26/Nov/97 - Musical Xena
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Greetings. A while back, Democratus attempted to bring some "high
culture" to the Xena parody genre, with his wonderful production of
_Romeo and Xena_. In a similar spirit, I now present an excerpt from
Gilbert and Sullivan's little-known operetta, _Xena; or, The Warrior
Princess_. (This excerpt is from an annotated edition; please don't let
the occasional scholarly footnotes, in the form of bracketed numbers,
interfere with your enjoyment of Gilbert's unique lyrical style.)
Sincerely,
Lollius (a newcomer to these parts)
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[We join our operetta already in progress. The infamous Pirates of
Pergamum have just seized a bevy of beautiful Mytilenean maidens, and
are attempting to carry them off for matrimonial purposes. Gabrielle
intervenes, with a recitative (well, it's better than a pan flute solo):]
Gabrielle: Hold, scoundrels! Ere ye practice acts of villainy
Upon the peaceful and agrarian,
Just bear in mind, these maidens of My-TIL-ene[1]
Are guarded by a buff barbarian!
Pirates: We'd better all rethink our cunning plan;
They're guarded by a buff barbarian.
Maidens: Yes, yes, she is a buff barbarian.
[Xena leaps in from the wings, with a tremendous war cry, does a
mid-air somersault, and lands on her feet on the Pirate King's chest.]
Xena: Yes, yes, I am a buff barbarian! [The orchestra starts up.]
I am the very model of a heroine barbarian;
Through Herculean efforts, I've become humanitarian.
I ride throughout the hinterland -- at least that's what they call it in
Those sissy towns like Athens (I, myself, am Amphipolitan).
I travel with a poet who is perky and parthenian[2]
And scribbles her hexameters in Linear Mycenian[3]
(And many have attempted, by a host of methods mystical,
To tell if our relationship's sororal or sapphistical).
Chorus: To tell if their relationship's sororal or sapphistical!
To tell if their relationship's sororal or sapphistical!
To tell if their relationship's sororal or sapphisti-phistical!
Xena: My armory is brazen, but my weapons are ironical;
My sword is rather phallic, but my chakram's rather yonical[4]
(To find out what that means, you'll have to study Indo-Aryan[5]).
I am the very model of a heroine barbarian!
Chorus: To find out what that means, we'll have to study Indo-Aryan --
She is the very model of a heroine barbarian!
Xena: I wake up every morning, ere the dawn is rhododactylous[6]
(Who needs to wait for daylight? I just work by _sensus tactilis_[7].)
And ride into the sunrise to protect some local villagers
From mythologic monsters or from all-too-human pillagers.
I hurtle towards each villain with a recklessness ebullient
And cow him with my swordwork and my alalaes ululient[8];
He's frightened for his head, because he knows I'm gonna whack it -- he's
Aware that his opponent is the _Basileia Makhetes_!
[The music crashes to a halt, as the Chorus stares at Xena in utter
confusion. She sighs.] It's *Greek*. It means "Warrior Princess"!
[Light dawns on the Chorus, and the music resumes.] Sheesh . . .
Chorus: He knows that his opponent is the _Basileia Makhetes_!
He knows that his opponent is the _Basileia Makhetes_!
He knows that his opponent is the _Basileia Makhe-makhetes_,
Xena: Because I've got my armor, which is really rather silly, on
(It's cut so low I feel like I'm the topless tow'rs of Ilion,
And isn't any use against attackers sagittarian[9]).
I am the very model of a heroine barbarian!
Chorus: It isn't any use against attackers sagittarian --
She is the very model of a heroine barbarian!
Xena: In short, when I can tell you how I break the laws of gravity,
And why my togs expose my intermammary concavity,
And why my comrade changed her dress from one that fit more comfily
To one that shows her omphalos[10] (as cute as that of Omphale[11]),
And why the tale of Spartacus appears in Homer's versicon[12],
[She holds up a tomato:]
And where we found examples of the genus _Lycopersicon_[13],
And why this Grecian scenery looks more like the Antipodes,
You'll say I'm twice the heroine of any in Euripides!
Chorus: We'll say she's twice the heroine of any in Euripides!
We'll say she's twice the heroine of any in Euripides!
We'll say she's twice the heroine of any in Euripi-ripides!
Xena: But though the kinked chronology, confusing and chimerical
(It's often unhistorical, but rarely unhysterical),
Would give a massive heart attack to any antiquarian,
I am the very model of a heroine barbarian!
Chorus: 'Twould give a massive heart attack to any antiquarian --
She is the very model of a heroine barbarian!
[As the orchestra plays the final chords, a wild Xenaesque melee
ensues, and the curtain has to be brought down.]
Notes:
[1] Actually, "Mytilene" would properly be accented on the third
syllable; Gabrielle always did have trouble with rhymes. (Mytilene,
incidentally, is a city on the isle of Lesbos -- the hometown of
the poet Sappho, as a matter of fact. It is not clear what, if
anything, Gilbert is trying to imply here.)
[2] parthenian: virginal.
[3] Linear Mycenian: Mycenian is the ancient dialect of Greek which
was written in Linear B (a form of Greek writing that predates the
adoption of the alphabet). The implication is that Gabrielle does
her writing in Linear B; if _Xena_ takes place around the time of
the Trojan war, this is chronologically reasonable.
[4] yonical: "Yonic" is the female counterpart to "phallic".
[5] Indo-Aryan: The language group consisting of Sanskrit and its
close relatives. Both "chakram" and "yonic" are of Sanskrit derivation.
[6] rhododactylous: rosy-fingered. (Homer makes frequent reference to
_rhododaktulos eos_ -- "rosy-fingered dawn".)
[7] _sensus tactilis_: Latin for "the sense of touch".
[8] "Alalaes" are war-cries (the Greeks spelled a Xena-like war cry as
_alala_ or _alale_) and "ululient" is a coined term, apparently
meaning "characterized by ululation".
[9] sagittarian: archer-like.
[10] omphalos: belly-button.
[11] Omphale: Legendary queen of Lydia. From context, we must assume
that she had a cute belly-button; however, no known classical source
seems to address this vital issue.
[12] versicon: a coined term, apparently meaning "collection of verse".
[13] _Lycopersicon_: the biological genus to which tomatoes are
assigned. (The tomato is a New World plant, and was entirely
unknown in the Old World in pre-Columbian times. Thus, having
tomatoes in a _Xena_ish context is an even greater anachronism than
having Homer tell the tale of Spartacus.)
30/Nov/97 - Baseball
A recent Scottish immigrant attends his first baseball game in his
new country and after a base hit he hears the fans roaring run....run!
The next batter connects heavily with the ball and the Scotsman
stands up and roars with the crowd in his thick accent: "R-r-run ya
bahstard, r-run will ya!"
A third batter slams a hit and again the Scotsman,
obviously pleased with his knowledge of the game, screams
"R-r-run ya bahstard, r-r-run will ya!"
The next batter held his swing at
three and two and as the ump calls a walk the Scotsman stands
up yelling "R-r-run ya bahstard, r-r-run!" All the surrounding fans
giggle quietly and he sits down confused.
A friendly fan, sensing his embarrassment whisper, "He doesn't have
to run, he's got four balls." After this explanation the Scotsman stands
up in disbelief and screams, "Walk with pr-r-ride man!"
1/Dec/97 - History of Santa
[At last it's December! Now I can get some of these Christmas jokes
I've been sitting on out of my queue. This one is courtesy of Pete]
1689--Spanish-German explorer Santa Claus discovers the North Pole,
and establishes a small base camp.
1691--Because of harsh and meager living conditions, Claus' crew
abandons him.
1692--Claus is rescued by the Viking ship Hvorfor. He returns to
Europe, bringing some items along with him from the North Pole. He
finds he is able to sell them quite easily, making a small profit.
1703--Claus saves up enough money to buy a small ship and crew, and
returns to the North Pole. Upon arriving, he finds his base camp,
half-buried but still intact.
1704--Claus returns to Europe with a shipload of North Pole artifacts,
and is successful in selling them. He makes enough profit to increase
his crew, and buys building materials to expand his polar base.
1705--Claus returns again to the North Pole, and builds quarters for
him and his crew, and sets up the Polar Exports Company.
1716--After six shiploads of exports, the European market is flooded
with polar artifacts, as well as the phony ones making charlatans
rich. Seeing this decline, Claus decides to invest his money by
starting a toy company in his native Germany.
1720--Claus Toys becomes the largest toy company in Germany, but only
because of Claus' underhanded business dealings. (It was also rumored
that Claus was dealing with enemy countries as well). Competitors
urged government officials to begin an investigation.
1721--Enough evidence is found, and charges are drawn up against the
Claus Toys Company. Claus himself refuses to release his records.
1722--The German Supreme Court finds Claus guilty of tax evasion and
of treason. When news of this breaks, Claus' employees all turn
against him and his company.
1723--Claus is exiled to Sicily, and shortly before leaving, he
absconds with all of the company's funds.
1724--A search party is sent to the Mediterranean to recover the
funds, however, Claus hears of this ahead of time, and he and his
Sicilian wife flee for their lives. (Some say he went into Northern
Africa, but it is generally assumed that this was only a ruse to lure
the searchers off course. He is believed to have returned to his North
Pole base).
1725--Claus II is born en route to the North Pole.
1725-1734--The Claus' lay low at the North Pole. Claus teaches his son
the arts of toymaking and business dealings.
1735--Rumor has it that Claus has hired Scandinavian builders to
construct a castle for him at the North Pole, making use of almost
half of the company funds.
1739--The castle is finished, and is one of the largest in the
world. Claus II reaches his fifteenth birthday, and in the same year,
Claus' wife dies accidentally falling from a balcony in one of the
castle's great halls.
1740--Claus, mourning his wife, becomes increasingly ill.
1745--Santa Claus II becomes of age, and begins taking care of the
castle and of his sick father.
1747--Using the remaining company funds, Claus II builds a small city
around the castle to attract workers and craftsmen.
1748--Word of the North Pole settlement reaches Europe. The Elves of
Eastern Europe, quickly becoming political outcasts and striving for a
better life, begin immigrating in waves to the North Pole.
1753--All the elves have left Eastern Europe and have become firmly
established at the North Pole. Claus II begins his father's toy
company once again, with an estimated 30,000 elves employed. Claus I
dies at age 89.
1755--The North Pole officially becomes a nation, and Claus II and his
wife take the throne. The toy business continues to flourish, and the
elves enjoy prosperity. Claus III is born.
1757--The great stables are built, and scientists are secretly hired
by Claus II to begin an ambitious project--that of breeding and
training reindeer to fly.
1773--The flying reindeer are achieved and become Claus II and III's
major form of transportation.
1774--A mutant reindeer, named Rudolf, is born whose nose emits
light. He becomes an outcast of the reindeer society, and is taken in
by the Claus government. Claus II celebrates his 50th birthday,
inviting several other world leaders for a stay at his castle. To
impress them, he displays a lavish show of wealth, all at the elves'
expense. He gives the other leaders the impression of a dictatorship
under the guise of royalty. The elves sense this, and the seeds of
rebellion are planted.
1777--As conditions become increasingly strict, the elves begin to
search for a leader to lead their revolt. Rudolf, still in favor of
the Claus government, sees their plight and begins thinking of ways to
use it to his advantage.
1784--On his 60th birthday, Claus II takes a sleigh ride down main
street during the Christmas day parade, and is assassinated by a
radical faction of elves. Claus III, now 29, takes over immediately
and puts martial law into effect for the whole North Pole. Civil war
breaks out as Rudolf leads the Elves in rebellion.
1785-1792--The Seven-year Strike takes place. The elves refuse to make
toys, and the Claus Toy Company nearly goes bankrupt, as the North
Pole hits an economic low. Claus III, fearing for his life, becomes a
prisoner in his own castle. Rudolf rises to the peak of his power, and
sets himself as leader of the elven community.
1796--Rudolf and his army unsuccessfully attempt to invade
Norway. Over 10,000 elves are killed.
1800--Inside the castle, unbeknownst to the elves, Claus IV is born.
1802--After a string of political blunders, Rudolf senses that he is
quickly losing favor with the elves. Frosty the Snowman is built,
brought to life, and used as a political scapegoat.
1804--Frosty the Snowman is melted at a public execution, and the
elves are calmed of their unrest, for the moment.
1819-1826--After a long period of unrest, Rudolf is finally ousted,
and Claus III, aged 71, rightfully regains the throne. Prince Claus IV
is introduced to the elves publicly for the first time.
1827-1841--The Renormalization years. Claus III brings the
near-bankrupt Claus Toys Company out of dormancy and appoints his son
as president. In order to clear their bad name and make up for their
out-of-the-way location, they decide to start the largest advertising
campaign ever. Each Christmas, Claus IV will ride all over the world,
distributing free toys to children everywhere. The ad campaign becomes
a hit, but it remains very costly.
1837--Claus III dies.
1851--As the annual ad campaign continues, deficits pile up, and the
elves are asked to work harder, longer hours and still take a pay
cut. They start to complain, but Claus assures them he will do all he
can to help them. As a sign of goodwill, Claus IV marries an Elven
wife, strengthening the bonds between the Claus family and the Elves.
1856--Claus V is born. In order to celebrate, Claus IV decides to stay
at home, and so he suggests that department stores use costumed
employees to represent him. They do, and it works out so well that he
decides to do it every year.
1857-1867--Claus V grows up, spending most of his time visiting with
his elf relatives and friends. Claus IV, who spends most of his time
building up the company, doesn't seem to mind; in fact, he feels that
it's good publicity.
1871--Working conditions continue to worsen for the elves, and they
try to convince Claus V to overthrow his father and give the
government back to the elves.
1872--Claus V usurps his father's throne, sending him to live the
remainder of his life under guard in the castle's west wing.
1875--After reading the works of Karl Marx, Claus V chooses communism
as the new form of government for the North Pole. Some elves protest
this, but they are successfully quieted. (It is also because of
communism that Santa Claus' suit later changes from beige to red.)
1881--Claus IV dies in captivity, just as the new Government gets
underway. His funeral is not a large one.
1887--In order to keep up with growing populations, Claus Toys becomes
industrialized. The elves learn the ways of mass production on the
assembly line.
1893--Another mutant reindeer is born, and is named Rudolf II in honor
of the first one, whom the communist government now honors for "giving
the government back to the elves."
1900--Sigmund Freud's "The Interpretation of Dreams" is published.
1902--After he had been presumed dead for years, Frosty the Snowman is
claimed to have been sighted on several occasions. All throughout the
kingdom, children claim that they all heard him say he'd be back again
some day.
1906--Claus VI is born. The Claus family celebrates, but the elves
aren't the least bit excited.
1909-1922--The toys distributed yearly begin to show signs of
propaganda influence. Frosty the Snowman continues to appear
occasionally, and Claus V begins to grow uneasy, fearing some sort of
hidden sabotage.
1925--Claus V dies, under mysterious circumstances. He is found buried
in the snow in the castle garden, frozen solid. Many think it is the
work of Frosty, but no one can prove it.
1926--Claus VI takes over, and immediately tightens up security. He
rules with an iron hand, but a fair one. Electric lights are installed
in the streets, and the castle and the town gets electricity. The
factories are expanded, and the toys continue to be used as propaganda
for the world.
1929--Angered by Claus' commercialization of Christmas, the Grinch
attempts to remove the material goods to show the true meaning of
Christmas. He fails, and later Claus commissions a cartoon, which
warps the story so that the Grinch is made out to be the villain.
1949--Claus VII is born.
1979--Claus VI dies of natural causes.
1933-1990--The North Pole remains stable, with everything running
smoothly. Across the Western world, a pattern starts to emerge and
become noticed. Children receive Claus' toys each Christmas, but as
they grow older, their parents throw them away and then they tell
their children that there is no Santa Claus.
1991--First sightings of Anti-Claus.
1993--Anti-Claus is observed closely with telescopes, and
photographed. His suit is like that of Santa Claus, but with the reds
and whites reversed. He carries a 3-ply Hefty bag full of gifts no one
wants or needs. And instead of using reindeer and a sleigh, he rides
in a bathtub pulled by eight flying cows.
1997--Anti-Claus is radar tracked and found to live in an underground
hideout run by dwarves at the South Pole.
2002--Communism fails utterly at the North Pole due to the nature of
the elves. Claus VII, flying clockwise around the earth making the
Christmas rounds, collides with Anti-Claus, who was flying
counterclockwise. A huge explosion and blinding flash of light occurs,
leading scientists to believe that they annihilated each other.
2007--The North Pole becomes a democracy, run wholly by the elves.
Christmas is no longer commercialized or exploited. Happiness is
finally achieved throughout the kingdom despite the surprising
discovery that the nation is nearly bankrupt.
2011--It is discovered that Claus VII did not die in the explosion.
He engineered the entire Anti-Claus incident in an elaborate plot to
steal the Polar treasury. After the "explosion", he retired to the
Bahamas. He is later found dead of a heart attack in a jacuzzi with
two and a half dozen nymphets.
2/Dec/97 - Magic Tricks
A magician was working on a cruise ship in the Caribbean. The
audience would be different each week, so the magician allowed himself
to do the same tricks over and over again.
There was only one problem: The captain's parrot saw the shows each
week and began to understand how the magician did every trick. Once
he understood he started shouting in the middle of the show:
"Look, it's not the same hat"
"Look, he is hiding the flowers under the table"
"Hey, why are all the cards the Ace of Spades ?"
The magician was furious but couldn't do anything; it was, after all,
the captain's parrot.
One day the ship had an accident and sank. The magician found himself
on a piece of wood in the middle of the ocean with the parrot, of
course.
They stared at each other with hate, but did not utter a word. This
went on for a day and another and another.
Finally, the parrot said: "OK, I give up. Where's the boat?"
9/Dec/97 - What Are You Thinking?
Once again I find myself pressed into service as AOL's Relationship
Columnist, to answer thorny and unbelievably complex questions which
could take up entire book shelves in the self-help section, in a little
under a thousand words. It's a dirty, thankless job, but I'm just the
sort of delusional fool to do it. It was either this or a Christmas
piece.
The question this time, from the men's side of the table: what should
you do when the women you're with asks you: "What are you thinking?"
Every male in the world has had to deal with this question, which is
more often than not uncorked at entirely inappropriate times, such as
when you are watching sports, locked in a passionate embrace, or reeling
in a feisty marlin from the Gulf of Mexico. Regardless of what you're
doing, you must come up with a complete and satisfactory answer, or
stand accused of
Hiding Your True Feelings. Which means, of course, you'll spend the next
week pretending to be sorry. So you've got to come up with something.
And it had better be good.
Now, the obvious question here is: WHY do women want to know what we're
thinking? Simple: they assume we're thinking in the first place. Hard to
believe, but there it is. Why on earth would they think that? Well, go
up to a woman and ask her what she is thinking. I have just done so with
my wife, and this is what she is thinking about:
"Off the top of my head, I'm thinking about the party we're having
Saturday, and how I'm going to fix that chandelier in the front room so
that people can walk around without hitting their heads. Underneath that
I'm thinking about my work schedule this week and whether or not I'm
going to have time to do some of the things I need to do at home as
well. And under that I'm wondering if it's too late to get tickets on a
plane to Ohio for Christmas. AND I'm thinking about getting a snack."
Not only is she thinking about something, she's thinking about four
separate things. If I check back in five minutes, she'll still be
thinking. Women are always thinking, and often about practical things.
Men, on the other hand, are actively thinking for about five minutes out
of every hour (usually not in sequence). So, at best, you have a one in
12 chance of catching a man actually having a thought. What are we
thinking about?
1. Sex
2. Food
3. Steve Miller tunes
4. Sports
5. "Beavis and Butthead"
6. Sex
7. Work
8. The black unknowable nothingness that frames our existence,
and whether a benevolent and omnipotent higher power can
possibly exist within it (or Beer)
9. Sleep
10. Sex
In summary, randomly asking a man what he's thinking has precisely a
0.83% chance of turning up a real, verifiable, honest-to-God thought.
You might as well bet on the New York Jets. Sound harsh, guys? Fine.
Quick -- what are you thinking? Had to think about it, didn't you. You
lose. Sit down.
Despite the overwhelming evidence that men, in fact, are almost never
thinking, women will still demand to know their innermost thoughts. In a
way, it's touching; women are expressing faith that, if prodded long
enough and frequently enough, they may yet boost the number of times we
think in an hour. And they will. Unfortunately, most of what we'll be
thinking is "stop asking me what I'm thinking." And that's just going to
get us in trouble.
The best way to keep a woman from constantly asking you what you are
thinking is to have a ready, pre-memorized answer for the times that she
does. Here are some tried and true responses, with the pros and cons of
each:
"I'm thinking that tonight it'd be nice to stay at home and
sit by the fire together."
Pros: Romantic; Sounds as if you're spontaneous.
Cons: Requires fireplace (or a cement floor and ventilation); Romantic
moments often prompt even more "What are you thinking" queries.
"I'm thinking how much I love you."
Pros: Generally provokes a positive response that short circuits any
need for further conversation; Is often also true.
Cons: If you use it too much, she'll know it's a line, and then you're
really in trouble.
"I was wondering if there is actually life on other planets."
Pros: Cosmic; Shows you are a deep thinker.
Cons: Woman may wonder if this is an intro to the same sort of "alien
sigmoidoscopy" story that ruined her last relationship.
"I was imagining, if I were an animal, what sort of animal I'd
be."
Pros: Imaginative; Allows woman to spend many happy minutes trying to
establish your place in the animal kingdom.
Cons: She might think you resemble a marmoset or skink; She may forgo
the animal world altogether and go straight to yeasts.
"I'm just thinking about how true the lyrics to 'Dust in the
Wind' really are."
Pros: Shows depth of musical knowledge; As last resort to forestall
conversation, you may break out into song.
Cons: If she's a connoisseur of 70s melodic rock, you may find yourself
in a bitter, divisive quarrel about which is deeper, "Dust" or
Aerosmith's "Dream On".
Keep in mind that these responses are not to supersede an actual
thought; if you find yourself having one at the moment she asks, go
ahead and share it, as long as it's not something along the lines of
"This relationship blows" or "I really like margarine". With a little
practice, you should come out okay.
But, hey. That's just what I think.
9/Dec/97 - Invincible in Seattle
In a friendly game of Frisbee on the lawn which slopes down to Lake
Washington from Bill Gates' castle on Mercer Island, Gates threw the
disk high over Steven Jobs's head and out into the lake. Jobs
immediately walked out on the lake and retrieved it.
Next morning's headline in the Seattle Times:
Gates's Throw Exceeds Projections
Apple President Unable to Swim
9/Dec/97 - Tidbits of Wisdom
1.The trouble with being punctual is that nobody's there to appreciate
it.
-- Franklin P. Jones
2.Women's creed: Men are like linoleum. If you lay them right the
first time, you can walk on them for 20 years.
3.Love is the answer, but while you are waiting for the answer, sex
raises some pretty good questions. -- Woody Allen
4.Lord, grant me the serenity to accept the things I can not change,
the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to hide the
bodies of those I had to kill because they pissed me off.
6.All my life, I always wanted to be somebody. Now I see that I
should have been more specific. -- Jane Wagner
7.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 neurophysiology intro course
8.Bigamy is having one wife too many. Monogamy is the same. -- Oscar
Wilde
9.What is a committee? A group of the unwilling, picked from the
unfit, to do the unnecessary. -- Richard Harkness, _The New York
Times_, 1960
10.I am not a vegetarian because I love animals; I am a vegetarian
because I hate plants. -- A. Whitney Brown
11.Experience is that marvelous thing that enables you recognize a
mistake when you make it again. -- F. P. Jones
12.Human beings, who are almost unique in having the ability to learn
from the experience of others, are also remarkable for their apparent
disinclination to do so. -- Douglas Adams
13.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
17.Q: What did the instructor at the school for Kamikaze pilots say
to his students? A: Watch closely. I'm only going to do this once.
19.If a kid asks where rain comes from, I think a cute thing to tell
him is "God is crying." And if he asks why God is crying, another cute
thing to tell him is "probably because of something you did."
20.In weight lifting, I don't think sudden, uncontrolled urination
should automatically disqualify you.
21.A good way to threaten somebody is to light a stick of dynamite.
Then you call the guy and hold the burning fuse up to the phone.
"Hear that?" you say. "That's dynamite, baby."
22.I saw on this nature show how the male elk douses himself with
urine to smell sweeter to the opposite sex. What a coincidence!
23."Sure, everyone always said 'Socrates, what is the meaning of
life?' or 'Socrates, how can I find happiness?', did anyone ever say
'Socrates, hemlock is poison.'???????" --Socrates minutes before
death
24.Christian: One who believes that the New Testament is a divinely
inspired book that is admirably suited to the spiritual needs of his
neighbor.
25.Definition of Stress: The confusion created when one's mind
overrides the body's desire to beat or choke the living shit out of
some asshole who desperately needs it.
26.Television is called a medium. This is because it is neither
rare, nor well done.
27.Marriage is the triumph of imagination over intelligence. Second
marriage is the triumph of hope over experience.
28.The secret of success is sincerity. Once you can fake that,
you've got it made.
29.The only difference between graffiti & philosophy is the word
f@*#...
30.Health is merely the slowest possible rate at which one can die.
31."The more I study religions the more I am convinced that man never
worshiped anything but himself." -- Sir Richard F. Burton
32.A bird in the hand will probably shit on your wrist.
10/Dec/97 - It's a Wonderful Mac
It's a wonderful machine:
The sweetest Christmas movie Frank Capra never made
By David Pogue
November 18, 1997
MacWEEK
I guess I shouldn't have gone to a party where the eggnog was spiked,
and maybe I shouldn't have watched the movie It's a Wonderful Life while
leafing through MacWeek. But anyway, I had the weirdest dream last
night--like a bizarre black-and-white movie that went like this: Jimmy
Stewart stars as Steve "Jobs" Bailey, who runs a beleaguered but beloved
small-town computer company. For years, big monopolist Bill "Gates"
Potter has been wielding his power and money to gain control of the
town. And for years, Steve has fought for survival: "This town needs my
measly, one-horse computer, if only to have something for people to use
instead of Windows!"
But now an angry mob is banging on Apple's front door, panicking. "The
press says your company is doomed!" yells one man. "You killed the
clones! We're going to Windows!" calls another. "We want out of our
investment!" they shout.
Steve, a master showman, calms them. "Don't do it! If Potter gets
complete control of the desktop, you'll be forced to buy his bloatware
and pay for his cruddy upgrades forever! We can get through this, but
we've got to have faith and stick together!" The crowd decides to give
him one more chance.
But the day before Christmas, something terrible happens: On his way to
the bank, the company's financial man, Uncle Gilly, somehow manages to
lose $1.7 billion. With eyes flashing, Steve grabs the befuddled Gilly
by the lapels. "Where's that money, you stupid old fool? Don't you
realize what this means? It means bankruptcy and scandal! Get out of my
company--and don't come back!"
Desperate and afraid, Steve heads to Martini's, a local Internet cafe,
and drowns his sorrows in an iced cappuccino. Surfing the Web at one of
the cafe's Macs, all he finds online is second-guessing, sniping by
critics, and terrible market-share numbers.
As a blizzard rages, Steve drives his car crazily toward the river.
"Oh, what's the use?!" he exclaims. "We've lost the war. Windows rules
the world. After everything I've worked for, the Mac is going to be
obliterated! Think of all the passion and effort these last 15
years--wasted! Think of the billions of dollars, hundreds of companies,
millions of people . . . ." He stands on the bridge, staring at the
freezing, roiling river below--and finally hurls himself over the
railing.
After a moment of floundering in the chilly water, however, he's pulled
to safety by a bulbous-nosed oddball. "Who are you?!" Steve splutters
angrily.
"Name's Clarence--I mean Claris," says the guy. "I'm your guardian
angel. I've been sent down to help you--it's my last chance to earn my
wings."
"Nobody can help me," says Steve bitterly. "If I hadn't created the
Mac, everybody'd be a lot happier: Mr. Potter, the media, even our
customers. Hell, we'd all be better off if the Mac had never been
invented at all!"
Music swirls. The wind howls. The tattoo on Steve's right buttock--Buzz
Lightyear from Toy Story--vanishes.
Steve pats the empty pocket where he usually carries his Newton. "What
gives?"
"You've got your wish," says Claris. "You never invented the Mac. It
never existed. You haven't a care in the world."
"Look, little fella, go off and haunt somebody else," Steve mutters. He
heads over to Martini's Internet cafe for a good stiff drink. But he's
shocked at the difference inside. "My God, look at the people using
these computers! Both of them--they look like math professors!"
"They are," says Claris.
"What is this, a museum? It looks like those computers are running DOS!"
"Good eye!" says Claris. "DOS version 25.01, in fact--the very latest."
"I don't get it," Steve says.
"DOS is a lot better and faster these days, but it hasn't occurred to
anybody to market a computer with icons and menus yet. There's no such
thing as Windows--after all, there never was a Mac interface for
Microsoft to copy."
"But this equipment is ancient!" Steve exclaims. "No sound, no CD-ROM
drive, not even 3.5-inch floppies!"
"Those aren't antiques!" Claris says. "They're state-of-the-art
Compaqs, complete with the latest 12X, 5-inch-floppy drives. Don't
forget, Steve: The Mac introduced and standardized all that good stuff
you named."
"But that's nuts!" Steve explodes. "You mean to tell me that the 46
percent of American households with computers are all using DOS?"
"Correction: All 9 percent of American households," says Claris
cheerfully. "Without a graphic interface, computers are still too
complicated to be popular."
"Bartender!" shouts Steve. "You don't have a copy of Wired here, do
you? I've got to read up on this crazy reality!"
The bartender glares. "I don't know what you're wired on, pal, but
either stop talking crazy or get outta my shop."
"No such thing as Wired," whispers Claris. "Never was. Before you
wished the Mac away, most magazines were produced entirely on the Mac.
Besides, Wired would be awfully thin without the Web."
"Without the--now, wait just a minute!" Horrified, Steve rushes over to
one of the PCs and connects to the Internet. "You call this the Net? It
looks like a text-only BBS--and there's practically nobody online!
Where's Navigator? Where's Internet Explorer? Where's the Web, for
Pete's sake?"
"Oh, I see," Claris smiles sympathetically. "You must be referring to
all those technologies that spun off from the concept of a graphic
interface. Look, Steve. Until the Mac made the mouse standard, there was
no such thing as point and click. And without clicking, there could be
no Web . . . and no Web companies. Believe it or not, Marc Andreesen
works in a Burger King in Cincinnati."
Steve scoffs. "Well, look, if you apply that logic, then PageMaker
wouldn't exist either. Photoshop, Illustrator, FreeHand, America Online,
digital movies--all that stuff began life on the Mac."
"You're getting it," Claris says. He holds up a copy of Time magazine.
"Check out the cover price."
Steve gasps. "Eight bucks? They've got a lot of nerve!"
"Labor costs. They're still pasting type onto master pages with hot wax."
"You're crazy!" screams Steve. "I'm going back to my office at Apple!"
He drives like a madman back to Cupertino--but the sign that greets him
there doesn't say, "Welcome to Apple." It says, "Welcome to Microsoft
South."
"Sorry, Steve; Apple went out of business in 1985," says Claris. "You
see, you really did have a wonderful machine! See what a mistake it was
to wish it away?"
Steve is sobbing, barely listening. "OK, then--I'll go to my office at
Pixar!"
"You don't have an office at Pixar," Claris reminds him. "There was no
Mac to make you rich enough to buy Pixar!"
Steve has had enough. He rushes desperately back to the icy bridge over
the river. "Please, God, bring it back! Bring it back! I don't care
about market share! Please! I want the Mac to live again!"
Music, wind, heavenly voices--and then snow begins softly falling.
"Hey, Steve! You all right?" calls out Steve's friend Larry from a
passing helicopter. Steve pats his pocket--the Newton is there again!
It's all back! Steve runs through the town, delirious with joy. "Merry
Christmas, Wired! Merry Christmas, Internet! Merry Christmas, wonderful
old Microsoft!"
And now his office is filled with smiling people whose lives the Mac
has touched. There's old Mr. Chiat/Day the adman. There's Yanni the
musician. And there's Mr. Spielberg the moviemaker. As the Apple board
starts singing "Auld Lang Syne," somebody boots up a Power Mac.
Steve smiles at the startup sound. "You know what they say," he tells
the crowd. "Every time you hear a startup chime, an angel just got his
wings."
David Pogue's latest book is The Microsloth Joke Book (Berkeley, 1997).
If the World Wide Web still exists, his home page is www.pogueman.com.
11/Dec/97 - A Christmas "Just So" Story
Not long ago and far away Santa was getting ready for his annual
trip... but there were problems everywhere... four of the elves got sick,
and the trainee elves did not produce the toys as fast as the regular
ones so Santa was beginning to feel the pressure of being behind
schedule...
Then Mrs. Claus told Santa that her mom was coming to visit... this
stressed Santa even more...
When he went to harness the reindeer he found that three of them were
about to give birth and two had jumped the fence and were out heaven
knows where... more stress... and then when he began to load the sleigh one
of the floor boards cracked and the toy bag fell to the ground and
scattered all the toys...
So, frustrated, Santa went into the house for a cup of coffee and a shot
of whiskey... but he found that the elves had hit the liquor cupboard and
there was nothing there to drink... and in his frustration he dropped the
coffee pot and it broke into hundreds of little pieces all over the
kitchen floor... he went to get the broom and found that mice had eaten
the straw it was made from...
Just then the doorbell rang and Santa cussed on his way to the door... he
opened the door and there was a little angel with a great big Christmas
tree. And the angel said, "Santa, where would you like to put this
Christmas tree??"...
And that, my friend, is how the little angel came to be on top of the
Christmas tree.
12/Dec/97 - Billions and Billions
"A billion hours ago ... human life appeared on Earth.
A billion seconds ago ... the Beatles changed music forever.
A billion Coca-Colas ago ... was yesterday morning.
Our challenge: to make a billion Coca-Colas ago be this morning ..."
-- from the 1996 annual report of the Coca-Cola Company.
12/Dec/97 - Lame Computer Pun
Why can't computer programmers tell the difference between Holoween
and Christmas?
Because 31 Oct. equals 25 Dec.
16/Dec/97 - Anti-men Jokes
Why do doctors slap babies' butts right after they're born?
To knock the penises off the smart ones.
What is that insensitive bit at the base of the penis called?
The man.
Why is psychoanalysis quicker for men than for women?
When it's time to go back to childhood, he's already there.
Why are men like commercials?
You can't believe a word they say.
Why are men like blenders?
You need one, but you're not quite sure why.
Why are women so bad at mathematics?
Because men keep telling them that this (make gap with thumb and forefinger)
is 9 inches.
What's a man's definition of a romantic evening?
Sex.
What is the only time a man thinks about a candlelight dinner?
When the power goes off.
What do men and women have in common?
They both distrust men.
How can you tell the difference between men's real gifts and their guilt gifts?
Guilt gifts are nicer.
What do you instantly know about a well-dressed man?
His wife is good at picking out clothes.
How is a man like the weather?
Nothing can be done to change either one of them.
What is the difference between a man and childbirth?
One can be terribly painful and sometimes almost unbearable while the other is
just having a baby.
What is the difference between a single 40-year-old woman and a single
40-year-old man?
The 40-year-old woman thinks often of having children and the 40-year-old man
thinks often about dating them.
Women dream of world peace, a safe environment, and eliminating hunger.
What do men dream of?
Being stuck in an elevator with the Doublemint twins.
What do you call a man who expects to have sex on the second date?
Slow.
What is the one thing that all men at singles bars have in common?
They're married.
Why don't men often show their true feelings?
Because they don't have any.
Why do men have a hole in their penis?
So oxygen can get to their brains.
What do you call a man with 99% of his brain missing?
Castrated.
What's the difference between government bonds and men?
Bonds mature.
What's the difference between a man and E.T.?
E.T. phoned home.
Why are all dumb blonde jokes one-liners?
So men can remember them.
16/Dec/97 - Timing is Everything
A policeman was patrolling a local parking spot overlooking a golf
course. He drove by a car and saw a couple inside with the dome light
on. There was a young man in the driver's seat reading a computer
magazine and a young lady in the back seat knitting. He stopped to
investigate.
He walked up to the driver's window and knocked. The young man looked
up, cranked the window down, and said, "Yes Officer?"
"What are you doing?" the policeman asked.
"What does it look like?" answered the young man. "I'm reading this
magazine."
Pointing towards the young lady in the back seat, the officer then
asked, "And what is she doing?"
The young man looked over his shoulder and replied, "What does it look
like she's doing? She's knitting."
"And how old are you?" the officer then asked the young man.
"I'm nineteen," he replied.
"And how old is she?" asked the officer.
The young man looked at his watch and said, "Well, in about twelve
minutes she'll be eighteen."
17/Dec/97 - The Wee Superiority of Males
THE MALES WEE SUPERIORITY
by Martin Plimmer
All right, even if you accept that women are better than men at
making decisions, running families, looking good, showing emotions,
driving, managing employees, coping with stress, sex, shopping,
arguing, being prime minister, map reading, shouting and identifying
little things which are wrong about the house... even if you accept
all this, you can't deny the fact that women are hopeless at urinating.
Urinating is where men come into their own. It is one of the
intrinsic male talents, up there with unscrewing the lids of pickle
jars, putting bumblebees out of the window and hand-to-hand fighting.
If you had to write a testimonial to manhood, however short the list of
virtues, it would have to include "good urinator".
For a start, men have the best equipment. Aim is not a problem for the
conscientious male lavatory user. His ergonomic "hose" type arrangement
gives better directional control, longer range, faster in-and-out
operation and finger-tip control of a variety of effects, from jet to
mist.
In most other areas women's bodies are often of a more practical
and versatile design than men's, able to adapt impressively to the
exacting demands of babies, lovers and fashion designers. Women have an
in-built stock of extra subcutaneous fat to keep them warm, a cleavage
in which to conceal their Derringer and to cap it all, hair. But in the
female urinary department all is confusion and fog.
It is as though God lost interest in women at this point and
concentrated all his attention on the men instead, working late at the
celestial assembly line, supervising trolley-loads of prototype penises,
giving the young men pep talks about good deeds and grass fires and
sending them behind the garages to practice.
Envy us though they will, women will never catch up, however hard they
practice. They are simply not physiologically cut out for the job. From
any discreet distance it's difficult to see what's going on at all, and
anyone who has watched the process at close quarters (and most men have
at some point in their lives paid good money to do just that) agree that
it is a most unsatisfactory affair, more like watching a lemon being
squeezed. Flow control is all gang awry. If you had a tap that did that,
you'd sack the plumber.
The moment of truth when a girl becomes aware of this inherent
shortcoming can be heart-breaking. I watched my three year-old daughter
follow a trio of little boys to a hedge at a picnic. She positioned
herself at the end of their line, copying everything they did: she faced
the fence, legs slightly apart, eyes rigidly ahead, and with her little
fist gripped an air willy just below her belly. Then she weed down the
side of her leg into her shoe. It was a hard lesson.
As I wiped away her tears I had to explain that life had a different
role for her--a sort of squatting one. And that one day she would
receive breasts as compensation.
This lack of directional control, which is a critical factor in the
male point-and-go technique, makes women very dependent on seat-type
lavatories. Women who are caught short outdoors are obliged to adopt
that undignified squat, feet splayed at obtuse angles, a position
reminiscent of an elephant trying to sit on a very small, invisible
chair. The vexed question of tights doesn't bear thinking about.
On a windy motorway verge it makes a maladroit and forlorn
spectacle. This posture makes women vulnerable to brambles, spiders,
weekend photographers and practical jokers poking brooms out of the
bushes with cushions tied to the ends, trying to push them over. They
are sitting targets.
Yet because of their vulnerability women have evolved the
extraordinary ability to stop mid-wee and then carry on at a later date.
This is the only defense mechanism available to them when surprised by
Sunday school parties or wolves. They are very cautious too about where
they do it, especially outdoors. They spend a long time casing potential
al fresco sites before committing themselves, relying on instinct to
tell them when it is "right". Nothing, not even a bladder heavier than
a Jilly Cooper novel can persuade them to relieve themselves if they
(for instance) take against the color of a bush.
Husbands, who down the ages have been forced to adopt the role of
valet/lookout on these occasions, standing knee-deep in undergrowth
improvising elaborate screens with coats and straining to hold aloft
hemlines, handbags, gloves, half-nibbled sandwiches and glasses of Pimms
while shooing hedgehogs away with their foot, have not always construed
the statement "I'm stopping now: I don't like it here," as the
sixth-sense early warning system it surely is. Had the husbands bothered
to look, they would often enough have found a man crouched in a nearby
bush trying to conceal a broom with a pillow tied to the end.
As it was they would uncharitably dismiss their wives' behavior as a
feminine wile designed to make them feel imminent for the rest of the
afternoon. Men don't beat about the bush. Thirty seconds and we're back
in the car. It makes a blithe contrast and women, who like to pretend
indifference, are secretly fascinated by the whole process, in
particular the ritual of the gents' urinal--the architecture of the
point-and-go system. It is a world barred to women, and so redolent of
masculine mystique that any allusion to it in female company will
usually command instant, if veiled attention.
For this reason the urinal is a useful conversational tactic for
moments with women of recent acquaintance, when conversation dries up.
Women will often ask quite blatant questions after a few sherries. "How
can you do it standing next to someone? Do you look at each other's
genitals? What do you say to each other?"
These are questions to which even men do not always have easy
answers. What do we say to each other? It is a problem which recurs
endlessly in every man's life, especially if the person standing next to
him at the urinal is (as so often happens) his boss, a Chief Constable
or a violent crack dealer. Does he look at their genitals? Not likely!
It is strictly against the gents' etiquette and nobody succumbs,
however strong the urge. He doesn't even look at his neighbor's face.
He looks ahead only, eyes glassily fixed on the wall at a point
unequivocally upwards. Few people realize that this is the origin of
military bearing, for if it is incumbent on a man not to look at his
neighbor's penis in a civilian toilet, then it is especially important
in a military one.
Where virility is so highly prized, foolish is the soldier who
tries to take a peep at his sergeant-major's little man. And he has to
beware unconsidered remarks, however urgent the desire to drown out the
sound of ambient dripping. The man who blurts out: "That's a tiny penis
you've got there Sergeant-Major!" is likely to forfeit his own, for you
can be sure that any sergeant-major worth his salt will be carrying a
larger weapon somewhere about his person.
Urinal conversation is never profound--there's no time for that.
Those who try ambitious conversational gambits about the Big Bang or
balsamic vinegar will find themselves alone at the trough. They should
follow the rules, talking hollowly and with artificial bonhomie to the
wall about last night's football match (taking care never to mention
Arsenal)
The gentlemen's urinal is a great leveler. In here, size doesn't
matter, because though everything is theoretically on display, no merit
is attached to having a large penis, as nobody ever sees it. In here men
of all races and ages, from all walks of life, stand shoulder to
shoulder at the porcelain face. In other circumstances they might not
deign to talk to each other, but here they are simply men, equal in the
sight of God, standing in line, talking about football, even though they
may enjoy huge differences of wealth, privilege, power, intellect and of
course, penis size.
Men get little credit for their achievements in this area, yet they
pay a high price for their own efficiency, waiting long hours outside
ladies' lavatories with arms full of shopping, children, dogs and coats.
And never a word of thanks. Most toilets are designed for women. Men
tolerate them, yet they prefer to stand.
Men don't crow, yet they have much to crow about. Nobody would try to
claim that Margaret Thatcher (to take just one example), didn't have
achievements, but the fact remains, if she were caught short on a dark
landing after a late House of Commons sitting, would she be able to pee
in the yucca pot? Unlikely. Yet this is something even the most inept
male politician can do with his eyes shut, and many have.
At one of those big Men Are People Too rallies in the American
wilderness, where males gather in primitive conditions to confront
sophisticated modern inferiority anxieties; where accountants,
stevedores and bakers bond in moonlight, invoke ghost fathers, hug bears
and ritually torment trees; one man, suddenly inspired, stood up at the
communal campfire and made a speech.
"If women are so clever," he said, "why can't they pee straight?"
There was a hush, a first stirring of awakening consciousness. "Say it
loud and say it proud," he said, "men are better urinators!" It was a
stunning: a truth that was startlingly obvious, yet inhibited by old
fashioned notions of chivalry. But now that it had been spoken, there
was a clap, a cheer, a mighty roar, sense of liberation. Men sprang to
their feet and lifted the speaker shoulder high. "Ask not why we
leave the seat up!" he shouted. "Ask rather why women leave the seat
down!" Then in a unanimous gesture of solidarity, every man peed on
the fire. Because they could.
19/Dec/97 - Cloning Issues
Results of the Washington Post Style Invitational, in which readers
were asked to come up with intriguing questions to be considered by
President Clinton's special commission to study the moral and
practical effects of cloning:
Are the pope and his clone both infallible? What if they disagree
about something?
Can you clone Alan Greenspan, or does it have to be LIVING tissue?
If Larry King clones himself and interviews himself on his show,
wouldn't that pretty much make nuclear war something we could all look
forward to?
If I have sex with my clone, will I go blind?
If the DNA from the bloody glove were cloned and produced a baby O.J.
Simpson, then could we maybe get an actual guilty verdict?
If Hare Krishnas start cloning themselves, how will the rest of us
find out?
If you cloned Henry IV, would he be Henry V or Henry IV Jr. or wait,
Henry IV part II?
If Michael Jackson is cloned, is it against the law for him to play
with himself as a child?
Would there be a market for genetic "factory seconds" and
"irregulars"?
Could they clone Al Gore, or would he have to be grafted?
Is it possible to make a clone of Kate Moss and then attach the two
together to make a regular-sized person? Sure, she'd have two heads,
but that would still be way more normal.
Would it work if I binged and my clone purged?
And my personal favorite:
Would it be ethical to dig up the remains of our founding fathers,
create clones from the bone cells, and place them in a theme park
called Clonial Williamsburg?
22/Dec/97 - Computer Christmas Gifts
Are you having a hard time finding the right gift for the computer
addict whose PC has everything? Not another Dilbert necktie, or King's
Quest XLVIII. Try one of these:
- CD-ROM rewinder. (For blondes only.)
- Virtual reality beer.
- NoseBlaster smell card -- the latest in multi-media technology. The
deluxe version comes with direct-feed nostril tubes for the ultimate in
virtual olfactory experience.
- True-Type font modeled on my handwriting. The last word in
non-reversible encryption. (May not be exported from the country.)
- 72-inch monitor.
- 20-foot mouse extension cord - a must for the 72-inch monitor.
- Michael Jackson-to-Michael Jackson Morph screen saver -- endless
variations.
- Bedpan -- Why leave your computer just for that? (Not for use with
NoseBlaster.)
- The secret to what this emoticon means - }:{o
23/Dec/97 - The Twelve Bugs of Christmas
For the first bug of Christmas, my vendor said to me
See if they can do it again.
For the second bug of Christmas, my vendor said to me
Ask them how they did it and
See if they can do it again.
For the third bug of Christmas, my vendor said to me
Try to reproduce it
Ask them how they did it and
See if they can do it again.
For the fourth bug of Christmas, my vendor said to me
Run with the debugger
Try to reproduce it
Ask them how they did it and
See if they can do it again.
For the fifth bug of Christmas, my vendor said to me
Ask for a dump
Run with the debugger
Try to reproduce it
Ask them how they did it and
See if they can do it again.
For the sixth bug of Christmas, my vendor said to me
Reinstall the software
Ask for a dump
Run with the debugger
Try to reproduce it
Ask them how they did it and
See if they can do it again.
For the seventh bug of Christmas, my vendor said to me
Say they need an upgrade
Reinstall the software
Ask for a dump
Run with the debugger
Try to reproduce it
Ask them how they did it and
See if they can do it again.
For the eighth bug of Christmas, my vendor said to me
Find a way around it
Say they need an upgrade
Reinstall the software
Ask for a dump
Run with the debugger
Try to reproduce it
Ask them how they did it and
See if they can do it again.
For the ninth bug of Christmas, my vendor said to me
Blame it on the hardware
Find a way around it
Say they need an upgrade
Reinstall the software
Ask for a dump
Run with the debugger
Try to reproduce it
Ask them how they did it and
See if they can do it again.
For the tenth bug of Christmas, my vendor said to me
Change the documentation
Blame it on the hardware
Find a way around it
Say they need an upgrade
Reinstall the software
Ask for a dump
Run with the debugger
Try to reproduce it
Ask them how they did it and
See if they can do it again.
For the eleventh bug of Christmas, my vendor said to me
Say it's not supported
Change the documentation
Blame it on the hardware
Find a way around it
Say they need an upgrade
Reinstall the software
Ask for a dump
Run with the debugger
Try to reproduce it
Ask them how they did it and
See if they can do it again.
For the twelfth bug of Christmas, my vendor said to me
Tell them it's a feature
Say it's not supported
Change the documentation
Blame it on the hardware
Find a way around it
Say they need an upgrade
Reinstall the software
Ask for a dump
Run with the debugger
Try to reproduce it
Ask them how they did it and
See if they can do it again.
30/Dec/97 - Key to Wisdom
I traveled far to consult the Wise Woman and learn the key to wisdom.
"Ah, yes," she said, "the key to wisdom is good judgment."
"And what, pray tell, is the key to good judgment?" I asked.
"The key to good judgment," she replied, " is experience."
"So what," I inquired, "is the key to experience?"
"The key to experience," she said with a wry smile, "is bad judgment."
(
geocities.com/timessquare)