Ohmigod, preserved for posterity. Mummified in cyberspace! There is a God, but what a screwed-up sense of humor she has. Thank you...thank you...thank you

html does not work in the creation process. hmmm... Welcome, John...how about a few well chosen words for your fans...?!

Well, Marcia, there's you...and my Mom, if she is my fan, is not cyber capable

Man, you're quick! I barely had it created when I posted and you had gotten there ahead of me. Well done! I thought this might be something you would appreciate!

a well-placed kiss on your umlaut bedecked feet might be appropriate!

There are more...just hang around and watch the latest posts on http://www.spring.net/yapp-bin/restricted/confifty/food or whatever conference has the least distracting background...

Oooh...you say the nicest things...*smile*

Yo, John, congrats! I only got Screwed by a hairy Texan in a dress... Who is one heck of a guy, though... Anyways, you got any fancy dresses around, hmh? Die Sache mit dem Umlaut habe ich nicht ganz verstanden, but then, somethings must be left unexplained, to leave at least some thrill and mystery in our miserable existence, no?

That was the same hairy Texan who did me, but I do not recall a dress...

I didn't know that someone could bust me for cross-dressing from cyberspace! Mathmaticians would call my knowledge of German language "the empty set." But I did laugh at an aside in the menu in the Nietzsche Deli (home of the Ubersandwich) which proudly proclaimed, "Gouda is Dead!"

The Millenium Bug (original author unknown--rewritten/edited by John Burnett) T'was the eve of Two Thousand, And all through the nation We awaited The Bug, The Y2K sensation. The chips were replaced In computers with care, In hopes that ol' Bugsy just might not stop there. While some people thought They were snug in their beds There were others with visions Of dread in their heads. My Ma with her PC, And I with my Mac Had just logged on the Net and kicked back with a snack. When over the server, arose such a clatter I called Mister Gates To see what was the matter. But he was away, So I flew like a flash To my bank's ATM To withdraw all my cash. When what with my wondering eyes should I see? My trusty old Mac looking sickly to me. The hack of all hackers Was looking so smug, I knew that he must be The Y2K Bug! His image downloaded in less than a flash, He whistled and shouted, Let all systems crash! Go Intel! Go Gateway! Now HP! Big Blue! Celeron, K6 and Pentium, too! All processors big, and all processors small, Crash away! Crash away! Crash away all! Air traffic control and all airplanes in flight All microwaves, railroads, and all traffic lights. As slowly I inhaled and turned back around, then out through the modem, He came with a bound. He was covered with fur, and slung over his back Was a sack full of viruses, set for attack. His eyes how they twinkled! His dimples--how merry! As midnight approached, though things soon became scary. He had a broad face and a round little belly, And his bag filled with viruses quivered like jelly. He was chubby and plump, and perpetually grinning, and he seemed overjoyed as my hard drive stopped spinning. With a wink of his eye, and a twist of his head, I started to know the true meaning of dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, He changed all the clocks, and then turned with a jerk. With a twitch of his nose, and a quick little wink, all things electronic soon went on the blink. He zoomed from my system, to others online. He caused such disruption, could this be a sign? Then I heard him exclaim, with a loud, hearty scream, "Happy Y2K all!" As I woke from my dream.

Translation available: http://www.tu-chemnitz.de/urz/netz/forms/dict.html

Yours is better, John (the Y2K poem) - the submission was by someone named Michael C. Vinson.

Thank you for that Marcia and Mr. Vinson (whoever you are)...I often see parodies with uneven meter and rewrite/edit them before sending them on. I also posted it in "Poetic Caricatures"

Pretzel Logic Thought it's been baked, it's not still hot. One side is burned, the other not. It's dough is twisted, tied, and turned and for its crunch my taste buds yearned. Some salt on one side was employed, but on the other side, devoid. Oh pretzel, small and golden brown I want a beer to wash you down!

That last piece of food related doggerel is original, copyright 1993, John Burnett

You are making me hungry and I have already eaten lunch...I like that one...I really like pretzels...and cold draft Michelob...

Oh, and BTW, there is a � next time you need to mention your copyright...

Too lazy to look at the moment...will give myself an HTML crash course when not posting

....but it is in the Character map with the umlaut and � thingy.

mahalo

*smile* ...anytime!

A hippie gets onto a bus and sits next to a nun in the front seat. The hippie looks over and asks the nun if she would have sex with him. The nun, surprised by the question, politely declines and gets off the at the next stop. When the bus starts on its way again, the driver says to the hippie, "I can tell you how you can get that nun to have sex with you." The hippie says that he'd love to know, so the bus driver tells him that every Tuesday evening at midnight the nun goes to the cemetery and prays to God. "If you went dressed in a robe and glow in the dark paint mask she would think you are God and you could command her to have sex with you." The hippie decides this is a great idea, so the next Tuesday he goes to the cemetery and waits for the nun to show up. At midnight sure enough the nun shows up and begins praying so the hippie jumped out from hiding and says, "I AM GOD! I have heard your prayers and I will answer them, BUT ... first you must have sex with me." The nun agrees but asks for anal sex so she can keep her virginity. The hippie agrees to this and has his way with the nun. After the hippie finishes he stands up, rips off the mask and shouts, "Ha! Ha! Ha! I'm the hippie!!" Then the nun jumps up and shouts, "Ha! Ha! Ha! I'm the bus driver!!"

Now, I've done it! I think I've offended myself...

Why do you think I sent it to you rather than posting it?! (from my ex, too!)

I'm not aware of getting that joke from you. The e-mail I copied came from another friend. Maybe yours is still waiting for me to be checked. ;) We seem to get a lot of the same stuff from both each other and independent sources, as well.

Q. What is the toughest golf foursome to play behind? A. Monica Lewinsky, OJ Simpson, Ted Kennedy, and Bill Clinton. Monica is a hooker, OJ is a slicer, Kennedy can't drive over water, and Clinton doesn't know which hole to play.

HA-HA!!!!! That nun joke is BRILLIANT, John! And, in Afrikaans we have a saying when something that we use when something is very funny - I shall use it here: �laughing like a nun on a carrot truck�

John looked fabulous tonight. It was such fun talking to a real live guy for a change. Happpy Marcia *grin*

Thanks, Marcia...as always, I appreciate your support!

The nun on the carrot truck is a funny line. I've always wondered about nuns and produce!

ha-ha! Yeah! MARCIA, DETAILS PLEASE!!!!

I'll give you honest details. I'm still, as you put it "a bear." Am still over 300 pounds. But a slowly shrinking one. If you need independent confirmation, I'm sure Marcia (who has always been wonderful to me no matter how I've looked) can talk to you in INNER where she can say whatever she wants without me seeing it.

His outsides are getting very distingusihed-looking. His neat beard is greying nicely, and his blue eyes still sparkle with great humor. But what I have always appreciated was the man inside. He has always been the Southern Gentleman, except for the time he implied that the only ladies who appreciated him were either old enough to be his mother (hush your mouth, John!) or already married...or some such line... He sells himself short on occasion, but when he has whipped himself into shape, he is gonna e one Hell of a Great looking guy - as well as a truly nice guy to know with an intellect and sense of humor which does not quit. He is very special, indeed!

Oh, John, BTW, I would have given some serious part of my life to have been able to sit with you and Alton at last night's game. Two of my favorite real-life brains and me in the back/middle/front - wherever - would have been such fun. Alas, my O'O (Obsessive Other) would not tolerate that for a second and there would have been a terrible scene...*sigh*...and all we would have done is to talk...! And, not even dirty or suggestive or anything O'O could not have heard.

It's the gentleman, intelligent, funny, suggestive and dirty bit I was interested in! John, honestly, you should not be so over-concerned with the way you look. The whole bother of appearance; I just don't understand it. I mean, whether people weigh 300 pounds or 200 or 100, whether they're pretty or ugly or tall or short - it won't last either way. People grow old and die. Even Tom Cruise - who, as I said is pretty uncool.

Hear! hear! ...and John is very cool, IMHO *smile* and I can eyeball him and listen to his dulcet tones live and in person. I am a happy person, but he will not be at the games tomorrow - he has radio show till noon our time then has to chaperone a dance in the evening, which does not explain why he cannot come to the Civic and entertain me - O'O will be absent all day working on another guy's house...

I might show up for a short time in the afternoon. But also need to grade papers and take a nap. Here is a classic, timeless piece of wisdom that may deserve a better forum than "Screwed." But this allegedly is MY forum, so I post this as proudly as I post the poems of e.e. cummings and W.B. Yeats and more proudly than my own. The Invitation By Oriah Mountain Dreamer, Native American Elder It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing. It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive. It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain. I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it. I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, or to remember the limitations of being human. It doesn't interest me if the story you're telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself, if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. I want to know if you can be faithful and therefore be trustworthy. I want to know if you can see beauty even when it is not pretty every day, and if you can source your life from God's presence. I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, "Yes!" It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done for the children. It doesn't interest me to know who you are, how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back. It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself, and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

Even if I never meet my S'O, I can be alone with myself as I have for nearly a decade, and even if I talk to myself, I know someone intelligent is listening!

Remember the song "Diana" by Paul Anka? Earlier this year, I wrote some new lyrics for it and recorded it. It became kind of a cult item locally when I played it on the radio--even though my boss hated it and told me to cease and desist after a couple of weeks. I still get requests. Here are the lyrics. Viagra (tune "Diana" by Paul Anka, lyrics by John Burnett (STANZA I) When I'm down and want some love, there's an angel from above Just ten dollars, a blue pill, and it gives me such a thrill... Pretty soon I'm feelin' up, makes me frisky like a pup Oh, please, stay with me, Viagra (STANZA II) Some who've tried it, they have died, but their joy they could not hide and the smile upon their face, undertakers could not erase And their caskets could not close, rigor mortis had arose Oh, Please stay with me Viagra CHORUS Oh, Viagra, it's for sure You're the miracle impotence cure You make me feel so secure Oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh REPEAT STANZA I (repeat final line three times and fade)... lyrics, copyright 1999 John Burnett

Ha--ha!!! The other one was really nice though...

Yes, really, it's too beautiful for "Screwed." Maybe it should be in another conference like "Made Love with Words..."

Never let it be said that ground crews and engineers lack a sense of humor. Here are some actual maintenance complaints/problems, generally known as squawks, recently submitted by Quantas Pilots to maintenance engineers. After attending to the squawks, maintenance crews are required to log the details of the action taken to solve the pilots squawks. (P = The problem logged by the pilot; S = The solution and action taken by the maintenance engineers) P - Left inside main tire almost needs replacement. S - Almost replaced left inside main tire. P - Test flight OK, except autoland very rough. S - Autoland not installed on this aircraft. P - #2 propeller seeping fluid. S- #2 propeller seepage normal - #1, #3, and #4 propellers lack normal seepage. P - Something loose in cockpit. S - Something tightened in cockpit. P - Dead bugs on windshield. S - Live bugs on order. P - Autopilot in altitude-hold mode produces a 200-fpm descent. S - Cannot reproduce problem on ground. P - Evidence of leak on right main landing gear. S - Evidence removed. P - DME volume unbelievably loud. S - Volume set to more believable level. P - Friction locks cause throttles to stick. S - That's what they're there for. P - IFF inoperative. S - IFF always inoperative in OFF mode. P - Number 3 engine missing. S - Engine found on right wing after brief search. P - Aircraft handles funny. S - Aircraft warned to "Straighten Up, Fly Right, and Be Serious." P - Target radar hums. S - Reprogrammed target radar with words.

As an experiment, an engineer, a physicist, and a mathematician are placed in separate rooms and left with a can of food, but no can opener. A day later, the rooms are opened, one-by-one. In the first room, the engineer is snoring, with a battered, opened and emptied can. When asked, he explains that when he got hungry, he beat the can to its failure point. In the second room, the physicist is seen mouthing equations, with a can popped open beside him. When asked, he explains that when he got hungry, he examined the stress points of the can, applied pressure, and "pop!" In the third room, the mathematician is found sweating, and mumbling to himself, "Assume the can is open, assume the can is open..."

ha-ha!!! Great stuff! Where do you get it all??

Maybe a tenth of my stuff is original. I've also got about a half-dozen e-mail correspondents, including Marcia. Some are fellow radio people and some are writers themselves. Stragely enough, no fellow teachers--except for Marcia's ex (who sometimes e-mails me directly, but I usually get his stuff through her). Many of my teaching colleagues consider my humor obsession frivolous, but I do keep my classes entertained generally, as well as informed. Thanks for looking, posting, and asking, Ree!

John! You're kidding...Frank sometimes emails you?! How neat!!! BTW, I saw John this afternoon at the tournament and we talked a little while during which I discovered that when he was in the Navy he was a radio technician who was also a person who parachuted out of perfectly ok planes. (I would imagine it was to set up a base camp complete with communications behind enemy lines or wherever ordered) Tell us about it, John!!!

I could tell you but then I'd have to kill you... A. I like you too much and B. Killing is not my basic nature!

Oh, damn! That would've been interesting. Especially if you did it with bare hands ...

That's "bear" hands. So, technically, they would be paws.

Riette, would that be the worst case you would like to watch somebody die...? I thought we had this settled...;-)

ha-ha! Under bear hands? No, that one sounds rather pleasant to me. I think I'd go for something like Medea when she poisoned old Jason's lover. 'There followed the most horrible sight I have ever seen. Her complexion changed, she staggered to and fro, she tried desperately to run, her limbs were trembling like leaves when the year is failing, and finally managed to sink into her chair.' And then: '...foam furious on her lips, the pupils of her eyes rolled up, and every drop of blood abandoning her skin. From the circlet of beaten gold upon her head there flowed a pure consuming fire while the incomparably beautiful robes, the gifts of your innocent children, began, with slow, efficient savagery, to eat her immaculate white flesh.' It is stunning to hear on stage; my all-time favourite play. Medea is my heroine.

As cool as I think Greek drama is, I wonder if this doesn't belong in "What is the worst way you'd like to see someone die..."

Speaking of death: FELIX THE FLYING FROG, a Parable About Modern Management. Once upon a time, there lived a man named Clarence who had a pet frog named Felix. Clarence lived a modestly comfortable existence on what he earned working at the Wal-Mart, but he always dreamed of being rich. "Felix!" he said one day, hit by sudden inspiration, "We're going to be rich! I will teach you to fly!" Felix, of course, was terrified at the prospect. "I can't fly, you twit! I'm a frog, not a canary!" Clarence, disappointed at the initial response, told Felix: "That negative attitude of yours could be a real problem. I'm sending you to class." So Felix went to a three-day course and learned about problem solving, time management, and effective communication - but nothing about flying. On the first day of the "flying lessons," Clarence could barely control his excitement (and Felix could barely control his bladder). Clarence explained that their apartment building had 15 floors, and each day Felix would jump out of a window, starting with the first floor and eventually getting to the top floor. After each jump, Felix would analyze how well he flew, isolate the most effective flying techniques, and implement the improved process for the next flight. By the time they reached the top floor, Felix would surely be able to fly. Felix pleaded for his life, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. "He just doesn't understand how important this is," thought Clarence. "He can't see the big picture." So, with that, Clarence opened the window and threw Felix out. He landed with a thud. The next day, poised for his second flying lesson, Felix again begged not to be thrown out of the window. Clarence opened his pocket guide to "Managing More Effectively," and showed Felix the part about how one must always expect resistance when introducing new, innovative programs. With that, he threw Felix out the window-THUD! On the third day (at the third floor), Felix tried a different ploy: stalling. He asked for a delay in the "project" until better weather would make flying conditions more favorable. But Clarence was ready for him: He produced a timeline and pointed to the third Milestone and asked. "You don't want to slip up the schedule, do you?" From his training, Felix knew that not jumping today would only mean that he would have to jump TWICE tomorrow. So he just muttered, "OK, yee-ha, let's go." And out the window he went. Now this is not to say that Felix wasn't trying his best. On the fifth day he flapped his legs madly in a vain attempt at flying. On the sixth day, he tied a small red cape around his neck and tried to think "Superman" thoughts. It didn't help. By the seventh day, Felix, accepting his fate, no longer begged for mercy. He simply looked at Clarence and said, "You know you're killing me, don't you?" Clarence pointed out that Felix's performance so far had been less than exemplary, failing to meet any of the milestone goals he had set for him. With that, Felix said quietly, "Shut up and open the window," and he leaped out, taking careful aim at the large jagged rock by the corner of the building. Felix went to that great lily pad in the sky. Clarence was extremely upset, as his project had failed to fly, he hadn't even learned to steer his fall as he dropped like a sack of cement, nor had he heeded Clarence's advice to "Fall smarter, not harder." The only thing left for Clarence to do was to analyze the process and try to determine where it had gone wrong. After much thought, Clarence smiled and said, "Next time, I'm getting a smarter frog!"

WHAAA!!!! I'm SORRY, John!!! I must've gotten the topics mixed up! God, what a horrible thing to have in your topic. Fergive me, I'll do ANYTHING to make it up! Except sell my virginity...

It's okay...I love Medea, too.

OH, that's great! Shall I post the bit where she slays her children now?

I guess this IS SCREWED, isn't it?

At least she does not feed them to her husband...read Coriolanus for a really nasty dinner scene.

Oh...and there is no man on Earth worth the life of my "child"...not even close! I never quite understood that except as some sort of madness...(of which Greek tragedies are full.)

No, no, it WASN'T madness, you see. See, Jason, through her betrayal of Medea, forfeited the 'right' to be the hero of the play - right? So, Euripides, enlightened soul that he was, sort of switched their roles; Medea was the real hero. And as a hero she took on certain qualities traditionally associated with being male. Had she been male and the hero, killing her enemy's children, thereby destroying his household, would have been the most logical way to punish him. IS there anything cooler than hat?? I bet all those guys attending the theatre the first time the play was performed sat there all smug and sure of their place in society as breadwinners and defenders of their country, until Medea cried out, 'I'd rather stand in the front line three times than give birth to one child!' She is the ultimate heroine, and when I grow up I want to be her.

No, no, it WASN'T madness, you see. See, Jason, through his betrayal of Medea, forfeited the 'right' to be the hero of the play - right? So, Euripides, enlightened soul that he was, sort of switched their roles; Medea was the real hero. And as a hero she took on certain qualities traditionally associated with being male. Had she been male and the hero, killing her enemy's children, thereby destroying his household, would have been the most logical way to punish him. IS there anything cooler than hat?? I bet all those guys attending the theatre the first time the play was performed sat there all smug and sure of their place in society as breadwinners and defenders of their country, until Medea cried out, 'I'd rather stand in the front line three times than give birth to one child!' She is the ultimate heroine, and when I grow up I want to be her.

Enlightenment! You are right, of course. The fall of the house of Atreus was a many-fold tragedy, and I would also liked to have been in the audience to watch the smug men. It makes me wonder about the man who wrote it...but, that is why it is still relevant and stuff written today will be forgotten tomorrow!

Wow...feminist historical and tragedic discourse...although I'm impressed, I probably should bow out completely, being male and all. Except to say that Coriolanus was not some of Shakespeare's better work, madness or no madness. That's why Hamlet is still performed and filmed extensively, and Coriolanus, except for a few Shakespeare festivals, is basically consigned to academic study by those who need to get a life (which, of course, included me, as an English major).

It was good enough for Olivier to keep it in rep when he was at Old Vic... But, you are correct. It is not a great play and it is not a good evening at the theater with which you leave having experienced catharsis or enlightenment.

Olivier could read a laundry list and make it dramatic. So can Kenneth Branagh, Patrick Stewart or James Earl Jones. I'd pay to see them in anything, Coriolanus included! ;)

Absolutely! And there is a large contingent of hightly intelligent ladies who would add Colin Firth to that list. I shall not commit myself on this issue, however.

Your views of the issue of CF are already well known by Springeurs!

Moonshadow Medicine A Mellow Monday Morning Memo for a Lazy Labor Day Weekend Ray Bard is the owner of Bard Press, widely considered to be the most prestigious publisher of business books in America. Like you and me, Ray Bard lives a frantic, hurly-burly life with far too much to do each day and too little time to do it. Recently, Ray clicked my e-mail address by mistake and I was accidentally treated to a rare insight into the mind of this most elite and powerful of publishers. My only question is "Who is Maria?" Maria, Back today and swamped.... Sorry to be so long getting back to you. On Tuesday I woke up and asked myself, "Do I have to go to work today?"...the answer was "no." Ate a quick bite of breakfast, pointed my auto west. One advantage of living on the eastern edge of the Texas Hill Country is that when you head west, you're almost immediately in "The West," and can feel the spirit of the space. There is an old used bookstore about 200 miles away in a town called San Angelo, where stacks and stacks of books from one doorway to another lead to little, crowded rooms packed with tomes from the past. Those books were calling me. The Texas Hill Country is full of rolling hills, live oaks, cedars, rocks of all sizes and lots of livestock, with the occasional human here and there. Most towns have seen their day...shriveling in the hot sun...peeling paint on the houses, some vacant, some not. I stop for gas in tiny Eden, which has a new penal facility -- Texas is big on locking up folks who used nasty drugs and do other things that offend sensible people -- then pass through booming Brady, pop. 5,946, which is getting ready for its annual World Championship Goat BBQ contest on Labor Day weekend. As I get closer to San Angelo, the Hill Country begins to turn into farm country...long rows of cotton, all green and alive, as far as the eye can see on this flatland fed with water gushing forth fro hundreds of feet below the surface. Soon arrived at my old haunt. Talked awhile about the Wild West with the bookstore owner, then asked him where I could find the best chicken-fried steak in town. He directed me to the Dunbar Cafe. Sure enough, a sweet, red haired beauty wearing blue jeans and a big smile brought me two huge slabs of breaded beef with lots of gravy on the side. At the end I was "plumb full," but was somehow able to manage a slice of their homemade coconut cream pie. One of the things that wandering off like this does is to let me see how the rest of the world lives. How that cordial waitress treats everyone like we are really being served. An old couple, barely able to walk, joins the bustle of the place, looking for their usual table. My red-haired angel of country Epicurean delights treats them really special, making sure their every need is catered to...their wish is her command. The sun is still up and I'm hankering for the wide-open spaces again, so I head south to see how far I can make it before it's time to pull over for the evening. Local travelers in pickup trucks, old beat-up autos from Detroit (not many foreign cars out here), and clean Cadillacs wave a greeting as they approach. Usually just a forefinger raised off the steering wheel or some other small signal that says "howdy." An important protocol of the road out West. I'm about out of gas (me, not my auto) by the time I hit the city limits of El Dorado (pop. 2,019). The Shaw Motel (only one in town) has a Vacancy sign lit so I pull in. The squeaky screen door to the office leads me to a small registration window that has an old-fashioned ringer on the side. I push the white button and it goes zzz...zzz? A little white-haired lady, no more than four feet tall and at least eighty years old appears and gently offers me her evening greeting. I, in my best West Texas m nner, offer her the same and inquire about the cost of lodging at her fine place. She replies "Twenty-five dollars and forty-nine cents". I say, "Mighty fine," and fish my money clip out of my pocket (people out here are partial to cash). She offers a receipt, which I decline. As I head out the door, key in hand, she tells me to be sure to let her know if there's anything that I need. I tell her thanks, but that I'm pretty sure I've found what I needed. Ray Bard

BE ON THE LOOK OUT FOR THE FOLLOWING VIRUSES: CLINTON VIRUS Gives you a 7-inch hard drive with NO memory. VIAGRA VIRUS Makes a new hard drive out of an old floppy. LEWINSKY VIRUS Sucks all the memory out of your computer, then e-mails everyone about what it did. RONALD REAGAN VIRUS Saves your data, but forgets where it is stored. MIKE TYSON VIRUS Quits after two bytes. OPRAH WINFREY VIRUS Your 300 MB hard drive suddenly shrinks to 100 MB, then slowly expands to 200 MB. DR. JACK KEVORKIAN VIRUS Deletes all old files. ELLEN DEGENERES VIRUS Disks can no longer be inserted. TITANIC VIRUS (A strain of the Lewinsky Virus) Your whole computer goes down (but I think "we go on"). DISNEY VIRUS Everything in your computer goes Goofy :). PROZAC VIRUS Screws up your RAM but your processor doesn't care. JOEY BUTTAFUOCO VIRUS Only attacks minor files. ARNOLD SCHWARZENEGGER VIRUS Terminates some files, leaves, but IT WILL BE BAAAAACK. LORENA BOBBIT VIRUS Re-formats your hard drive into a 3.5 inch floppy, then discards it through Windows.

Shop early for Christmas:

Yet another sign that the apocalypse is upon us!: The World Wrestling Federation has a new theme restaurant opening up in New York City... The Top 12 Menu Items at the WWF Theme Restaurant [ The Top 5 List www.topfive.com ] [ Copyright 1999 by Chris White ] 12. Fried Potatoes Slivers that Would Be French Fries if the French Weren't Such Wusses 11. Masked Potatoes 10. Hulk Hoagie 9. Chili Con Carnage 8. Turnbuckleberry Pie a la Moan 7. Omelet made with Egg Substitute and I Can't Believe It's Not Butter, served with a Side of Meatless Soy Protein Sausages 6. Sham Pain 5. Veal Creatine 4. Raging Roidberry Milkshakes 3. In Your Open-Face Pork Butt Sandwich 2. "Definitely Not Fake!" Crab Salad and Topfive.com's Number 1 Menu Item at the WWF Theme Restaurant... Jesse "The Vegetable" Tempura

I got this one (and the one about viruses) from a fellow Springeur who liked them but thought them inappropriate for her site (guess who!) Mahalo (thanks!) A fellow enters a confessional. "Father, he said, "forgive me for I have sinned." The priest asked, "What did you do, my son?" "I lusted," the fellow replied. "Tell me about it," the priest said. The fellow then related his story. "Father, I am a delivery man for UPS. Yesterday I was making a delivery in the affluent section of the city. When I rang the bell, the door opened and there stood the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. She had long blonde hair and eyes like emeralds. She was dressed in a sheer dressing gown that showed her perfect figure. And, she asked if I would like to come in." "And, what did you do, my son?" asked the priest. "Father, I did not go in the house but I lusted. Oh, how I lusted," replied the man. "Your sin has been forgiven," replied the priest. "You will get your reward in heaven, my son." "A reward, father? What do you think my reward might be?" the fellow asked. The priest replied, "I think a bale of hay would be appropriate, you jackass."

LOL LOL LOL!

Stupid people should have to wear signs that just say, "I'm Stupid". That way you wouldn't rely on them, would you? You wouldn't ask them anything. It would be like, "Excuse me...oops, never mind. I didn't see your sign." Before my wife and I moved from Texas to California our house was full of boxes and there was a U-Haul truck in our driveway. My friend comes over and says, "Hey, you moving?" "Nope. We just pack our stuff up once or twice a week to see how many boxes it takes. Here's your sign." A couple of months ago I went fishing with a buddy of mine, we pulled his boat into the dock, I lifted up this big 'ol stringer of bass and this idiot on the dock goes, "Hey, y'all catch all them fish?" "Nope. Talked 'em into giving up. Here's your sign." I was watching one of those animal shows on the Discovery Channel. There was a guy inventing a shark bite suit. And there's only one way to test it. "Alright Jimmy, you got that shark suit on, it looks good... They want you to jump into this pool of sharks, and you tell us if it hurts when they bite ou." "Well, all right, but hold my sign. I don't wanna lose it." Last time I had a flat tire, I pulled my truck into a roadside gas stations. The attendant walks out, looks at my truck,looks at me, and I SWEAR he said, "Tire go flat?" I couldn't resist. I said, "Nope. I was driving around and those other three just swelled right up on me. Here's your sign." We were trying to sell our car about a year ago. A guy came over to the house and drove the car around for about 45 minutes. We get back to the house, he gets out of the car, reaches down and grabs the exhaust pipe, then goes, "Darn, that's hot!" See? If he'd been wearing his sign, I could have stopped him.

The Top 11 Signs Someone's Been Using Your Hotmail Account [ The Top 5 List www.topfive.com ] [ Copyright 1999 by Chris White ] 11. "Honey, why is an 18-wheeler from Amazon.com backing into our driveway?" 10. One Secret Service agent is sitting on your head while another is slapping cuffs on you. 9. Apparently, your flame war with DonCorleone@mafia.com is about to turn ugly. 8. When you log on, your computer says "You've got lawsuits!" 7. Your inbox is filled with porno and you're not a porno kind of person. 6. You're suddenly getting more SPAM than the Hormel outlet store. 5. Sotheby's says the Rembrandt is yours and that you now owe them $71,000,000 and change. 4. You now have 130,000 ClubTop5 subscriptions and the list moderator is on the cover of Business Week. 3. Terse "Knock it off, Oedipus" email from your Mom. 2. Your wife calls you at the office to report that Pogdi, your Pakistani mail-order bride, has arrived. and Topfive.com's Number 1 Sign Someone's Been Using Your Hotmail Account... "The resistance welcomes your involvement. Your contact information has been forwarded to a local insurgent who will bring supplies and reinforcements to you immediately."

ha-ha!!! You're a disturbed person, aren't you?

Yes...I can't distinguish auburn from carrot. At least I can't if I know it will get a rise out of you! *SMILE. You're on CANDID CURSOR*

Top 10 Reasons God Created Eve: 10. God worried that Adam would frequently become lost in the garden because he would not ask for directions. 9. God knew that Adam would one day require someone to locate and hand him the TV remote. 8. God knew that Adam would never go out and get himself a new fig leaf when his seat wore out and would therefore need Eve to get one for him. 7. God knew that Adam would never be able to make a doctor's, dentist or haircut appointment for himself. 6. God knew that Adam would never be able to remember which night to put the garbage on the curb. 5. God knew that if the world was to be populated, men would never be able to handle the pain and discomfort of childbearing. 4. As Keeper of the Garden Adam would never remember where he left his tools. 3. Apparently, Adam needed someone to blame his troubles on when God caught him hiding in the garden. 2. As the Bible says, It is not good for man to be alone! And the number ONE reason that God created Eve: When God finished the creation of Adam, He stepped back, scratched His head and said, "I can do better than THAT!"

A man takes the day off work and decides to go out golfing. He is on the second hole when he notices a frog sitting next to the green. He thinks nothing of it and is about to shoot when he hears, "Ribbit, 9 Iron." The man looks around and doesn't see anyone. Again, he hears, "Ribbit 9 Iron." He looks at the frog and decides to prove the frog wrong, puts the club away, and grabs a 9 iron. Boom! He hits it 10 inches from the cup. He is shocked. He says to the frog, "Wow, that's amazing! You must be a lucky frog, eh? The frog replies, "Ribbit. Lucky frog." The man decides to take the frog with him to the next hole. "What do you think, frog?," the man asks. "Ribbit, 3 wood." The guy takes out a 3 wood and, Boom! Hole in one. The man is befuddled and doesn't know what to say. By the end of the day, the man golfed the best game of his life and asks the frog, "OK where to next?" The frog replies, "Ribbit. Las Vegas." They go to Las Vegas and the guy says, "OK frog, now what?" The frog says, "Ribbit, Roulette." Upon approaching the roulette table, the man asks, "What do you think I should bet?" The frog replies, "Ribbit, $3000, black 6." Now, this is a million-to-one shot to win, but after the golf game, the man figures what the heck. Boom! Tons of cash comes sliding back across the table. The man takes his winnings and buys the best room in the hotel. He sits the frog down and says, "Frog, I don't know how to repay you. You've won me all this money and I am forever grateful." The frog replies, "Ribbit, Kiss Me." The man figures why not, since after all the frog did for him, he deserves it. With a kiss, the frog turns into a gorgeous 15-year-old girl. "And that, your honor, is how the girl ended up in my room. So help me God or my name isn't William Jefferson Clinton!"

We tried so hard to make things better for our kids that we made them worse. For my grandchildren, I'd like better. I'd really like for them to know about hand-me down clothes and homemade ice cream and leftover meat loaf sandwiches. I really would. My cherished grandson, I hope you learn humility by being humiliated, and that you learn honesty by being cheated. I hope you learn to make your bed and mow the lawn and wash the car. And I really hope nobody gives you a brand new car when you are sixteen. I hope you have a job by then. It will be good if at least one time you can see a baby calf born and your old dog put to sleep. I hope you get a black eye fighting for something you believe in. I hope you have to share a bedroom with your younger brother. And it's all right if you have to draw a line down the middle of the room, but when he wants to crawl under the covers with you because he's scared, I hope you let him. When you want to see a Disney movie and your little brother wants to tag along, I hope you'll let him. I hope you have to walk uphill to school with your friends and that you live in a town where you can do it safely. On rainy days when you have to catch a ride I hope your driver doesn't have to drop you two blocks away so you won't be seen riding with someone as uncool as your mom. If you want a slingshot, I hope your dad teaches you how to make one instead of buying one. I hope you learn to dig in the dirt and read books. When you learn to use those newfangled computers, I hope you also learn to add and subtract in your head. I hope you get razzed by your friends when you have your first crush on a girl, and when you talk back to your mother that you learn what Ivory soap tastes like. May you skin your knee climbing a mountain, burn you hand on stove and stick your tongue on a frozen flagpole. I hope you get sick when someone blows cigar smoke in your face. I don't care if you try beer once, but I hope you don't like it. And if a friend offers you dope or a joint, I hope you realize he is not your friend. I sure hope you make time to sit on a porch with your grandpa and go fishing with your uncle. May you feel sorrow at a funeral and the joy of holidays. I hope your mother punishes you when you throw a baseball through a neighbor's window and that she hugs you nd kisses you at Christmas time when you give her a plaster of Paris mold of your hand. These things I wish for you - tough times and disappointment, hard work and happiness. Written with a pen by your Grandfather, Paul Harvey...Good Day!

Ten Simple Rules for Dating My Daughter Rule One: If you pull into my driveway and honk you'd better be delivering a package, because you're sure not picking anything up. Rule Two: You do not touch my daughter in front of me. You may glance at her, so long as you do not peer at anything below her neck. If you cannot keep your eyes or hands off of my daughter's body, I will remove them. Rule Three: I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys of your age to wear their trousers so loosely that they appear to be falling off their hips. Please don't take this as an insult, but you and all of your friends are complete idiots. Still, I want to be fair and open minded about this issue, so I propose this compromise: You may come to the door with your underwear showing and your pants ten sizes too big, and I will not object. However, in order to ensure that your clothes do not, in fact, come off during the course of your date with my daughter, I will take my electric nail gun and fasten your trousers securely in place to your waist. Rule Four: I'm sure you've been told that in today's world, sex without utilizing a "barrier method" of some kind can kill you. Let me elaborate, when it comes to sex, I am the barrier, and I will kill you. Rule Five: It is usually understood that in order for us to get to know each other, we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day. Please do not do this. The only information I require from you is an indication of when you expect to have my daughter safely back at my house, and the only word I need from you on this subject is "early." Rule Six: I have no doubt you are a popular fellow, with many opportunities to date other girls. This is fine with me as long as it is okay with my daughter. Otherwise, once you have gone out with my little girl, you will continue to date no one but her until she is finished with you. If you make her cry, I will make you cry. Rule Seven: As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my daughter to appear, and more than an hour goes by, do not sigh and fidget. If you want to be on time for the movie, you should not be dating. My daughter is putting on her makeup, a process that can take longer than painting the Golden Gate Bridge. Instead of just standing there, why don't you do something useful, like changing the oil in my car? Rule Eight: The following places are not appropriate for a date with my daughter: Places where there are beds, sofas, or anything softer than a wooden stool. Places where there are no parents, policemen, or nuns within eyesight. Places where there is darkness. Places where there is dancing, holding hands, or happiness. Places where the ambient temperature is warm enough to induce my daughter to wear shorts, tank tops, midriff T-shirts, or anything other than overalls, a sweater, and a goose down parka - zipped up to her throat. Movies with a strong romantic or sexual theme are to be avoided; movies which features chain saws are okay. Hockey games are okay. Old folks homes are better. Rule Nine: Do not lie to me. I may appear to be a potbellied, balding, middle-aged, dimwitted has-been. But on issues relating to my daughter, I am the all- knowing, merciless god of your universe. If I ask you where you are going and with whom, you have one chance to tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I have a shotgun, a shovel, and five acres behind the house. Do not trifle with me. Rule Ten: Be afraid. Be very afraid. It takes very little for me to mistake the sound of your car in the driveway for a chopper coming in over a rice paddy near Hanoi. When my Agent Orange starts acting up, the voices in my head frequently tell me to clean the guns as I wait for you to bring my daughter home. As soon as you pull into the driveway you should exit your car with both hands in plain sight. Speak the perimeter password, announce in a clear voice that you have brought my daughter home safely and ear y, then return to your car - there is no need for you to come inside. The camouflaged face at the window is mine.

If George W. Bush is elected, Clinton will achieve his proper place in history as the president who was sandwiched between two Bushes!

closing my own damn HTML tag, sorry ar$e that I am!

An old man was sitting on a bench at the mall when a young man with spiked hair came over and sat down beside him. The boy's hair was yellow, green, orange and purple. He also had black makeup around his eyes. The old man couldn't help but stare at him. Finally, the boy said, "What's the matter old man--didn't you ever do anything wild in your life?" "Well, yes I have," the old man answered. "I got drunk once and had sex with a parrot. I was just wondering if you were my son."

This guy owns a horse stud farm, and gets a call from a friend. "I know this midget with a speech impediment who wants to buy a horse. I'm sending him over." The midget arrives, and the owner asks if he wants a male or female horse. "A female horth," the midget replies. So the owner shows him one. "Nith looking horth, can I thee her mouth?" The owner picks up the midget and shows him the horse's mouth. "Nith mouth. Can I thee her eyeth?" Again, the owner picks up the midget and shows him the eyes. "Ok, what about the earth?" By now the owner is getting a bit irritated, but he picks up the midget one more time and shows him the ears. "OK, finally, I'd like to thee her twat." With that, the owner roughly picks up the midget and shoves his head up the horse's twat, then pulls him out. Shaking his head, the midget says, "perhapth I should rephrath. I'd like to thee her run!"

Ooooh, John...funny!!!

I thought tho.

hmmmmmmm...never noticed his speach impediment before. Must have been due to a surfeit of watching horses twat...*lol*

...speech, either...

remember "peech impediment"?

Indeed, I did...just as my copy was disappearing into permanent immortality, *lol* How could I forget?! (If we go to that game tonight, the Alums never buy anything, there is nothing to sell except tournament left-overs. Someone dropped the ball...and it was not this volunteer. I just may have to watch the game!)

Big Daddy B.T.?

None other than...! Wait till you see where the NAIA banners are. They were taken down and cleaned then rehung by BD-BT and guess who. Neither of them is a light-weight (huge understatement) and they were climbimg little ladders up to the roof rafters. Some day...!

Scary.

..and watching it happen was not fun, either. Sadly, BT was in worse shape than O'O who thinks he is still 15 yrs old (I'm not going to tell him he's not...not when he performs like one !) Think of the dent in that already-warped maple floor they would have left!

O'O looked like he had lost some weight and looked pretty darn solid to me last time I saw him, and if he performs like a 15-year-old, lucky you (who needs Viagra???)

Indeed! Considering the capricious nature of my recent past I think I shall tend the home fires lest they extinguish themselves. Now, if he would only let me have a friend or two... We do not get ESPN2 here, do we? I am listening to the UT - Rutgers game on Broadcast.com (half time and it has been all UT 28-6)

If I keep repeating what I wrote up there on 98 perhaps it will become fact, or at least I will be able to delude myself into believing it. I told someone he was a poet in bed...Edgar Allen Poe...! After this many years he keeps loving me; there is definitely something to be said for that!

Off to grab something to eat then to the UHH gym. See you later!