--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Please, sir," pleaded the stranger, "Would you be so kind as to
help a poor unfortunate fellow who is hungry and can't find
work? .....All I have in the world is this gun."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There was a guy telling his friend that he and his wife had a serious
argument the night before. "But it ended," he said, "when she came
crawling to me on her hands and knees."
"What did she say?" asked the friend.
The husband replied, "She said, 'Come out from under that bed, you
coward!'"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
About 2 weeks ago, I was looking around the Web for the BIGGEST sky
rocket that I could get shipped to me via common freight carrier. I
located a fireworks importer in Wisconsin who had this mondo sky
rocket -- biggest thing I had ever seen -- called a SkyDragon. These
things are 48 inches tall and are mounted on a 1/2-inch wooden
dowel. Pure aerospace engineering.
I plopped down a bunch of money and had him send me two cases of these
things. They arrived at the freight dock a few days ago and I had to
drive the van over to pick them up. Two boxes each 2 feet by 2 feet
by 4 feet in size containing 80 rockets each. The 'Class 4
Explosives' sticker on the side of each box was a real bonus. I am
gonna have to save them for the scrapbook.
That night, me and the kiddos had a gen-u-ine rocket launch ceremony.
I placed one of these beauties in a liter-size glass bottle and the
bottle fell over. Hmmmm-- this thing was waaay too big. I looked
around the shop for a pipe to set it in, but realized that the only
dirt I could drive the pipe into was in plain sight of my neighbor's
house. I knew he was a cool guy, but I didn't want him to call the
cops. You see -- 'projectile-type' fireworks are totally illegal in
this county. I was surprised that the Buncombe County Sheriff
Department wasn't waiting for me at the loading dock when I picked
these things up. Anyhow, I finally rigged a launch pad by prying up
one of the driveway drain grates with a crowbar and sitting the stick
into the deep pit. Looked sorta like an ICBM silo with its hardened
lid slid aside.
I asked which of my three kids wanted to light the fuse, but all took
a few steps back and politely declined. Chicken-shits. Kids just
aren't made the same nowadays. They fulfill their danger quotient by
shooting bad guys in video games. About as far from real danger as
you can get, if you ask me. I told the little weenies to stand back
as I bent to light the device with a Bic lighter. The lady at the
fireworks importer promised me that these things would NOT make any
noise. I told her that they HAD to be relatively quiet so I could
shoot them off in my neighborhood without causing "undue alarm". She
said I wouldn't have any problem. I emphasized the particular legal
problems I would have if there were any type of loud report at
apogee. I emphasized the fact that I lived right next to a National
Park and that any type of firework that was discharged or assumed to
be discharged on that property would get me sent before a FEDERAL
judge right before I got sent to the COUNTY judge. She again assured
me I would have no problem.
That lying bitch.
That rocket engine had a burn time about as long as any I had EVER
seen, and the ascent echoed off the surrounding trees. Diamond shock
pattern extended from the back end. It kept going and going and
going. When it hit apogee at about 1000 feet, the rocket
disintegrated into a huge shower of silent red sparks. Pretty cool, I
thought ... until the shower of sparks burned out and suddenly
transformed into a cloud of EXTREMELY bright and loud explosions. The
kids scrambled into the back door "Three Stooges" style (ie: where all
three try to get through the same closed door at once) and left me
standing in the smoking haze waiting for the cops to arrive. The dogs
that live along our street were all barking their heads off at the
apparition they had just witnessed in the night sky.
That ended the fireworks test for the night.
The next day, my oldest son Doug and I decided we were gonna "neuter"
one of the rockets so it wouldn't make any noise. I took him into the
closet where I store the gardening tools and he saw these two huge
cases of fireworks standing there. The kid went nuts. He wanted to
open BOTH boxes so he could see what all 159 rockets looked like lined
up next to each other. This kid has promise. I told him: "Since mom
only thinks I have a few of these things lying around, maybe that
wasn't such a good idea." He mulled that over for a few seconds, then
gave me a real big smile in agreement. We pulled one of the rockets
out of the box and re-locked the closet door. He and I both sat down
on the driveway and proceeded to take it apart. It was a standard
issue big-ass Chinese sky rocket. I bet they used these to kill
people 500 years ago. As I sat there taking layer after layer of
paper off, his brain was filling with the details of
construction. Tissue, cardboard, plastic, fuses...etc. Realizing that
he was mentally storing the design for some future project sorta made
me shudder. All I was thinking was the fact that this thing was
probably put together by a political prisoner in a hellhole somewhere
who is probably gonna get "executed" so they can sell his internal
organs on the transplant market. Probably not too far from the facts,
but I managed to do a bit of explaining to him from the standpoint of
aerospace engineering regarding how the thing worked. Doug is
probably the only 4th grader in the U.S. who can now describe the
principle of thrust using a control volume model.
The rocket was pretty simple. It had a very large booster engine
topped with a warhead that contained the red sparkly things that
exploded. Removing the warhead was as simple as giving a quick twist,
and I assumed the neutered rocket would fly higher without the
payload. I was correct. Doug and I did a daylight "stealth" test and
were able to add about 50% to the altitude attained the previous
night. We decided to modify four more rockets and put them aside in
the closet for easy access. When this was done, Doug had a jar full
of stuff that came out of the warheads including: 12 fuses about
3-inches long each, some paper, 4 plastic nosecones and a big handful
of these little black balls about the size of 12-gauge buckshot that
turned out to be the 'red sparkly popper things'. It appeared that
the outer layer was a simple gunpowder coating designed to quickly
burn off as red shower of sparks. I surmised that the inner core had
some kind of magnesium thermite that gave off an intense white light
and a loud bang. Pretty cool if you ask me. Lots of energy packed
into one teeny little ball.
I didn't want to see the popper thingies go to waste, so I told Doug
we were gonna put them in a hole in the ground and set them off. He
gave me another big smile. It's amazing how kids think alike... even
when separated by 30 years. As I was digging a shallow hole with my
hand, Doug asked if it would be alright to put an army man next to
these things so that "When they go off, it would look like he was
getting shot with a machine gun". Dang.... exactly what I was
thinking. I agreed and he ran off to his room to dig something out of
the mess. He returned in about 3 seconds, out of breath and holding a
cheap plastic imitation of Robert E. Lee on horseback and a Civil War
cannon. I pointed out that they didn't have true machine guns in the
Civil War, but we would overlook this for the purpose of the
demonstration. He handed me the action figure and I placed it and the
cannon next to a rather large pile of black beads from which a few of
the fuses extended. I figured that three inches of fuse would take 2
seconds to burn, so I had at least that amount of time to stand up and
take a few steps back. I neglected to recount the night before...
when the warhead ignited IMMEDIATELY upon reaching apogee. Tricky
Chinese. They had installed extremely fast-burning fuse in these
things and that fact totally escaped me. I squatted next to Robert
Lee and gave a short eulogy. Doug laughed. I took the trusty Bic
lighter and placed it next to the fuse. One flick got the lighter
going and THIS IMAGE IS ONE I WILL REMEMBER FOR A LONG TIME. My hand
holding a lighter next to a pile of explosives. There is usually a
short but noticeable mental pause that occurs immediately before
something bad or really stupid happens. It is where that little voice
in your head says: "You dumbass."
The fuse burn time was in the 1/1000ths of a second range. The pile
of little popper thingy's immediately ignited into a tremendously
brilliant ball of fire. All I could think was
"...th...th....thermite..." Unfortunately, when they are viewed at
ground level, these little popper thingies become REALLY BIG POPPER
THINGIES and have a tendency to jump up to 15-feet in every direction
from their point of ignition. I instantaneously became engulfed in a
ball of fire that sounded a lot like being in a half-done bag of
Orville Reddenbacher's popcorn. It was all over about as fast as I
could snap my fingers. After the smoke cleared, Doug started laughing
his butt off. That meant I was still in one piece. Doug does not
laugh at dismembered limbs. He said I jumped about 10-feet, an action
that I do not remember.
I checked my clothes for burn marks, and found none. He checked my
back to make sure it was not on fire. No combustion there. The
driveway was peppered with black holes where the concrete had been
scarred from these things. A close one. Another REAL close one. My
mind ran the tapes again to re-hash what it had seen. All I
remembered was being inside something akin to a 30-foot diameter
flaming dandelion. Whew. We examined Ol' Robert E. at ground-zero.
Instead of a machine-gun peppering, he got nuked. He and the horse he
rode in on... and his cannon too. One side was untouched, but the
other side was arc-welded. Real warfare. Doug examined it real
quiet-like and then started laughing again.
I assume he will remember the finer points of the lesson as he grows
older. When I now speak of "almost being burned beyond recognition" he
will have a slightly better understanding of what I mean. I hope that
this vivid image tempers the knowledge he now has regarding rocket
construction. Oh well. After all, if your dad isn't gonna teach you
how to get your ass blown off, who will?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
European Men Are So Much More Romantic Than American Men
.....By Alyssa Lerner
Junior, Boston University
I just got back from a semester abroad in Europe, and let me tell you,
it truly was the most magical, amazing experience of my entire
life. The French countryside was like something out of a storybook,
the Roman ruins were magnificent, and the men, well, European men are
by far the most romantic in the world.
You American men all think you're so suave and sophisticated. Well,
think again! European men make you look like the immature,
inexperienced little children you are. They really know how to make a
woman feel special over there. Unlike the so-called men here in the
States, European men know how to treat a woman right.
For one thing, European men aren't afraid to come up and talk to
you. And they know how to start slow, with a nice cup of Italian
espresso or a long walk on some historic street. They know the places
you can't find in any tourist guide. They know the whole history of
the cities in which they live--who the fountains are named after, who
the statues are.
I remember one unforgettable night in Athens, I sat and listened to a
Greek sailor for hours as he told me about the countless men who
fought over Helen back in ancient times. Afterward, he told me he
loved his homeland even more now that he'd seen it through my eyes. I
ask you, would an American man ever say something as deep and
beautiful as that?
European men know the most romantic little cafes and bistros and
trattorias, candlelit places where you can be alone and drink the most
fantastic wine. They tell you what's on the menu and what you should
try. (If it wasn't for a certain young man in Milan, I never would
have discovered fusilli a spinaci et scampi.) And the whole time,
they're looking deep into your eyes, like you're the only woman on the
entire planet. What woman could resist a man like that? Then, after a
moonlit stroll along the waterfront and a kiss in the doorway of their
artist's loft, you find yourself unable to--well, I'll leave the rest
to your imagination.
I'll never forget my magical semester abroad. One thing's for
sure--I'm ruined for American men forever!
American Women Studying In Europe Are Unbelievably Easy
......By Giovanni Di Salvi
I'm a 25-year-old carpenter living in Rome, and I don't mind telling
you that I get all the action I can handle. I'm not all that handsome
or well-dressed, and I'm certainly not rich. In fact, my Italian
countrywomen could take me or leave me. But that's just fine, because
Rome gets loads of tourist traffic, and American co-eds traveling
through Europe are without a doubt the easiest lays in the world.
Being European gives me a hell of an advantage. I'm not sure why, but
there's something about the accent that opens a lot of doors. All you
have to do is go up to them, act a little shy and say, "Would you like
to go with me, Signorina, for a cafe?" I actually have to thicken up
my accent a little, but they never, ever catch on.
After a cheap coffee, which to them always tastes better than anything
they've ever had, because they're in Europe, it's time to walk
them. Now, all they know about Rome is what they've read in Let's Go,
so you can pretty much just make up a whole bunch of shit. It's fun to
see how much they'll swallow: As long as I refer to Italy as "my
homeland" and other Italians as "my people," they'll believe pretty
much anything. I don't know who most of the local statues are, so I
tell the muffins they're all great artists and poets and lovers. Once,
just for the hell of it, I told a psychology major from the University
of Maryland that a public staircase was part of the Spanish Steps,
which she'd never even heard of. Another time, I told this blonde
from Michigan State that the public library was the Parthenon, and she
cooed like I'd just given her a diamond.
For dinner, I usually take them to some cheap little hole in the wall,
someplace deserted where not even the cops eat. American girls think
candlelight means "romance," not "deteriorating public utilities," so
they just poke their nipples through their J. Crew sweaters and never
notice that there's no electricity. Just as well, because Roman
restaurants aren't exactly the cleanest. After a bunch of fast-talk
about the menu, I get them the special, which is usually some
anonymous pasta with spinach and day-old shrimp, and whatever cheap,
generic, Pope's-blood chianti's at the bottom of the list.
By this time, they're usually standing in a slippery little
puddle. Going in for the kill, I walk them past one of Rome's famous
2,000-year-old open cesspools. Then, as we open the door to my shitty
efficiency, I kiss them on the eyelids so they don't see the roaches,
making sure the first thing they see is the strategically positioned
artist's easel I bought at some church sale. That's usually all they
need to see and, like clockwork, they fall backwards on my bed with
their Birkenstocks in the air.
I mean, they're hardly Italian women, but we have a saying here in
Europe: Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Two friends, a blonde and a brunette, are walking down the street and
pass a flower shop where the brunette happens to see her boyfriend
buying flowers. She sighs and says, "Oh, crap, my boyfriend is buying
me flowers again...for no reason."
The blonde looks quizzically at her and says, "What's the big deal,
don't you like getting flowers?"
The brunette says, "Oh sure... but he always has expectations after
getting me flowers, and I just don't feel like spending the next three
days on my back with my legs in the air."
The blonde says, ....."Don't you have a vase?"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you are reading this, I am already dead. Ever since Mr. Wonka left
me the Chocolate Factory my life has been a living hell. I had woken
on several occasions to what I am sure were the Oompa Loompas stroking
my young body. Within two weeks of taking control of the factory my
Grandfather became addicted to Fizzy Lifting drinks, culminating in a
tragic fan accident. I am sure the Oompa Loompas ate the remains.
The Ghosts of the dead children haunt my every waking moment, and
pursue me through these twisted halls in my nightmares. Veruca
screams, burning from the harsh flames of the furnace. Augustus Gloop
gurgles chocolate from his bloated features as he struggles to call my
name. The gum-chewing girl bursts on a regular basis, showering me
with blueberry scented entrails. I think Mike TV still lives in the
walls like a mouse, stealing my things and keeping me awake with his
tiny footsteps.
My other grandparents died long ago, and I shudder to think of their
final fate at the hands of those tiny orange-skinned monsters. My
mother long ago went insane, teeth rotting from candy. She is locked
in the cellar, though I feel her fetid breath washing over me from
time to time and hear her shrieking laughter... "golden
ticket... golden ticket."
The pressures of all this have broken me, compounded with the trials
of a ten year old trying to run a factory populated with imps, with
ledgers all cut in half and unreadable. As I take my life, leaping
from the wonkavator (freedom, sweet freedom), I damn thee Wonka.
Where ever your soul may rest, I damn thee.
Farewell.
Charlie.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There was a little fellow named Junior who hung out at the local
grocery store. The manager didn't know what Junior's problem was, but
the boys liked to tease him. The boys said he was two bricks short of
a load, or two pickles shy of a barrel.
To prove it, sometimes the boys offered Junior his choice between a
nickel and a dime. He always took the nickel, they said, because it
was bigger.
One day after Junior grabbed the nickel, the store manager got him off
to one side and said, "Junior, those boys are making fun of you. They
think you don't know the dime is worth more than the nickel. Are you
grabbing the nickel because it's bigger, or what?"
Junior said, "No sir, you see if I took the dime, they'd quit doing
it!"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"The Scottish Parliament, adjourned on the 25th of March 1707 is hereby
reconvened."
- Winnie Ewing MSP, at the opening of the new Scottish Parliament in
Edinburgh, 12th May, 1999
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"You should not encounter any difficulty in using Ambrosia products in
the the next millennium, unless of course your power company is not
Y2K-ready, and you have no electrical power for your computer. A
Y2K-induced food shortage could also cause widespread looting and
rioting, and bandits might raid your house and take everything of
value. If you're trapped in one of those non Y2K-ready elevators, you
might starve, and be unable to use our products. Hopefully, none of
this bad luck will befall you, and you'll be able to compute in peace."
- From the Ambrosia Software Y2K disclosure statement
http://www.ambrosiasw.com/PRs/Y2K.html
Ambrosia, in addition to being Y2K ready, has just begun a unique
marketing initiative. They've announced that if any of their upcoming
products ship with bugs in them, their Marketing Director Jason Whong
will eat real bugs in front of a live audience at the New York
Macworld Expo in 2000. Some people expressed the opinion that perhaps
the Marketing Director was not the one who deserved to be punished if
buggy software gets shipped. He replied:
> I think that someone should be responsible for bugs. The thing is,
> we can't make the programmers eat bugs, because programmers are
> pretty high up on the totem pole, and we don't want to alienate
> them. And I can't ask my boss, Andrew, to eat the bugs, because he
> is my boss.
>
> That's why I am making the wager.
>
> Shipping a product without bugs is a goal that I think we can
> achieve. We have done that before with some of our games. Shipping
> every product between now and next July without bugs is going to be
> the challenge.
>
> I wonder what Apple was thinking when it said "Yum."?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE JERRY SPRINGER SHOW
Crowd: Jer-ry! Jer-ry! Jer-ry!
Jerry: Today's guests are here because they can't agree on fundamental
philosophical principles. I'd like to welcome Todd to the show.
Todd enters from backstage.
Jerry: Hello, Todd.
Todd: Hi, Jerry. Jerry: (reading from card) So, Todd, you're here to
tell your girlfriend something. What is it?
Todd: Well, Jerry, my girlfriend Ursula and I have been going out for
three years now. We did everything together. We were really
inseparable. But then she discovered post-Marxist political and
literary theory, and it's been nothing but fighting ever since.
Jerry: Why is that?
Todd: You see, Jerry, I'm a traditional Cartesian rationalist. I
believe that the individual self, the "I" or ego is the foundation of
all metaphysics. She, on the other hand, believes that the
contemporary self is a socially constructed, multi-faceted
subjectivity reflecting the political and economic realities of late
capitalist consumerist discourse.
Crowd: Ooooohhhh!
Todd: I know! I know! Is that infantile, or what?
Jerry: So what do you want to tell her today?
Todd: I want to tell her that unless she ditches the post-modernism,
we're through. I just can't go on having a relationship with a woman
who doesn't believe I exist.
Jerry: Well, you're going to get your chance. Here's Ursula!
Ursula storms onstage and charges up to Todd.
Ursula: Patriarchal colonizer!
She slaps him viciously. Todd leaps up, but the security guys pull
them apart before things can go any further.
Ursula: Don't listen to him! Logic is a male hysteria! Rationality
equals oppression and the silencing of marginalized voices!
Todd: The classical methodology of rational dialectic is our only road
to truth! Don't try to deny it!
Ursula: You and your dialectic! That's how it's been through our whole
relationship, Jerry. Mindless repetition of the post-Enlightenment
meta-narrative. "You have to start with radical doubt, Ursula."
"Post-structuralism is just classical sceptical thought re-cast in the
language of semiotics, Ursula."
Crowd: Booo! Booo!
Jerry: Well, Ursula, come on. Don't you agree that the roots of
contemporary neo-Leftism simply have to be sought in Enlightenment
political philosophy?
Ursula: History is the discourse of powerful centrally located voices
marginalizing and de-scribing the sub-altern!
Todd: See what I have to put up with? Do you know what it's like
living with someone who sees sex as a metaphoric demonstration of the
anti-feminist violence implicit in the discourse of the dominant power
structure? It's terrible. She just lies there and thinks of Andrea
Dworkin. That's why we never do it any more.
Crowd: Wooooo!
Ursula: You liar! Why don't you tell them how you haven't been able to
get it up for the past three months because you couldn't decide if
your penis truly had essential Being, or was simply a manifestation of
Mind?
Todd: Wait a minute! Wait a minute!
Ursula: It's true!
Jerry: Well, I don't think we're going to solve this one right
away. Our next guests are Louis and Tina. And Tina has a little
confession to make!
Louis and Tina come onstage. Todd and Ursula continue bickering in the
background.
Jerry: Tina, you are... (reads cards) ... an existentialist, is that
right?
Tina: That's right, Jerry. And Louis is, too.
Jerry: And what did you want to tell Louis today?
Tina: Jerry, today I want to tell him...
Jerry: Talk to Louis. Talk to him.
Crowd hushes.
Tina: Louis... I've loved you for a long time...
Louis: I love you, too, Tina.
Tina: Louis, you know I agree with you that existence precedes
essence, but...well, I just want to tell you I've been reading
Nietzsche lately, and I don't think I can agree with your egalitarian
politics.
Crowd: Wooooo! Woooooo!
Louis: (shocked and disbelieving) Tina, this is crazy. You know that
Sartre clarified all this way back in the 40's.
Tina: But he didn't take into account Nietzsche's radical critique of
democratic morality, Louis. I'm sorry. I can't ignore the
contradiction any longer!
Louis: You got these ideas from Victor, didn't you? Didn't you?
Tina: Don't you bring up Victor! I only turned to him when I saw you
were seeing that dominatrix! I needed a real man! An Uber-man!
Louis: (sobbing) I couldn't help it. It was my burden of freedom. It
was too much!
Jerry: We've got someone here who might have something to add. Bring
out... Victor!
Victor enters. He walks up to Louis and sticks a finger in his face.
Victor: Louis, you're a classic post-Christian intellectual. Weak to
the core!
Louis: (through tears) You can kiss my Marxist ass, Reactionary Boy!
Victor: Herd animal!
Louis: Lackey!
Louis throws a chair at Victor; they lock horns and wrestle. The crowd
goes wild. After a long struggle, the security guys pry them apart.
Jerry: Okay, okay. It's time for questions from the audience. Go
ahead, sir.
Audience member: Okay, this is for Tina. Tina, I just wanna know how
you can call yourself an existentialist, and still agree with
Nietzsche's doctrine of the Ubermensch. Doesn't that imply a belief in
intrinsic essences that is in direct contradiction with with the
fundamental principles of existentialism?
Tina: No! No! It doesn't. We can be equal in potential, without being
equal in eventual personal quality. It's a question of Becoming, not
Being.
Audience member: That's just disguised essentialism! You're no
existentialist!
Tina: I am so!
Audience member: You're no existentialist!
Tina: I am so an existentialist, bitch!
Ursula stands and interjects.
Ursula: What does it [bleep] matter? Existentialism is just a cover
for late capitalist anti-feminism! Look at how Sartre treated Simone
de Beauvoir!
Women in the crowd cheer and stomp.
Tina: [Bleep] you! Fat-ass Foucaultian ho!
Ursula: You only wish you were smart enough to understand Foucault,
bitch!
Tina: You the bitch!
Ursula: No, you the bitch!
Tina: Whatever! Whatever!
Jerry: We'll be right back with a final thought! Stay with us!
Commercial break for debt-consolidation loans, ITT Technical
Institute, and Psychic Alliance Hotline.
Jerry: Hi! Welcome back. I just want to thank all our guests for being
here,and say that I hope you're able to work through your differences
and find happiness, if indeed happiness can be extracted from the
dismal miasma of warring primal hormonal impulses we call human
relationship.
(turns to the camera)
Well, we all think philosophy is just fun and games. Semiotics,
deconstruction, Lacanian post-Freudian psychoanalysis, it all seems
like good, clean fun. But when the heart gets involved, all our
painfully acquired metaphysical insights go right out the window, and
we're reduced to battling it out like rutting chimpanzees. It's not
pretty. If you're in a relationship, and differences over the
fundamental principles of your respective subjectivities are making
things difficult, maybe it's time to move on. Find someone new,
someone who will accept you and the way your laughably limited human
intelligence chooses to codify and rationalize the chaos of
existence. After all, in the absence of a clear, unquestionable
revelation from God, that's all we're all doing anyway. So remember:
take care of yourselves--and each other.
Announcer: Be sure to tune in next time, when KKK strippers battle it
out with transvestite omnisexual porn stars! Tomorrow on Springer.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I think animal testing is a terrible idea; they get all nervous and
give the wrong answers.
-- A Bit of Fry and Laurie
A Freudian slip is when you say one thing but mean your mother.
The hypothalamus is one of the most important parts of the brain,
involved in many kinds of motivation, among other functions. The
hypothalamus controls the "Four F's": 1. fighting; 2. fleeing;
3. feeding; and 4. mating.
-- Psychology professor in neuropsychology intro course
What is a committee? A group of the unwilling, picked from the unfit,
to do the unnecessary.
-- Richard Harkness
Slogan of 105.9, the classic rock radio station in Chicago: "Of all
the radio stations in Chicago... we're one of them."
Madness takes its toll. Please have exact change.
Karate is a form of martial arts in which people who have had years
and years of training can, using only their hands and feet, make some
of the worst movies in the history of the world.
-- Dave Barry
I am not a vegetarian because I love animals; I am a vegetarian
because I hate plants.
-- A. Whitney Brown
A great many people think they are thinking when they are merely
rearranging their prejudices.
-- William James
There's so much comedy on television. Does that cause comedy in the
streets?
-- Dick Cavett, mocking the TV-violence debate
If a woman has to choose between catching a fly ball and saving an
infant's life, she will choose to save the infant's life without even
considering if there are men on base.
-- Dave Barry
I am sick unto death of obscure English towns that exist seemingly for
the sole accommodation of these so-called limerick writers and even
sicker of their residents, all of whom suffer from physical
deformities and spend their time dismembering relatives at fancy dress
balls.
-- Editor of the Limerick Times (Limerick, Ireland)
When cryptography is outlawed, bayl bhgynjf jvyyz unir cevinpl.
Chinese Relativity Axiom: No matter how great your triumphs or how
tragic your defeats, approximately one billion Chinese couldn't care
less.
668: The Neighbor of the Beast
Some mornings, it's just not worth chewing through the leather
straps.
-- Emo Phillips
Writing about music is like dancing about architecture.
Experience is that marvelous thing that enables you to recognize a
mistake when you make it again.
-- F. P. Jones
As your attorney, it is my duty to inform you that it is not important
that you understand what I'm doing or why you're paying me so much
money. What's important is that you continue to do so.
-- Hunter S. Thompson's Samoan Attorney
When I told the people of Northern Ireland that I was an atheist,
woman in the audience stood up and said, "Yes, but is it the God of
the Catholics, or the God of the Protestants in whom you don't
believe?"
-- Quentin Crisp
May the forces of evil become confused on the way to your house.
-- George Carlin
Sorry, but my karma just ran over your dogma.
Those who make peaceful revolution impossible will make violent
revolution inevitable.
-- John F. Kennedy
Life may have no meaning. Or even worse, it may have a meaning of
which I disapprove.
-- Ashleigh Brilliant
My opinions may have changed, but what hasn't changed is the fact that
I am right.
Drawing on my fine command of language, I said nothing.
Oscar Wilde
Once at a social gathering, Gladstone said to Disraeli: "I predict,
Sir, that you will die either by hanging or of some vile disease".
Disraeli replied: "That all depends, sir, upon whether I embrace your
principles or your mistress."
For three days after death, hair and fingernails continue to grow
but phone calls taper off.
-- Johnny Carson
A slipping gear could let your M-203 grenade launcher fire when you
least expect it. That would make you quite unpopular in whatever is
left of your unit.
-- Army Magazine of Preventative Maintenance
People think it must be fun to be a super genius, but they don't
realize how hard it is to put up with all the idiots in the world.
On one occasion a student burst into his office saying: "Professor
Stigler, I don't believe I deserve this F you've given me." To which
Stigler replied: "I agree, but unfortunately it is the lowest grade
the University will allow me to award."
Don't worry about temptation, as you grow older, it starts avoiding
you.
"Sir, if we do happen to step on a mine, what do we do?"
..."Normal procedure, Lieutenant, is to jump 200 feet in the air,
and scatter oneself out over a wide area."
I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone,
but they've always worked for me.
-- Hunter S. Thompson
Sacred cows make the best hamburger.
"Time's fun when you're having flies."
-- Kermit the Frog
I don't believe in a risk free society where the thrills of life are
sacrificed for the safety of existence.
- Author Unknown
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geocities.com/timessquare)