OooOOo. o O `OooOOo. o.OOOo. Oo .oOOOo.
O `O O o o `o O `o oO o o
o O o O O O o O O O.
O .o OoOooOOo o .O O o o' `OOoo.
oOooOO' o O OOooOO' .oOo. o O `O
o O o o o OooO' O o o
O o o O O O o .O' O. .O
o' o O O o `OoO' OooOO' `oooO'
OooOOo. o O O o o. O o. O ooOoOOo .oOOOo.
O `O O o o O Oo o Oo o O o o
o O o O O o O O O O O O o O.
O .o OoOooOOo o o O o o O o o O `OOoo.
oOooOO' o O o O O o O O o O o .oOo. `O
o O o O O o O O o O O O OooO' o
O o o `o Oo o Oo o Oo O O O. .O
o' o O `OoooO'O O `o O `o ooOOoOo `OoO' `oooO'
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
# 20 Misc.
- The _REAL_ super-highway
- Lawyers
- prisoners
- The Last Drop
- Thinking
*****************************************************************************
There it is again. Some clueless fool talking about the "Information
Superhighway." They don't know didley about the net. It's nothing like a
superhighway. That's a rotten metaphor.
Suppose the metaphor ran in the other direction. Suppose the highways
were like the net. . .
A highway hundreds of lanes wide. Most with pitfalls for potholes.
Privately operated bridges and overpasses. No highway patrol. A couple of
rent-a-cops on bicycles with broken whistles. 500 member vigilante posses
with nuclear weapons. A minimum of 237 on ramps at every intersection.
No signs. Wanna get to Ensenada? Holler out the window at a passing truck
to ask directions. Ad hoc traffic laws. Some lanes would vote to make use
by a single-occupant-vehicle a capital offense on Monday through Friday
between 7:00 and 9:00. Other lanes would just shoot you without a trial for
talking on a car phone.
AOL would be a giant diesel-smoking bus with hundreds of ebola
victims on board throwing dead wombats and rotten cabbage at the other
cars, most of which have been assembled at home from kits. Some are
built around 2.5 horsepower lawnmower engines with a top speed of nine
miles an hour. Others burn nitrogylcerin and idle at 120.
No license plates. World War II bomber nose art instead.
Terrifying paintings of huge teeth or vampire eagles. Bumper mounted
machine guns. Flip somebody the finger on this highway and get a white
phosphorus grenade up your tailpipe. Flatbed trucks cruise around with
anti-aircraft missile batteries to shoot down the traffic helicopter.
Little kids on tricycles with squirtguns filled with hydrochloric acid
switch lanes without warning.
NO OFFRAMPS. None.
Now that's the way to run an Interstate Highway system.
**********************************************************************
From the Salt Lake Tribune:
"Lawyers typically aren't funny -- unless by accident"
`Case in point: The following questions from lawyers were taken from
official court records nationwide...
1) Was that the same nose you broke as a child?
2) Now, doctor, isn't it true that when a person dies in his sleep, in
most cases he just passes quietly away and doesn't know anything about
it until the next morning?
3) Q: What happened then?
A: He told me, he says, 'I have to kill you because you can
identify me.'
Q: Did he kill you?
4) Was it you or your brother that was killed in the war?
5) The youngest son, the 20-year-old, how old is he?
6) Were you alone or by yourself?
7) How long have you been a French Canadian?
8) Do you have any children or anything of that kind?
9) Q: I show you exhibit 3 and ask you if you recognize that picture.
A: That's me.
Q: Were you present when that picture was taken?
10) Were you present in court this morning when you were sworn in?
11) Q: Now, Mrs. Johnson, how was your first marriage terminated?
A: By death.
Q: And by whose death was it terminated?
12) Q: Do you know how far pregnant you are now?
A: I'll be three months on November 8.
Q: Apparently, then, the date of conception was August 8?
A: Yes.
Q: What were you doing at that time?
13) Q: Mrs. Jones, do you believe you are emotionally stable?
A: I used to be.
Q: How many times have you committed suicide?
14) So you were gone until you returned?
15) Q: She had three children, right?
A: Yes.
Q: How many were boys?
A: None.
Q: Were there girls?
16) You don't know what it was, and you didn't know what it looked
like, but can you describe it?
17) Q: You say that the stairs went down to the basement?
A: Yes.
Q: And these stairs, did they go up also?
18) Q: Have you lived in this town all your life?
A: Not yet.
19) A Texas attorney, realizing he was on the verge of unleashing a
stupid question, interrupted himself and said, "Your Honor, I'd like to
strike the next question".
20) Q: Do you recall approximately the time that you examined the body
of Mr. Edington at the rose Chapel?
A: It was in the evening. The autopsy started about 8:30 p.m.
Q: And Mr. Edington was dead at the time, is that correct?
A: No, you stupid ______, he was sitting on the table wondering why
I was doing an autopsy!
***************************************************************************
The Kommandant of the POW camp gathers all the prisioners together and
says "Today for you I haff gut news und I haff bad news; Ze gut news
iz zat you are all going to Paris,you vill be shtaying in ze best
hotels, you vill be rubbing shoulders vit all the best peoples.
Ze bad news iz ...You vill all be going as SOAP!"
***************************************************************************
The following appeared in the letters to the Editor in the European
editions of the Stars & Stripes newpaper.
The Stars & Stripes is the daily newspaper for the US military stationed
overseas.
TROUBLE BREWING
About two months ago, while brewing myself a cup of coffee, I noticed
something peculiar on the label. It states, "good to the last drop."
since then, one question has plagued my mind.
I have made various attempts to solve the riddle. I've sent samples of
the coffee to several research institutes, but no reply. I've written to
my congressmen, yet still no answer. I've even written to the president
on this matter; this time only threats of incarceration.
I have taken matters into my own hands and started supports group
meetings, but no one will attend. I've tried brewing the coffee with
many different filters and coffee makers.
I've just about lost my family, friends, sanity and, most important my
appetite. So now in my hour of need, I come to you for help. What I
would like to know is: What is wrong is that last drop?
Pfc. Eddie Lopez
Operation joint Endeavor
Lukavac, Bosnia
****************************************************************************
CONFESSIONS OF A HEAVY THINKER
------------------------------
It started out innocently enough. I began to think at parties
now and then to loosen up. Inevitably though, one thought led to another,
and soon I was more than just a social thinker.
I began to think alone - "to relax," I told myself - but I
knew it wasn't true. Thinking became more and more important to me, and
finally
I was thinking all the time.
I began to think on the job. I knew that thinking and
employment don't mix, but I couldn't stop myself.
I began to avoid friends at lunchtime so I could read Thoreau
and Kafka. I would return to the office dizzied and confused, asking,
"What is it exactly we do here?"
I soon had a reputation as a heavy thinker. One day the boss
called me in. He said, "Skippy, I like you, and it hurts me to say this,
but your thinking has become a real problem. If you don't stop
hinking on
the job, you'll have to find another job." This gave me a lot to think
about.
Things weren't going so great at home either. One evening I
turned off the TV and asked my wife about the meaning of life. She spent
the night at her mother's.
I came home early after my conversation with the boss.
"Lambchop," I confessed, "I've been thinking..."
"I know you've been thinking," she said, "and I want a
divorce."
"But Poopsie, surely it's not that serious."
"It is serious," she said, lower lip aquiver. "You think as
much as college professors, and college professors don't make any money,
so if you keep on thinking we won't have any money!"
"That's a faulty syllogism," I said impatiently, and she began
to cry. I'd had enough. "I'm going to the library," I snarled as I
stomped
out the door.
I headed for the library, in the mood for some Nietzsche, with
a PBS station on the radio. I roared into the parking lot and ran up
to the big glass doors... and they didn't open. The library was closed.
To this day, I believe that a Higher Power was looking out for
me that night.
As I sank to the ground scrabbling at the unfeeling glass,
whimpering for Zarathustra, a poster caught my eye. "Friend, is heavy
thinking ruining your life?" it asked. You probably recognize that line.
It comes from the standard Thinker's Anonymous poster.
Which is why I am what I am today: a recovering thinker. I
never miss a TA meeting. At each meeting we watch a noneducational
video; last week it was "Porky's." Then we share experiences about how
we avoided thinking since the last meeting.
I still have my job, and things are a lot better at home.
Life just seemed... easier, somehow, as soon as I stopped thinking.
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