KAREL'S CHEESE HOUSE

Sam has been in the computer business for 25 years and is finally sick of the stress. He quits his job and buys 50 acres of land in Vermont as far away from humanity as possible.

Sam sees the postman once a week and gets groceries once a month. Otherwise it's total peace and quiet. After six months or so of almost total isolation, he's finishing dinner when someone knocks on his door. He opens it and there is a big, bearded Vermonter standing there.

'Name's Enoch... Your neighbor from four miles over the ridge... Having a party Saturday... thought you'd like to come.'

'Great,' says Sam, 'after six months of this I'm ready to meet some local folks. Thank you.'

As Enoch is leaving he stops, 'Gotta warn you there's gonna be some drinkin!'

'Not a problem... after 25 years in the computer business, I can do that with the best of them.'

Again, as he starts to leave Enoch stops. 'More 'n' likely gonna be some fightin', too.'

Damn, Sam thinks... tough crowd. 'Well, I get along with people. I'll be there. Thanks again.'

Once again Enoch turns from the door. 'I've seen some wild sex at these parties, too.'

'Now that's not a problem' says Sam, 'Remember I've been alone for six months! I'll definitely be there ... by the way, what should I wear to the party?'

Enoch stops in the door again and says 'Whatever you want, it's just gonna be the two of us!'

(NOTE FROM THE LEGAL DEPARTMENTThe activities described in this columnare dangerous and stupid and possibly illegal and should be performed only by trained humor professionals who are good at sneaking around.This newspaper assumes no responsibility or liability for any injuries, deaths, maimings, cripplings, eyes getting poked out, pregnancies, fires, riots, ointments or suppositories that may or may not occur as a result of some moron attempting any of these activities or any other actions, forfeitures, debentures, indemnifications, and such other big scary legal words as we may or may not think up at some future point in time.Thank you.)

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For more than a year now, alert readers have been sending me alarming newspaper articles about the "potato gun," a bazooka-sized device that can shoot a potato several hundred yards at speeds up to 1,000 feet per second. To give you an idea how fast that is, an ordinary potato, on its own, will rarely travel more than four feet per day, even during the height of mating season.

Potato guns -- which have already been banned in some municipalities -- can be easily made from plastic pipe available in any plumbing supply store; the explosive force comes from ordinary hair spray, which is ignited by an electrical spark.Needless to say I will not provide any specific details concerning how to construct these devices, because a great many young people read this column, and they already know how to construct these devices.

Anyway, I recently got a fax from an individual whom I will identify here only as "Buzz Fleischman, 810 Pinecrest Drive, Miami Springs, Fla. 33166, telephone (305) 885-4817."Buzz, who makes his living performing humor at corporate meetings and other functions, and who by the way current- ly has some openings on his calendar, informed me that he had constructed a potato gun, and was willing to demonstrate it for the purpose of helping me, as a responsible adult, better understand just how alarming this menace is.

We decided to fire the potato gun from the roof of my place of employ- ment, The Miami Herald (motto "We Are Still Keeping An Eye On Gary Hart"). Let me stress that The Miami Herald is a responsible institution that does NOT ordinarily allow people to shoot potatoes from its premises.We were able to do it only because we met the very strict requirement of not asking for permission.It was a Covert Operation, during which we addressed each other by code names except when we forgot.(For ease of memorization, we both used the code name "Eagle One.")

Once we got up on the Herald roof, we decided to fire the potato gun toward Biscayne Bay.Our other option was to fire it toward the city of Miami, which would have been a serious mistake because hundreds of local residents would undoubtedly have fired back (and not with potatoes, either).

To load the gun, Buzz stuffed a potato into the barrel and shoved it down with a pole, then sprayed some Aqua Net Super Hold hair spray into the detonation chamber.He then aimed the gun at the bay and pressed the igni- tion device, and FWOOOM, the potato came blasting out of the gun and went way way WAAAAY out over the water and landed approximately in Portugal.

As responsible adults, Buzz an I were very alarmed by this demonstra- tion.We shot off a bunch more potatoes to see if we would continue to be alarmed, and we were.We also got excellent results with an onion. But as any reputable scientist will tell you, the "acid test" of the alarmingness of this type of device is what happens when you shoot a Barbie doll out of it.We used the "Gymnast Barbie" model, which comes with a little gold medal.First we loaded a potato into the gun, then we put Gymnast Barbie into the end of the barrel, with just her head and hairstyle sticking out.Then we pointed the potato gun straight up and FWOOOM up went Barbie, high in the sky, smiling perkily, waving her arms and legs gymnastically around inside a cloud of potato atoms before finally landing in a really unladylike pose.

Needless to say these results were extremely alarming.Because if the potato gun can be used to shoot Barbie dolls, then it is only a matter of time before some fiendish criminal mind thinks of using one to shoot a Kellogg's strawberry Pop-Tart.So we tried that, too.It was pretty dis- appointing.The gun made a noise like "phoo" and spat Pop-Tart fragments a short, nonalarming distance.

Nevertheless as concerned adults we all need to become wrought up about this menace.People should form organizations and write angry letters. Congress should hold hearings.The Clinton administration should announce a definite policy and then change it.Maybe the Warren Commission should get back together.Also the Defense Department should probably go on Red Alert, because any day now Portugal is going to start shooting back.

A ventriloquist is working down South and during his show a hick stands up and yells,"HEY YOU! ON STAGE! You been making smart-ass remarks about us southerners being stupid all night long! We're not all stupid ya know!"

"Relax" said the ventriloquist, "They're just jokes!"

"I'm not talking to you, sir!" The hick replied "I'm talking to that little bastard sitting on your knee!"

In the beginning, there was nothing but Apple. And the PC was without form and void, and the darkness was on the face of its hard drive. And Bill said, Let there be DOS: And there was DOS. And Bill looked upon it, and it was good, and with it the PC slew the Apple. And DOS grew and grew, until its number was legion if you counted the decimal points, and still it was good.

And Bill grew large with ambition, and he decreed there should be a processor of words; and lo, there was Word. And Bill sayeth, Let there be a thingy for the crunching of numbers, and lo, there was Excel, and did his kingdom grow apace.

But there had arisen in the land the thing called Macintosh, sprung from the intransigent Apple-men, and Bill looked upon it, and it was better

Rapidly did he decree that Word should be made to run upon it, and after that Excel, and then all the other fruits of his efforts, but still he was wrathful.

So Bill did order his minions to come forth with Windows, and when they did, he looked upon it, and it was bad.

So he sent them back to try again, assuring all the world they would get it right this time, yet they did not.

Unrelenting, Bill forced yet a third mighty blow, and when it came forth, Bill did order his trumpets to blow, and his chorus to sing, and, his criers to cry, until the din could be heard throughout the land; and when he looked upon this third version of Windows, he saw it was not all that great, but like hotcakes did it sell.

And thus did Bill gloat, for the world proclaimed he had matched the lowly Macintosh, and his praises were sung throughout the land.

And so he ordered another, mightier, more magnificent version made, and his henchmen and henchwomen did labor hard.

Still it was not forthcoming in the year promised, nor the year promised next, and rumors did abound, and magazines did overflow with secret peeks, and columnists did heap their scorn upon it. And came the minions of the Justice Department, bent upon proving Bill monopolous, yet before his wrath did they quail, and proclaim him innocent, mostly.

And that which was once called Chicago became known as Windows 95, and the suspense built throughout the land, and Bill, remembering what had gone before, set about building a great Hype.

Into his Hype he put the greatest mouths of the land, and scattered the fruits of his profits so heavily that he bought hosts of angels to sing, and Rolling Stones songs, and trumpets and horns and drums without number. As the time of birthing grew nigh, he purchased television time without end, and appeared thereon himself, and bought entire editions of newspapers to give away unto the faithful, and traveling circuses to visit each great city.

And so when Windows 95 was born did hysteria rule the land, as the choirs sang and the trumpets and horns did blare and the televisions and the newspapers charge their followers to go forth and buy.

Heeding this, the populace did rush to the marketplace at the stroke of midnight, when even the cock doth sleep, and did push and shove and come even to blows the better to secure their own copies lest they be thought ignorant, or uncool, or hamsters in the eyes of Bill.

And Bill looked upon what he had wrought, and he giggled, and rubbeth his hands together, and even in the moment of his triumph, began to think of Next Time.

10.. Has posters of creepy Newsweek covers with "Doe" and "Lewinsky" over his/her bed.

9.. Sings the ending to the Flintstones as "an all gay time..."

8.. Mumbles incoherently to a now green piece of cheddar cheese.

7.. Frequently looks down at crotch and argues "Lipid, SOLID, Lipid, SOLID...".

6.. His/her toothbrush has tried to make a "run for it".

5.. Claims he had an affair with Bill Clinton and has never left his home state of Montana.

4.. Bought a cage for the dustbunnies and keeps food and water in it for them.

3.. Is the sole attendee for a 12 step program no-one has ever heard of.

2.. Glows when sleeping.

1.. Believes that "up" is relative to the rotation of his home planet.

The Americans and Russians at the height of the arms race realized that if they continued in the usual manner they were going to blow up the whole world.

One day they sat down and decided to settle the whole dispute with one dog fight. They'd have five years to breed the best fighting dog in the world and which ever side's dog won would be entitled to dominate the world. The losing side would have to lay down its arms.

The Russians found the biggest meanest Doberman and Rottweiler bitches in the world and bred them with the biggest meanest Siberian wolves. They selected only the biggest and strongest puppy from each litter, killed his siblings, and gave him all the milk. They used steroids and trainers and after five years came up with the biggest meanest dog the world had ever seen.

Its cage needed steel bars that were five inches thick and nobody could get near it. When the day came for the dog fight, the Americans showed up with a strange animal. It was a nine foot long Dachshund. Everyone felt sorry for the Americans because they knew there was no way that this dog could possibly last ten seconds with the Russian dog.

When the cages were opened up, the Dachshund came out of it's cage and slowly waddled over towards the Russian dog. The Russian dog snarled and leaped out of it's cage and charged the American dachshund. But, when it got close enough to bite the Dachshund's neck, the Dachshund opened it's mouth and consumed the Russian dog in one bite. There was nothing left at all of the Russian dog.

The Russians came up to the Americans shaking their heads in disbelief. 'We don't understand how this could have happened. We had our best people working for five years with the meanest Doberman and Rottweiler bitches in the world and the biggest meanest Siberian wolves."

"That's nothing", an American replied. "We had our best plastic surgeons working for five years to make an alligator look like a Dachshund."

I'm definitely on the animal friendly side of the spectrum, but I've got to admit, The idea of punting a small dog is a very funny picture. I think it's the gravity of the situation that is so funny.

I was reminded of the time I visited my sister. She had a farm in the country with numerous house pets - cats and dogs. And a couple of white rats. The only hope the rats had of surviving in this environment, was to live in a nice, solid cage. But in order to keep them from being really bored, they were given plexiglass pipes that ran all over the rooms, in which they could travel along and survey the room.

And as a special treat, they had a clear plastic ball, about the size of a basketball, that you could take apart, place the rat inside, and then put the ball back together again. Place the ball on the floor and the rat could steer it anywhere he wanted after he learned that wherever he leaned on the ball, that was the direction it would go.

When the rat rolled the ball over to my feet, I carefully reached down and rolled it over to my sister, on the other side of the room. I gave it a little too enthusiastic of a shove and the rat was glued to the inner surface of the ball by centrifugal force. The ball went round and round with the rat pasted to the inner surface of the ball. For some reason this struck me as the funniest thing I had ever seen. The rest of my family, from various positions in the room, looked at me as if I was nuts, and cruel too.

...you can analyze the significance of appliances you cannot operate.

...your carrel is better decorated than your apartment.

...you have ever, for a folklore project, attempted to track the progress of your own joke across the Internet.

...you are startled to meet people who neither need nor want to read.

...you have ever brought a scholarly article to a bar.

...you rate coffee shops by the availability of outlets for your laptop.

...everything reminds you of something in your discipline.

...you have ever discussed academic matters at a sporting event.

...you have ever spent more than $50 on photocopies while researching a single paper.

...there is a microfiche reader in the library that you consider "yours."

...you actually have a preference between microfilm and microfiche.

...you can tell the time of day by looking at the traffic flow at the library.

...you look forward to summers because you're more productive without the distraction of classes.

...you regard ibuprofen as a vitamin.

...you consider all papers to be works in progress.

...your professors don't really care when you turn in your work anymore.

...you find the bibliographies of books more interesting than the actual text.

...you have given up trying to keep your books organized and are now just trying to keep them all in the same general area.

...you have accepted guilt as an inherent feature of relaxation.

...you reflexively start analyzing those Greeks letters before you realize that it's just a sorority sweatshirt and not an equation.

...you find yourself explaining to young children that you are in the "20th" grade.

...you start referring to stories like "Snow White, et. al."

...you frequently wonder how long you can live on pasta without getting scurvy.

...you look forward to taking some time off to do laundry.

...you have more photocopy cards than credit cards.

...you yonder if APA style allows you to cite talking to yourself as "personal communication."

-Why doesn't Tarzan have a beard?

-It's a dog eat dog world out there. And they're short on napkins.

-Don't sweat the petty things and don't pet the sweaty things.

-One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor.

-Atheism is a nonprophet organization.

-If man evolved from monkeys and apes, why do we still have monkeys and apes?

-The main reason Santa is so jolly is because he knows where all the bad girls live.

-Never trust a stockbroker who's married to a travel agent.

-Those who live by the sword get shot by those who don't.

-Is boneless chicken considered to be an invertebrate?

-On the other hand, you have different fingers.

-Married people don't live longer than single people. It just seems longer.

-I went to a bookstore and asked the saleswoman, "Where's the self-help section?" She said if she told me, it would defeat the purpose.

-If all those psychics know the winning lottery numbers, why are they all still working?

This fellow who had spent his whole life in the desert comes to visit a friend. He'd never seen a train or the tracks they run on. While standing in the middle of the RR tracks one day, he hears this whistle -- Whooee da Whoee! -- but doesn't know what it is. Predictably, he's hit -- but, only a glancing blow -- and is thrown, ass-over- tea-kettle, to the side of the tracks, with some minor internal injuries, a few broken bones, and some bruises.

After weeks in the hospital recovering, he's at his friend's house attending a party, one evening. While in the kitchen, he suddenly hears the tea kettle whistling. He grabs a baseball bat from the nearby closet and proceeds to batter and bash the tea kettle into an unrecognizable lump of metal. His friend, hearing the ruckus, rushes into the kitchen, sees what's happened and asks the desert man: "Why'd you ruin my good tea kettle?"

The desert man replies: "Man, you gotta kill these things when they're small."