INTERNUTS Digest Tue, 11 Nov 1997 Volume 01 : Issue 35 Today's Topics: Children's Sermons Rodney Dangerfield Stirring the Wrong Way test UL No problem installing Windows 2025 They're just MEAT! information superhighway (fwd) Re: Rohypnol and the Oscars Maraschino cherries pee and other funny things ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Date: Tue, 04 Nov 1997 18:45:33 GMT From: jschmitz@qis.net (JoAnne Schmitz) To: lnuts Subject: Children's Sermons Message-ID: <347269df.333188732@mail.clark.net> On Tue, 4 Nov 1997 08:03:32 -0500, in rec.humor "Dave & Chris" wrote: On our usual Monday night gathering after rehearsal last night, we got to sharing stories of children's sermons we've heard and the hysterical way a child's mind works. The woman giving the children's sermon began talking about Zacchaeus and how he had to climb up the tree just to see Jesus and that because of who he was he had very few friends. She asked the children why Zacchaeus didn't have any friends and one boy piped up, "because he was a mean Re-publican." Don't know what the subject of this children's sermon was, but at one point the woman asked the children if they knew what the furry little creatures were that lived in our backyards, climbed trees and collected acorns for the winter. The answer came back from one of the children, "Jesus." While the congregation was still laughing, the child said, "well, I know you wouldn't have called us all up here to talk about squirrels." An older Sunday School teacher was giving the children's sermon one day. She had planned ahead for the topic "Honor thy Father and Mother" by writing things they could do for their parents to honor them on slips of paper. At the sermon she asked each child to take a slip of paper and to take turns acting out what their slip told them. One little boy stood up, stiffened up his arms and legs and began tottering around Frankenstein-like. Neither the other children or the teacher could figure out what he was trying to do, so the Sunday School teacher finally asked to see his paper. It read "Iron Clothes." ------------------------------ Date: Tue, 04 Nov 1997 18:45:33 GMT From: jschmitz@qis.net (JoAnne Schmitz) To: lnuts Subject: Rodney Dangerfield Message-ID: <347063da.331647482@mail.clark.net> On Mon, 03 Nov 1997 12:30:33 -0500, in rec.humor Rick wrote: "My father was stupid. He worked in a bank and they caught him stealing pens." "I remember the time I was kidnapped and they sent back a piece of my finger to my father. He said he wanted more proof." "I went to a freak show and they let me in for nothing." "For two hours... some guy followed me around with a pooper scooper." "This morning when I put on my underwear I could hear the Fruit of the Loom guys laughing at me." "A travel agent offered me a 21 day special. He told me I would fly from New York to London. Then from Tokyo back to New York. I asked him... how am I supposed to get from London to Tokyo?... He told me... That is why we give you 21 days. "They say... Love thy neighbor as thy self... What am I supposed to do? jerk him off too?" "A girl phoned me and said... Come on over there's nobody home. I went over... Nobody was home!" "I was making love to this girl and she started crying. I said... Are you going to hate yourself in the morning? She said... No... I hate myself now." "One day I ran into my girlfriend with my car. She asked me why I didn't ride around her. I told her that I didn't think I had enough gas" "I knew a girl that was so ugly that... I took her to the top of the Empire State building and planes started to attack her." "I was tired one night and I went to the bar to have a few drinks. The bartender asked me... What'll you have? I said... surprise me. He showed me a naked picture of my wife." "One day... as I came home early from work... I saw a guy jogging naked. I said to the guy... Hey buddy... why are you doing that for? He said... Because you came home early." "It's been a rough day. I got up this morning... put on a shirt and a button fell off. I picked up my briefcase and the handle came off. I'm afraid to go to the bathroom!" ------------------------------ Date: Tue, 04 Nov 1997 18:45:31 GMT From: jschmitz@qis.net (JoAnne Schmitz) To: lnuts Subject: Stirring the Wrong Way Message-ID: <34674b4f.325363401@mail.clark.net> On 3 Nov 1997 21:22:01 GMT, in alt.folklore.urban rob@mda.ca (Rob Sawatsky) wrote: Jed Levin (Jed_Levin@instinet.com) wrote: : Here's what may be an UL, which I thought about last night while my : wife and I were baking cookies. If it's in the FAQ I apologize.: : I've heard that while stirring ingredients when cooking, if you start : stirring in the opposite direction you'll begin to separate the : ingredients you've just mixed. I believed this for a while when I was : young, then figured later on that is sounded like pure bull! : Anyone else ever heard this one? Reminds me of the "water running the : other way doen the drain in Australia" one, which IS in the FAQ. Yeh, I put the flour in with the eggs and margarine and stirred clockwise. When it was almost a completely smooth mixture, I started stirring the other way and all the flour starting showing up as a dry powder again. I stirred more vigourously and the bright yellow streaks started to show-up which coalesced into what appeared to be egg yolks. I kept at it and sticky globs began to merge into chunks of margarine. I decided it was time to stop and return to the original direction of stir. What happened next was even more amazing. Apparently going so far in the opposite direction had triggered a time vortex. As I now stirred, the margarine turned into crushed Canola seeds, and the eggs gradually began to form into shells. The flour converted into grains of wheat. This was REALLY getting to be interesting. I couldn't stop now! As I stirred faster and faster, small stalks of golden wheat and brightly flowering Canola plants appeared in the bowl. A chicken hopped out of the bowl and ran around the kitchen. The next thing I knew I was standing in a farmyard surrounded by fields of wheat and canola with a Chicken coop a few yards away. Strangely I was still performing stirring motions with my right hand. What to do now? Would I be trapped here forever? I took the risk and stopped stirring. Woosh, flash, back in my kitchen with a nice smooth batter ready for the last ingredients. Let these be a lesson to those who doubt these tales. -- ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Robert Sawatsky All opinions are my own and in no way reflect the opinions or policies of MacDonald Dettwiler and rob@mda.ca Associates Ltd. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 05 Nov 1997 20:53:51 GMT From: jschmitz@qis.net (JoAnne Schmitz) To: lnuts Subject: test UL Message-ID: <346dbd67.69516454@mail.clark.net> On 5 Nov 1997 03:03:27 -0600, in alt.folklore.urban supercat@MCS.COM (John Payson) wrote: In article <63fhfj$87k@panix.com>, Ian A. York wrote: >From the AFU FAQ (available for your delectation at >http://www.urbanlegends.com): > >Fb. Student cheats on exam, asks "do you know who I am?", jams paper in >exam pile! ["Bluebook Legends" in TMP] One math professor told me a different story about an unprepared student *OF HIS* taking an exam. The exam had five problems, and students were told to do four of them. The first page of the unprepared student's blue book was blank except for a written "1". The next was blank except for a "2". The third was blank except for a "3". The fourth, however, was not: 4. Omit problem four. The fifth, then, was blank except for the "5". I don't know the name of the student involved, but the professor in question specifically said it was one of his students. So I don't know if that's a useful data point, but at least I found it interesting... ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- supercat@mcs.com | "Je crois que je ne vais jamais voir... | J\_/L John Payson | Un animal aussi beau qu'un chat." | ( o o ) ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 05 Nov 1997 20:53:53 GMT From: jschmitz@qis.net (JoAnne Schmitz) To: lnuts Subject: No problem installing Windows 2025 Message-ID: <3478d7d1.76279818@mail.clark.net> On Tue, 04 Nov 1997 19:43:17 GMT, in rec.humor seesig@thebeach.edu (Doug Bashford) wrote: No problem installing Windows 2025 extracted from short stories by Scott Hawkins: In the future we will all rush out to buy Windows 2025. We will have no choice in the matter, for Windows 2025 will be the first operating system to govern not only world of computers, but the whole of human society. If we wish to interface with the world, to converse with our neighbors, to advance in our careers, to raise up our children, to appreciate the wonders of nature, art, music and literature, to get out of life everything it has to offer, we must have Windows 2025 installed. Windows 2025 will ship packaged in a 500cc hypodermic syringe. The only documentation will be a simple one page installation guide-- TO INSTALL WINDOWS 2025.... 1) Immediately before bedtime, inject Windows into any major artery. 2) Pleasant dreams! 3) Wake up to the world of Windows 2025!!! As we drift off to sleep our inner organs will begin to itch as the hoards of nanotech molecular robots of the Microsoft Installer Program swarm through our system, rewiring neurons, rewriting genetic code, rerouting established intellectual and emotional data flows to assure maximum compatibility with the new Operating System. In our dreams we will ascend effortlessly to a mountain summit from which vantage we will gaze down upon the sprawling, clogged, polluted city of our former selves as it is mercifully and unceremoniously bulldozed flat. We will then see a new city miraculously appear around us-- the City of Windows, the City on a Hill, aglow with the luminous library of beauty to be found in Microsoft Art Gallery. We will feel our bodies begin to change, our features alter, see the pigment of our skin modulate to blend in with the new graphical interface. >From our lips will spill a torrent of words as our old, chaotic language is is purged, to be replaced by the concise vocabulary of Microsoft Dictionary. Our minds, our spirits, will be set ablaze, so overwhelmed by the downloading of Encarta's ordered universe of data that, come the dawn, we'll hardly know whether we have awakened or are still dreaming, so transcendent and dreamlike will seem the world of Windows 2025. Not all of us will be so fortunate, however. A significant proportion of consumers (38% of all users, according to one estimate) will, as they drift off to sleep with Microsoft fresh in their veins, be confronted by the "hardware incompatibility" screen nowhere mentioned in the advertising. "There exists a serious compatibility problem with current hardware," it will say. "Dismantle obsolete hardware?" The user will click the "cancel" button and get no response, then click it again and, frantically, several times more. Finally the "ok" button will hilite of its own accord. "Dismantling current hardware may prove to be quite painful," the System will respond. "Are you sure you wish to continue?" This time there will be no "cancel" button. The user will pause for a moment, then click "yes." The night will be filled with the howlings of Microsoft customers suffering the tortures of extracted from: http://www.psnw.com/~bashford/texts.html#windows ORANGE COUNTY, WELCOME TO FRESNO COUNTY-- CLENCH YOUR SPHINCTER ------------------------------ Date: Wed, 05 Nov 1997 20:53:49 GMT From: jschmitz@qis.net (JoAnne Schmitz) To: lnuts Subject: They're just MEAT! Message-ID: <3465a3ef.62995621@mail.clark.net> "They're made out of meat." "Meat?" "Meat. They're made out of meat." "Meat?" "There's no doubt about it. We picked several from different parts of the planet, took them aboard our recon vessels, probed them all the way through. They're completely meat." "That's impossible. What about the radio signals? The messages to the stars." "They use the radio waves to talk, but the signals don't come from them. The signals come from machines." "So who made the machines? That's who we want to contact." "They made the machines. That's what I'm trying to tell you. Meat made the machines." "That's ridiculous. How can meat make a machine? You're asking me to believe in sentient meat." "I'm not asking you, I'm telling you. These creatures are the only sentient race in the sector and they're made out of meat." "Maybe they're like the Orfolei. You know, a carbon-based intelligence that goes through a meat stage." "Nope. They're born meat and they die meat. We studied them for several of their life spans, which didn't take too long. Do you have any idea the life span of meat?" "Spare me. Okay, maybe they're only part meat. You know, like the Weddilei. A meat head with an electron plasma brain inside." "Nope. We thought of that, since they do have meat heads like the Weddilei. But I told you, we probed them. They're meat all the way through." "No brain?" "Oh, there is a brain all right. It's just that the brain is made out of meat!" "So... what does the thinking?" "You're not understanding, are you? The brain does the thinking. The meat." "Thinking meat! You're asking me to believe in thinking meat!" "Yes, thinking meat! Conscious meat! Loving meat. Dreaming meat. The meat is the whole deal! Are you getting the picture?" "Omigod. You're serious then. They're made out of meat." "Finally, Yes. They are indeed made out meat. And they've been trying to get in touch with us for almost a hundred of their years." "So what does the meat have in mind?" "First it wants to talk to us. Then I imagine it wants to explore the universe, contact other sentients, swap ideas and information. The usual." "We're supposed to talk to meat?" "That's the idea. That's the message they're sending out by radio. 'Hello. Anyone out there? Anyone home?' That sort of thing." "They actually do talk, then. They use words, ideas, concepts?" "Oh, yes. Except they do it with meat." "I thought you just told me they used radio." "They do, but what do you think is on the radio? Meat sounds. You know how when you slap or flap meat it makes a noise? They talk by flapping their meat at each other. They can even sing by squirting air through their meat." "Omigod. Singing meat. This is altogether too much. So what do you advise?" "Officially or unofficially?" "Both." "Officially, we are required to contact, welcome, and log in any and all sentient races or multibeings in the quadrant, without prejudice, fear, or favor. Unofficially, I advise that we erase the records and forget the whole thing." "I was hoping you would say that." "It seems harsh, but there is a limit. Do we really want to make contact with meat?" "I agree one hundred percent. What's there to say?" `Hello, meat. How's it going?' But will this work? How many planets are we dealing with here?" "Just one. They can travel to other planets in special meat containers, but they can't live on them. And being meat, they only travel through C space. Which limits them to the speed of light and makes the possibility of their ever making contact pretty slim. Infinitesimal, in fact." "So we just pretend there's no one home in the universe." "That's it." "Cruel. But you said it yourself, who wants to meet meat? And the ones who have been aboard our vessels, the ones you have probed? You're sure they won't remember?" "They'll be considered crackpots if they do. We went into their heads and smoothed out their meat so that we're just a dream to them." "A dream to meat! How strangely appropriate, that we should be meat's dream." "And we can mark this sector unoccupied." "Good. Agreed, officially and unofficially. Case closed. Any others? Anyone interesting on that side of the galaxy?" "Yes, a rather shy but sweet hydrogen core cluster intelligence in a class nine star in G445 zone. Was in contact two galactic rotations ago, wants to be friendly again." "They always come around." "And why not? Imagine how unbearably, how unutterably cold the universe would be if one were all alone." *** The Generally Weird Mailing List -- For posting rules & unsub info See http://www.integral.org/lists/generallyweird/welcome.html **** ------------ thanks to Yossi ------------------------------ Date: Thu, 06 Nov 1997 20:13:48 GMT From: jschmitz@qis.net (JoAnne Schmitz) To: lnuts Subject: information superhighway Message-ID: <3467fdce.68126694@mail.clark.net> On Wed, 05 Nov 1997 22:02:32 GMT, in alt.folklore.urban (Hans Derycke) wrote: ptomblin@xcski.com (Paul Tomblin) cost the Net hundreds, if not thousands of dollars writing in : >In a previous article, rrd@fc.hp.com (Ray Depew) said: >>The Stunt Pope (markjr@mail.PrivateWorld.com) posted and mailed a marvelous >>: Mark "whoever invented 'Information Superhighway' should be shot tho" >> >>Al Gore was the first to say it in public, I think. At least he didn't >>call it a "cyberhighway". > >However, Al Gore was *not* talking about the Internet when he said it. That's right, what Al Gore was alluding to was an until-then secret project to build a number of coast-to-coast subterranean roadways. Once finished, these tunnels would have had most of their air sucked out, and large "subway trucks" would have zoomed from NY to LA in a few hours, unimpeded by air pressure and cross traffic. These trucks, then, were to carry all the data communication between the cities on magnetic tape. The sudden eruption of the Internet meant the end of the plan. Hansje "Never underestimate the bandwidth..." -- Hans Derycke -- Address removed to avoid spam If you take more than X hits of acid, the rest of the world becomes illegally insane while you remain the normal, sane healthy person you always are. -- Jim Hutchins ------------------------------ Date: Thu, 06 Nov 1997 20:13:49 GMT From: jschmitz@qis.net (JoAnne Schmitz) To: lnuts Subject: (fwd) Re: Rohypnol and the Oscars Message-ID: <3468fef9.68426629@mail.clark.net> On 6 Nov 1997 10:38:13 -0500, in alt.folklore.urban tindall@panix.com (Bruce Tindall) wrote: In article <63r4uj$6fk@panix.com>, Lee Rudolph wrote: >ObUL: The highest point in New Orleans is the product of government >make-work. I know this is probably a reference to some other thread I haven't read rather than a real ObUL, but here goes anyway: There is an artificial hill (maybe 10 feet above the surrounding terrain) in a playground (IIRC) in Audubon Park which, I was told (motto!), was constructed so that New Orlenans children could experience climbing up and rolling down a hill. -- Bruce Tindall tindall@panix.com ------------------------------ Date: Thu, 06 Nov 1997 20:13:51 GMT From: jschmitz@qis.net (JoAnne Schmitz) To: lnuts Subject: Maraschino cherries Message-ID: <346d1021.72818447@mail.clark.net> On 6 Nov 1997 04:45:41 GMT, in alt.folklore.urban cpierson@tiac.net (Chris Pierson) wrote: This thread reminds me of a book I reviewed once for the school newspaper, back in University. I'm sure it's well-known on afu: The Paranoid's Handbook, by Christopher Hyde. I'm sure it's chock full o' urban legends. Here's what it has to say about Maraschinos: "Ah, maraschino cherries -- the little red and green flecks you find in Christmas cakes, the red nubbins floating in the can of fruit cocktail, the blob on top of your ice cream sundae. "A pox on Mr. Maraschino, whoever he was. The cherries are chosen entirely on the basis of their stems' ability to stay stuck to the fruit under conditions that would defeat a platoon of Marines. First, they are put in a bath of bleach for three to six weeks until all color has been drained from them and they look like eyeballs with stems. Then they are rinsed in a solution of alum and more bleach just to make sure anything even vaguely natural has been destroyed. Then they're dropped into a tank of red dye and left to sit for a month or more. When the cherries have achieved the color of a traffic light they're passed along to another tank, filled with glucose syrup heated to boiling. They boil in the syrup for 20 to 30 hours and then go back into the dyeing tank for another two-week run. Then you eat them." [Hyde, The Paranoid's Handbook, pp. 46-48] ------------------------------ Date: Thu, 06 Nov 1997 20:13:53 GMT From: jschmitz@qis.net (JoAnne Schmitz) To: lnuts Subject: pee and other funny things Message-ID: <346f1a44.75414255@mail.clark.net> Q: What is 40 feet long and reeks of urine? A: Nursing home residents line dancing!! ------------------- An elderly man goes to his doctor and says, "Hey Doc. You got to help me. I am no longer able to control my bladder." "The first thing to do," explains the doctor, "is to get off my carpet." -------------------- Every night after dinner, an old man and an old woman in a nursing home would meet in the woman's room to watch Wheel of Fortune together. While they watched, she would always put her hand down his pants. This went on for months. All of a sudden, the man stopped showing up at the woman's room. One night after dinner, the woman decided to go looking for him. When she found him, he was sitting in the room of another old woman; and her hand was down his pants. "What's she got that I don't?" asked the heartbroken old lady. "Parkinson's." replied the man. --------------------- Q: What is the most popular bra size in the nursing home? A: 46 Long!! --------------------- Another Doc Joke Q: What do a nearsighted gynecologist and a dog have in common? A: They both have wet noses!! ------------------------ Saturday Night at the nursing home After a very difficult evening working as a nurse aide on the 3-11 shift, the CNA entered the room of a very confused female patient and squatted down beside her bed to empty her foley catheter bag. "What are you doing down there, Dear?" The Resident asked. "Emptying some urine." The CNA replied. "Oh my. They don't give you girls any breaks at all, do they?", ---------------------- Q: Why did the night shift CNA keep the stainless bedpan in the refrigerator? A: Because when she kept it in the freezer it took too much skin off. ----------------------- The nurse went in to check her patient in the Skilled Unit who was wearing nasal prongs. The nurse tried to talk to him, but all she could get out of him was gasping and unintelligible talk. Finally, the nurse thrust a note pad and pencil at the patient and said, “I can't understand you, sir. Please write it down.” The patient weakly scribbled on the pad, “Get your foot off my oxygen tube!” Attributed to Jeanne Mueller, RN ------------------------ A man was walking along a sidewalk in a very gentle manner, almost as if he were walking on eggs. Two doctors, also on foot, were across the street. They spotted the man and began to discuss his condition. "Prostrate trouble", said the first doctor.. "Oh no, not at all. That's a case of hemorrhoids if ever I saw one", said the other. They tossed it back and forth until one of them suggested going over to talk to him. "Mr, this gentleman and I are both doctors", said one, "and if you'll pardon our intrusion, I figured you have a bad prostrate problem, but my colleague thought it to be hemorrhoids. Might you state the problem so that we can solve our little dilemma?" "Well", said the man, "all three of us were wrong. I thought it was gas." ------------------------- Dear Reyer Elementary School, God bless you for the beautiful radio I won at your recent senior citizen's luncheon. I am 84 years old and live at the county home for the aged. All my people are gone. It's nice to know that someone thinks of me. God bless you for your kindness to an old forgotten lady. My roommate is 95 and always had her own radio, but would never let me listen to it. The other day her radio fell and broke into a lot of pieces. It was awful. She asked if she could listen to mine, so naturally I told her to go f--k herself. Sincerely, Edna Johnston --------------------------- Three old men were sitting around talking about who had the worst health problems. The seventy-year-old said, "Have I got a problem. Every morning I get up at 7:30 and have to urinate, but I have to stand at the toilet for an hour'cause my pee barely trickles out." "Heck, that's nothing." said the eighty year old. "Every morning at 8:30 I have to take a dump, but I have to sit on the can for hours because of my constipation. It's terrible." The ninety-year-old said, "You guys think you have problems! Every morning at 7:30 I whiz like a racehorse, and at 8:30 I take a dump like a pig." The eighty-year-old looked at the seventy-year-old, then looked back at the ninety-year-old incredulously and asked, "So what's your problem?" "I don't wake up till eleven." he replied. -------------------------- found on a web page at site http://home1.gte.net/paulodin/ ------------------------------ End of INTERNUTS Digest V01 Issue #35 *************************************