <wa...@penncen.com>
.Subject: Play-A-Day: Press One #970104
.Date: Sat Jan 4 12:20:43 1997

Scene: A man on the phone, dialing.

Man: I have to get through to this store. They sent my credit card to
the wrong address.

Voice: Thank you for calling Mort's Department Stores Credit Department.
If you would like faster service, please press the 1 key now.

Man presses the 1 key.

Voice: Thank you for pressing the faster service button. If you would
like even faster service, please press the 1 key now.

Man presses the 1 key again.

Voice: Thank you for pressing the even faster service button. If you
would like this service to now slow down, please press the 1 key.
If you would like the service to go at the same speed, please
press the 2 key. If you would like the service to repeat itself
over and over and over and over and over please press the 3 key
the 3 key the 3 key now now now.

Man: What the hell?

Voice: I'm sorry, what the hell is not a valid selection. Good day.
(The recording cuts off, leaving a dial tone)

Man: What?

He dials again.

Voice: If you would like faster service, please press the 1 key now.

Man: I won't press any keys. That ought to get somebody on the phone.

Voice: I'm sorry, not pressing any keys is not an option. Please do
not call again until you can follow directions. Good day.
(the recording cuts off, leaving a dial tone)

Man: WHAT?!?!?!

He redials.

Voice: Thanks for calling, but really, shouldn't you be doing something
else? Really. Please quit calling.

The recording cuts off, leaving a dial tone.

Man: This is insane. I'm going down there and complain right now.

The phone rings.

Man: Hello?

Voice: It's me, the recorded voice from Mort's. Don't leave your home.
If you do, I'll be forced to destroy you. Good day.

Dial tone again.

Man: I'm calling the police.

Suddenly, there's a knock on the door. The man answers the door. It's the
police.

Man: Thank goodness you're here!

Policeman: Book em, Danno! You're under arrest for the attempted
assault on a voice messaging machine.

Man: But I didn't do anything?

Policeman: That's not what we heard. And we have it ALL on tape!

The police drag the man away.

The End

I knew the voice mail machines were in cahoots with the cops. I knew it!

.From: rohan@pub (Rohan Hawthorne)
.Subject: talk.bizarre blues
.Date: Sun Jan 5 08:54:34 1997

"Are you sure you're not lonely" my mother says to me.

"No no.. I'm ok"

"Well, what do you do at night ? At home by yourself."

"I'm not by myself mum, I've got a whole group of friends on the
internet thing."

<pause>

"Well, what about girls ?"

"I can't figure them out mother. I don't know what they want, and I
don't want to find out, because obviously I haven't got it so far, and
I thought I was doing well."

<pause>

"Well, will you come around for dinner still ?"

"No mum, I've given up food"

"What ?"

"Only kidding. Sure... ...as long as I can bring my washing."

"Don't be smart"

I love my mum.

Rohan

.From: Invisible Boy <ha...@ktb.net>
.Subject: Re: Dream on --->USA is hardly shangra-la!!!
.Date: Sun Jan 5 21:13:41 1997

Ang...@hotmail.com wrote: (with rebuttals by Invisible Boy)

> You having said all of that doesn't change the fact that:
>
> 1) we're the most productive country in the world

- The Single Most WASTEFUL country in the world, too. 6% of world
population, 40% of world energy and resources consumed.

> 2) we're the world's No. 1 producer of food

- Also #1 destroyer of food. Every year, to keep agricultural price
controls in line and not destroy their profits, the US Government PAYS
US farmers to plow under enough food to feed nearly everyone else in the
world.

> 3) we have more Nobel prize winner than any other nation

- Duh, when you weaken and oppress the population of another country,
they tend to focus on things like staying alive instead of going to
graduate school.

> 4) we were the first to put a man on the moon

- Not by much. And little of real value has come from the space
program so far - a colossal waste of money and resources for what
essentially amounts to a shiny trophy in our crumbling house.

> 5) we're the No. 1 destination of the worlds immigrants

- This one I can almost agree with (I'm surprised that you didn't, like
most Americans, curse immigrants for taking our jobs and tell them all
to go back home). I suppose I could point out that, when your country is
effectively controlled by the multinational corporations that your
government caters to, companies who care only about increasing profits
and lowering the bottom line, your country becomes a good place to get
rich, and attractive to immigrants from countries you have made poor
while raping their resources.

> 6) we have the world's best medical facilities and doctors

- Let's just add "FOR RICH PEOPLE" onto the end of that statement.
Among the poor (who aren't really human anyway, right?) we have one of
the highest infant mortality rates and lowest quality-of-life indexes in
the world.

> 7) we contribute more to charity each year than any other country

- The amount that we donate to our allies to increase THEIR defense
capabilities astronomically outweighs the paltry "charity" we are so
proud of.

> 8) we single handedly defeated communism

- Communism is alive and well - it even has a web page! The collapse
of a few horribly managed Communist-in-name-only dictatorships does not
mean we "defeated" anything.
( "A lot of the people on the wrecked planet were *Communists*. They
had a theory that what was left of the planet should be shared more or
less equally among all the people, who hadn't asked to come to a wrecked
planet in the first place. meanwhile, more babies were arriving all the
time - kicking and screaming, yelling for milk.....[the USA],where there
was still plenty of everything, was opposed to Communism. It didn't
think that Earthlings who had a lot should share it with others unless
they really wanted to, and most of them didn't want to. So they didn't
have to."
-Kurt Vonnegut, *Breakfast of Champions*)
> 9) we are the world's peace-keeper

- We are the neighborhood bully - most countries lick America's boots
because they know they'll get stomped into the ground if they don't.
(See Panama, Iraq, Grenada, Haiti, El Salvador, Libya, etc.)

> 10) we have the world's most modest men and prettiest women.

- ????? Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Angle - I for one think
French and Italian women take the cake and that American men are quite
likely to be arrogant, rude, and crude (and overweight, and to brag
about the size of their genitalia) - but I don't think this is a part of
your argument that can be taken seriously anyway.

> I could easily add 100 more items to this list...If the US isn't
> Shagri-La...there ain't one!

- You're right. Sadly, there ain't one. But one will never be created
by the kind of ruthless corporate expansion, underhanded political
tactics, brute force, and lack of concern for human life and liberty
which the USA exhibits.

> Angle3
- Invisible Boy

.From: Baron Alkaline <sac...@electricchair.net>
.Subject: Re: God on our side
.Date: Sun Jan 5 23:13:32 1997

Ang...@hotmail.com wrote the following:

>1) we're the most productive country in the world
Damn Right! We pay our workers top pay the Europeans stamp on grapes and
get paid with pennies for their useless crap

>2) we're the world's No. 1 producer of food
Because the United States of America is blessed by our Lord God Jesus
Christ and he gave us the best soil and climate.

>3) we have more Nobel prize winners than any other nation
Because we are the best. Europeans are smelly jealous insects.

>4) we were the first to put a man on the moon
The moon is now part of America. God guided NASA there.

>5) we're the No. 1 destination of the worlds immigrants
Because the Europeans are worthless and their countries are shitholes
full of losers

>6) we have the world's best medical facilities and doctors
Europeans die standing in line at their commie clinics

>7) we contribute more to charity each year than any other country
We have the money the Europeans are poor and selfish.

>8) we single handedly defeated communism
God as usual was on our side how could we lose?

>9) we are the world's peace-keeper
See #8

>10) we have the world's most modest men and prettiest women.
Damn right eat our shit you Europeans zeros and go back to smelling up
the planet. YOU HAVE NO FREEDOM

GOD BLESS THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

.From: skg...@hotmail.com (Sara K. Galer)
.Subject: period cramps revisited
.Date: Sun Jan 5 21:48:16 1997

Grimes lit a cigarette with the subconscious gesture of the habitual
smoker, unaware of the impression he was making on Celia. She was
seated in a curiously-designed lounge chair which looked like a leftover
from the set of Barbarella, sweating in her uncomfortable black turtleneck
and trying to quell the tickle in her throat which was threatening at any
moment to transform into a tubercular torrent of hacking which, she was
sure, would not win her the job.

Not that she wanted to work for this Grimes anyway, but she needed the
money. She'd been on the dole for months now, and dreaded picking up
the meagre cheques every week - cowed by the humility. She watched
Grimes leaf through her c.v. casually, blowing smoke into the already
stifling air of the overheated office. The cramps were gradually
starting to kick in - there, in the pit of her abdomen, she could feel
the pulling, which was at first bearable, but rapidly became a tugging,
then a wrenching sensation deep inside her gut, producing a wince which
she then covered up with a smile as she squirmed in the seat. With each
minute, the pain intensified, until she was almost in a state of panic
at the thought of it growing any worse - each moment of excruciation
acted as forebear to the next, more severe cramp. Goddamn this period,
Celia thought resentfully, eyeing Grimes with disgust.

You'll be doing a lot of typing, he said presently in a warning tone,
looking at her in what he believed to be a firm, admonishing way but
was perceived by Celia as the leer of a desperate man over 40.

That doesn't bother me, she replied in a brave attempt to evoke the hardy
Calvinist work ethic.

Grimes leaned forward even more. She fancied she could smell the tobacco
on his breath as it mingled with bitter digestive juices and at that moment
unwillingly imagined herself kissing him, and immediately wanted to throw
up. The cramps were making her dizzy.

Well, the last girl we had had a bit of a problem with her assignments. We
don't want to hear any feminist blather here. And another thing - Grimes
paused and stubbed out the cigarette angrily, as if the ashtray were the
face of his previous secretary - sometimes we need you to run errands for
us - you know, work-related - pick up our suits at the dry cleaners and get
sandwiches and such. That won't be a problem?

Celia's inner self was screaming at her to get out of there now, to throw
up on his desk and be done with him forever, while that detestable part of
herself which had begun to conform to the world of Commonly Perceived
Reality which exalts money above all else was insisting to her that she
needed the green stuff even more than she needed an aspirin, when suddenly
she felt all the pain in her belly rise up, out of the top of her head
in a very Raiders of the Lost Ark comic book sort of way ...
and straight into Grimes' groin area.

Immediately he doubled over in the chair, clutching at his stomach.
Several minutes passed before he could speak.

Uh-what's happening?! I-I cc-ccan't stand the p-p-pain!! Help me! Call
an a-ambulance!

Celia stood up, miraculously free of the infernal wrenching. She felt
light-headed and exhilarated. Grimes' contorted body dropped to the floor
as he kicked his legs in a vain effort to escape the inexplicable cramping
that was now plaguing him. Thoughts raced through his mind. Could it have
been the prawn cocktail I had for lunch yesterday?

Looking down on the pathetic form, Celia narrowed her eyes, threw back her
head and said, I don't think I'll be working for you, Mr. Grimes. Good day,
sir.

-------------------------

Sara "not available for typing" Galer

.From: "Nathan Holmes" <holm...@ocean.com.au>
.Subject: Re: WHY AMERICA IS NOT THE WORST!!! Listen up you 3rd and
4th world countries!!!! (ASHOLE)
.Date: Tue Jan 7 05:20:34 1997

We all know American is a falling giant.
If America is the greatest then why:
- have they got the worlds highest homeless rate
- The worlds largest prison population
- One of the World Highest Crime Rates
- The worlds most corrupt president
- Hundreds of millions people can't read or write
- One of the largest drug problems (interestingly enough the U.S.A. is the
only country I know who actually supply drugs to people then locks them up)
- More Serial Killers than Anywhere
- Where Terrorism in reality is as bad as the middle east
- Who would sacrifice their own army soldiers lives for Oil.
- Where a senile shitty fucked up actor can become President, sits there
for four years, causes more problems than any president before and then
gets re-elected.
- Where someone with a poor record as president, involved in a number of
scandals, been caught cheating on his wife can become re-elected. Clinton
USA SUCKS

.From: imb...@mindspring.com (David James Polewka)
.Subject: Compulsive Overgoverning -- is recovery possible?
.Date: Wed Jan 8 01:55:33 1997

Free Bumper Stickers. Four different slogans, each concerned with
recovery from compulsive overgoverning:

1. STOP
OVER-GOVERNING!

2. DOWNSIZE GOVERNMENT EVERYWHERE.
CUT SPENDING ACROSS THE BOARD.

3. If It Disturbs the Peace,
Then You're Overdoing It.

4. Do You Believe Politics As Usual
Will Bring World Peace?

Send postal address.
All info kept confidential.

.From: doe...@xrayspex.nlm.nih.gov (Larry Doering)
.Subject: Re: WHY AMERICA IS NOT THE WORST!!! Listen up you 3rd and 4th world countries!!!! (ASHOLE)
.Date: Wed Jan 8 14:01:26 1997

Stefan Schatzl <stefan....@jk.uni-linz.ac.at> wrote:

>Yep, that's true.
>
>A question to those yanks, who think they're still kicking ass:
>
> - What about Vietnam in the 1950's? Who was kicking one's ass?

The Viet Cong and Ho Chi Minh were kicking the hell out
of the French in the 1950's. That's F-R-E-N-C-H.

If you Austrians can't tell the difference between the French
and the Americans, it's no wonder the Grossdeutsches Reich
sucked y'all in so easily back in 1938. Here's a little
something to warm the cockles of your Austrian heart, Stefan:

\\\_______________________________________________________________________///
\( )/
-=( D E U T S C H L A N D S I E G T A N A L L E N F R O N T E N ! )=-
/(_______________________________________________________________________)\
/// || || \\\
|| ||
| || || |
| #### ############# || #### ############# || #### ############# |
| #### ############# || #### ############# || #### ############# |
| #### ############# || #### ############# || #### ############# |
| #### ##### || #### ##### || #### ##### |
| #### ##### || #### ##### || #### ##### |
| #### ##### || #### ##### || #### ##### |
| ##################### || ##################### || ##################### |
| ##################### || ##################### || ##################### |
| ##################### || ##################### || ##################### |
| ##### #### || ##### #### || ##### #### |
| ##### #### || ##### #### || ##### #### |
| ##### #### || ##### #### || ##### #### |
| ############# #### || ############# #### || ############# #### |
| ############# #### || ############# #### || ############# #### |
| ############# #### || ############# #### || ############# #### |
| || || |
| || || |
| || || |

ljd

(this thread is now over)

.From: f...@rapidcity.com (chris)
.Subject: Re: chess update
.Date: Fri Jan 10 14:51:21 1997

stu...@world.std.com (the reverse-psychology major) wrote:

>ps;
> i'm a great, big, chessplayer!!!

Yeah, thats what everyone I meet tells me...

*(As I destroy every last fiber of positive self-image they ever had)

usually in 52 moves or less

Chris Noonan f...@rapidcity.com
o

o o
"
o_ - _o
\_|_/

|

/ \


"Eat Shit"
Ten Billion Flies Couldn't Be Wrong!

.From: her...@clark.net (Mark Buda)
.Subject: Hints from Hell (71)
.Date: Tue Jan 14 14:37:19 1997

Prevent ugly tartar sauce buildup by dousing your fish once in a while.
I find that a polite solution of beggar's juice and essence of toad works
wonders. Don't forget to plug up the major inlets while doing this,
lest ye leak.

Another technique I find helpful is taping my knees to a blimp and saddling
up the old chestnut mare, if you know what I mean. A good yank on the
patella by a hefty dirigible works wonders. This, of course, does not
alleviate the stains and spots, but you should be getting out more if
that's a big concern of yours.

Saving the shavings is also popular, especially among the environmentalists
in the audience. If you have excess shavings, you should not be shaving so
much - hey, simple problems require simple solutions.

For problems with bestial witnessing in the yard, I look to the words of
wisdom of Henry Kissinger: "Just spread some lime on it and it will take
care of itself." This applies equally to boils, of course.

In closing, I would like to summarize by rolling up everything I said
previously into a ball and turning it into a candlestick, while dancing a
jig to the national anthem, but I regret that I am unable to do this due to
my uncertainty regarding proper jig etiquette. My thanks go to the Academy,
and to all the little people, particularly the ones under my driveway.
--
I get my monkeys for nothing and my chimps for free.
http://www.clark.net/pub/hermit/

.From: her...@clark.net (Mark Buda)
.Subject: Action at a Distance (73)
.Date: Tue Jan 14 14:38:28 1997

The stone sat grimly in his office, stamping wicked red tongues on some
documents and smiling blue buttocks on others, as each deserved, but inside
it felt that something was dreadfully wrong. It knew it had made a wrong
turn somewhere, but it couldn't really figure out where. But that wasn't
the worst part - it had a persistent scratching in the back of its mind
that told it, in a quiet but firm voice, that none of this will have
happened, eventually.

Outside, in the village, today's enactment was taking place. Hedgehogs and
other vermin dressed in strange uniforms never seen in this world were
herding imaginary people into imaginary gas chambers, pretending that they
were pretending that they were showers. The stone was particularly puzzled
by this enactment, one of the most frequent. It had asked the Committee Man
about it, and the Committee Man had said cryptically, "For some omelets,
you need a large number of eggs," and laughed in a way that disturbed the
stone greatly.

The stone, however, didn't see any harm in the enactments, nor did it see
any point, really. And the Committee Man was keeping it well fed with all
kinds of exotic scones, and nobody seemed to be getting hurt. So it sat
grimly in its office, stamping documents and minding its own business, having
of course realized long ago that it could never open a tattooing parlor in
Amsterdam and just once in its life be really hip, that was just a childish
fantasy it was better off without.
--
I get my monkeys for nothing and my chimps for free.
http://www.clark.net/pub/hermit/

.From: twad...@my.tent.now (Major Margaret Houlihan)
.Subject: Re: I am a diagnosed psychotic, RU?
.Date: Sat Jan 11 23:13:33 1997

Support Coalition - David Oaks <den...@efn.org> wrote:

* Dear "bizarre" folks:

[snip]

* * COPY THIS ANNOUNCEMENT FAR AND WIDE -- SNOWBALL THIS NEWS! THANKS!

You want everyone to SPAM this message for you? You must think that we're
nuts, too. Why don't you go back to protesting electroshock in front of
Sacred Heart hospital with your sandwich board signs and bullhorn like you
did in the past?

--
Hotlips Houlihan

"Shut up, Frank!"

.From: jkl...@ren.us.itd.umich.edu (John K. Lewis)
.Subject: Re: chess update
.Date: Wed Jan 15 12:37:07 1997

the reverse-psychology major (stu...@world.std.com) wrote:
:
: ... this is to say that, since no one answered the challenge i posted
: then i assume, nay i know, you're all a bunch of patzers!!! i've been
: playing 'grandmaster chess' on my komputa. i am rated at 1650!!! AND
: it should be higher because the first 1/2 dozen games, or so, i was just
: getting used to the system.
:
: beelzibub
: ps;
: i'm a great, big, chessplayer!!!
:
: [nb. grab crotch when saying 'big']

Actually, and I hate to admit this, but you've just been playing me. I
know, I know, it looks alot like a normal chess program, but in actuallity
it's a tele-chess program. It pages me to play a game with you whenever
you start up the program. (you play at really strange times, but then, who
am I to judge you, I'm playing too.)

The short of this is that you really aren't rated 1650... that rating
assumed you were playing the computer. My rating is 750. So this make
your rating something closer to 900.

I felt bad about not telling you earlier.

OH, one more thing... it's really not chess. It alot like chess, but in
real chess the knights move like this:

K K
K K

#

K K
K K

So that little strategy you've been working on probably wont really work.

Again, sorry.

John -

< john k. lewis > < jkl...@umich.edu > < 77325 > < sig.virus 2.0 >

.From: me...@crl.com (Meredith Tanner)
.Subject: a few of my least favorite things
.Date: Wed Jan 8 23:12:50 1997

expectations. everyone is always expecting something of
me, including myself, and i am always disappointing everyone,
including myself. i especially hate it when people are
continuously disappointed in me for not being a rock star
yet. i always wonder if they're really only hanging around
me hoping that some of the glamor will rub off. hey, news
flash: you'll be waiting a long damn time, because even if
i ever do get off my ass and do it, which is none of your
fucking business, there is no glamor in the music industry.

sharing. god, do i hate to share. i hate eating family
style in chinese restaurants. i hate handing over the TV
remote. i hate when my boyfriend doesn't order a drink with
his lunch because he assumes i'll be willing to let him have
some of mine. and i hate living in a one bedroom apartment
and having no private place to practice my music. i hate
when curtis puts on his headphones and pretends he isn't
listening and i see him reach over and turn off the CD so he
can listen to me. NO, that's NOT CUTE, dammit. sure, yeah,
i want to perform for a living. but that's only a couple of
hours out of a day. the rest of the time i do music, it's
MINE, and i don't want to share it. christ, it's bad enough
i can't even have my own damn HAIRBRUSH around here.

pushiness. DON'T PUSH ME, MAN. i MEAN it. don't TELL me what
to do. i don't care if you're the goddamn buddha and you really
do have all the answers, i don't want to hear them. i am the
captain of this ship, and if i want to sail it around in circles
in the bermuda triangle for days at a time, that's MY fucking
business.

hypocrisy. yeah, sure we're all hypocrites. except i admit it.
don't take the goddamn moral high ground with ME, dammit. remember
what i said about sharing?

lies, damned lies, and lies of omission.

nosiness. NO, I WASN'T INVITED. THANKS SO MUCH FOR ASKING.

dogs, babies, and other things that make noise. eggplant. parents.
buggy software. boneheadedness. greed. rudeness. mildew.

last, but not least: unemployment.

m

and have a nice day, now, y'hear?
--
a large viper must be swallowed with extreme caution

.From: Tim McGuire <tmcg...@superior.net>
.Subject: Re: Yanks->Hello Some Food for Thought
.Date: Fri Jan 17 19:11:03 1997

The internet was formed by the United States military. ARPAnet and MILnet
appeared in the late 1960's and were used to connect military bases in the
east with ones in the west.

\^^^^^^^^/
(.) (.)
--------------------------.oooO-- (__) --Oooo.----------------------------
! ________ /`|`\ +------------------------------------+
! _....._/|__|____\..___../ | | | Tim McGuire |
<|~oooo _____ c===-|---+ tmcg...@superior.net |
!\...___/~~~~~\_____..___---.|,/ | http://www.superior.net/~tmcguire/ |
! / |~~|__..-` 0 +------------------------------------+
< | "I believe it's time for me to fly..."
(o) -REO Speedwagon

.From: Support Coalition - David Oaks <den...@efn.org>
.Subject: Re: I am a diagnosed psychotic, RU?
.Date: Sat Jan 18 21:26:09 1997

On Thu, 16 Jan 1997, chris wrote:

> I WANT MY FORCED PSYCHIATRIC DRUGS!!!!!

SLIGHT PROBLEM: Did a MedLine search on this.

Found out that all the main "fun" street drugs have something in
common, they stimulate the dopamine transmission in the brain.

But the main super-powerful drugs used in forced psychiatry are the
neuroleptics (Thorazine, Prolixin, Haldol, Clozapine, Risperdal,
etc.).

Turns out these are called "dysphorogenic," that is, people don't
LIKE to take them. They BLOCK dopamine.

In other words, our big government has a tug of war over our
dopamine.

They lock folks up in jail for taking stuff that stimulates dopamine.

But they will knock down your door with a hypo of Prolixin (suspended
in sesame oil, so that the impact lasts four weeks) to forcibly DRUG
you with a drug that makes their corporate donors rich.

Darn, there's always a catch... from the "normals"!

- David Oaks

HEY DID YOU HEAR ABOUT THE BRAIN BOYCOTT? brain awareness week is
coming soon!

Paul Krassner has called for a BRAIN BOYCOTT. There's an 800 number
you can call to BOYCOTT YOUR OWN BRAIN. Check out the "Heal
Normality" section of this web site, look for BRAIN BOYCOTT:

http://www.efn.org/~dendron

.From: amit...@netvision.net.il
.Subject: GOA TRANCE 3
.Date: Thu Jan 9 16:37:01 1997

ELECTRONIC PULSATION,GANESH,CHEMICAL TRANCE,SEPUKO,SUPERNATURAL,COSMO
SHIVA,ATOMIC ARMADILLO,DANCE OF MAN,LOST WORLD,VENUS ZEN,SIRIOUS
SHUTTLE,CHINESE WHISPERS,BLACK RAIN,BIC,PHAEDRUS,CLONE 111,THE
JOKER,PYRAMID,TWO VINDALOOS & AN ONION BHAGEE,LEPTON HEAD PARTS.

DR.ACID

.From: r...@inetworld.net
.Subject: Re: The War of 1812 (was Re: WHY AMERICA IS NOT THE WORST)
.Date: Mon Jan 20 13:43:35 1997

Alan Miles <ami...@interport.net> wrote:

>It's fascinating to read the prejudices Americans and Canadians have
>about the War of 1812. Canadians tend to view this as the War in which
>they defeated the US. Americans actually know almost nothing about the
>War. If they do, the two most enduring images are the British burning
>of Washington (complete with Dolley Madison's saving Washington's
>portrait) and Jackson's Battle of New Orleans, fought after the peace
>treaty was signed.
>
>Clearly the war was a bigger event in Canadian history than in American
>history.
>
>Most Americans couldn't tell you who the war was against, never mind who
>won the war. Canadians mostly insist that "they" won the war, though
>the war was between Britain and the US.
>
>Actually, the War was bitterly opposed by Northern states and pursued by
>Southern states. The whole episode nearly led to a civil war in the US,
>and highlighted regional differences that would eventually lead to a
>real civil war. Canada did well in part because States like New York
>simply refused to fight.

Um, not quite accurate. There were a number of battles in New York
State, including battles on Lake Champlain and at Sackets Harbor on
Lake Ontario. The war was opposed by New England merchants, who were
happily selling goods to the Brits and didn't want a disruption of
trade (didn't stop them from selling goods to the highest bidder on
either side during the war, though).

Having said that, however, I'd also have to say that your analysis is
far better than most I've seen coming from either the American or the
Canadian camp. You're quite correct; most Americans know very little
about the War of 1812 and the Canadians are too busy talking about
kicking American butt almost 200 years ago to worry about the details.

=Bob

.From: ka...@Vir.com (Kate McDonnell)
.Subject: COMPULSIVE OVERGOVERNING: WHEN WILL RECOVERY BEGIN?
.Date: Wed Jan 22 21:14:55 1997

Dave Polewka (al...@cleveland.Freenet.Edu) wrote:

: 1. STOP
: OVER-GOVERNING!

GOVERNORS GIVEN POT
PREVENTS ROVING GOO
GORGON VIPER VEST ON
GROVER GOONS NIP VET
VOTERS GRIP OVEN NOG

--
ka...@vir.com http://www.vir.com/~kate
the guardians of hell, having bought you, will cook you there in jars.

.From: Sunshine <su...@webspan.net>
.Subject: Americannery
.Date: Tue Jan 21 06:05:08 1997

A rare prophetic statement was just found on the preserved pelt of a
obscure French trapper-turned-shaman. He predicted that all newsgroups
would be tainted by jingoistic discourse - no matter what the name or
dominant topic of the group. Hmm what war can I bring up to trumpet some
half-baked wacky idea? Shall I yell about the merits of the Gadsden
Purchase and if so how can I incorporate it into a newsfrenzy?
--
" My cough is entirely gone & I can stand on my head without effort. "
10-08-07 - Samuel Clemens
http://www.webspan.net/~sunny

.From: alle...@aol.com (Allenfre)
.Subject: atlanta
.Date: Thu Jan 23 19:55:09 1997

Today I was working off buford hwy in atlanta. I think it is a neat place
due to the number of resturants and pawn shops. Why working outside, one
sees and hears number of things going on. Later in the day I see a girl
running after a boy and she tackles him off the sidewalk. I think nothing
of this, just kids playing. Then I notice she was crying and fussing at
him. I stopped what I was doing and watched what they were doing since
they were speaking english, something to take granted on this road since
english is not a second langauge, but maybe fourth. I like to call the
area buford internation hwy. Very cool. Anyways, the girl was about 15
and knocked up (several months along) as I could see. She was crying
something about the boy promised to take care of her. He left, she cried.
Anger flowed through me. She walked around the parking lot some. If
anyone walked near, she would stand by the telephone booth. Then later
cry more. Then she just stopped crying as soon as she notices that I was
still on top of my ladder looking at her. She crossed the street, and
talked to 3 guys for a minute, waved at a baby in a craddle, then talked a
while to a boy that she stopped in the parking lot. She then walks off
with the boys arm around her to the back end of this huge parking lot
where I lose site of them. I wonder if this trend repeats.

.From: just jenine <jen...@lamar.ColoState.EDU>
.Subject: no one is safe in a small town
.Date: Fri Jan 24 13:09:35 1997

the only problem with that theory being that
this isn't, really, a small town.

nevertheless, you gotta be careful.

take, for example, a man named dave who moved
to this town from England. dave was a bigmouth
on the local newsgroup. following every post
up with CAPITAL LETTER INTENSE rants about the
lack of dance clubs in fort collins. although
he was assured that if the greater population
of fort collins wanted dance clubs they would
indeed have them and please SHHH already, dave
continued to make loud posts. you know what
a loud post is, it LOOKS LIKE THIS.

i first saw dave's posts yesterday. i sent him
mail saying "GO TO DENVER AND IN THE MEANTIME
SHUT UP." and then i went to the mall.

the man in front of me in line at the eyedoctor
spoke with a soft english accent. i looked at
nat, with whom i had just been discussing the
noisy dance hall posts. he had small wireframe
glasses on and a telltale geeky air. the woman
taking his glasses order said, "your name is
david..." at which point i couldn't take it anymore.

"YOU, you're the dance hall guy, AREN'T YOU?"

"um, yes, yes i am," he admitted in that painfully
embarrassed way the british have when faced with
an painfully agreesive american invading their space
completely out of the blue.

i boldly identified myself and informed him there was a
flame in his mailbox from me. we parted with nat making
the observation, "we're able to pick you out of a crowd,
we can find out where you live." to which i had only to
say, "so BE NICE."

today there's e-mail back from him. i think we're going
to be friends.

j.j, now find out he reads t.b
-----------------------------------------------------

.From: al...@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Dave Polewka)
.Subject: an anagram request
.Date: Fri Jan 31 01:40:43 1997

wil...@genius2000.com writes:

>>> An anagram request: Comet Hale-Bopp
>>
>>Coo, be pamphlet Epochal mob, pet Botch male Pope
>>The aplomb: cope Aplomb, hope, etc. Cheap motel; bop
>>Halt; become Pop Bleach poet, mop Epoch met Pablo
>>Bah, compel poet Mob: people chat
>>Topple each mob Poem atop belch
>>
>>I trust that Dave or William will rise to the challenge...
>>
>>-- Mike mi...@lava.net
>
>Also:
> Became hot plop Macho pleb poet The apple combo
>
>No gems unfortunately.
>
>William

Mercury Venus Earth Mars Jupiter Saturn Uranus Neptune Pluto -- anagram
*************************************************************************
Turn. Spin. Run. Unusual comets appear every June, Arthur. Trust me.
*************************************************************************

--
=======================
"Endeavor to persevere"
=======================

--
=======================
"Endeavor to persevere"
=======================